#me: the...you know...the lines...they sort of converge

[egophiliac]

I was wanting to try doing an art piece in the style of the signature spell poster art pieces you create. But I’m not really the best at coming up with a composition for such a thing.

Do you have a process for how you come up with the compositions for them?

oh, awesome! it is an INCREDIBLY enjoyable style to work in; I hope you have fun with it! :D

I'm not great at putting my thought/art process into words, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'll try! my first step is always to do a LOT of thumbnails to figure out both the idea and how I want to show it; not trying to do a real sketch or anything, just little doodles to figure out what exactly I'm trying to portray. (I also call these "garbage passes" because they're not meant to be any good, they're just there to throw things out. aha. ha. ...anyway.) I think it's important during that first stage to really focus on the idea and the layout and not to get too bogged down in the actual drawing yet!

I tend to save my final thumbnails, so I'll use 'em as examples (I posted the ones up through episode 5 here if you're interested!) (and, uhhh, spoilers through episode 5 also in this post, hopefully that won't be an issue!)

the main thing I try to think about in composition is balance -- not necessarily in terms of symmetry, but in where each element is placed and how much space it's taking up. remember, empty space is still space! it's also really important to think about the parts that don't have anything in them, as much as the parts that do!

personally, I like to divide things up roughly by both halves and by thirds -- there's a lot more in-depth info out there on why the "rule of thirds" in particular works well visually, but in short, our brains tend to focus on things that are placed closer to imaginary division lines, instead of in the exact center of an image. so even when I'm doing something that is very centered and symmetrical, I try to keep that in mind and generally aim around those for landmarks like faces/eyes (or...where they would be, anyway) and other focal points.

it's not a formula of "the character's face should be in this division of this grid" or anything, more like "our minds like to focus on these areas, let's think about how to use that", if that makes sense! and of course rules are made to be broken, art is lawless anarchy, and so on. but it can be a good starting place for deciding where you want to put things!

(blue - thirds, red - half)

and against the finished versions, because they do usually end up changing a lot (including the empty space of the border):

(...these actually lined up a lot better than I thought they would. :') it makes me look like I do things way more intentionally than I do.)

other stuff I just try to keep in mind is that our eyes like following arcs and paths, which can be a good way to guide the eye:

and frame and control the focus:

honestly, composition is one of those things I feel like I struggle with a lot, so I'm not sure how much of this is helpful or actually makes sense outside of my head. but hopefully it helps a little! it's all just stuff to think about while drawing and not anything hard-and-fast, so don't, like, stress out about making sure things are lining up exactly on the thirds or anything. again, it's more "our brains think these are the dopest parts of the rectangle" than anything else! take advantage of the cool parts of the rectangle!

NOW GO HAVE FUN DRAWING seriously though, it is always super cool that other people like this idea and style enough to want to do it themselves and for other/their own characters! thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

[mononijikayu]

casual crazy — fushiguro toji.

“You’re staring.” His voice is deep, casual, but there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You don’t look away. Why should you? He’s a sight, broad shoulders stretching his dark shirt, the veins in his arms just there, teasing your drunken brain into all sorts of bad ideas. “So?” you couldn’t help but garble, setting your empty glass down with a clumsy clink. “Can’t help it. You’re kinda hard not to look at.” His smirk deepens. “Are you always this bold, or is it the liquor talking, hm?”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: smut, romance (sorta), enemies to lovers (sorta), assasins and hitmen, friends with benefits, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, porn with plot, kissing, making out, rough sex, p to v sex, bathroom/toilet sex, orgasm, tension, lust, power play, dirty talk, sexual tension, public sex, size difference, dom/sub undertones, drunken flirting, casual sex turned complicated, humor, profanity, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, assassin! toji, assassin! reader;

WORD COUNT: 5.7k words.

NOTE: i remember writing this while i was going through the horny thoughts i couldn't avoid. genuinely, need to be done dirty like this, i fear. i made my friend beta read this and they were like, 'actually if he calls me good girl again, im gonna lose it' and the reaction was totally worth it. anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as we did. i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HAVE A VERY BAD RELATIONSHIP WITH ALCOHOL. You’ve long admitted that to yourself. Yet, you’ve done very little about it over the past few years, no matter the amount of therapy or rehab you’ve done.

There just really wasn’t any escape from the addiction that made you feel alive. But that’s just the life of an assassin, you supposed. You had to have something that keeps you alive, that keeps you going, in this line of work.

Your calloused fingers clutch the sweating glass, the whiskey inside sloshing dangerously close to spilling. You should probably slow down, but the warmth spreading through your veins is the only thing keeping you steady. Or maybe it’s the opposite. Hard to tell at this point.

And then, all of a sudden, the devil hands you a brand-new temptation. One far more intoxicating than the burn of whiskey down your throat. The familiar craving for alcohol vanishes in a blink, cast aside as something far more potent takes hold. Lust. Raw and unfiltered, creeping into your veins like wildfire. Because there he is.

Fushiguro Toji.

The dark haired man looks like he’s danced with the devil and walked away grinning, untouched, undefeated. They even say so, all the other assassins. They say he wears sin like a second skin, so easily, so unapologetic, so effortless. And seeing it for yourself, it was actually impressive. 

There’s a weight to him, something heavy and dark, yet he carries it with an ease that shouldn’t be possible. Perhaps that’s why he could live easily as an assassin more than most. That lazy confidence rolls off him in waves, an unspoken challenge to the world.

It was as if nothing—no god, no fate, no consequence, could ever chain him down. 

Nothing in the world could bring this dangerous man to his knees.

After all, that’s why he’s Shiu’s favorite out of the scores of assassins like you.

The scar at the corner of his mouth twitches when he smirks, a wicked little tell that gives nothing away and yet says everything. His sharp blue—green eyes was interesting to look at, you think. 

In some ways, you know you could not read the truth behind those emotions that spiral through those orbs. Yet, it was obvious what intentions they had. And that makes your skin crawl to no end. It was eager, hungry, cutthroat, knowing. 

Amusement, intrigue… danger.

You didn’t care for the precisement emotion.

That’s when you knew you were already lost.

“You’re staring.”

His voice is deep, casual, but there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You don’t look away. Why should you? He’s a sight, broad shoulders stretching his dark shirt, the veins in his arms just there, teasing your drunken brain into all sorts of bad ideas.

“So?” you couldn’t help but garble, setting your empty glass down with a clumsy clink. “Can’t help it. You’re kinda hard not to look at.”

His smirk deepens. “Are you always this bold, or is it the liquor talking, hm?”

You hum, tilting your head as if actually thinking about it. The room sways a little, but before you can fall off your stool, a firm hand wraps around your arm, steadying you with ease. His fingers are rough, warm, and entirely too comfortable where they are.

“Whoa there, [last name].” he murmurs, close enough now that you can smell him. All smoke, steel, and something faintly sweet. “Didn’t take you for a lightweight.”

“I’m not, Fushiguro.” you protest, frowning up at him. “I just… you’re distracting right now.”

He chuckles, low and deep, and it rumbles through you in a way that makes you grip the edge of the bar. He still hasn’t let go of your arm, and you’re suddenly very aware of how big his hand is, how easily he could manhandle you if he wanted to.

“Distracting, huh?” He tilts his head, watching you like a cat watches a mouse that’s just a little too cocky for its own good. “So, what? You tryna flirt with me?”

Your grin is slow, lazy. “That depends.” you murmur, dragging your fingers up his arm, feeling the way the muscle tenses slightly beneath your touch. “Is it working?”

For a second, he just watches you, unreadable.

Then, he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Damn. You are drunk.” He snickers at you. “Not what I expected from you.”

You pout. “That a no?”

He leans in, just a little, enough that his breath fans against your cheek. “That’s a be careful, doll.” he says, voice like gravel, mischievous eyes gleaming with something that makes your throat dry up. “I don’t play nice. I never have.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he already knows exactly what would make you fall apart, but you find yourself leaning closer instead of backing off.

“Who said I wanted to be nice?”

His fingers tighten around your arm just slightly, his smirk curling into something more dangerous. “…Now that’s interesting.”

Toji exhales a quiet chuckle, his grip on your arm firm but not restraining. He could let go anytime, you could have just as much let go. But neither of you move to do anything. Instead, the tension only builds, like waves crashing over itself over and over.

His eyes flick over you, slow and assessing, like he’s deciding whether you’re a good bet or just another bad decision waiting to happen. Not that he seems like the type to care about bad decisions.

“You got a death wish or somethin’?” he murmurs, tilting his head, the scar on his lip twitching.

You smirk, fingers playing at the rim of your glass. “I dunno,” you say, voice dipping lower, hazier. “Depends. Are you planning on killing me?”

His grin sharpens. “Not unless you ask really nicely, doll.”

A shiver runs down your spine. It was one that had nothing to do with alcohol, that was quite certain. You should probably tread carefully, but the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something worth toying with, tasting. You suppose that makes you bold. Or maybe just stupid. You couldn’t decide the distinction.

“So what if I did?” You lean in, resting your chin on your palm, eyes locked on his. “What if I wanted a little danger?”

Toji hums, like he’s amused. “Doll, you’re too confident about it, don’t you think? I doubt you could handle it.”

You scoff, but before you can argue, he moves. Just a slight shift, but suddenly, he’s closer. He shook his head at you, full of intrigue. In an instant, his massive knee brushes yours under the bar, his breath teasing your ear as he murmurs, 

“You’re drunk. That liquid courage’s talkin’ for you.”

Your fingers trail up his forearm, slow, deliberate. “And what if it’s not?”

He watches you, blue–green eyes dark and unreadable, his lips hovering just out of reach. The tension hums between you, thick and charged, like a wire stretched too tight. You swear the whole bar fades away, until it’s just the two of you and the heat simmering between your bodies. 

All of the noise from the bar counter, the clinking glasses of little cheers, the other patrons dancing and singing, being the obnoxious humans they were. None of that truly ever mattered t at that moment. Toji tilts his head, considering. Then, just as slowly, he pulls back, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” he murmurs, tossing back the last of his drink. “But you’d regret it.”

Your stomach twists—frustration? Curiosity? Maybe it was a little of both. “And what if I wouldn’t?”

He smirks, standing from his stool. He towers over you, his presence alone enough to make your breath hitch. “Then that would be even worse.”

“You make it sound like it’s the worst thing in the world.” You hiccuped in reply.

He snickers back at you as he taps two fingers against the bar, signaling for another drink before glancing down at you one last time, his gaze lingering. “Drink some water, doll. Clear that head of yours. An assassin can’t let their guard down.” 

You exhale, heart pounding against your ribs.

Well, damn.

You don’t think. 

You just move.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. It was like he’s already decided you’re trouble, but he’s entertained enough to stick around and see what kind. Maybe it’s just that you don’t want to let this moment slip away, not when the air between you is crackling, thick with something sharp and wanting.

So when he turns away, you reach out, fingers curling around his wrist—firm but not desperate. Just enough to make him pause. He looks down at your hand, then back at you, one brow quirking up in silent question.

And then you kiss him.

You don’t even give him a chance to smirk, to throw some smug remark about how bold you are. You just let go. You just go for it. Your lips press against his, the taste of whiskey and smoke flooding your senses, and for a second, he doesn’t move. 

It’s like he’s caught off guard, like you actually surprised him. But then—then—he takes a moment to exhale a quiet grunt, and his hand is suddenly on your waist, pulling you in just enough to keep you steady.

The kiss is messy, a little too eager, too animalistic. But you don’t care. You can feel the curve of his smirk against your lips, the way he lets you take the lead just long enough to lull you into a false sense of control. Because then, he takes it back.

Fushiguro Toji kisses like he fights. And he liked it that way. It was all too sharp, and devoid of mercy. It was deliberate, like he knows exactly where to hit to make you weak. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he deepens it, tongue sliding against yours, and fuck, you’re dizzy all over again, but this time it has nothing to do with the alcohol.

His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and it sends a spark straight down your spine. He tastes dangerous, and it makes your head spin worse than any drink. And then just as suddenly as he let you have him, he pulled back.

You’re left breathless, your lips tingling, your pulse hammering. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, looking entirely too amused, like he just figured something out about you that even you didn’t know.

His thumb brushes over your lip, slow, lazy. “Huh.” he murmurs, voice husky. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You swallow hard, trying to regain your balance. “Yeah, well… maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

He chuckles, low and deep, thumb still idly tracing your lip like he’s considering whether he wants another taste. “Maybe not, doll.” he agrees, stepping back.

“What are you thinking now?”

His grip lingers just a second too long before he finally lets go. He slyly smiles at you. “I’m startin’ to think I should.”

You should say something witty, something cocky, anything to keep this game going but your brain is still scrambling from the way he kissed you like he was meant to. Toji smirks like he can see exactly what he did to you. Then, with one last lingering look, he turns back toward the bar, tossing a few bills down before sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You comin’, or you just gonna sit there lookin’ dazed?”

Your breath catches. “Where to?”

He glances at you over his shoulder. “Outta here,” he says simply. “Unless you just wanted a kiss and nothin’ more, doll.”

It’s a challenge. A dare. One you have no intention of backing down from. You slide off the stool, shaking off whatever remains of your hesitation, and follow him to wherever he was taking you. After all, you realized you were crazy. You might as well act like crazy, too.

IT DIDN’T TAKE VERY LONG FOR YOU TO END UP WHERE YOU WERE. You and Toji slipped away from the crowded room, making your way to the nearby comfort room. As soon as the door closed behind you, Toji pushed you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. 

His hands roamed your body, gripping and squeezing as he pressed his hips against yours.You could feel his hardness through his pants, grinding against your core. Toji's lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

"Someone’s getting quite impatient, isn’t she?" he murmured against your throat, his voice husky with desire. His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts.

Your hands tangled in Toji's hair, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His tongue explored your mouth, dueling with yours in a passionate dance. Toji's fingers deftly unhooked your bra, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing against your hardening nipples.

A moan escaped your lips, your hips bucking against his. Toji's other hand slid down, popping the button of your jeans and slipping inside. His fingers brushed against your core, finding you already wet with desire

"Fuck, you're so ready for me, aren’t you?" Toji groaned, his breath hot against your skin, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your clit, the deliberate motion sending sparks of pleasure crackling through your nerves.

He didn’t just touch you, no. He consumed you whole. He commanded your body, every movement calculated to pull a reaction from you. And he got it. A sharp gasp, a desperate arch of your hips, a needy little whimper that only made his smirk deepen.

He pushed two fingers inside you, the stretch delicious and unrelenting. The slow, slick glide of them made you shudder, your walls tightening around him instinctively. His touch was maddening and all the while measured, knowing, dragging pleasure out of you inch by inch.

“Can you feel it?” he murmured, voice like gravel, like temptation itself. His thumb pressed a little harder against your clit, his fingers curling just right. “Feel how wet you already are? Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight.”

"Hhnnn… your fingers feel so good…” you cooed against him, voice breathy, barely there, your mind slipping under the weight of sensation. “Toji…..fuck…..”

Toji chuckled, low and rough, his amusement edged with something darker—something possessive. "Yeah? Then take ‘em."

His fingers plunged deeper, stretching, stroking, his pace quickening with a ruthless precision. Every twist, every push, every brush against that perfect spot sent you unraveling further. Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, climbing toward an inevitable, overwhelming crescendo.

Toji’s lips ghosted over your ear, his voice nothing but a sinful whisper. “Let me hear you, baby. I wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

His fingers moved with unrelenting precision, pushing deeper, curling just right, stroking over that devastatingly sensitive spot that made your breath catch. Every motion was deliberate, every flick of his wrist measured to wring another shudder from you.

The heat in your core coiled tighter, pleasure winding sharp and insistent. Your legs trembled, muscles clenching, but Toji wasn’t about to let you squirm away. His free hand pressed against your stomach, pinning you down, his grip firm all too possessive.

"You’re so desperate for it," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, with something darker. "Fucking clenching around me like you’re already close."

A whimper slipped past your lips, and Toji chuckled, the sound rough, pleased. His breath ghosted over your ear, teasing, taunting. "Gonna come for me just like this?" His thumb pressed harder against your clit, circling with slow, devastating intent. "Or do you need more?"

Your body answered before your lips could. Your back arched, fingers grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation. But Fushiguro Toji had you exactly where he wanted you, held firm in his grasp, unraveling beneath his touch.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, voice a husky whisper. "Go on, baby. Let me feel it."

The pressure inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling, breathless. Toji held you through it, drawing out every last shudder, his fingers working you through the aftershocks, never once letting up.

When he finally withdrew, his fingers slick and glistening, he brought them to his lips, watching you with that same lazy smirk. The one that sent heat pooling low in your stomach all over again. He sucked them into his mouth, tasting every bit of you with a satisfied hum.

Toji then dragged his cum stained fingers down your thigh, his touch deliberate, lingering, as if savoring the way your body still trembled beneath him. His smirk never wavered, that lazy confidence settling deep in his stance, in the sharp glint of his eyes.

"You look real pretty when you come, pretty." he mused, voice low and rough, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. His gaze flicked over you—your parted lips, the rise and fall of your chest, the dazed look in your eyes. "Bet you’d look even prettier coming on my cock."

The way he said it, like a promise, like an inevitability, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. It was all too much, this sensation. You’ve never truly felt it before, not even with your other partners. Fushiguro Toji was the first to take you down this path. 

“But I’m not giving it to you easily, doll.” He smiles at you, overtly sadistic. “You gotta work for it, hm?”

“Toji, this is so cruel!”

He laughs. “But isn’t that how pleasure works? You gotta earn it.”

“But I’m desperate!”

"Tell me, doll." he murmured, fingers tracing up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of where you needed him most. "You want more, don’t you?"

You stared at him for a while, groaning as he got to your cunny again.

Your breath hitched, your hips shifting toward his touch on instinct. 

But Toji only chuckled, his grip tightening just enough to keep you still.

"Use your words, doll." he coaxed, his thumb ghosting over your already swollen clit, featherlight, teasing. "You begged so sweetly before. Let me hear it again."

Your pulse pounded, every nerve alight, but he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted so easily. You know that now. He wanted to hear you say it, to watch you squirm, to make you admit just how badly you needed him.

"Please…" The word came out breathless, barely there.

Toji hummed, tilting his head like he was considering whether or not to give you what you wanted. "Mmm. That’s not enough, sweetheart." His fingers flexed against your thigh. "Tell me exactly what you need."

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. 

He was enjoying everything about this situation.

He liked this, how he was dragging it out, making you work for it.

"I need you, you bastard." you finally admitted, voice unsteady but desperate, raw. "I need you inside me. Please, Toji."

Something dark and satisfied flickered across his face, and in an instant, his teasing patience snapped. "That’s more like it, doll." he growled.

Your breath hitched as Toji held you there, his grip firm, unyielding, like he had all the time in the world to savor this moment, to savor you. His thick, calloused fingers pressed deeper into your hips, holding you steady beneath him, his touch branding you, leaving no room for escape. Not that you wanted one.

His lips ghosted over your jaw, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Takin’ me so well again. You’re such a good girl.” he murmured, his voice deep, rough around the edges, like he was barely holding himself back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

The question hung between you, thick with expectation, and you couldn’t do anything but nod, your body taut with anticipation, with need. But it was obvious that this wasn’t enough for him just yet, no. He still wanted more. And you still did too, pushing against his long massive fingers, letting the edge of pleasure hit you again in the pandemonium of overstimulation.

“Say it.” Toji ordered, his tone carrying that unmistakable edge, a command wrapped in dark amusement. He wanted to hear it, to pull the words from your lips just like he pulled every other reaction from your body.

Your fingers curled against his arms, nails digging into the hard muscle there, seeking something to anchor yourself to as you gasped out, “Feels—feels so good, Toji.”

A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. “That’s my pretty girl.”

His movements were deliberate, controlled, a stark contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes. He wanted to see you come undone beneath him, to watch every tremor of pleasure ripple through your body. His thumb found your clit, circling in slow, devastating strokes that made your breath hitch, made you gasp his name like a prayer.

Toji leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice nothing but a dark promise. “Now show me something beautiful, doll.”

The dark haired man’s fingers continued their relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure. His thumb circled your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. Your body shuddered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

"Fuck, you're so responsive, aren’t you?" Toji groaned, his voice strained with desire. His fingers pumped slowly, gentler now, as he helped you ride out the final waves of your second orgasm. "That's it, baby. Let go for me."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue danced with yours, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. As your overbearing orgasm finally subsided, Toji's fingers withdrew slowly, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more. His eyes, dark with lust, met yours.

"You okay?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. "More than okay." you murmured, a satisfied smile on your lips.

Toji's grin was wicked, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Good, because we're just getting started." 

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you over to the nearby counter. He set you down, stepping between your legs. Toji's lips crashed against yours, his kiss demanding and passionate. His hands roamed your body, touching and teasing every inch.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, doll." he promised, his voice low and husky."I'm going to make you scream my name."

His fingers slowly hooked into the waistband of your skirt, tugging them down along with your already wet underwear, He narrowed his eyes at the wetness that stained your underwear. You watched as Toji's eyes darkened further as he then took in the sight of you, bare and exposed.

“Tell me, pretty little doll……What do you want? Say it for me, loud and clear.”

You barely had the breath to answer. “Please… make me feel good.” Your voice trembled, your hips rocking into his touch, desperate for more. “I need you inside me. I need your cock.”

Something dark flickered behind his blue–green eyes, endless hunger twisting his expression into something wicked. A slow smirk stretched his lips. “With pleasure.” he growled, pulling his fingers from you.

Toji stripped away his lower garments, his thick cock springing free from its confines, hard and heavy against his abdomen. The sight alone had your mouth running dry. He stepped between your legs, the head of his cock teasing your entrance, dragging slick over your swollen folds.

His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to bruise. “Look at me, pretty doll.” he ordered, voice edged with command. “I wanna see your face when I stretch you open.”

You met his gaze just as he thrust forward, spearing you open in one swift stroke. The stretch burned, a mix of pain and unbearable pleasure, your walls squeezing around his thick length as he filled you to the hilt. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your head knocking back against the counter, legs trembling from the force of it.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Toji groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second as he fought for control. “Feel so good wrapped around me like this.”

He pulled back, only to slam forward again, setting a slow, punishing rhythm. Each thrust was deep, measured, deliberate. It was driving the air from your lungs, sending shockwaves of sensation through every nerve ending.

The room filled with the obscene sound of skin meeting skin, your moans tangled with his rough grunts. Toji leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and guttural. “You like this, don’t you?” 

“F….fu…..I–I do! I…I liiiiikeeee—”

His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips. “Like being fucked open on my cock?”

The filthy words sent a violent shudder through your body, your walls clenching around him in response. Toji could feel it overwhelm him. He felt everything. A growl ripped from his chest as his pace turned brutal, desperate.

His hips slamming into yours with enough force to jolt the counter beneath you. One hand slipped between your bodies, his calloused fingers finding your clit, rubbing rough circles that sent you hurtling toward the edge.

“Come for me, pretty doll.” he commanded, voice strained, raw, demanding. “Come all over my cock.”

It was too much for you to even bear. It was all too good, all too intense, all too overwhelming. You could feel everything in your body tightening, pleasure coiling sharp and hot in your core before snapping all at once. 

Toji's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise and burn. His thrusts became more aggressive, each snap of his hips driving into you with a brutal force that stole the air from your lungs. 

The shitty counter creaked beneath you, the heavy sound of its movement mingling with your cries of pleasure and pain. Toji's breath came in ragged pants against your neck, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin.

"You're mine now, aren’t you?"he growled possessively, his voice low and dangerous. "Say it."

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. His other hand slid down to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. You could feel drool sliding down both sides of your lips as you shook over and over again against his intense movements.

"Say you're mine." His hips pounded into you relentlessly, his cock hitting your deepest spots with merciless precision. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, your body shaking with each thrust.

"Please..." you gasped, your voice hoarse and strained. Toji's eyes flashed with a mix of desire and dominance. 

"Please what?" he demanded, his thrusts slowing to a torturous pace. "Tell me what you need."

His grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back further. His thumb pressed against your lips, forcing them open. "Beg for it."

Your heart raced, your body trembling with a heady mix of fear and arousal. The dominant side of Fushiguro Toji was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It made you wet and it made you on your guard. It made you want to be possessed and it made you want to be let go. And yet, you knew what you would choose. You knew what you wanted more than being free.

"Please..." you whispered again, your tongue darting out to lick his thumb. "Fuck me harder. Use me. Make me yours."

A wicked grin spreads brutishly across Toji's face, his blue–green eyes darkened with lust at the sight of your surrender to him, to your lust. To his pleasure. To the horridness and the craziness of all of this.

"Good girl." he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. 

Without warning, he pulled out, only to flip you over onto your stomach. And then all the strength of him, pushed his weight on you once again and pushed inside, earning an illicit moan from you, that now repeats like a symphony.

Toji gripped your hips, pulling them up to meet his thrusts. His hand cracked across your ass, the sting mixing with the pleasure coursing through your veins. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky.

"Like being punished for being such a greedy little slut." His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt.He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your ear.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight, doll." he promised, his words sending shivers down your spine."Until the only thing you can think about is my cock."

His fingers dug into your hips, his pace becoming more frenzied. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your moans and Toji's grunts of pleasure. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. 

"Come for me." He whispers hotly against your ears. “Go on, be a good girl, doll.”

“I–I can’t!” You cried out, slurring at your words as you moved against him, letting his pace ruin you. “Too….Too good, fucccckkkkk!”

"Do it, doll. Be a good girl f’r me." Toji demanded, his fingers moving faster against your clit. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you come apart."

His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck. He bit down on your shoulder, marking you as his.The combination of sensations was overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge.Your body tensed, your inner walls clamping down on Toji's length.

"That's it, pretty girl!" he growled, his hips pistoning into you. "Come on my cock. Now."

His command was all it took to send you spiraling over the precipice. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Toji's hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself deep as he found his own release. He groaned loudly, his hot seed filling you up, one thrust after the other.

The air was thick with heat, the scent of sweat and sex still lingering in the dimly lit comfort room of the assassin’s bar. Your legs felt like jelly, like your entire body was going to collapse from the force of his push and pull.

You could feel your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, yet Fushiguro Toji, the absolute menace that he was, looked completely unbothered about it. It was like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire existence against a suspiciously sturdy sink in this bar comfort room.

His breath was still rather heavy, his body slick with piling golden sweat, but his lazy smirk was back in full force as he finally pulled away. He cracked his neck, stretched like he’d just finished a workout, then gave you a once-over, his green eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Damn.” he muttered, running a hand through his damp dark hair. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You glared at him, or at least tried to, but your legs wobbled the moment you moved, forcing you to grip the sink for support. Toji, ever the bastard, caught it immediately. “I hate you.”

His grin widened. “Aw, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Legs ain’t workin’?”

Your eye twitched. “You—shut up.”

Toji laughed, full and deep, the sound bouncing off the grimy tiled walls. “Tch, that’s what happens when you get greedy, doll.” he mused, zipping up his pants with a satisfied hum. “Didn’t expect you to be such a lil’ freak, though.”

Your face burned, but before you could snap back, a loud bang rattled the door. “OI, HURRY THE FUCK UP!” a voice bellowed from the other side. “Some of us actually need to piss, y’know!”

Oh. Right. The fact that you were in a goddamn assassin’s bar and had just let Fushiguro Toji ruin you and rearrange your guts in the bar comfort room like a couple of horny teenagers had completely slipped your mind. 

The depths of the alcohol you had drunk tonight had long slipped away from you and now you were sober. The wanton greed from you had all but disappeared and only replaced by the embarrassment you feel. 

You whipped around, hurriedly smoothing down your clothes, heart hammering in mortification. Still trying to make sure his cum doesn’t spill from your thighs, still trying to make yourself presentable. 

Meanwhile, Toji took his sweet time adjusting himself and his pants, looking completely unbothered. He even had the audacity to yawn. “Hold your damn horses, you idiots.” he called out lazily. “Some of us were busy.”

Loud groans and swearing erupted from the other side, followed by someone grumbling, “I swear to god, if they clogged the sink again—”

You nearly choked. “Again? What the fuck does that mean, Fushiguro?”

Toji snorted, tossing you a smug look. “Told ya, this ain’t my first time in here for a round. It's always casual. Or crazy Or both. Whichever is preferred.”

You gaped at him, scandalized. “You absolute piece of shit! You fucked me here—”

Another furious bang cut you off, and this time, the doorknob actually rattled. “I SWEAR TO FUCK, IF YOU TWO DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR—”

Toji just laughed, grabbing your wrist before you could fully process what was happening. “Time to go, doll.”

And just like that, he swung the door open, stepping out like he didn’t just defile the bar’s restroom, greeting the pissed-off assassins outside with a lazy smirk and a casual, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You, on the other hand, nearly tripped over yourself as you followed, trying very hard to ignore the furious glares of the men who had just spent the last twenty minutes listening to your, uh… indiscretions. Toji slung an arm around your shoulders, leading you back toward the bar like it was just another regular night.

“You’re buying the next round.” you grumbled under your breath, face still burning. “And get me new underwear and pants, you fiend.”

Toji grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple like an asshole. “Worth it, though.”

You elbowed him in the ribs.

He only laughed harder.

[cobbled-peach]

TIED TOGETHER ── A.H

Your only plan for sports day is to stay caffeinated and cheer quietly. Until your kid ropes you into the parents' three-legged race

cw: Aaron Hotchner x Single parent!reader. Pure fluff and fun!!! No use of Y/N :)) a/n: first Hotch fic ahhh!! hopefully i did him justice!!!!!! wc: 1.1k

My requests are also OPEN, so please feel free to visit my blog for guidlines (I will probably accept anything teehee!!)

You aren’t exactly dressed for a three-legged race.

In fact, when you packed your bag this morning, your only intention was to spectate – find a quiet spot near the shade, sip your coffeefrom a travel mug, and pretend not to feel wildly out of place among the hyper-enthusiastic PTA parents who seem to treat sports day like an Olympic qualifier.

But now, here you are, standing at the edge of a makeshift racetrack on the schools sun-bleached field, clutching a bright orange band in one hand and the remnants of your dignity in the other.

Across from you, a man – tall and serious and very much not dressed for track sports – is awkwardly removing his suit jacket. He folds it over one arm, his shirt a crisp white and rolled up at the cuffs. His tie has been loosened with reluctant precision.

And apparently, he’s your partner.

You glance down at the orange band, then at the child grinning up at you with a juice-stained chin. He seems proud that he’d managed to volunteer you for the three-legged race without your knowledge.

‘Really?’ you murmur, but Eli is already back to cheering. He calls out your name, claps his hands happily together, like you’re going to win something other than last place.

You refuse to disappoint him, though. Not on his first sports day at this school. You step forward, reluctant, just as the man does, your paths converging at the starting line. He holds up a matching orange band in his hand.

‘I think our kids made us teammates,’ you offer with what you hope passes as a friendly smile. There’s definitely hesitance behind it. Apprehension.

He seems to notice the nerves etched onto your face. The corners of his mouth twitch faintly.

‘Looks like it,’ he replies. ‘Aaron Hotchner,’ he adds, offering a handshake.

You tell him your name as you take his hand, noting the firmness of his grip – steady, confident, but not performative. Just… solid. Like everything else about him.

‘Nice to meet you,’ you say. ‘Sort of. You might wildly embarrass me, for all I know.’

A flicker of amusement crosses his face.

‘Or, I’ll probably embarrass you,’ you continue. ‘I trip over laundry baskets for sport.’

He hums something that might be a laugh. ‘Which kid’s yours?’

You gesture towards Eli, who is waving from beneath a crooked baseball cap and bouncing in place like he’s drank three too many Capri Suns. ‘Green hat, there – Elias. But he prefers Eli. Yours?’

‘Jack,’ he says, with a fondness that softens the sharp lies of his face. You glance over and see Jack, standing with his hands on his hips and taking his job as a sideline coach very seriously.

‘Happy for me to tie it?’ Aaron asks, gesturing to the orange bands.

You nod, extending your leg, and he kneels to fasten the fabric around your ankles in what you can only describe as an army-grade knot. He does it so efficiently that you half-suspect he learned it from a training manual. You roll your ankle lightly, testing it.

‘Not too tight?’ he asks, standing again.

You shake your head.

‘Ready?’ he adds.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be to publicly humiliate myself,’ you say, then lower your voice conspirationally. ‘Promise not to judge me if I eat dirt.’

He looks at the grass, then back at you. A hint of a smirk forms on his lips. ‘Only if you don’t judge me when I inevitably sprain something.’

You both step up to the line, ankle to ankle, your arms brushing slightly as you steady yourselves. It's an oddly intimate kind of proximity. Not quite strangers. Not quite comfortable either.

You place a hand on his forearm for balance. Pull it away quickly, like it startled you.

Because it kind of did.

He’s warm. Solid. And there’s a brief pause where you both seem to realize that this is, technically, your first physical contact with someone in longer than you’d care to admit.

You try to ignore the way your heart thumps too loudly for something as innocent as a children’s race.

‘Bound feet first?’ you ask.

He nods.

The PE teacher’s whistle cuts through the air, and suddenly you’re off – or trying to be.

It seems to work at first. A unified step. Then another.

Step, step – lurch.

Your third stride turns into a half-hop, your shoulder knocking hard into his arm. And suddenly you’re both careening sideways in a mess of limbs. He reaches instinctively for your waist, steadying you just long enough to shift his grip to your upper arm instead. His other arm flings out to balance you both, legs braced, anchoring you before you can go down in a heap.

‘Graceful,’ you mutter, cheeks flushed. ‘Sorry.’

‘Terrifyingly uncoordinated,’ he replies. There’s something amused in his voice. Something relaxed.

You’re both laughing by the time you find your footing again. With now-linked arms – because clearly the orange band isn’t enough to keep you from collapsing – you begin moving in an awkward by workable rhythm.

‘One, two. One two,’ Aaron counts under his breath, steady and even. His voice is low, grounding. You match his cadance, letting him lead slightly and to your surpise, it starts to click.

Jack and Eli have found each other and are screaming encouragement from the sidelines. Jack comes in with something like: ‘Use your core!’ which feels absurd coming from a seven year old. Eli takes the more primitive approach and yells ‘FASTER, FASTER!’ over and over.

You laugh until your stomach hurts, and so does Aaron, though his is a more quiet kind of laugh. Soft and surprised, like he forgot what it felt like to do so.

By the time you cross the finish line (second to last) you feel winded, but weirdly victorious. Your kids cheer like you’ve won a medal, and that alone is enough to make you laugh again.

Your arm falls away from Aaron’s as he unties the band from your ankles, just as Ei barrels into you with a breathless, sticky hug.

‘You didn’t come last!’ he celebrates.

‘High praise. Thanks,’ you tease, brushing some hair from your face and adjusting Eli’s cap. You look over at Aaron, who’s crouched to wipe mud from Jack’s cheek with that same softness on his face. It suits him.

‘Not bad for a first team effort,’ you say, smiling as your gazes meet.

He straightens, pushing up a sleeve that had fallen down his arm. ‘We survived,’ he agrees. A pause. Like he’s weighing something. ‘Jack thinks we’ve earned juice boxes for our performance.’

You raise a brow, mock-serious.

‘Well, if the children demand it…’

He smiles. A real one, not just polite. ‘I could get us some. If you’re not in a hurry.’

You glance toward Eli, now sitting beside Jack, already chattering about soccer and plotting their next activity like they’ve been friends forever.

You look back at Aaron, who’s waiting patiently, maybe a little unsure.

‘Yeah. I’ve got time.’

[max1461]

Thinking about this post. "The only way to make a cell is from another cell" is somewhat of a troubling fact to me. I mean, not for any practical reason, just because it underscores the precarity of *gestures broadly*.

It's like, some people talk about trying to de-extinct the mammoth. And people are trying to sequence the genome of the mammoth, I don't know if they've done it yet. But even if they do, one of the problems with the idea of de-extinction is... to grow a baby mammoth, you need another mammoth! Last time I heard people talking about this, I think they were talking about using an elephant as a surrogate mother. But imagine if elephants were extinct too.

The point is that information is often tied to the systems that transmit it; even if you know everything in the mammoth genome, once all the mammoths are gone there's nothing capable of reading and using that information. Like when you can't read the data on a perfectly good floppy disk because your computer doesn't have a floppy drive.

This is related to why language death troubles me so much. Even the most well-documented languages aren't actually that well understood; linguists have produced more pages of work on English syntax than maybe any other specific descriptive topic and yet still the only reliable way to get the answer to any moderately subtle syntactic question is elicit native speaker data. We know almost nothing, we can barely extrapolate at all! And every language is like this, a hugely complex system that we know basically nothing about, and if the chain of native speaker transmission is ever broken it's just gone.

"Language revival", I mean from a totally dead language, is kind of a myth. It's like the "came back different" trope. In Israel they revived Hebrew, but Modern Hebrew is really not the same thing as Biblical Hebrew at all. I mean in a stronger sense even than Modern English isn't Old English. All the subtleties of Biblical Hebrew that a native speaker would have had implicit competence with died without a trace. All they left is a grainy image, the texts. The first generation of Modern Hebrew speakers took the rough grammatical sketch preserved in these texts and imbued it with new subtleties, borrowed from Slavic and Germanic and the speakers' other native languages, or converged at by consensus among that first generation of children. There's nothing wrong with that, but it would be inaccurate to imagine Biblical Hebrew surviving in Modern Hebrew the way Old English survives in Modern English. For instance, you can discover a great deal that you didn't know about Old English by comparing Modern English dialects. There is nothing you can discover about Biblical Hebrew by comparing Modern Hebrew dialects in this way.

There's nothing wrong with this, of course. I'm not like, judging Modern Hebrew. I'm just making a point.

Mammoths died recently, so we still have (some of?) their genome. Something that died longer ago, like dinosaurs, we have traces of them in the form of fossils but we could never hope to revive them, the information is just gone. Even if we're not aiming for revival, even if we just want to know stuff about dinosaurs, there's so much that we will never know and can never know.

We imagine information as the kind of thing which sits in an archive, because this is the context most of us encounter information in, I think. Libraries, hard drives. Well obviously hard drives don't last. And most ancient texts only survive because of a scribal tradition, continuous re-writing, not because of actual archival. So I think that imagining archives as the natural habitat of information is sort of wrong; the natural habit of information is in continuous transmission. Information is constantly moving. And it's like one of those sharks, if it ever stops moving it drowns. And if the lines of transmission are broken, the information is gone and can never be retrieved.

Very precarious.

[ghostaholics]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader ➸ TAGS/WARNING(S): none ➸ BANNER CREDIT: cafekitsune & benkeibear

Detail-oriented, exceptional manual dexterity when it comes to sewing him up. Your movements are careful and controlled – meticulous with regards to everything that you do but especially focused on how the edges line up so that they don’t overlap. Other medics – they'll rush. Botch it. A shoddy job like tectonic plates of skin forced to converge on each other, because in his line of work, stitches are an afterthought when there's another bloke with a sucking chest wound whose deep in the throes of respiratory distress and the only immediate threat about Ghost's own injury is the small amount of blood he'll lose. Whatever will get it closed. Nobody else cares much about the cosmetic factor. But you do. Painstakingly so. It's a thankless job to spend three times longer than it should to get it right, but he makes sure to express his appreciation for the consideration you put into every single graze/cut/gash (even more diligent if the injury's to any part of his arm that could mess up his tattoo sleeve). They always heal nicely.

He looks for you, after-hours – well late into the night because you were occupied patching up other soldiers. It'd been a grueling mission, lots of WIAs needing your attention. He doesn't even have a good excuse for this. It's a trivial thing, maybe, to bother you. Like asking Atlas for a favour, with the weight of the world on your shoulders and the soul-crushing responsibility of holding lives in the palms of your hands as though you're the last line of defense against death. This is stupid. This is beyond fucking stupid of him. Almost turns around and walks away from the medical tent, because that's how ridiculous it is. But he convinces himself to head in, asking if you can fix the stitching on his mask because the only person he trusts more than himself to do it is you. Though his request is benign, the significance behind it is profound in ways that he won't admit to himself. There are very few people he can count on. And of course, you say yes with a tired smile and a brightness in your eyes that never seems to dull in front of him no matter how exhausted you might be. It's one of the rare instance he lets his guard down, shows his face. He keeps you company the entire time, telling you about why he wears that mask while you restore it back to original condition.

The irony of having an injured medic: Simon's saddled with the pitiful task of having to step into your role because there's a gash on your forearm that needs to be taken care of. He knows how to do a basic stitch – is fairly confident that he can thread the sutures just like you’d showed him a million times by now whenever he’d been looking for a reason to see you ( ❝ Show me how to do it right. The proper way, yeah? ❞ ). And he's admonishing you to hold still, except it's sort of difficult when you're being treated like a bloody pincushion. He'd never let anybody else get away with making fun of him for that but this is you so he lets it slide. After talking him through it (which you find quite odd, considering that he never would've struck you as someone who’d need extra time and help), you inspect his handiwork, mildly impressed.

❝ Oh, you actually... well, you did quite a decent job. ❞ ❝ Of course. ❞ Because he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfecti— ❝ But then again, it is a little off over here, ❞ you point out, just to deflate his pride. There's still smugness to his tone. ❝ Would you like me to start over, then? ❞ ❝ Not on your life, Riley. ❞

He doesn’t mention how phenomenal he is at suturing, doesn’t mention that he sat in on a class for combat specialists early on in his career even though he didn't need to be there and was commended for his technique by the leading instructor. He definitely doesn't bring up the fact that he's been taking long on purpose just because he likes your company.

[jesterkoops]

You tricked me, my Helly

Thoughts and speculation about 2x09 after the cut

After having had 24 hours to mull over the episode, I have to say that the thing that lingers the most with me is Jame Eagan's monstrous presence. While short in terms of screentime, it weighs and permeates the episode in important ways.

I did not expect someone who makes Tywin Lannister look like "dad of the decade" by comparison. I know there have been a lot of discussions about Helena being as trapped as Helly is on the severed floor, but I did not expect it to be so literal. She has no control over where she lives, what she eats, how she eats it, how she gets around, her own severed body, and, most likely, who she [doesn't] get to love. So much for "Helly's rebelliousness is Helena's entitlement". That looks like a pretty silly read now, doesn't it? I read a wonderful comment saying that the time she spent as Helly was probably the time she experienced the most privacy in her entire life. Which is so incredibly ironic. Helly being so jealous of their outies life out there and Helena being so jealous of life on the severed floor because to her it's freer than anything she's ever experienced.

And Jame's ominous presence on the severed floor at the end of the episode, his "You tricked me, my Helly", might very well be the key to a whole bunch of reveals in the next episode that could potentially converge the innie/outie combo that so far has been the most distant from one another.

First, this is Helly with Jame. Helly has only interacted with him once before, at the gala, at the one and only moment we saw him being fatherly towards Helena. So she probably doesn't have any strong feelings about him other than "he's her dad and he's a monster like she is". But if she now finds out who he truly is, and what he is capable of towards his own daughter, will her perspective on Helena not inevitably shift and a lot of her presumptions and beliefs about her have to be challenged?

On top of that, there's that line: "You tricked me, my Helly." Now, he could very well be referring to the time they 'met' at the gala, or the fact that Helly is hell bent on wrecking havoc on the severed floor. But the timing of it is a bit odd, because why would he show up now and not when she tried to hang herself, or after the OTC, or when Irving tried to drown her? Why now? Maybe because, as I have seen some speculate, as I have, it is Helena who somehow tricked him on the outside in ways we are still not privy to. There's been plenty of weird behaviour from her on the outside this season, from her interaction with Mark at the restaurant (about which I speculated about here) to the question of whether in this episode she deliberately sent Burt after Irving because she knew he would help him out. Britt has also talked plenty about Helena's needs and desires starting to clash with those of the company, but so far we have seen nothing explicit about it. So unless she's totally off in analysing her own character (I doubt it) there's something awaiting in the finale.

If this is the case, if Helena has started working against her father, and he is down there to punish her in her innie form because he knows that it's the one he can probably get best away with (as the massively disturbing implications about the birthing retreat have demonstrated), that will also be a massive shock to the system for Helly "we are not the same" R.

Maybe that "Helly E" was not just a throwaway joke, but the new Helly that will emerge at the end of this season. Not a reintegration in the physical sense, but the beginning of a realignment of some sort.

[And maybe the answer to Jessica's refusal to say which is her favorite pairing because it would be a spoiler... it's not Mark and Helly R, it's Mark and Helly E?]

[algebraic-dumbass]

this might be a dumb question but like. how do you learn math without a class/curriculum to follow. i have a pretty solid calculus understanding and I want to pursue more advanced math but like im not sure where to start. what even is like category theory it sounds so cool but so scary???. do you have any recommendations on specific fields to begin to look into/whether its best to learn via courses or textbooks or lectures/etc.? any advice would be super appreciated!! dope blog by the way

thanks for the compliment!

first of all it's not a dumb question. trust me i'm the algebraic-dumbass I know what I'm talking about. okay so uh. how does one learn math without a class? it's already hard to learn math WITH a class, so uhhh expect to need motivation. i would recommend making friends with people who know more math than you so you have like, a bit more motivation, and also because math gets much easier if you have people you can ask questions to. Also, learning math can be kind of isolating - most people have no clue what we do.

That said, how does one learn more advanced math?

Well i'm gonna give my opinion, but if anyone has more advice to give, feel free to reblog and share. I suppose the best way to learn math on your own would be through books. You can complement them with video lectures if you want, a lot of them are freely available on the internet. In all cases, it is very important you do exercises when learning: it helps, but it's also the fun part (math is not a spectator sport!). I will say that if you're like me, working on your own can be quite hard. But I will say this: it is a skill, and learning it as early as possible will help you tremendously (I'm still learning it and i'm struggling. if anyone has advice reblog and share it for me actually i need it please)

Unfortunately, for ""basic"" (I'm not saying this to say it's easy but because factually I'm going to talk about the first topics you learn in math after highschool) math topics, I can't really give that much informed book recommendations as I learned through classes. So if anyone has book recommandations, do reblog with them. Anyways. In my opinion the most important skill you need to go further right now is your ability to do proofs!

That's right, proofs! Reasoning and stuff. All the math after highschool is more-or-less based on explaining why something is true, and it's really awesome. For instance, you might know that you can't write the square root of 2 as a fraction of two integers (it's irrational). But do you know why? Would you be able to explain why? Yes you would, or at least, you will! For proof-writing, I have heard good things about The Book of Proof. I've also heard good things about "The Art of Problem Solving", though I think this one is maybe a bit more competition-math oriented. Once you have a grasp on proofs, you will be ready to tackle the first two big topics one learns in math: real analysis, and linear algebra.

Real analysis is about sequences of real numbers, functions on the real numbers and what you can do with them. You will learn about limits, continuity, derivatives, integrals, series, all sorts of stuff you have already seen in calculus, except this time it will be much more proof-oriented (if you want an example of an actual problem, here's one: let (p_n) and (q_n) be two sequences of nonzero integers such that p_n/q_n converges to an irrational number x. Show that |p_n| and |q_n| both diverge to infinity). For this I have heard good things about Terence Tao's Analysis I (pdf link).

Linear algebra is a part of abstract algebra. Abstract algebra is about looking at structures. For instance, you might notice similarities between different situations: if you have two real numbers, you can add them together and get a third real number. Same for functions. Same for vectors. Same for polynomials... and so on. Linear algebra is specifically the study of structures called vector spaces, and maps that preserve that structure (linear maps). Don't worry if you don't get what I mean right away - you'll get it once you learn all the words. Linear algebra shows up everywhere, it is very fundamental. Also, if you know how to multiply matrices, but you've never been told why the way we do it is a bit weird, the answer is in linear algebra. I have heard good things about Sheldon Axler's Linear Algebra Done RIght.

After these two, you can learn various topics. Group theory, point-set topology, measure theory, ring theory, more and more stuff opens up to you. As for category theory, it is (from my pov) a useful tool to unify a lot of things in math, and a convenient language to use in various contexts. That said, I think you need to know the "lots of things" and "various contexts" to appreciate it (in math at least - I can't speak for computer scientists, I just know they also do category theory, for other purposes). So I don't know if jumping into it straight away would be very fun. But once you know a bit more math, sure, go ahead. I have heard a lot of good things about Paolo Aluffi's Algebra: Chapter 0 (pdf link). It's an abstract algebra book (it does a lot: group theory, ring theory, field theory, and even homological algebra!), and it also introduces category theory extremely early, to ease the reader into using it. In fact the book has very little prerequisites - if I'm not mistaken, you could start reading it once you know how to do proofs. it even does linear algebra! But it does so with an extremely algebraic perspective, which might be a bit non-standard. Still, if you feel like it, you could read it.

To conclude I'd say I don't really belive there's a "correct" way to learn math. Sure, if you pursue pure math, at some point, you're going to need to be able to read books, and that point has come for me, but like I'm doing a master's, you can get through your bachelor's without really touching a book. I believe everyone works differently - some people love seminars, some don't. Some people love working with other people, some prefer to focus on math by themselves. Some like algebra, some like analysis. The only true opinion I have on doing math is that I fully believe the only reason you should do it is for fun.

Hope I was at least of some help <3

[familyvideostevie]

tlou season 2: episode 7 thoughts

wow you guys we fucking made it. my tldr is get me out of the hell that is the writing of s2 and into the probably-similarly-bad-but-i-care-less-about-it-being-right-hell of s3. bring! it! on!

spoilers for tlou hbo and tlou part ii below.

EPISODE 7: THE CONVERGENCE

first of all, stupid fucking title. considering this whole time the viewer has no idea that abby and ellie are circling each other -- this would have been a better title for the theater from abby's pov, but whatever..

GOOD -jesse. how i love you, how i wish we got more of you. i think that his relationship with ellie and by extension dina is not quite what i wanted -- but i think it suits the way ellie behaves. i just think young did a really nice job as this man who is in a sort of impossible situation and has to make choices that are stressful and always hurt someone because shoulders such responsibility. and a young man who does not think he will run out of time! -the dressing room scene looked nice visually. if we take away the point of the scene (more on that later), i think it was a nice moment for ellie and dina. and shows some of their dynamic -- dina taking care of ellie even though she's the hurting one cause ellie won't ask. -hilarious that shimmer lived. good for you, queen -more than one prophet is...kind of interesting? i think it's one of many heavy handed moments of trying to hook people for s3 by asking questions we didn't know we wanted answers to -i think the way i've given up on ellie's writing and her plotline for the show have made me hype as fuck for abby. i love the hints we finally get about what's going on with her -- gearing up for the invasion with Isaac, abby and owen being missing, manny being present. it makes me excited for the next season! i wonder how folks who have no idea what is happening saw some of these scenes. guess they'll find out in two years! -ellie getting the abby game trailer treatment is wild and i was kind of gagged by it so it gets to live up here in the good section but this was another heavy handed moment of writing obviously for the invasion. also the first time i really noticed the space pin on her backpack? i must have seen it before, but. well, it wasn't present LAST WEEK. -i was laughing like the joker when we got to the aquarium, sorry. this is such an intense scene that drags and drags and drags as you play it -- with so many hints. the broken ceiling window, the bloody bandages, the arguing. man, and the music. this is the building music i wanted in 202 before joel died, but whatever. more on the actual content of this scene below but the lead up was really nice (no alice but i guess HBO draws the line at killing animals on screen). -never in my life have i been so glad to see tommy. bro how i missed you. -abby. abby abby abby abby. i never thought i would be so glad to see you. and she looked so good, i can't lie. the jacket, the braid, the bruises around her neck. this entire end scene actually rocked my world. again, maybe I'm just excited for something different, but i was on my FEET when we flashed to her on the couch (why is she wearing lip gloss but whatever) and her room looked great and the stadium looked great and DAY ONE. WOW. and the soundgarden kicking in...GET ME THERE NOW

IFFY -the dialogue in the dressing room. some of it will be in the next section but some of it is here. I thought it would be harder to do, but it wasnt, it was easy. I am finally coming around to the idea that they are writing Ellie as darker than originally written on purpose — that this rage simmering inside her is making her into someone she thinks she always has been, instead of someone she doesn’t recognize. and like, i think this would be interesting if it was not followed by Kellie feeling guilt with "maybe she didn't" and the resolution of the conversation or lack thereof. idk, i just don't think i understand what how are supposed to think about ellie's flip flop between vengeance and guilt.

-sooooo obvious that jesse was a gonner. like, come on. -the park and Isaac convo was weird for a few reasons. first on the list is okay are you in love with her or something? You wouldn’t be the first old man to — I just don’t get why we need to be having these conversations and these lines bro what’s the purpose. this this meant to hint at something? if so i missed it like bro -second is abby as the head of the WLF — that is really interesting to me. I don’t actually think she was ever WLF leadership material — she was fueled by one thing and one thing only and Isaac gave that to her and she came back fucked up and he knew that. So like, why would she be leadership material now? She’s by all rights an outsider, only joined up 5 years ago. Like, I think this is just filler to make her relevant right now in this moment, but I don’t think we needed it. We could have just said that she’s missing and it’s a concern because it IS — she knows sensitive information and she would have been an asset in the invasion, she's a soldier who went AWOL and we know the WLF takes things seriously. -it’s EXTRA interesting how they follow the conversation above about abby with this confession from Jesse — that he wanted to leave jackson but he didn’t, that he stays because he feels a sense of responsibility and also, though he doesn't say, probably wants to be needed like that. And how Ellie reacts, too — I think he’s trying to tell her something important, that he’s there to look after her and that maybe she will grow into someone like that? that he wants that for her? but they are unable to communicate this. It’s interesting and also sad, right, cause he is going to fucking die because he cares about her and dina.

But honestly, it does make sense to have this convo right before Ellie and Jesse split up — cause, dude. This moment in the game made me so frustrated with Ellie. And honestly? This Ellie is selfish! Fuck the community! It’s really interesting, actually, Ellie comparing it to them not helping the seraphite kid, etc. like, she has a point — but it’s all too heated. She should go home. She really really should and at this point she’s lying to herself that she shouldn’t. And he knows that she would do whatever it takes for anyone she loves, not just Joel. And is that a flaw? Who is to say! like, i don't like it, but i think it makes sense. i just don't get why the want us to hate ellie so bad lol -this girl just fucking finds a boat and she just gets on it. Girl, I had to fight so many seraphites and so many WLF and a fucking bloater to get you that fucking boat. Also are we just supposed to assume she can swim now? Kind of a hilarious way to reintroduce that part without the flashback showing us. Also this green screen blows like really bad???? really really bad? -im thinking about the aquarium and Mel and Owen. they are both the most sympathetic members of the group — that is clear early on and will be made clearer later. It's interesting because tommy is right! they both were there, they both participated, they both can be held responsible. the thing that i can't figure out is if this was a weird pro-life slant on mel's death or not. i think that, at the very least, it's a scene that will drive home ellie's inability to settle down later in the game as well as (if they do this) abby's indifference to dina's pregnancy during the theater fight. mel uses her last moments to beg for the life of her unborn child and ellie cannot save them (no way that was going to work anyway, but that's not the point). i think this could be a line to how ellie will leave her life for santa barbara -- how she fumbles in the moment when it comes to children.

but like, idk, there's something pro-life in my mouth about this whole scene that i cannot articulate. mel (whose name i do not know) was Acting, though, good for her. the thing is, this scene is again jerking our chain back to ellie being a sympathetic character. like, she does not shoot mel on purpose here and she is clearly very upset and regretful that she died. like, damn! i need to think about this one more and am interested in your thoughts

BAD -only one bad point here. i hate that ellie tells dina the whole truth of it. Sorry, I hate it. I sort of assume that someday ellie does tell her — maybe? I don’t think about it a lot. But I think Ellie carries the burden of what Joel did by herself on purpose, in part because of guilt and in part because she doesn't fully understand it, even with time. I think that Nora telling Ellie in the hospital is so that ellie can tell Dina and then feel guilty or like, guilty about not being guilty about joel killing the fireflies? and her own kills of the WLF?

I just don’t know what this is supposed to emphasize most. Looping dina in when she has this established relationship with Joel — it makes some of this about her in a way that it does not have to be (obviously it’s about her because she’s there and she’s injured and she loves Ellie) but now it’s like, even more about her? And then Dina saying we need to go home — it’s all setting the stage for their eventual tension to be even more awful cause this is where it starts, right here. Not on the farm, not after the fight with abby, but here, in this moment. a secret that ellie had been keeping, an act of violence that has nothing to do with dina but she now feels the affects of and will for the rest of her life, right? i just think ellie was mean to carry all of this alone. because wow -- how do explain that to someone? i was love so much that it killed people.

so. that's the end. the way i am excited for abby's days is actually so out of left field that I'm surprised as hell. but, jesus. i think i just want something new. i bet it'll be full of its own bullshit but damn! let's get it, abby. eager as always to hear everyone's thoughts. back to my part ii playthrough. see you in 2 years or whatever. very good time to remind you that you can find all of my tlou fics that are not x reader on ao3 under wmthackeray xoxo

[oh-stars]

Eddie's Quest

Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 916 words | CW: implied bad Harrington parents, rec drug use | Rating: T

--

There isn’t much from Steve’s childhood that Eddie knows about and what he does know, hasn’t always been good. Steve just doesn’t share a lot in general though. He’s content in living in the present, which isn’t something Eddie really knows how to do. So when Steve does share something positive, something that he holds dear from his childhood, Eddie latches on.

Their anniversary is coming up, only a few weeks away, and Steve mentioned he misses the way a babysitter made this specific kind of cake. Black something. Steve couldn’t remember the name of it so now Eddie’s on a mission to try and figure it out. 

Eddie finds himself at Claudia Henderson’s doorstep on a Tuesday morning with flowers in his hand. When she opens the door, Eddie doesn’t even let her say hello before he’s giving them to her with a, “I need your help finding this really obscure recipe to make Steve happy and I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightmare because I can’t bake for shit. Will you please help?” 

Claudia coos at him. “Oh you’re the sweetest, Eddie! Of course, I’ll help! Come in, come in.” 

They end up pouring over all her cookbooks, and then Claudia starts a phone tree with Karen, Sue, and Joyce for their recipes. All five of them converge at the library, their personal cookbooks in hand, to take over one of the study rooms the library offers. “If we don’t have it,” Claudia told him as they settled in, “then the library will.” 

Eddie can’t even argue as they get to work. 

“Did he say what it tasted like?” Karen asks as she starts flipping through a book. Joyce had the brilliant idea of marking where all the dessert sections started in each book, so each woman was currently flipping away while Eddie tried to remember every detail Steve had mentioned. 

“He mentioned cherries,” Eddie groans, scrubbing at his face. “And it’s a cake.” 

“Could be topped with cherries,” Sue hums as she sorts through her books. 

“Or a cherry filling,” Claudia points out. 

“Steve has a sweet tooth,” Joyce adds after a while. “He likes rich flavors, so it’s probably on the sweeter side than a refreshing dessert.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I guess?” 

“You know,” Karen says as she taps her fingers against her book. “I think I remember a few of Steve’s nannies over the years. They were always at the school for pick up. Do you know which one has the recipe?” 

“Does she still live here?” Sue asks. “It would save us some time to just ask.” 

“No, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “He said his parents didn’t let him keep in touch and she moved away. He doesn’t know where.” 

The women share a knowing, quiet look amongst them. Eddie’s not sure he’s fluent in their silent mom language, but he knows a judgy look when he sees one. 

Eddie jumps up and paces the room, retracing every line of thinking that particular conversation followed. The problem is, they were high as fuck when Steve brought it up, sharing tidbits between big bites of the ice cream they’d found in their freezer. 

“You would have loved her,” Steve had said with a mouthful. He was laying on Eddie, legs hanging off the arm of the couch and propped against Eddie’s side so they could share the pint. “She liked to read a lot, always had books for me.”

“What kind of books?” Eddie asked. 

“Think ones.” Steve shrugged, eyes glazed over. “Fairy Tales, but the real gross stuff. So my dad wouldn’t get mad,” he added quickly. 

Gross fairy tales, Eddie thinks. He knows what Steve’s talking about, the original dark shit that they used to scare children into behaving from the grim–

“German!” Eddie screeches as he slams his hands on the table. To their credit, none of the mothers jump except for Joyce. “She was German!” 

Karen looks up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed in concentration. Claudia taps her fingers against her temple. Sue hums as she checks a few of the spines on the other stacks. Joyce leans back, crossing her arms as she stares off into space. 

“That has to help,” Eddie tries, quieter, “right?” 

“Maybe,” Karen says as she blinks back at the cookbook. She trades it for another. “And you’re sure it had cherries?” 

“Oh!” Joyce jumps up, hands flailing as she grabs for a book off Claudia’s stack. “I know it!” 

They all crowd around the book, heads tucked together as Joyce flies through the sections and slaps a finger against a chocolate cake. “Black Forest Cake,” she says, panting a little. 

Eddie moves the book to read the description. “This is it!” 

Their cheering gets them kicked out, but none of them seem to mind as they tote their cookbook stacks back to their cars. Claudia and Sue are already talking about commandeering Karen’s kitchen to bake it in a few days, since her kitchen is bigger, and they can all help – make a day of it with wine and gossip. He doesn’t care how it gets made, just that he can take it to Steve, to show him he listens and cares and loves him so much. He can’t wait to share this cake with him, to make it for him every year just because. His quest will be complete and he’ll get to live happily ever after with a very happy, well-fed prince. Best quest yet.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[xxfaithlynxx]

Converging Lines

Word Count: 11.2k

Hearts In The Static

Strange musical interlude?

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Isekai, OC insert, Polyamory / Polyamorous Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, body image issues, Unreliable Narration, Protective Male Characters, rivals to lovers (sort of), past trauma, Everyone Loves Her But She Doesn’t Know Why, Heavy Angst, Fix-It Fic (but of the soul) Mental Health Themes (Depression, ADHD, pcos, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), Suicidal ideation (past), Self-Harm Mention (Non-Graphic Flashback), Emotional Abuse (Referenced past) - Freeform, Body Dysmorphia, Trauma Recovery, Discussion of Medical Symptoms, feelings of worthlessness, Slow Healing & Difficult Conversations, themes of death, Survival, and identity

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

Chapter 11:

The dining table still had that faint smell of varnish and fresh lumber—like the promise of a life just beginning to form shape. I sat between Xavier and Caleb, my fingers curled around a mug I wasn’t drinking from. Rafayel lounged across from me, his arms draped over the chair like it was a throne, and Sylus—of course—was pacing. Not aimlessly. Calculated, coiled with purpose like he was about to brief us on an op that could end the world.

He looked at me first.

Then all of them.

“Let’s talk about what we know,” Sylus said, voice low but sharp. “About her arrival. About what’s changing. And about what that means.”

A knot pulled tight in my chest as four sets of eyes flicked toward me. I wasn’t sure if I was the puzzle or the bomb.

“She showed up unconscious,” Sylus continued, nodding in my direction. “Injured. Wearing a bodysuit no one in this world manufactures. Not even Onychinus. That means her appearance wasn’t just some coincidence. It came with a signature.”

Xavier leaned forward slightly. “A metaflux?”

“Worse,” Sylus said. “I encountered a fluctuation last night in the N109 Zone. Electrical fields were spiking. Streetlights blinking in sequence patterns that shouldn’t exist. Some buildings... were casting echo signatures. Like ghosts of something from somewhere else. The readings weren’t native.”

“You think she caused it?” Caleb asked, tone unreadable.

“I think she’s the convergence point,” Sylus replied. “Or at least tethered to it.”

Rafayel tilted his head at me. “Phone?”

I blinked. “My—?”

“Phone, cutie.” His fingers made a little ‘gimme’ motion. Reluctantly, I passed it over.

He tapped across the screen like he’d done it a thousand times before, entering contact after contact. Rafayel, Xavier, Caleb, Sylus. And—he paused a moment—Zayne. Of course. “Can’t forget Doctor Broody,” he muttered, flicking it back to me with a wink.

I stared down at the screen. The interface. The layout. The Moments tab. The News portal. Public posts. Forums. The colors. The swipe pattern. It was exactly like the game. My game.

My stomach twisted all over again.

“This isn’t just tech,” Caleb said slowly, voice now lower. “She knew things. About all of us. And not just surface details.”

“She knew who we were before we even spoke to her,” Xavier added, looking at me like I was made of starlight and wire. “That’s not intuition. That’s memory.”

“And memory,” Sylus said carefully, “shouldn’t transfer across dimensions unless something’s wrong .”

Something cold settled into my spine.

“And what if I was never supposed to be here?” I whispered, voice brittle as glass.

Sylus met my gaze, unreadable. “Then we find out why you’re here anyway. And what the universe expects you to do.”

No one said anything for a beat.

Then Raf leaned in, resting his chin on his palm. “What’s stranger? That she came here like this… or that none of us were surprised?”

I looked down at my phone again, thumb brushing over the screen like it might answer me.

I didn’t know what to think. I’d thrown myself off a bridge to escape my world—and woke up in one that seemed to be unraveling at the seams because of me .

And maybe the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of me wondered if I wanted this world to change.

I took a breath, hands steadying against the table’s smooth varnish. I didn’t want to speak—but something inside me couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“I—I know some of this,” I began, voice quiet but firm. “About the metaflux, Protofields, Protocores… the Tunnel.”

Their heads snapped toward me. Even Sylus paused.

“You mean you actually do know it all?” Rafayel asked, tone soft but incredulous. “How much?”

I swallowed. “Start with the basics—the Tunnel opened over Linkon in 2034. That’s when Wanderers began appearing. They’re creatures formed of metaflux. When a Hunter kills a high‑rank Wanderer, it drops a Protocore—cosmic energy you can use for power, experiments…” I squinted at them, focusing. “Xavier’s Crown Prince story—Skyhaven runs on a Protocore. The Tunnel’s energy explains so much.”

Caleb looked at me with that unsettling haze in his violet‑orange eyes—part wonder, part calculation.

“I know about Protofields too,” I continued, louder. “They’re alternate dimensions created by Wanderers during combat. Professor Shaylin discovered them—they’re real, physical spaces. Hunters call them extra danger zones.”

Xavier’s breath hitched. “And the tableaux? The energy drift she mentioned?”

“Yes. Protofield echoes. Echoes of spaces. And flux spikes.” I glanced at Sylus. “Like you saw in N109.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s validating to hear it all said out loud. Disturbing—but validating.”

Rafayel let out a low whistle. “You know why Evol and Aether Cores matter too?”

I nodded. “Aether Cores are separate to Protocores—only certain people can wield them. They can give you Resonance Evol powers. Sylus’ eye, Xavier’s link to Philos—all Aether stuff. They hold much more power.”

Raf chuckled softly. “Damn. You do know your lore.”

Xavier leaned in, voice gentle. “Why… do you remember it all so perfectly?”

I closed my eyes. “Because it was real to me. In my world, I wanted to disappear. My only solace was that game.”

A silence fell across the table. Heavy. Electric with truth.

Sylus exhaled slowly, and his tone softened. “So the world you came from… this was your life.”

I met his gaze. “Yes. And now it’s bleeding in here through me.”

Caleb and Rafayel shared a look. Then they returned their eyes to me.

“Thank you,” Sylus said, voice low but sincere. “Your memory… it’s not just knowledge. It’s evidence.”

Xavier nodded. “We’re going to need that. To figure out what this convergence is. How the Tunnel, your arrival, those anomalous fluctuations—all of it tie together.”

Rafayel tapped his knuckles over the surface of the table before a finger stuck out, pointing at my phone. “Now that your number’s on file, feel free to text us if the flashbacks hit.”

I half-smiled at him. The room felt warmer now. Less terrifying.

Less alone.

We all leaned forward as Sylus laid out what felt like a crisis plan, running parallel with the hum of possibility. His voice carved the tension into something manageable:

“Next steps,” he said firmly, “we map out the bleed. Find the hotspots. Start with anomalies in the city—power, flux, proto-signatures. We can’t wait for disasters.”

Xavier excused himself first and drifted toward the living room, remote in hand. He flicked on the smart TV, tuning it to a local news channel. “Let’s see if Linkon’s flicker was reported by civilians.” The screen showed anchor updates—missing pets, routine traffic alerts, nothing earth‑shattering.

“But that’s the problem.” Xavier’s voice throbbed through the room. “If this is baseline… we’re underneath the threshold. I’ll set my Hunter's Watch to really scan for metaflux spikes. If anything pops, I’ll know.”

Silence rippled with weight.

Rafayel tilted his head toward me. “What else do you remember? Countless things—like Protocores are drops of cosmic energy from Wanderers.” He motioned to me. “You nailed that, but anything more?”

My pulse buzzed. I inhaled.

“Wanderers—monsters formed from stray metaflux, emerging through the Tunnel from 2034 onward.” I paused. “Killed Wanderers release Protocores, which Hunters use for Evol—Evol that can resonate with Aether Cores. And Protofields—the alternate dimension bubbles Wanderers escape into… and we can follow them in,” I added, glancing at Sylus. “But it’s dangerous without Evol support.”

Raf’s eyes widened. “You didn’t just glance, that’s for sure.”

Caleb frowned. “You actually played how much did you—”

“Enough to know Hunter pair protocol. And that Hunter teams—like UNICORNS Alpha—require Evol pairs to enter dangerous no-hunt zones.” He looked at Sylus. “Does that track with your field logs?”

Sylus nodded. “It does.” He turned to me. “You’ve got more. What about Aether and Flux nexuses?”

I closed my eyes. “Aether Cores, Protocores with deeper resonance. They bind to strong Evolvers—like Xavier, Zayne… you via your eye, Sylus.” I drew a slow breath. “Flux nexuses are devices that capture stray metaflux energy, but they also destabilize—creating Protofield growth and drawing Wanderers. They’re why no-hunt zones expand.”

Xavier flicked the TV off and returned.

He sat beside me. “You’re… speaking our language. About our world—like you lived it.”

My throat tightened. I'd leapfrogged timelines and basically lived two lives.

Sylus leaned forward, voice low and urgent. “We need to track fluctuations. Instead of reacting, we hunt for precursors. If the world is already leaking—if your world is bleeding into ours—it matters.”

Rafayel tapped his fingers on the table. “We should monitor flux nexus locations, watch for hysteresis spikes. Could be a sign the convergence is accelerating.”

Caleb’s jaw set. “And if Wanderers start popping up out of nowhere, we know it’s not underground. It’s public.”

Xavier nodded, eyes drifting toward me. “We’ll calibrate the Watch, monitor anomalies. I’ll post a police‑grade manpower request discreetly. We need intel.”

I glanced between their faces. Strategizing felt… powerful. Less chaotic.

Sylus gave me a quick but kind nod. “Rest up as much as you can, Aven. Deep dive mode starts tomorrow.”

It felt like being handed a compass in a storm.

Rafayel reached across and squeezed my hand. “You’re in this—not just as the puzzle, but as the key .”

I swallowed, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction.

Any world, real or imagined, was changing beneath us.

And we were burning a path straight through it.

Sylus straightened from leaning against the counter and squared his shoulders. “I’m heading to Onychinus HQ. I need to file our observations—bodysuit, relic phone, metaflux anomalies. The sooner we document them, the better.”

My breath hitched, but before I could answer, he walked over, stopped at my side, and leaned in to press his lips against my forehead. His voice was low as he whispered, “Rest, Aven. We’ll figure this out.” Then he turned and left, leaving a silence in his wake.

Caleb stepped forward, shirt half-buttoned over his sweatpants, his hand drifting to my elbow. He gave me a small, steady smile. “Hey.” I looked up to find his eyes soft and anchored on mine. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Same. I’ll go with him.”

He kissed the top of my head gently. “I’ll be back soon.”

Then he followed Sylus out, leaving me with Xavier and Rafayel.

Rafayel was the first to close the distance, his fingers brushing mine. “That was… considerate.”

Xavier nodded, lingering in my peripheral vision as I processed the tenderness I’d just been gifted.

The quiet stretched, until Xavier cleared his throat. “What do you want to do now?”

I swallowed. Their departures had left an open space in the room—literal and emotional.

“…Have you guys heard of Destiny Café?” I said softly, breaking the hush. My heart jumped as their expressions shifted, surprised and curious.

“Yes, that’s where Raf and I got breakfast from, why?” Xavier asked. His tone was neutral but interested.

Rafayel nodded, sliding around the table until his hand covered mine again. “It’s a cute little place, for sure. What about it?”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “It’s where you meet companions in the system interface.” The place felt real in my memory—warm, floral, full of light streaming through stained-glass windows. “In the café you can chat, tap—we first encountered Xavier there, on the game that is.”

Xavier gave me a half-smile, head cocked. “And you want to… go there?”

I licked my lips and nodded. “It’s familiar. It felt safe in the game. Maybe it’ll help ground me here—help bridge the gap between this and… that.”

Raf’s eyes softened. “Then let’s do it. Take the day for something kind. Something familiar.”

He squeezed my hand gently. “Destiny Café today. We’ll figure the rest tomorrow.”

I leaned into Xavier’s side, and his arm moved to wrap around me. The room felt suddenly warmer, softer—like I’d been holding my breath and was finally allowed to exhale.

Converging lines , I thought—me. Them. Two worlds. Bringing us all together.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

I needed a minute to just be .

Leaving Rafayel and Xavier in the living room, I slipped down the hallway into my room and closed the door with a soft click. The quiet hit me in the chest. It was that kind of silence I’d grown used to—sharp and almost too loud. But now, it came with an undertone of stillness that didn’t feel empty. Just... waiting.

The bathroom was like something out of a futuristic design catalog. Sleek angles, matte black fixtures, and lighting that responded to movement. It almost made me feel like I was trespassing in someone else's life. Still, I peeled out of my clothes, stepped under the water, and let it wash away everything I didn’t know how to process.

Grief. Guilt. Gratitude. All of it tangled into a single aching pulse in my chest.

When I stepped out, the mirror defogged automatically. I caught a glimpse of myself but didn’t linger. I just pulled a towel tight around me and made my way into the bedroom.

Half-dressed, I paused at the side of the bed, grabbing my new phone to check the time. 9:02 a.m., June 14th .

Wait.

June.

A sudden bolt of realization stabbed through the fog of my thoughts.

Caleb’s birthday was yesterday.

I stared at the screen, blinking, thumbing open the message app instinctively. The contact Rafayel had put in— “Colonel Sassypants 🎖️🍑” —was glaringly obvious. Of course he’d do that.

I hesitated a second, then typed:

➤ Happy (belated) Birthday. 🥲🎂 I hope your day doesn’t completely suck.

I hovered for only a moment before I hit send.

The second it was gone, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath without realizing it.

“Dumb,” I muttered, tossing the phone gently onto the bed.

I yanked open one of the drawers and started dressing—black leggings, thick enough to not be see-through but flexible enough to not feel like a prison. A t-shirt that read I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right. I tugged it down over my hips, then reached for the hoodie. It was oversized, heavy, and smelled faintly of fresh cotton and the closet.

Combat boots came next—sturdy, familiar, protective.

Finally, I pulled my hair up into a low ponytail, securing it with one of the thick bands Raf had tossed into my cart yesterday like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I caught myself in the mirror again, hoodie hanging off my shoulder slightly. For once, I didn’t hate what I saw.

I was still me.

But I was becoming someone new , too.

And somewhere, not far off, a sarcastic, sharp-eyed Colonel had a birthday text waiting.

I padded back into the living room, my boots making soft, muted thumps against the floor with every step.

Xavier was the first to look up from where he stood by the window, arms loosely crossed as the morning light filtered over his shoulder. His gaze swept over me slowly—nothing invasive, just… thoughtful. His lips parted like he might not speak at all, but then he did.

“You look… beautiful,” he said, voice low, almost unassuming—like he wasn’t trying to make a thing of it, just telling the truth.

I stopped in my tracks.

Rafayel, seated on the couch, legs casually crossed and his fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve, let out a low, appreciative whistle. “If I’d known all it took was a hoodie and a ponytail to make you runway-ready, darling, I would’ve insisted on this look yesterday.”

Heat climbed up my neck so fast it burned. I felt it crawl over my ears, down my throat. My gut twisted in that familiar way—somewhere between a spark and a shutdown. Like I couldn’t tell if I wanted to lean into it or run straight into the wall.

“Stop it,” I muttered sharply, pulling the hoodie sleeves over my hands and tucking my arms against my stomach. “You two seriously need to get your vision checked.”

Xavier frowned slightly, but not because he was offended. No—he’d noticed it. The armor. The deflection. He didn’t push, though. Just nodded once, like he was letting me win this one. For now.

Before I could even decide whether I’d overreacted or not, my phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket, lighting up against my hip.

I yanked it out, thumb swiping across the screen.

[Colonel Sassypants 🎖️🍑]➤ You remembered? Huh.➤ Not gonna lie, that kinda made my whole day better. I’ll forgive the delay… but, do I need you to tell me how you knew? 😏➤ PS: Did you also know I like strawberry cake and kisses on the cheek? Just in case you’re taking notes.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I nearly drew blood.

My lungs tried to expand and shriveled at the same time. Caleb had this way—of throwing something flirty at me without ever making it gross. Just enough heat to catch me off guard. Just enough kindness in it to leave me breathless.

I didn’t respond. Not yet.

Because what could I even say to that?

Behind me, Raf stood with a little stretch, moving closer with his usual swagger, and Xavier was already moving toward the door, grabbing his coat as if he knew it was time to shift gears.

But I stayed rooted for just a moment longer, clutching my phone like it might disappear in my hands.

Caleb’s words buzzed through me louder than the message ever could’ve.

Not just because of the flirtation.

But because he’d said it made his day better.

And the part of me that still didn’t believe I could be good in anyone’s story suddenly didn’t know where to stand.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The lobby doors swished open as Xavier led me downstairs, Rafayel trailing with his usual easy confidence. Xavier led us to an almost unassuming vehicle. As soon as I saw the word Bronco across the grill, I knew. Its curves caught the sunlight just right, highlighting the soft pearlescent gleam in the paint that matched the hunter’s hair, like starlight.

“Ladies first,” Raf said with a broad grin, holding the door open for me.

I hopped into the rear seat, the leather cool beneath me. Raf smiled and slid into the passenger seat, while Xavier hopped into the driver’s side.

“You better sit up front with me on the way back,” Xavier called as he closed the door, his voice rich with teasing promise.

“Your chariot,” I muttered, already craning to lean forward, but Raf slammed the door gently.

“Gonna earn your front-seat privilege, sweets?”

My lips twitched into a shy smile.

He started the engine—quiet, powerful—and we pulled away. I leaned back, watching the city flow past.

Linkon’s skyline was different when you moved. The air felt clearer than home—almost filtered. Buildings glinted in the sunlight like brushed steel and glass; green rooftop terraces framed by glowing sky-pipes. I pressed my fingertips against the window, marveling at how crisp everything looked.

“It’s… cleaner,” I observed softly. “The air… it almost hurts how fresh it is.”

Xavier glanced my way. “Part of the city’s filter grid. Purifies emissions from the Transit Tunnel. Kind of suicidal if it just went offline.”

Raf shifted in the passenger’s seat, eyes on the road. “We lost a district once when a system glitch knocked out half the sensors. Made it through, though.”

I nodded, words sealing in the moment.

We drove in comfortable conversation—about nothing and everything. The city lingered behind the windshield like a waking dream. As the Ferrari purred down a wide boulevard, sunlight caught my hair, streaking golden highlights through the dark strands I’d tied back this morning.

When Xavier cut between buildings and slowed, I recognized it: the warm glow of Destiny Café up ahead—arched stained-glass windows, climbing ivy, light filtering into geometric patterns on the sidewalk.

I exhaled, heart thumping.

We pulled to a stop outside the small building tucked between towering glass façades. It didn’t look like much from the outside, not compared to the shimmer and pulse of the surrounding skyline. Ivy wrapped around the worn brick exterior, clinging to time-stained walls like secrets. Above the carved wooden door, glowing letters shimmered faintly in the filtered daylight, spelling Destiny in a warm, inviting script that almost felt handwritten just for me.

Xav killed the engine. The silence that followed felt louder than the soft music drifting from inside the café, almost as though the building itself sighed in welcome.

But I didn’t move.

My fingers curled around the seatbelt, unmoving. The leather of the car pressed against my back, and suddenly my throat felt dry. Too dry. My pulse pounded a little louder in my ears. It wasn’t the café. Not exactly. It was everything leading up to this—the surreal feeling of familiarity in an unfamiliar world. The shifting stares from strangers earlier. The boys seeming to know more about me than anyone had in years. The things I’d said. The things I knew . The air itself felt thinner.

And this place, Destiny Café—it had always been the hub in the game. The place where time paused, where threads converged. So much happened here. Quiet moments. Confessions. Dreams. It was never just coffee.

Rafayel’s head tilted back as he looked over his seat, resting one arm on the dash. “Sweetheart,” he said, voice velvet-smooth, coaxing without pressure. “It’s just a coffee shop. We won’t let it swallow you.”

The outside air hit me like a soft current. It smelled faintly of bread, roasted coffee beans, and a strange kind of nostalgia. Like a memory I hadn’t made yet, tugging at the edges of my skin.

I gave a soft breath of a laugh, barely more than a sigh. My legs still wouldn’t move.

Then I felt a hand slip into mine. Warm. Steady.

Xavier.

I looked up and met his eyes—stormy-blue with streaks of silver light. Not demanding. Not even reassuring, exactly. Just… present . “We’ve got you,” he said simply. “Take the step. That’s all.”

The step.

It sounded so simple. But it was a chasm some days. One foot after the other? It had cost me everything, once. And yet—I nodded, slowly. Xavier’s fingers curled around mine as I stepped up on to the curb.

Xavier didn’t let go. Rafayel came around and opened the ornate door ahead of us, a gentlemanly flourish and a wicked smile on his lips as the wind teased his coat behind him. “Welcome to the edge of fate, darling.”

I followed them inside, unsure whether my heart was racing from fear or something else entirely.

But I walked forward anyway.

The bell over the door chimed as we stepped in.

It was like being submerged into a different kind of silence. Not the absence of sound, but the kind that settled into your bones—like walking through the thick hush of snowfall, where everything felt slower, deeper.

My boots clicked softly against worn wood floors as Xavier stepped in beside me, still holding my hand like it was second nature. Rafayel drifted slightly ahead, lifting his hand in a wave toward the girl behind the counter. “Hey, beauty. Got that cinnamon cortado still warming for me?”

She rolled her eyes fondly and waved him off toward the seating area, clearly used to him.

But I wasn’t focused on her. Or the menu. Or the low hum of chatter from the couple near the corner.

No. I was frozen on everything else .

The smell hit first—roasted espresso, burnt sugar, something spicy and warm like cloves—and I felt it coil around my senses. A sense of déjà vu dropped over me like a weighted blanket. My stomach twisted, a knot of recognition and disbelief.

The café looked exactly like it had in the game.

Not similar .

Exactly .

The wall near the counter was a cascade of chalk-painted specials, the lettering curled and soft. Deep teal and gold accents trimmed the windowpanes. Shelves were tucked into nooks with scattered books and ceramic mugs too pretty to be functional. The sunlight coming in through the front windows painted stripes across the marble-sheen table tops. And near the center…

That chair.

That chair.

Low-backed, tufted in soft cream velvet. The same one from the Love and Deepspace homescreen. Where the love interests would sit sometimes during dialogue moments—arms relaxed on the rests, waiting for the MC to approach them one by one.

My legs went cold.

“What the hell…”

“You okay?” Xavier’s voice was low beside me, gentle. Concerned.

I nodded. Or tried to. But I couldn’t look away. My throat was tight, my pulse skipping.

A staff member in a long green apron came around with a soft smile and gestured us toward a booth by the window—one Raf clearly had a reservation for, if his satisfied nod was anything to go by. I followed, still wordless, the boys guiding me with the natural rhythm of people who’d done this a thousand times before.

But this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t normal .

I slid into the seat, Xavier beside me on the right, Rafayel to the left, and tried to ground myself in the here and now. My palm rested against the cool surface of the table. The sunlight warmed the edge of my arm.

Then the music started.

Just low enough to feel like it had always been playing.

“Remember all the times and all the faces, missing you that night, it’s time to face it.”

My breath caught.

No. No way.

Fivefold. Won’t Let Go .

A song from my world. A track I used to scream-sing in my shower, years ago, crouched and heartbroken. A song that wasn't popular enough to just show up randomly on another world’s playlist. My nails dug into my palm beneath the table.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Raf murmured, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. But there was a sharp glint of knowing behind it. He’d noticed. They were both noticing.

“I think…” I managed, voice quiet, almost broken. “I think this place is trying to tell me something.”

I looked out the window, but my reflection stared back in the glass—unsteady, unsure, and so achingly real .

This world knew me better than I knew it.

And I had no idea what it wanted in return.

The lyrics wrapped around me like a ghost with warm hands.

"Through the stormy weather, we’ll stay together..."

My breath caught in my throat. That song wasn’t from here. Couldn’t be. It belonged to my world. Late nights in the dark, earbuds buried deep, blasting against the screaming silence in my chest. And now it was playing here—soft and subtle through the speakers of a quiet corner café on another planet, in another world, with men I wasn’t supposed to meet.

I stared down at the table like it might give me answers.

Rafayel must have noticed the shift in my breathing, because he leaned closer. “You recognize it,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, heart thudding. “That song… it’s from my world. I used to listen to it when I couldn’t sleep.”

Xavier squeezed my hand beneath the table, grounding me.

Raf tapped the table’s surface thoughtfully. “Message Sylus,” he said, flashing me a crooked grin. “Tell Silver Fox we’ve got another bleed-through.”

My brow furrowed. “Silver Fox?”

“That’s his name in your contacts,” Rafayel replied with a wink. “You’ll see.”

I hesitated—then reached into my pocket and pulled out the sleek new phone, fingers trembling a little as I opened the messaging app. Sure enough, Raf had labeled the contact for Sylus as:

🐉 Silver Fox 🐦‍⬛

I tapped it open, took a breath, and typed:

Aven: ➤ At Destiny Café. A song from my world just started playing—Won’t Let Go by Fivefold. Coincidence?

Three dots blinked almost immediately.

🐉 Silver Fox 🐦‍⬛:  ➤ That’s not on any known playlist here. Hang tight. I’ll run a check.

I stared at the screen, the song continuing in the background like it had always belonged here. But it didn’t. It belonged to me —to before . And now it lived here too, bleeding through the seams of this strange new life.

Rafayel watched me as I locked my phone. “You okay?”

“No,” I whispered, my voice paper-thin. “But I’m starting to think none of this is random.”

Xavier’s thumb brushed mine. “Then it means you’re not alone in it either.”

Rafayel and Xavier slipped into a low conversation about art installations and anomaly tracking, their voices hushed but animated. Xavier’s hands moved in careful gestures as he talked, while Raf leaned in, offering theories and soft jokes that only made sense between them. They were giving me space, I realized. Letting me sit with this knot in my stomach without pushing.

I tapped the screen of my phone again.

Still no response from Sylus. I wasn’t surprised. He was likely buried in data at Onychinus HQ, scowling at monitors or snapping at someone in a lab coat.

My thumb hesitated over the screen before backing out of the chat and scrolling to the next name Rafayel had added to my contacts.

🥶 Ice Prince of Poutland 🩺

The smirk hit me before I could stop it. “Really, Raf…” I muttered under my breath. But it worked. Just seeing that dumb name reminded me of how tightly Zayne’s jaw set when he was annoyed, the way his eyes softened just enough when he was around me.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard a second before I typed:

Aven :➤  Hey. Just checking in. How’re you holding up?

It took a moment. Then—

🥶 Ice Prince of Poutland 🩺 :➤ Took a break. Sitting on the roof. Coffee’s bitter. My legs hurt. But otherwise, still functional. You?

I smiled faintly.

Aven :➤  That sounds exactly like you. I’m at Destiny Café with Raf and Xavier. Something weird’s happening again.

A pause. Then:

🥶 Ice Prince of Poutland 🩺 :➤ You okay?

That question—two words—landed deeper than I expected. I didn’t have an answer ready. I didn’t know if I was okay. I stared out the café window, eyes catching on the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through sleek glass buildings and painted warm shadows on the floor.

Aven :➤  Not really. But I’m not alone.

Another pause. And then:

🥶 Ice Prince of Poutland 🩺 :➤  Then you’re better than you think.

I blinked hard, throat tight. The screen blurred for a second, and I looked up—Rafayel had pulled a small notepad from his coat pocket and was sketching something quickly, while Xavier leaned his chin on his hand, half-watching, half-listening.

They hadn’t abandoned me. None of them had.

The waitress came over just as Raf was flipping his sketchpad closed with a dramatic little flourish.

“Ready to order?” she asked, her voice light and practiced.

Rafayel leaned forward first, giving her his full attention and charm like he was painting her into one of his canvases. “One affogato with the house espresso. And a slice of the mocha torte—if it’s fresh.” He winked.

Xavier barely glanced up. “Black coffee. No sugar.” Then, almost like an afterthought, “And the croissant sandwich with egg and spinach.”

The waitress turned to me with an expectant smile.

I hesitated, mind still circling the message I’d sent earlier—Sylus’s silence had started to twist something anxious under my skin.

“Just… water. Please,” I said softly.

She blinked but nodded. “Of course.”

As she walked away, my phone buzzed once.

I snatched it up faster than I meant to.

🐉 Silver Fox 🐦‍⬛ :➤ That song. The café… You’re sure?

I locked onto the screen, fingers flying.

Aven :➤ I’m sure. The music playing right now is from my world. There’s a chair here, the placement, the fabric, right down to the little round white table sitting in front of it, it’s exactly like the Home Screen of the game.➤ I don’t understand, Sylus. Why would this song be here? What is going on?

He responded almost immediately.

🐉 Silver Fox 🐦‍⬛ :➤ Metaflux residuals can create visual or auditory echoes. But those are… usually unstable. Fractured. This is too precise.➤ I’ll dig deeper. Don’t leave yet. I’m sending someone.

My skin prickled.

Sending someone?

My eyes flicked up from the phone to the café entrance, like I expected someone to burst through it already. But the glass doors remained steady, the quiet of Destiny Café broken only by the muted hum of conversation and the soft strain of Won’t Let Go as it looped quietly from hidden speakers.

“I think Sylus just made me nervous,” I muttered aloud, staring down at the text.

Raf leaned in. “Why? What’d he say?”

“That he’s sending someone,” I murmured, my thumb tracing the side of the phone absently. “Said this place shouldn’t be this... exact. Not unless something bigger’s happening.”

Xavier stiffened next to me.

Raf, for once, didn’t smile. “Then we better finish fast.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

I felt the first glance whip through the café before I saw them—two tall, hooded figures entering, the glow of the overhead light reflecting off their bird masks. They moved in perfect sync, slow, deliberate—everyone turned, but I was rooted.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

I knew who they were.

Kieran and Luke.

“...Raf, Xav,” I whispered, panic threading my voice. “That’s them. Sylus sent them.”

The twins slid into position nearby—first one, then the other—just as Caleb stepped in between them, tossing his coat over his arm. He gave me a small nod, his expression soft but unreadable.

Rafayel stiffened beside me, eyes darting between the masked brothers and me. “Well,” he said quietly, voice low enough I could feel it rumbling through the table. “Sylus isn’t exactly subtle.”

Xavier’s grip on my hand tightened, even though his face stayed calm. “Stay close,” he murmured in my ear, though his eyes were locked on the twins.

I watched as Luke (the older twin) flicked his dark, red edged mask sideways, revealing a shock of crimson hair tied back. Kieran mirrored his movements but held still, his quiet presence the yin to his brother’s yang.

They didn’t sit—they just watched. The café’s hum dimmed for me as I stared.

Caleb stepped to our side. His voice was almost gentle. “Sylus trusts them. We have nothing to fear.”

Xavier nodded slowly, still scanning the room. “Luke and Kieran—assistants and hunters.” he mused. “They’re skilled. Allegedly sympathetic... and dangerous.”

Raf exhaled in a way I felt more than heard. “Metaflux-tweaked twins,” he murmured. “Can sense everything each other does.”

The waitress returned, placing another glass of water in front of me, the small clink of condensation hitting the wood loud in my ears. I drank it in slow sips, trying to steady the storm in my chest. Being within breathing distance of them—the twins Sylus used to prune weeds and monitor flux... it felt like standing on a wire.

Caleb pulled a chair up to the end of the booth, his hand drifting over the table to cover mine. His thumb brushed the back of my hand, slow and steady. “Together,” he whispered, just enough for me.

I nodded, eyelids heavy with unshed tears and adrenaline.

The twins didn’t speak. Their silence filled every fold of the tension in the room. But their presence said everything.

I swallowed. My voice was low and brittle. “They’re… here.”

Xavier leaned forward. “As long as they do what Sylus tells them.”

Rafayel’s voice was calm but cold. “They do.”

There was a pause, where the café’s music ticked a little louder, just enough to remind me I was in a real place—not a glitch, not a dream.

The chords of “Won’t Let Go” looped again, and that single guitar riff echoed in my chest.

I squeezed Caleb’s hand, Xavier’s arm tightening in response around my shoulders, Rafayel’s thumb brushing comforting circles on my knuckle.

And I exhaled.

Because no matter what came next—twins, Sylus, the bleed of worlds—I wasn’t facing it alone.

Luke was the first to break the silence.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth and sharp like glass worn down by ocean tide. “ This is the girl who’s got the Boss rearranging his schedule and pulling strings in six sectors.”

He didn’t even look at me when he said it—his eyes instead scanned his surroundings, fingers tapping once, twice against his thigh.

Kieran leaned in beside him, mask still on. “She’s… softer than I expected.” The comment came out flat, observational. Almost clinical.

Rafayel’s eyes narrowed, the usual warmth drained from his voice. “Watch it.”

Luke turned to me then, eyes finally catching mine. Pale, disarming. “No offense, sweetheart. Just surprised. You’re… very much not what we thought.”

“Thought what?” I asked, voice tighter than I meant it to be. “That I’d be glowing? Falling from the sky with wings?”

“No,” Kieran said simply. “Just thought he wouldn’t be stupid enough to get attached. ”

The word hit like a slap.

Before I could react, Caleb scoffed, his arm going taut where it rested along the back of the booth. “Easy,” he warned, eyes like smoldering coals. “Say that again and you’ll be walking out of here with less than you came in with.”

Luke tilted his head, mildly amused. “Feisty.”

“She’s not a distraction,” Xavier said quietly, but with enough weight to silence the room. “She’s the variable. That’s what you’re not getting.”

“She’s the constant,” Raf added. “And honestly, if either of you had an ounce of empathy, you’d feel it. Or are your heads too far up Sylus’s protocols to see that she’s standing in a world that shouldn’t even exist for her?”

The twins exchanged a glance.

I could feel my throat tightening—embarrassment, frustration, that white-hot flash of not being enough rising again. But I didn’t back down. Not this time.

“In the game…” I said, softly, still watching the twins, “you were a little better behaved.”

That got them.

Kieran blinked. Luke raised an eyebrow. “Game?”

“She knows,” Raf said before I could explain. “Everything. Every detail of what she calls her world—our world—but with her as the outsider looking in.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “So the bleed’s worse than he thought.”

“It’s not just the bleed,” Xavier added. “It’s—her. Something about her is catalyzing changes. Maybe not intentionally. Maybe just by existing here.”

Caleb nodded. “She shows up, things bend. That’s not random.”

Kieran finally pulled off his mask, setting it carefully on the table nearest him. His face was lean, sharp-featured, deceptively youthful, his eyes stunned me. His right, a silvery gray, while his left eye was an otherworldly looking gold. “And what’s she supposed to do , exactly? Be your lightning rod?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, voice quieter. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever does,” Luke muttered.

Raf reached across the table and touched my wrist lightly. “We don’t need to have every answer right now.”

I stared at the twins. “But I’m here. And you’re both here. And Sylus sent you. So that has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

Another pause.

Then Luke’s lips twitched upward in a faint smirk. “Suppose it does.”

Kieran sat back, arms folded. “Fine. We’re listening.”

And just like that, the ice cracked.

They weren’t warm. They weren’t kind. But they were present. And for Sylus’s shadows? That meant everything.

Caleb leaned forward, elbows braced on the table like he was trying to physically redirect the tension in the room.

“Alright,” he said, his tone sharp enough to slice through the quiet. “Let’s get back on track—metaflux anomalies. You two have been seeing the same fluctuations Sylus flagged, yeah?”

Luke’s attention flicked to him like a knife tip catching the light. “Some. Noise in the Eastern quadrants. Pulse disruptions. Warps.”

Kieran’s lips barely moved. “And two days ago, something burned through an access node in Sector Twelve. The techs couldn’t even explain it. Looked like a clean sever but left no data trail.”

I tried to follow—my thoughts still knotted from the way they’d looked at me. Like I was something someone dragged in from the street and forgot to leash.

Xavier asked, “Any signs of protofield destabilization?”

Luke gave a tight nod. “Minimal. Like it’s… correcting itself.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Caleb asked.

“Of course it does,” Kieran muttered, glancing sideways at me before adding under his breath, “Though maybe reality’s just rejecting what doesn’t belong.”

My stomach plummeted.

I didn’t even mean to react—didn’t say anything—but my spine straightened, eyes going to the café window like I could escape through the glass. My body always knew before my brain caught up, and now it was screaming at me to shut down .

Xavier was on his feet a second later.

“Say that again,” he said evenly, his voice like frost creeping across steel.

Kieran didn’t blink. “I meant what I said.”

“You don’t know her,” Xavier snapped. “You don’t know her. And you have no idea what she’s already survived—just because you’re too blinded by protocol to see past the surface doesn’t mean you get to dehumanize her.”

Luke lifted a brow, finally looking at me again—and not in a kind way. “We’re just saying what no one else has the guts to.”

“Then grow a spine and say it to me directly,” I said, the words brittle as they left my mouth. “Not like I’m not sitting right here.”

The table went still. My hands shook under the booth, hidden by the shadow of the tabletop. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t brave. I was… tired.

So tired.

“Enough,” Rafayel said, his voice deceptively gentle, but loaded.

Caleb exhaled next to me, rubbing a hand down his face. “Let’s stay focused. The bleed, the metaflux. We’ll let Sylus coordinate with Reitō Station’s analysts to compare data trends—Xav, you can monitor from your Hunter’s gear, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Xavier replied, still glaring daggers at Kieran.

“And I’ll get in touch with the fleet, make sure the Farspace logs are synced up for anomalies too,” Caleb added, shifting back into the calm authority I’d seen on him before.

Kieran huffed, leaning into his chair like the conversation bored him. “Fine. You’ll get your data. Just don’t come crying to us if she ends up being the cause.”

Rafayel stood. “And you two don’t come crying to us if she ends up being the key.”

The air felt thick enough to cut.

I said nothing—just curled further inward, my fingers curling into my sleeves beneath the table. I hadn’t even known I was gripping them so tightly until I felt my nails bite through the fabric.

I didn’t want to cry in front of them.

I didn’t want to need anyone to defend me.

But Xavier’s hand was there again. Under the table. Just his pinky brushing against mine.

And that—somehow—kept me from unraveling altogether.

Luke moved first, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve like we were beneath him, not even worth a wrinkle. “You sure you want her around, Boss?” he said lazily, glancing toward Caleb. “Wouldn’t want her to collapse the metaphysics and your furniture.”

Kieran snorted under his breath. “Yeah. At this rate, she’s the biggest anomaly in the city. Literally.”

My heart didn’t just drop—it imploded.

There was a sharp screech of a chair. Xavier—he was on his feet, teeth clenched so tight I could hear it. But Rafayel was already moving, an arm braced hard across Xavier’s chest, holding him back, while Caleb got a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Caleb said low, a warning. “They’re not worth the fallout.”

“They’re not walking out of here saying that,” Xavier hissed, his chest heaving.

“I know, ” Rafayel growled, his usual velvet voice fraying. “But if you punch Kieran in the face, we’ll be the ones in the headlines tomorrow.”

The twins laughed— laughed —as they strolled toward the glass doors, Luke raising two fingers in a mock salute.

“Try not to break the timeline, sweetheart,” Kieran called over his shoulder to me.

And just like that, they were gone.

The silence in the café was razor-sharp. I couldn’t breathe past it.

I stood. I didn’t look at the boys—I couldn’t. My limbs moved on their own, feet pulling me toward the exit before I even knew what I was doing.

Raf called my name softly. Caleb too.

But I didn’t stop.

The glass ornate doors hissed as I pushed through them and stepped out onto the sidewalk, sunlight stabbing my vision like it was punishing me for existing.

I saw them.

The twins. Still walking. Like they hadn’t just carved me open in front of people I cared about.

“Hey!” I shouted.

They turned, surprised. Kieran looked amused. Luke, mildly annoyed.

I walked until I was close enough for them to hear the shake in my voice but not mistake my purpose.

“Do you feel better?” I asked. “Does it make you feel strong? Cutting someone down like that?”

Kieran raised a brow. “You followed us out here for that?”

“I followed you out here,” I snapped, “because I’ve spent my entire life being treated like I was in the way—like I was the weight dragging everything down. And I’m still here. ”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Well, congrats. Want a medal?”

I swallowed. My throat burned. “No. I want you to know you didn’t break me. You’re not going to.”

Kieran looked at Luke, then back at me with something colder than disdain. “You really think you're some kind of chosen one, huh? Just because Sylus looked twice?”

I didn’t answer that.

Because I didn’t know what I was yet. But I knew who I wasn’t.

“I think,” I said, voice trembling but iron-clad, “that if your whole identity relies on making someone else feel small, then maybe I’m not the broken one after all.”

I turned before they could answer.

My hands were shaking. My chest felt like it might cave in. But I didn’t run.

I walked back to the café door.

Back to the people who had tried— were trying —to care about me.

Even if I didn’t know why.

The door chimed behind me as I stepped back into the café.

I didn’t even realize I was trembling until the warmth of the indoor air hit my skin like cold static. I blinked, once, twice, unsure how to breathe with so many eyes on me—Raf, Xavier, Caleb. All of them had stood. All of them were watching.

“I want to leave,” I said.

The words fell out too softly. Not angry. Not broken. Just tired.

Xavier was in front of me in a heartbeat, hands gently coming to hover near my arms, like he wasn’t sure if I’d flinch. His eyes—those quiet, serious eyes—burned.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

No. Not even close. But I nodded anyway.

His hands didn’t move. Just… hovered. Steady. Like they were there if I needed them, but wouldn’t invade my space unless I gave permission.

I think I did. Because one second I was staring at his chest and the next I was pressed into it, my forehead against the cool fabric of his hoodie. His arms came around me slowly—tight enough to hold, loose enough not to cage me. I could feel how hard he was breathing. How hard I was shaking.

“I didn’t say it earlier,” he murmured, “but I was proud of you. For standing up to them.”

The dam cracked again—but it didn’t break. I sucked in a breath and nodded against him, just once.

Then Rafayel was there, his hand sliding up between my shoulder blades, smoothing down gently as he leaned into my side with an anchor-like warmth. “You scared the hell out of us, sunshine,” he said, voice rough with emotion that didn’t usually belong to him. “Don’t do that alone again. You’re not alone anymore.”

Something about the way he said it— you’re not alone anymore —hit me in a place I didn’t know I still kept locked.

Caleb’s footsteps were heavier. Slower. But when I turned, he didn’t smile.

No teasing grin. No cocky attitude.

Just eyes full of heat. Fury. And a quiet ache.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

I nodded again, even if it was a lie. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his knuckle grazing my cheek with something so achingly tender it nearly undid me again.

Then he turned away and pulled out his phone.

I watched his thumb move across the screen—watched him press the call button.

He didn’t say anything when it connected. Just stood there, lips tight, jaw locked.

Then: “She’s okay. Now. ”

There was a pause, a sigh and then Caleb explained what happened, what the twins had said.

Then an audible yell from the other side of the line.

Even from here, I heard it. Distorted and muffled, but it was Sylus. Enraged. Completely losing it.

Caleb didn’t flinch, but he did pull the phone back an inch with a wince. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he muttered. “No, don’t— Sylus. No. I’m not letting you blow a hole in the sidewalk because of them.”

Another beat. More yelling.

“Look,” Caleb said, quieter now, though his voice was laced with something sharp. “She handled it. Better than we did, honestly. But I thought you’d want to know.”

I stood there, stunned. Half of me curled in on itself, raw and reeling. The other half… didn’t know what to do with the way they looked at me. Like I was real. Like I mattered.

Caleb ended the call with a sigh, dragging his fingers down his face as he glanced at me again.

“He’s not happy,” he said.

“I figured.”

He gave me a humorless half-smile. “He said if I didn’t hug you for him before we left, he’d find a way to make the twin’s eardrums implode remotely.”

Raf huffed a quiet, dark laugh. “He could do it, too.”

“I know,” Caleb muttered. Then he looked at me. “Can I?”

I nodded.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me—lower than Xavier’s hold, a little looser than Raf’s—just long enough for me to feel the heat of him, the weight of someone choosing to be gentle with me.

And for the first time in a long time…

I let myself lean into it.

Just for a second.

After our group hug separated, we walked out, the café door hissed shut behind us, the daylight slicing across the sidewalk like a blade. It felt too bright for how heavy my chest still was.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d curled into myself until Caleb’s fingers slipped into mine. Firm. Warm. Tugging gently.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low, a grin ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “You’re coming with me.”

My brows furrowed, half on instinct. “Where?”

His answering smirk was half wolf, half gleam of mischief. “To Onychinus HQ. Figured you might want front row seats to the ass-rending those two are about to get.”

I stopped walking.

Caleb didn’t.

He tugged again, coaxing.

I hesitated. “Caleb…”

“It’s not just that.” He looked back at me. “You’ve been wondering how all this works—what the real version of our world looks like. Thought you might want to see it for yourself. Plus, you’ll get to see where Sylus does his brooding.”

I blinked. My heart thudded unevenly. “You’re serious?”

“As a metaphysically enhanced twin punch to the face,” he said, jerking his chin toward the ignorantly orange Lanzador parked across the street. “C’mon. I’ll even let you mess with the seat settings.”

A part of me did want to go back to the apartment. Lock the door. Curl up under the comforter Xavier bought me. Pretend today hadn’t shattered the fragile little shield I’d built.

But another part?

Another part wanted to see .

I wanted to understand why this world felt so much more alive—more real —than the one I’d left behind. And if I was stuck here, then I couldn’t keep running from the pieces of it I hadn’t seen yet.

“Okay,” I said softly.

Caleb’s smile lit his face. Not cocky this time. Just… warm.

We crossed the street, Raf and Xavier trailing behind, but I caught the knowing glance Xavier passed between them—like they’d expected this. Like they’d let Caleb take the lead on purpose.

The Lanzador’s gull-wing door lifted like a beast unfurling its wings, and I slid in, the leather seat cool against my thighs even through the thick leggings. The scent of Caleb’s cologne and something faintly electrical filled the space. The dashboard lit up like a cockpit.

As we pulled away from the curb, I stared out the window at the glimmering buildings around us. Their strange, crystalline designs caught the sunlight in prismatic halos. The air felt sharp and clean in a way my world never had—no smog, no thick humidity, no grease-laced haze hanging above the streets.

“What are you thinking about?” Caleb asked, one hand draped on the wheel, the other fiddling with the console.

I shrugged. “This world. How different it is from the game.”

He tilted his head slightly toward me, interested. “Yeah?”

I stared harder at the road ahead. “I mean… in the game, everything was sleek and dramatic and mysterious. Onychinus was… shadows and steel. But here? It’s all that and something more. Alive. Like it’s shifting. Like we’re not just playing a role here. We’re a part of something breathing.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then: “Sylus said you had insight. He wasn’t wrong.”

I flushed and looked away. “Just means I played too many hours.”

“Or maybe,” Caleb said, gaze flicking over to me with something unreadable in his eyes, “you were never just playing.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

So I didn’t.

Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, the hum of the engine filling in the spaces I couldn’t. My palm still tingled faintly from where Caleb’s hand had held mine.

The Lanzador thundered onto Baire Boulevard, the wide avenue that serves as Linkon’s southern boundary. Outside, the city’s bright glow began to dim, buildings growing meaner, chaining the skyline tighter. The boulevard sloped down toward N109, cutter-like shadows carving through the light.

I pressed my forehead gently against the glass, breath clouding the cool surface.

“N109 Zone,” Caleb murmured. “No‑hunt zone adjacent. Lawless. Shit happens fast here.”

We passed derelict transport tubes snaking over crumbling midrises, once gleaming conduits now dead. The air smelled different—thicker. Edged with grit. Even Caleb stiffened in the seat.

Beyond the boulevard, broken neon tubes flickered above a maze of narrow streets. Rusted digital signage warned passersby to “Keep Clear.” Vendors hawked Protocore trinkets from battered stalls beside makeshift labs disguised as workshops. Onychinus ran the whole show—they touched everything here.

Xavier and Rafayel trailed behind us in the Bronco. Foxes tailing the bait. In the distance, dim floodlights illuminated an angular, black-marble structure: Onychinus HQ. Men in dark gear—employees—milled at the entrance, scanning IDs and prowling like predators among shadows.

Caleb slowed as we pulled into the guard–patrolled courtyard.

I swallowed, heartbeat echoing in my ears.

“Want me to come with?” he asked, hand giving my knee a soft squeeze.

I managed a nod. Caleb parked. The engine shut off; the silence crashed in.

We stepped out, footsteps echoing across the obsidian stone slabs. Massive steel columns framed the doorway, etched with crimson glyphs—symbols of onyx and protection. The emblem of Onychinus.

We were close to Sylus’s domain, closer than I’d ever been. The HQ towered behind the courtyard like a dark promise.

A single guard let us pass, eyes glittering—tourists not allowed. We didn’t look like tourists at all.

Inside, we passed through the lobby: walls of cold marble, foot-thick glass windows showing the zone outside like a live exhibit. Elevators stood nearby, each with etched icons—the Armory, the Gem Vault, the Boxing Gym, Dining Hall.

I caught a reflection of me in the glass—holes in my world stitched together by choice and accident.

Rafayel appeared at my side. “His sanctuary,” he murmured quietly.

Xavier exhaled softly. “Familiar, but deadened.”

I looked at them both, searching the stark confidence in their faces.

And then, the doors to the inner sanctum opened, and a crow—Mephisto—soared down the hallway ahead, its metallic gleam catching faint lights. I swallowed again.

“We’re here,” Caleb said. “For better or worse.”

My chest tightened, but I stood taller. Because I wanted this, more than I’d ever wanted anything.

Because if worlds could bleed… maybe I could finally find out why.

“Up here,” Caleb called, already halfway to the nearest elevator alcove, its doors marked by a subtle black ‘Ω’ sigil embedded in a column of textured obsidian.

I followed him, not because I didn’t trust him, but because I was too curious not to. Too tired not to. And somewhere beneath the haze in my chest, a need to see Sylus’ world clawed for air like something buried too long.

The others caught up just as the elevator hissed open.

Xavier nodded once, quiet as ever. He gave me a soft, unreadable glance before stepping in. Rafayel was less subtle. “You okay?” he asked, voice lower now, like I was breakable glass he didn’t dare tap too hard.

I nodded. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t true either.

Caleb leaned forward inside the elevator and pressed his thumb to a biomarker panel. The screen blinked: ACCESS GRANTED — SYLUS PRIVATE

The doors closed with a gentle shhhp.

The air changed.

The interior walls of the lift weren’t metal or glass, but something in between—translucent, soft-paned like crystal. Ambient particles floated lazily within them like slow-motion fireflies in amber. I touched the side and felt warmth pulse faintly in time with my heartbeat.

“I don’t think this is an elevator,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

Rafayel smirked. “It’s a vertical transit pod. Of course it isn’t just an elevator. Sylus lives at the top of the tower.”

“Penthouse?” I said, trying to make it sound light, like I wasn’t cracking inside.

“Something like that,” Xavier murmured. “They call it the apex . You’ll see why.”

The transit pod moved soundlessly, but I felt it—my inner ear tilting, the slight pull of gravity brushing my skin. I braced a palm against the wall, grounding myself. My reflection looked back—warped, floating in fragmented pieces across the semi-transparent surfaces, like even here I didn’t fully exist.

Caleb said nothing.

Then—

A soft chime.

The doors melted away, revealing a corridor of pure twilight.

The floor beneath us turned to darkened glass, etched with faint, glowing veins that reminded me of old maps or circuit boards. The hallway curved, faintly serpentine, and led to a large open space bathed in low golden light.

This was Sylus’ domain.

We stepped into what felt like the eye of a storm.

The air was warmer here, tinged with cedar smoke and something subtly medicinal—like vetiver and violet leaf. The ceiling soared into darkness, and walls bled from cold matte steel into living stone, seamlessly integrated like the building itself was grown, not built.

To the right, an open sitting area wrapped around a sunken fire pit, its flames flickering from obsidian stones set in a reflective base. Floor-to-ceiling glass looked out over the N109 skyline. From this height, the city resembled stars trapped under skin.

I felt my breath catch.

And there—across the room, seated with a tablet resting across one bent knee—

Sylus.

He didn’t look up right away. His left arm rested over the back of the low-slung couch, his body lean and angled like sculpture. But I could feel him sense us. Like something waking.

When his head did lift, his eyes—mercurial and sharp—locked on me.

I took a step back.

Not out of fear. But because something in me knew:

Everything was about to change again.

I barely manage to swallow before Sylus rises. His presence shifts the air—tense silk uncoiling in a still room. The glow from his right eye dims, but the heat of his gaze sweeps to the twins where they stand.

Luke and Kieran slip in behind him, masks half–slipped, mouths twisted in mocking smirks. As they spot me, their eyes flicker—one murmurs something, half-laugh, half-curse. I feel my cheeks burn.

But Sylus’s smile disappears. The elegant tilt in his posture snaps into rigid resolve. His jaw clamps shut, and every inch of his authority pulses through the space.

“Enough,” he says, voice low but thunderous. He steps forward, and the twins flinch—Luke’s mask nearly drops.

I freeze. Everything slows.

Sylus barrels past them, and I swear the room’s temperature drops as he positions himself between us. He reaches out—gently—placing a warm palm on my cheek.

“Are you alright, Aven?” His tone is careful now, stripped of command, soft as cedar smoke.

I nod, voice stuck, but the heat of gratitude floods my chest.

Then his attention shifts. His hand drops, but the menace remains. He regards Luke first:

“You,” he says, and the single word reverberates like iron on stone.

Luke shrinks, eyes flicking to Kieran. Kieran steps forward, voice brittle:

“Boss, it was just a joke…”

Sylus doesn’t flinch. Instead, his Evol hums low—so subtle I almost don’t feel it. But Luke pales.

“I will not have disrespect in my presence,” Sylus says. He glances at Kieran. “Especially not towards her.”

Kieran's shoulders sag. “Yes, boss.”

They don't argue. They don't protest. They just stand—knowing.

I dare a glance up. Sylus releases them and turns fully toward me again. His voice softens:

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He offers his hand—uncertain, kind. I take it.

In that moment, the twins retreat, silent and chastened, leaving Sylus and me in that golden glow. He steps closer, the hum of his Evol pressing around us—tethering me.

Sylus’s fingers slid against mine, a subtle warmth threading through the anxiety spiraling in my chest. His touch wasn’t commanding—not like Caleb’s grip had been outside the café, or Xavier’s steadying palm on my back. It was soft. Meant to anchor, not claim. The tension in my spine loosened by a fraction.

“We’ll talk somewhere quieter,” he said simply, but there was an undercurrent to his voice. A low current of rage still simmering under the calm surface.

The others followed silently as Sylus turned and led us down the corridor that curved off from the hearth-lit sitting area. It wasn’t ostentatious—no gold, no velvet. But everything about it bled a quiet, inescapable power. The corridor lights pulsed with dim violet tones, and I could feel the thrum of some energy source beneath my feet, like the building itself was alive and listening.

We passed a wall of smoked-glass panels and a display of sleek surveillance nodes tracking sector movement in real-time, all muted for now. And then the wall before us split in half—dark matte panels sliding away without a sound to reveal a room unlike anything I had seen before.

Sylus’ office.

It didn’t just look important. It felt like walking into the mind of a man who thrived on precision, control, and beauty crafted from stillness. The entire back wall was a floor-to-ceiling window, curving subtly with the arc of the building, revealing the sprawl of the N109 Sector below us. The city’s lights looked like neural pathways stretching into the void—twinkling veins of neon blue, pulse-red, and bioluminescent silver winding through the dark like an artificial galaxy. Clouds drifted low in the distance, and lightning curled silently in a far-off storm cell. The view was endless. Unapologetic.

A single massive obsidian desk dominated the space, its surface pristine save for a stacked tablet, a suspended light crystal hanging just above the center, and a ceramic cup half-drained of something dark. On the far wall, a holo-map flickered to life, washing the matte panels in a wash of glowing grid lines. The points on the map shimmered—clusters of energy, anomalies—and each one pulsed in and out of phase like a second heartbeat overlaid on the world.

To the right, several floating glass cases lined the wall, each holding tagged vials of metaflux residue—glowing faintly with color-coded energy signatures. Thin, white text scrolled beside each one in a language I couldn’t read but somehow felt like I should understand. The center console beside them was alive with active feedlines and timestamped logs, each one tied to a point on the map… and every one since my arrival.

Sylus didn’t need to explain. I was the anomaly.

He released my hand only once we crossed the threshold, stepping behind the desk to tap a sequence into the console. The glass rotated, segments shifting into place with a hiss, bringing the readings into sharp detail. More than just data—it was like watching a nervous system being diagrammed in real time.

“Everything that’s happened,” he murmured, eyes tracking the pulses, “started with your arrival, then the Destiny Café incident. But these anomalies… they’re layered. Older threads are waking up. Some of them shouldn’t even exist in this quadrant.”

I stared at the log entries. My name wasn’t there, but it was all me . I could see it in the timestamps. The moment I landed in this world, when I stepped into the café. The moment I touched the frame. The moment I collapsed in Xavier’s arms.

Caleb stepped forward beside me, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, eyes heavy with something between guilt and curiosity. “We caught the first metaflux echo when she walked past the reflective surface in the café. There was a burst of interference in the sub‑layer. Sylus, it was dense —like someone had torn through the veil and left the rip bleeding.”

“Xavier said it,” Rafayel added quietly, joining us near the window. “It wasn’t just metaflux reacting to external tech. It was reacting to her. Her presence is changing the way the anomalies behave.”

Xavier nodded once, and his voice—when he finally spoke—was steady, certain. “She’s not just triggering them. She’s stabilizing them after. It’s like… something inside her is acting as a buffer.”

Sylus didn’t speak right away. He watched me.

Not with pity.

With something else—something slower, more deliberate. Like he was trying to see past everything I thought I was, everything I’d been told I wasn’t , and weigh the truth for himself.

Finally, he said, “We’ll trace it all. Every disturbance, every tear. I’m assigning you clearance, Aven. You’ll have access to the data from here on out.”

My heart stuttered. “Me? I don’t—I don’t know how to read any of this.”

“You’ll learn,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

And then—so casually it startled me—he reached over and pulled the plush chair from beneath the window, angling it toward the console. He gestured for me to sit. I did, stiffly. My hands trembled in my lap.

He moved behind the console again, recalibrating something. “I want you to understand what you are to this equation,” he said. “Not a problem. Not a threat. But a variable we were never meant to have… and one I’m not letting go of.”

Behind me, I heard the subtle scuff of Xavier’s boots. Caleb leaned against the wall, arms folded tight. Rafayel lingered near the vials, watching the blue one glow faintly through the glass—just like before.

And outside, past the glass, N109 shimmered like a pulse waiting to break.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

[mononijikayu]

last christmas — gojo satoru and geto suguru

"Don’t make me regret this, Satoru." you mumble, your face warm. “We’re gonna have fun, but in a way we all would enjoy, okay?” “Hm, as you say, senpai!” He replies, still heavily enthusiastic. Suguru, still lying on the other side of the air mattress, lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Great. Now we’re all going, aren’t we?" "Obviously, Suguboo!" Satoru replies, his grin widening as he hops off your side. "I mean, what’s a theme park trip without all my best friends?" “Hey, don’t call me Suguboo.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, angst, fluff, humor, comfort, anxiety, lgbtqia+, friendship, found family, conflicted feelings, break up, noted romantic attraction, flashback, loss, light hearted, hurt/comfort, hurt, physical touch, mentioned character death, trauma, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, pining, sleep over, theme park, overworking, burnt out, nightmares, mentioned character deaths, mentioned trauma, this is the theme park episode folks;

WORD COUNT: 17k words

NOTE: i wanted to continue the past pov between satoru and suguru and this came to mind. i think there will be more on their holidays together but i liked this a lot because i think they'll have this sort of healthy dynamic when it came to their work before hidden inventory. anyway, i hope you enjoy it. happy holidays!!! i love you all <3

box it up, christmas hun! (santa kayu 2024)

main masterlist

us and them

if you want to, tip! <3

THERE HASN’T BEEN A DAY WHEN YOU WEREN’T CALLED INTO A PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE. But that was to be expected. In the line of work you have endured as a sorcerer since a child has made you too used to the situation.

But you felt something different when you entered the Yaga Masamichi’s office this time around. No, everything about this moment was different. Was it the fact that fall was ending and that winter was coming? Or was it his awful cologne choice? Perhaps you will never know. 

“You’re being given leave for the holidays.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not going to receive any winter missions.”

“Are you fucking around with me?”

The air in Yaga Masamichi’s office feels thick, heavy with the tension of your argument. You stand in front of his desk, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your frustration barely contained. Yaga, however, looks entirely unfazed as he reclines in his chair, his large frame a picture of unyielding authority.

"You’ve never taken a day off as a sorcerer. And you never ask for it. It’s high time you were given time off." he says again, voice calm but resolute, like he’s speaking to a stubborn child. "You’re not getting another mission right now. That’s final. The higher ups approved it."

You grit your teeth, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "I don’t need a day off. Do you even hear yourself? Sitting around doing nothing isn’t going to help anyone. Do you know how many grade one sorcerers and grade two sorcerers are going to be dealing with all the cases I don’t do? They need me out there, Yaga!" 

Your voice rises with every word, the sheer unfairness of the situation gnawing at your composure. But Yaga doesn’t budge. His dark eyes remain steady, rooted, as if absorbing your outburst without so much as a ripple.

"What they need right now," he replies evenly, determination heavy in his eyes. "is a sorcerer who can stay on their feet. You’re overworked, and you know it. I’ve let it slide long enough, but this stops here."

"You don’t get it—" you start, but he raises a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence.

"No, you don’t get it, do you?" he interrupts, his voice dropping into a firmer register that makes you flinch, just slightly. "I’ve seen too many sorcerers burn themselves out thinking they can handle everything. They push and push, and then one day, they can’t anymore. I’m not about to let you be one of them."

You shake your head vehemently. "I’m not like the others. I can handle this. I have been handling this!"

"And that’s exactly why you need to stop right now." he counters, leaning forward slightly, his tone softening just a fraction. "You may not want to hear this, but you’re not invincible. Everyone has a limit, and you’re closer to yours than you think. Take a step back before it’s too late."

You glare at him, desperation bubbling up alongside your anger. You refuse to accept this—there has to be another way. "Gakuganji would give me the mission, you know?" you mutter, your voice sharp and petulant.

Yaga snorts, his lips twitching in what might have been amusement if the situation weren’t so serious. "I’m not Gakuganji." he says bluntly. "And thank the gods for that."

His words strike a nerve, and you spin around to face him fully, your fists clenched at your sides. "Why are you doing this? You’re supposed to support us—support me! How am I supposed to just sit around and do nothing while curses are out there hurting people?"

"Because I care about you." Yaga replies simply. His gaze softens slightly, but the steel in his voice remains. "And whether you believe it or not, I care about you. You may not understand that, I know. But you can’t destroy yourself like this. You’re a good sorcerer, but you need to learn to take care of yourself first.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unrelenting. You look away, your jaw tight, frustration still burning in your chest. But there’s no arguing with him now. His mind is made up, and deep down, you know he’s right. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“And I imagine that you’re father would want—”

"Fine, fine." you mutter begrudgingly, stuffing your hands into your pockets. "But don’t come crying to me when someone screws up the mission I could’ve handled."

Yaga exhales through his nose, a sound that’s almost—but not quite—a laugh. "I’ll take my chances with that gamble." he says, turning back to the stack of paperwork on his desk.

As you storm out of his office, shaking your head in disappointment, you could only find yourself in the silence. You couldn’t help but slam the door as hard as you could behind you, summarizing his parting words linger in your mind: Take the time off. That’s an order.

And for the first time in a long while, you’re left with nothing to do but obey. You cursed under your breath, looking at the sunset filled sky. You hated this. Now you’ll be stuck remembering those bright beaming fireworks, those annoyingly loud sing along carols and most of all, the falling snow as she said goodbye.

══════════════════

OF COURSE, YOU HAVEN’T CALMED DOWN. But there was nothing you could do about it. You had to start thinking about something to do. Or maybe try to argue about this.

You haven’t really thought about it concretely yet. But you had to do something, you just had to. A soft sigh left your lips. You really should have brought cigarettes with you.

The vending machine hums softly as you press the button, a can of something fizzy clattering into the slot below. You grab it, sit down heavily on the nearby bench, and crack it open with a sigh.

The sunset paints the sky in hues of orange and purple, but it does little to brighten your mood. You’re sulking, and you know it, but right now, you don’t care.

All of the known Kyoto missions you had your eye on—all of them—had been reassigned. Even the dangerous ones, the ones you knew you could handle. And what stings the most? Even the Special Grade missions had gone to others, like they were prizes you weren’t worthy of claiming or having whatsoever. 

You know you shouldn’t sulk but you couldn’t help it. Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru, of course, had gotten their fair share. And they deserve it. They get the job done well enough, for second years. It’s not that you didn’t think they deserved it. They do.

But you were their senior. And you were older. Aren’t you supposed to be doing more, so they won’t have to? You had more experience than them in this field. You were a special grade sorcerer too. Why did you have to be treated differently than them? Weren’t you doing so well? Weren’t you enough?

You liked working, it’s why you haven’t stopped since you were younger. But you also don’t want to think about what the winter holidays were going to be like. You don’t want it to be stagnant. You don’t want to sit around and think. You don’t. You don’t even want to think about the prospect of having to go back to Zenin Manor for the holidays. 

If your schedule isn’t full, that old geezer is going to force you to attend the banquet. You wouldn't have an excuse. And knowing that, they’ll end up forcing you into a man and you don’t want to get married. Not just yet. You don’t want to end up marrying this winter. You bit your lip shakily in anger. 

“Ugh, why did this have to happen right now?” You whisper to yourself, kicking the stone wall. “This is so stupid!”

“Hey, senpai! Don’t kick the stone wall like that. It did nothing to you.”

You stopped, feeling your eyes narrow. The crunch of footsteps on gravel catches your attention as much as the voice did.  You glance up to see none other than the pair themselves. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru were going towards you, strolling back into campus.

They’re still in their mission gear, looking far too relaxed for two people who’ve just returned from exorcising curses. Geto has a quiet, composed expression as usual, his long hair tied neatly back. Gojo, on the other hand, is grinning like he’s just been handed the keys to the world.

The moment Gojo Satoru spots you even closer, his grin widens. Your eyes narrow enough at him that it looks like you were glaring at him. You were still too sulky. And now that you were running out of sugar, you were getting cranky too. You ought to drink your drink soon.

"Well, well, well, Suguru." Satoru says, nudging Suguru with his elbow and wearing that ever-present smirk. "Look who we have here, moping by the vending machines. Did Yaga–sensei finally ban you from missions, senpai?"

You glare at him over the rim of your can, letting the cold metal press against your lips but refusing to dignify his teasing with a response. The hiss of carbonation cuts through the silence as you crack open the soda with a force that sends foam fizzing up brutishly.

Satoru blinks at you, then shifts his gaze to Suguru, who seems to pick up on the same thing. A rare flicker of actual concern crosses his face.

“Wait, are you actually serious, senpai?” Gojo’s voice loses some of its usual playfulness. “Did he really?”

Suguru sighs, glancing at you with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Hey, don’t be too insensitive. Senpai looks upset.”

Satoru tilts his head, still watching you carefully. For a moment, there’s no teasing, just quiet curiosity, as if he’s waiting for you to break the silence and explain. But you didn’t speak just yet. Instead, you opted to drink the carbonated drink for a little bit. They just let you drink it and watched as you put it down. 

Suguru, ever the perceptive one, raises an eyebrow as he approaches. "Something wrong, senpai?" His tone is even, but there’s a flicker of genuine concern in his gaze.

"Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry about me." you mutter, though the tension in your voice betrays your words. 

You take a long sip of your drink, letting the fizzy sweetness settle on your tongue before sighing and lowering yourself onto one of the cold metal benches. The bench creaks slightly under your weight, the chill biting through your clothes, but you barely register it.

"Just... no missions for me for a while." you say, the words coming out slower this time, like you’re forcing yourself to say them. "Yaga’s decided I need to take a break for the winter." You pause, glancing down at the soda can in your hands, the logo on it blurry from condensation.

"He didn’t even ask me about it. That’s what I feel bitter about." you continue, a wry, humorless smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "He filed a leave on my behalf with the higher-ups. Said it was for my own good. And... well, it’s been accepted."

You huff out a short laugh, but it’s devoid of mirth. "Can you believe that? A forced vacation. Like I’m some kind of liability."

The words linger in the crisp air, heavy and bitter. For a moment, neither Satoru nor Suguru speaks, their usual banter replaced with an uneasy silence. Even Satoru’s trademark smirk falters slightly, his bright eyes narrowing in rare seriousness as he processes what you just said. Suguru crosses his arms, his expression softening as he looks at you.

"That... doesn’t sound like Yaga–sensei at all." Suguru says quietly, his tone laced with concern. "There’s gotta be more to it than that."

Satoru tilts his head, studying you carefully. "He’s probably just worried about you, senpai. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately."

You shrug, unwilling to acknowledge their words. Instead, you take another sip of your drink, letting the cold fizz distract you from the frustration simmering in your chest. “I suppose. But I would have liked to have a conversation about that. Maybe I’ll consider it.”

Liar. You thought to yourself for a moment. You never would have considered it. That’s why you take breaks, you foolish liar.

Suguru takes a seat on your other side, his presence calm and steady, like an anchor in the swirling storm of your thoughts. "He’s probably just looking out for you, senpai. Yaga-sensei’s strict about things, sure. But he’s not unfair. Maybe he’s seen something we haven’t."

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck as frustration ripples through you. "I don’t think I stick around long enough for him to notice anything about me."

"It’s probably because you’re always out in the field, senpai." Satoru chimes in, his voice lighter now as he presses a button on the vending machine with exaggerated care. "I think he notices that."

The quiet sincerity in his words catches you off guard, and for a moment, you blink at him, then at the can in your hand. "Possibly." you murmur, though your tone is uncertain.

Suguru smiles gently, a knowing look in his eyes. "Still, I get it. Sitting out isn’t easy when you’re used to being in the thick of it all the time, senpai."

You nod slowly, letting his words sink in. "It’s not just that." you admit, the bitterness in your voice softening. "It’s like... if I’m not out there, if I’m not doing something, I don’t know what to do with myself. It feels... wrong, like I’m slacking off or abandoning my responsibilities."

And I don’t wanna think about her. You want to say. I don’t want to go home either. I don’t want to suffer being alone.

Satoru pops open his own drink, taking a swig before glancing back at you. "That’s not slacking, senpai." he says, his tone uncharacteristically even. "Taking a break isn’t quitting. Yaga–sensei wouldn’t do this if he didn’t think it was important."

Suguru nods in agreement. "He’s not punishing you. He’s trying to make sure you’re okay. Sometimes, even the strongest of us need to step back and breathe for a bit."

Their words hang in the air, soft but unwavering, and for the first time in a while, you feel the tight knot of frustration in your chest begin to loosen—just a little. You sigh, slumping further down on the bench. You groaned.

"Kyoto missions are being handed out like candy. Even the Special Grade ones! And guess who’s getting them? The two of you."

Suguru snickered. “I doubt that it’s something enjoyable as eating candy, senpai.”

"Meanwhile, I’m stuck here with nothing to do but wait." You were pouting at this point.

Satoru snickers, leaning back. "Jealous, are we? Don’t worry, senpai.  I’ll bring you a souvenir from my next mission. Maybe a curse sword or something. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’s about to be Christmas anyway—"

"Satoru." Suguru says warningly, giving him a pointed look.

"What?" Satoru shrugs, still grinning as he holds his drink close. "I’m just trying to cheer senpai up, Satoru."

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I don’t need cheering up. I need to be useful."

Suguru leans forward slightly, his voice quieter now. "You are useful. Missions come and go, but pushing yourself too hard won’t make things better. Yaga–sensei’s just giving you some breathing room. It doesn’t mean you’re being left behind."

"Yeah, senpai." Satoru chimes in, his tone surprisingly genuine this time. "Don’t take it too personally. Even I need a break sometimes. Well, not really, but you get the idea."

You glance between them, your frustration still simmering, but their words start to sink in, just a little. Maybe they’re right—maybe this isn’t the end of the world. But for now, you still can’t shake the sting of being benched. You shake your head.

"Whatever." you mutter, taking another sip of your drink. "Just don’t rub it in."

Satoru smirks, nudging your shoulder. "No promises."

Suguru sighs, shaking his head. "Let’s just get you off this bench before you start growing roots. Come on—we’ll grab some food. Satoru’s treat."

You raised a brow as you looked at Satoru. “Oh? You’re opening your wallet?”

“If that would make our amazing beloved senpai stop sulking, the Gojo Satoru infinite wallet will appear.” Satoru says, pulling out his wallet with a maniacal laugh. “You can order as much as you can, senpai. I’ll pay for it. Just smile, okay?”

You looked at him for a moment before you ended up laughing. You finally nodded at them. Satoru pumps his arm out as he says yes. Suguru shakes his head at Satoru’s antics, but smiles. Reluctantly, you let them pull you to your feet. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. Maybe.

Before long, the three of you walk toward a nearby ramen restaurant, the sounds of crickets beginning to fill the evening air. Satoru stretches his arms lazily behind his head, his glasses pushed up just enough to reveal the playful glint in his eyes. Suguru walks beside you, his steady presence a contrast to Satoru’s boundless energy.

“Where’s Shoko?” You asked, turning to Suguru. “I thought she would be with you two.”

“She’s stuck with the Reversed Curse Technique sensei.” Suguru says, his hands resting in his pockets. “Apparently she couldn’t get it right on a leg, so the sensei’s making her do it again.”

“Huh, I would have thought she would have gotten it right by now.” You furrowed your brows. “I sent her the scrolls on it.”

“Probably just some sensei trying to make it harder on Sho.” Satoru says, looking at you. “I mean, wasn’t it that way with our hand to hand combat sensei last year?”

“I didn’t like that guy.” Suguru admitted, shaking his head. “He wasn’t at all considerate of Shoko and made her suffer.”

“If he wasn’t a vassal of the Zenin, he wouldn’t have a job here anymore.” You retorted to the two of them. “He was also bad when he taught us.”

Suguru looked at you. “Hehhhh, so he taught you too, senpai.”

“Well, yes. But we didn’t learn much from him.”

"So, senpai." Satoru says, breaking the conversation away. "If you're not doing missions, what are you doing? Sitting around moping by vending machines? Because, honestly, it’s not a great look for you."

You roll your eyes back at him. "I’ll be training. I’ll be visiting my mother at her shrine. I need to  keep my edge. And I don’t want to be stuck at home. What’s the point if I’m not putting it to use? It’s not like curses are going to exorcise themselves."

Suguru hums thoughtfully. "Training’s not a bad way to spend your time. Besides, if Yaga–sensei’s forcing you to take a break, you might as well use it to focus on something else. A new technique, maybe. You’ve been talking about improving your cursed energy output, haven’t you, senpai?"

You glance at him, surprised he remembered. "Yeah, I guess. Still doesn’t feel the same without the real stakes."

Satoru lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "You’ve gotta chill, you know? Not every second of your life has to be spent on the front lines. Take a page from my book, senpai! Go and live a little! Relax, enjoy the quiet moments. You can’t win all the glory if you’re burned out."

"Easy for you to say." you grumble, shrugging off his arm. "Everyone’s different, you know that?”

Satoru’s grin falters for just a second, so brief you almost miss it. But he recovers it almost as soon as it happens. You blinked at that. "Sure." he says, his voice lighter than it was a moment ago. "But even I have to deal with Yaga–sensei breathing down my neck sometimes. Guy acts like I’m gonna self-destruct or something."

"Wonder why." Suguru mutters under his breath, earning a snicker from you.

By the time you reach the ramen restaurant, your mood has lightened, if only slightly. The warm glow of the lights and the faint smell of food wafting through the air feel comforting, a small reminder that life isn’t all missions and curses. 

Satoru insists on ordering for everyone which  was much to your dismay because he wanted to choose the desserts menu first, while Suguru sits across from you, watching him with a faintly amused expression.

"You know, senpai." Suguru says as Satoru bounds off toward the counter. "He’s not entirely wrong. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Least of all us kouhai. You’ve done more than enough between us combined. You deserve some rest too."

"That’s not what this is about, though." you say, picking at the edge of the table. "It’s just… I hate feeling useless. And I hate not doing anything too. It’s like I’m sitting on the sidelines while everyone else is out there making a difference, doing something."

Suguru leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "No one thinks you’re useless. You’re one of the strongest sorcerers here, senpai. Don’t let a temporary setback make you forget that. Yaga–sensei’s decision isn’t a punishment; it’s a reminder to pace yourself. You’ll be back out there soon enough."

Before you can respond, Satoru reappears, balancing a heavy tray full of abundant food with one hand like it’s a prize. You blinked as two other staff followed behind him, carrying just as heavy of a load on the trays they were holding. 

"Alright, feast time! And guess what—I got you your favorite." He sets the tray down with a flourish, smirking when you reluctantly take the plate he hands you.

"Thanks, Satoru." you mumble, trying not to sound too grateful.

As the three of you dig into your food, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—Satoru’s  latest antics, Suguru’s commentary on his poor decision-making, and a few inside jokes that make you laugh despite yourself. For a little while, you forget about the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Maybe Suguru’s right about this. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world. It’s just one time. You were sure that it would go by just as fast as it happened. You take a sip of your soup, trying to enjoy the warmth it pools on your mouth. 

And as Satoru leans back in his chair, telling some exaggerated story about a curse he fought, and Suguru trying to correct him about the facts, you couldn’t help but smile at them.

They’ll probably do fine with your missions. Everything will be fine. And so, now, ever so slowly, you think that maybe, just maybe, this break won’t be so bad after all.

══════════════════

YOU BEGGED GAKUGANJI TO LIE TO THE ZENIN. You received the message to come back home a few days ago, the annual winter banquet looming over you like a heavy cloud. The thought of returning made your stomach churn.

You didn’t want to deal with Naoya’s smug, incessant taunts, nor your uncles’ cold glares, each one assessing you like a potential threat or disappointment.

And you certainly didn’t want to endure your drunken grandfather pushing every eligible man in the clan in your direction, urging you to “secure the Zenin legacy.”

At least Gakuganji had relented this time after you wore him down with incessant pleas to be excused from the banquet. He had sighed heavily, grumbled about your stubbornness, and waved you off with a reluctant nod. That victory, however small, was bittersweet.

In the same breath, you decided not to visit your mother for the rest of December either. Word traveled fast, and if the Zenin found out where you were, they’d harass her endlessly until she felt cornered, forced to surrender you back to their grasp. You couldn’t let that happen. Protecting her from their influence was one of the few things you could still control.

So, you opted to stay in your own house. Alone. Indefinitely.

At first, the solitude was welcome, a reprieve from the expectations and judgment that seemed to follow you everywhere. But the days off began to pile up like a slow-moving curse, each one heavier and more suffocating than the last. The stillness clung to you, creeping under your skin.

And that craving to work, to go out and seek danger. To seek out curses. You could feel each and every one of them. There’s one from your apartment block, from a building growing bigger and bigger.

There’s another just a few miles away, eating away the anguish of humanity. But you know you can’t do much about it. Not when they would know your cursed energy. They would recognize it. That would ensure Yaga will hear about it. He would annoy you even more. And you don’t want that.

But just as much, you don’t want a break. You want to work. You need to work. The idle hours claw at you, dragging you into places you’ve been avoiding for too long. You like the chaos of missions—the distractions, the sense of purpose, the way they keep your mind too busy to wander.

Without the missions, the silence becomes unbearable. And in that silence, the nightmares return.

You see her smile again. That sick twisted, stupid smile that lingers in the dark corners of your mind. It’s the kind of smile that hides something cruel, something broken. You can almost hear the fireworks bursting overhead, bright and loud, masking the screams. 

The harmony of Christmas carols drifts faintly in the background, a jarring contrast to the chaos. Her voice echoes in your ears, sharp and cutting. Your body was shaking, but not of the cold. But shock. You were too shocked to even move as you watched her turn her back.

“What the fuck are you saying?” You asked her, your purple eyes turning watery. “You’re leaving me?”

"I don’t need you anymore." she had said, her words like shards of glass. "And you don’t need me anymore. So, let’s end it here, hm?”

Kaiko broke up with you that day.

And then she massacred hundreds.

The images come rushing back in vivid, relentless clarity: the blood, the chaos, the twisted wreckage of everything you thought you understood. You can’t stop replaying it—the devastation, the betrayal, the weight of what she had become.

You don’t want to face it. You don’t want to deal with that Christmas day again.

But in the silence, it finds you. It always finds you.

Tears started to fall from your eyes again.

“I hate this, I hate this too much.”

══════════════════

THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH SLEEP. But it wasn’t what you wanted. You always don’t sleep, you don’t want to sleep enough. Because you knew where it would lead. And you don’t want to end up there. Yet that’s where you ended up.

You wake up drenched in sweat most nights, the images from your dreams burned into your mind. No, not dreams. No no, they’re memories. You see them as clearly as the day they happened. You could feel your breath hitch over and over again, not believing you’d ever see it again. Not like this.

Namie. Her smile, her laugh, the way she’d always known just the right thing to say to pull you out of your moods. You see her standing there, in the middle of that cursed battlefield, her eyes wide with fear as she turns to you—too late. 

The curse’s claws tear through her chest before you can move, before you can scream. Blood sprays, her body crumples, and you’re left standing in the aftermath, paralyzed by your failure. You tell yourself it wasn’t your fault, but the words feel hollow. You were supposed to protect her. You were right there, and you couldn’t save her.

Then comes Kaiko. The guilt tastes different with her, but no less bitter. You see her face, contorted in anger and betrayal, hear her voice, venomous and raw, shouting your name as she lunges at you.

You remember the way her cursed energy crackled in the air, the sharp clash of your techniques, the moment her attack faltered and you struck back without hesitation.

She falls, her body collapsing in slow motion. Blood pools beneath her, a stark contrast to the pale, shocked expression on her face. She hadn’t thought you’d do it. You hadn’t thought you’d do it either.

But you did. The scene plays on repeat in your head every night. Namie died because you weren’t fast enough. Kaiko died because you were too fast. Over and over and over.

You sit on your bed, staring at your shaking hands. You tell yourself you’re strong. A sorcerer. Someone who can endure anything. But the truth is harder to swallow: you can’t handle being still. Because when you stop moving, the memories catch up to you..

Namie. Kaiko. The weight of their deaths pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You glance at the calendar on your wall, the faint tick of the clock echoing in the stillness. Red lines mark the days since your last mission, stretching across the grid like tally marks on a prisoner’s wall. The numbers blur together, each one a reminder of time slipping by without purpose. It feels like an eternity.

And with each passing day, the nightmares grow louder, clawing their way into your thoughts. The stillness that was supposed to heal you now feels suffocating, like a weight pressing on your chest. You begin to wonder if this break—this rest—isn’t meant to fix you at all. Maybe it’s the thing that will finally break you.

The days drag on, stretching endlessly, and your attempts to find relief grow more desperate. You try everything—everything—to distract yourself, to fill the void the missions once occupied.

You pick up a book, hoping to lose yourself in its pages, but the words slip through your mind like water through a sieve. You read the same sentence five times before giving up, the book tossed aside onto a growing pile of failed attempts.

You wander aimlessly around town, hands shoved deep into your pockets as you roam familiar streets with no destination in mind. But the noise of the city only irritates you, and the fleeting glimpses of laughter and holiday cheer feel like a cruel mockery.

You even try your hand at hobbies you’d long since abandoned—sketching, fixing the old record player collecting dust in the corner, even cooking—but nothing clicks. Each attempt feels hollow, like going through the motions of someone else’s life.

Nothing works.

The memories are relentless, clawing at the edges of your mind, refusing to be silenced. Kaiko’s smile haunts you. The fireworks, the screams, the carols—they play on a loop in your head, a cruel symphony of the past.

And the quiet of your apartment feels like a prison. The walls seem to close in on you, pressing closer with each passing hour. The silence stretched taut, oppressive, and the ticking clock became even more  unbearable.

You sit on the couch, head in your hands, the can of soda long forgotten on the table. "This isn't a rest. This is torture." you mutter to yourself, your voice hoarse in the stillness. "This isn’t peace. This is—"

You stop, unable to put words to the feeling, but the emptiness swallows you whole. The weight of it presses down on you, suffocating, as if the very air around you thickens, making it harder to breathe. Your thoughts race in circles, but nothing makes sense. You try to ground yourself, to focus on something, anything, but the more you try, the more you slip away from it all.

Tears fall, heavy and relentless, as if they were always there, waiting for the moment when the dam would finally crack. You rock yourself gently in your arms, the motion a desperate attempt to comfort yourself, to find some semblance of control. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

The room around you seems to close in, the walls pressing in from all sides. The silence, the stillness, it all becomes too much. The space feels claustrophobic now, oppressive, like the walls are suffocating you. You can’t escape it. You can’t escape yourself.

Each breath comes in ragged gasps, as if you’re trying to hold onto something, anything, to stop the flood of memories, the flood of pain. The darkness that has always been there, lurking at the edges, now seems to take shape, swirling around you like a living thing, creeping up your spine, curling its fingers around your throat.

The nightmares that have only been whispers in the background are no longer just in your sleep. They are here, in your apartment, in the silence. They’re alive, moving through every corner of your mind and your space.

Your sobs echo in the emptiness, the only sound in the room, and for a moment, you wonder if this is it—if this is all there is. If the endless cycle of pain, of isolation, is what’s meant for you. You wonder if you’ll ever find a way out, if the break, this supposed reprieve, will ever end.

But all you feel is the suffocating silence. The crushing weight of memories that won’t let you go. The cruel reminder that no matter how far you run, you can’t escape what’s inside you.

One cold winter evening, as the sky outside turns a bruised shade of purple, you sit on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. A sitcom plays, its canned laughter grating against the silence of the room. You’re not even paying attention to the plot; it’s just noise, something to drown out your thoughts.

Then, the doorbell rings.

You freeze. No one ever comes to your place unannounced. Hell, hardly anyone knows where you live. For a moment, you wonder if you imagined it. But then it rings again, louder this time. Dragging yourself off the couch, you shuffle to the door, your brows furrowing in confusion. Peering through the peephole, your confusion only deepens.

There, on your doorstep, stands those three.

Gojo Satoru was smiling at you so brightly.

Geto Suguru greets you warmly and kindly.

Ieiri Shoko waves at you, a cigarette on her lips.

You couldn’t help as you stood there in your Sanrio pajamas,  blinking at them like they’ve just stepped out of one of your nightmares—or maybe one of your better dreams. The cold winter air brushes inside as you stand there utterly frozen. 

“Senpaiiiii, it’s cold!” Satoru snapped you out of it. “Please let us in already!”

“Cry baby.” Shoko snickered, looking at her friend. “Who told you to not put a winter coat on?”

“I didn’t know it would be this cold, Sho! Let me live!”

Suguru sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about this, senpai.”

"What are you three doing here?" you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse.

Satoru turns to you with a grin, his usual cocky demeanor firmly in place. He was cold, but he was going to smile at you regardless. He likes doing that for you, after all. He’s carrying a bag in one hand and waving with the other. 

"Nice place you’ve got here! We thought it was time for a little intervention. And talk about the heating system! Wow, really, if you just let us in—"

Your confusion deepens. "How do you even know where I live?"

"Yaga–sensei." Shoko says simply, lighting a cigarette as she steps past you into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. "He was worried about you, so he gave us your address."

You move to the side, giving enough space for Satoru to come in. Suguru could only shake his head as he asked if he could come in. You finally nodded. Shoko followed him inside, muttering a word of thanks. 

You glance back at Satoru, who’s already making himself at home, plopping onto your couch like he owns the place. He sets the bag down on the coffee table with a flourish. He takes the warmth of the room in with pleasure.

"And you’re welcome, by the way, senpai." he adds, shooting you a wink. "We brought snacks. And movies. And me, the best part of this little party."

Suguru, who’s been leaning casually against the doorframe, finally steps inside, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Yaga–sensei may have told us to go. But we figured you’d be holed up in here, overthinking everything like you always do. So we came to drag you out of your head for a while, if that’s alright with you.”

“I guess.” You blink at them, still processing their sudden appearance. "But I don’t need an intervention. I’m fine, you know?" you mumble, folding your arms defensively. 

Shoko snorts, exhaling a cloud of smoke from her cigarette. "Yeah, you look real fine, senpai." she says, gesturing vaguely at your pajamas, disheveled appearance and the mess in your living room. "When was the last time you left this place, senpai?"

You frowned at her, but before you could reply, Satoru interrupted her, waving her off. "Don’t worry about all that, senpai." he says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a container of something that smells suspiciously like takeout. 

"Tonight, we’re here to chill. No missions, no training, no brooding in the dark. Just us. And maybe a bad horror movie, if Suguru doesn’t complain too much."

"I always complain about your movie choices, Satoru." Geto mutters, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. “They’re always so questionable!”

For a moment, you consider kicking them out. You don’t want to be seen like this whatsoever. messy, vulnerable, barely holding it together. But then you catch the genuine concern in their eyes, hidden behind Satoru’s little jokes, Shoko’s eager bluntness, and Suguru's tender composure. They came here because they care, when they didn’t have to. 

And maybe—just maybe—you need this.

"Fine, fine." you mutter, stepping aside to let them fully invade your space. "But if Satoru picks something stupid, I’m kicking all of you out."

"Deal, senpai!" Gojo says cheerfully, already rifling through your meager DVD collection. "This is gonna be great. You’ll see."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel something other than the suffocating weight of your memories. It’s small, fleeting. But it’s there. It was there and it was there to stay.  A spark of something warmer, lighter. Maybe, with them here, you won’t have to face it all alone.

As the night goes on, your small apartment feels strangely livelier than it has been in the past few weeks. The place, once a sanctuary of silence and isolation, has been overtaken by a chaotic kind of energy that feels foreign—and a little unsettling.

The three musketeers, Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru, have sprawled out in your living room like they own the place. Once the movie ended, Satoru wasted no time grabbing the remote and flipping through your TV channels with all the grace and decorum of a toddler on a sugar rush. 

The sound of random commercials and sitcoms blaring in the background mixes with the clinking of ice cubes as Shoko leans back on your armchair, casually sipping a drink she definitely helped herself to from your fridge.

Suguru, meanwhile, has settled himself on the floor, an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he watches it all unfold. He’s got that look, the one that says he’s aware of exactly what’s going on but finds it too entertaining to intervene.

"Did you really just switch to a cooking show, Satoru?" you ask, eyes narrowing in disbelief as you watch him channel-surf with zero sense of restraint.

"Yeah, I did, senpai." Satoru replies nonchalantly, glancing over at you with a grin. "What’s wrong with a little food porn? I’m trying to get inspired for the next big mission meal. I’ll make you a five-star ramen that’ll blow your mind."

You raise an eyebrow. "You? Cook? The same guy who couldn’t even make instant ramen noodles without setting off the smoke alarm?"

"That was one time, senpai!" Satoru protests, flicking the remote like he’s offended. "Besides, ramen's on a different level. You can’t just learn that, it’s an art form."

Shoko, from her spot on the armchair, rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her drink. "If by art form you mean you’ll burn water if left alone for two minutes then sure, go for it."

You sigh, rubbing your temples as the low hum of Satoru’s TV-flipping blends with Shoko’s quiet snark. Suguru’s chuckle is the only thing that cuts through the noise, and you glance at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You’re not helping, Suguru." you mutter back at him. “Honestly when you find yourself loosening up, you end up becoming a menace to me too.

Suguru just shrugs and smiles at you.. "Just enjoying the show, senpai." he says with that faint amusement still in his voice.

And then, as if the universe is trying to throw salt on your wounds, you glance at the time. Your stomach sinks, and the thought hits you like a freight train. They’re planning to stay the night, aren’t they?

“”Don’t tell me you didn’t have accommodations ready?” You direct the question to no one in particular.

But it’s clear from the smug glint in Satoru’s cerulean eyes that he knows exactly what’s coming. He’s like a kid who’s already picked out his spot on the couch for a sleepover. Shoko doesn’t even look at you as she casually lifts her glass at you.

"Yeah, pretty sure we’re all crashing here tonight. Hope that’s okay, senpai." she says, the words dripping with sarcasm.

"Didn’t even ask, huh?" you mutter under your breath, but there’s no real point in protesting.

Suguru gives you an almost apologetic look, though his smirk is still firmly in place. "You’re stuck with us, senpai. Might as well get comfy."

"Great, just great." you deadpan. "A full house. Just what I needed."

Satoru immediately perks up, sitting cross-legged on your couch like an overgrown child. "What are you talking about, senpai?" he says, his grin wide and unabashed. "You’ve got so much space in the living room! Look at this—practically a luxury penthouse." He gestures dramatically at the modest area, clearly exaggerating.

You narrow your eyes at him. "It’s not a penthouse. And what does it matter? You’re not staying."

He leans back against the couch, arms spread wide. "But I’ve never had a sleepover before," he says, with the kind of mock-innocence you know is meant to guilt-trip you. "C’mon, don’t ruin my first one."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink at him, surprised. "Never?"

Satoru shakes his head, that grin of his still firmly in place. "Never. Clan rules, remember? Strict schedules, separate quarters, all that fun stuff."

Something in your chest twists at that. You think of your own childhood, so eerily similar. "Neither have I." you admit quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Suguru, who’s been observing the exchange with his usual calm, suddenly blinks in surprise. He looks between the two of you, and a flicker of understanding crosses his face. You sighed, crossing your arms at him.

"That’s right." he murmurs, almost to himself. "I forgot you guys didn’t grow up outside of clan culture."

The room falls into a brief, thoughtful silence. Shoko, for once, doesn’t break it with a sarcastic remark. Instead, she just takes another sip from her drink, watching the three of you with an unreadable expression. You shake your head at the situation at hand.

"Well…." Satoru says finally, his tone lighter, though his grin softens into something almost genuine. "There’s a first time for everything, right? And tonight’s as good a time as any. You’ve got your first sleepover buddies right here!"

You shake your head, exasperated. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway," Satoru couldn’t help but quip, winking.

Suguru sighs, shaking his head as he leans back against the wall. "He’s not wrong about space, though. We could manage, senpai."

"And mind you, senpai, you are outnumbered." Shoko adds lazily, her voice tinged with amusement. “Three to one is an ultimate defeat.”

You glance around your small living room, taking in the ridiculousness of the situation. There’s no way they’re going to leave. And maybe, just maybe, a part of you doesn’t want them to. You took a moment and then breathed deeply. You finally nodded.

"Fine, fine." you grumble back at them. "But if any of you snore, you’re out the door."

Satoru cheers like he’s just won a grand prize, while Suguru chuckles softly. Shoko smirks, flicking ash from her cigarette. As they start debating who gets the couch versus the floor, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of warmth settle in your chest. It’s new, unfamiliar—but not entirely unwelcome.

Satoru, flipping the remote like he’s discovered a new channel once again, grins even wider. "Trust me, senpai! You’ll not regret this in the morning. You’ve been moping around here for weeks. We’re here to enlighten you with our brilliant company."

Shoko chimes in, raising her glass in a mock toast. "To brilliant company."

Suguru chuckles. "It’s a rough job, but someone’s gotta do it."

“You three are just…” You smiled at them. “Head to sleep already.”\

Satoru was right in the end, as he always was.

You didn’t regret it one bit, the next day.

If anything, you still held this memory close to your heart.

══════════════════

YOU HAD GOTTEN ENOUGH SLEEP. But not enough, like before. And you were glad about it. The faint winter morning light filters gently through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. You stir slightly, still caught in the fog of sleep, your body reluctant to leave the warmth of your blankets as you sprawled onto the soft feather stuffed pillows. 

They had managed to rope you to sleep with them in the living room, almost truly like a sleep over, even when you wanted to sleep in your room. You had refused numerous times, but they kept going and asking. They weren’t giving up, so you had to defeat them in a coin toss. And they won. Hence, why you were here.

The quiet of the early morning lingers around you, comforting in its stillness, as the world outside remains frozen under a blanket of snow. It seemed like a good day to just laze around all morning. But just as you start to drift back into the comforting haze of sleep, the peace is shattered. An unmistakable voice, loud and intrusive, cuts through the silence like a knife.

"Rise and shine, sleepyheads!" Satoru’s overly cheerful tone cuts through the quiet, followed by the sound of him banging a pan with a spoon. "Come on! Up, up, up! We’ve got plans!"

You groan, rolling over and pulling your blanket over your head. "What now, Satoru?" you mutter. “It’s too early.”

From the couch, Suguru grumbles something incoherent, his voice muffled by a pillow. Shoko, sprawled on the floor with a blanket half-draped over her, opens one eye, her expression murderous. 

"Satoru, you idiot." she growls, her voice rough with sleep. "It’s too early for your nonsense. Shut up and let us sleep."

"But it’s not nonsense!" Satoru protests, his voice rising an octave in indignation. "You’ll never believe what I found out!" 

He marches over to the window, dramatically pulling back the curtains and flooding the room with sunlight. You groan at the light, your eyes snapping open. It’s not even that early, well at least not to Gojo Satoru. 

But to you and the other two, it was still pretty early enough to be annoyed. The sun was still up, brighter than you all wanted. You rub your eyes, squinting at the sun. Shoko however did not fare better, and nor did Suguru.

"Ow, my eyes!" Shoko snaps, covering her face with her blanket. “Satoru, you fucker!”

Suguru throws a pillow at Satoru, who dodges it effortlessly. "Whatever it is, Satoru, it can all wait." Suguru says, his voice thick with irritation. "I’m serious, Satoru. Some of us value our sleep."

"No, it can’t wait!" Satoru announces, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. "I found out we’re right near a theme park! Like, walking distance. We have to go!"

Both Shoko and Suguru groan in unison, their reactions almost synchronized. It’s like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and honestly, they probably have. You can see the shared look of exasperation pass between them, as if they’ve collectively accepted that nothing in their lives is ever going to be normal with Satoru around.

"You woke us up for that?" Shoko asks, glaring at him.

"It’s way too early for a theme park, Satoru." Suguru adds, rubbing his temple. "They’re not even open yet."

"But they will be, Suguru!" Satoru says, crossing his arms and pouting like a kid denied candy. "Come on, what’s wrong with you guys? Where’s your sense of adventure?"

"It’s still asleep, out of the jurisdiction, out of sight, out of mind." Shoko deadpans, rolling over.

Satoru dramatically huffs, throwing his arms in the air. "You’re all no fun!" 

Shoko rolls her eyes dramatically. "You really have no shame, do you, Satoru?" she mutters under her breath, clearly amused but trying to hide it. "What, is this what you do now? Drag people out of bed like some kind of high-energy nightmare?"

Suguru sighed, leaning against the pillow he was hugging. "I can’t believe you, Satoru. Do you ever just… let people live?"

“Meh, meh. Sorry, I don’t talk to not fun people.” He drops onto the edge of your side of the air mattress and smiles at you. "What about you, senpai? You’re cool, right? You’ll go with me!"

You sigh, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "If it’ll get you to stop acting like a five-year-old, then... sure. Why not?"

Satoru freezes, turning to look at you with wide, starry cerulean eyes. "Really?" he asks, his voice brimming with excitement.

You, now fully awake and regretting every decision that brought you to this point, look from one to the other, then back to Satoru. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, fine, you win. I’m up. Can you please just leave me with some shred of dignity before you turn my whole apartment into a circus?"

In an instant, Gojo Satoru scoots closer, practically glowing with abundant joy. He almost looked exactly like a puppy, happy about being given a treat for the first time. Oftentimes, you forget that he was also a clan kid like you, who never experienced these things as well as one regular person would. 

"You’re the best, senpai!" he says, his grin so dazzling it’s almost blinding. He leans in slightly, his face closer to yours than you expected, and the sudden proximity makes your heart skip a beat. “Ah, this is why you’re my favorite!”

You try to look away, feeling your entire face turn scarlet red. But his enthusiasm is contagious, and you find yourself smiling despite your embarrassment. You sighed at him, patting his shoulders. 

"Don’t make me regret this, Satoru." you mumble, your face warm. “We’re gonna have fun, but in a way we all would enjoy, okay?”

“Hm, as you say, senpai!” He replies, still heavily enthusiastic.

Suguru, still lying on the other side of the air mattress, lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Great. Now we’re all going, aren’t we?"

"Obviously, Suguboo!" Satoru replies, his grin widening as he hops off your side. "I mean, what’s a theme park trip without all my best friends?"

“Hey, don’t call me Suguboo.”

“But I don’t want to stop, Suguboo—” Suguru threw a pillow at him, hitting him on the face.

Shoko groans again, pulling her blanket over her head. "You owe me coffee for this, Satoru." she mutters. “I need a lot of it to get through the day.”

“The Gojo Satoru infinite wallet pouch is ready to serve you today!”

“It's better buy me the best of the best, Satoru.”

"Until then, let’s drink the one at home. So, I’ll go make coffee in the kitchen." you say with a sigh.

“Hm, thank you, senpai.” Shoko grumbles from her position.

You slowly stand up from your spot, every muscle protesting the movement as you stretch. You walk toward the kitchen, hoping the smell of freshly brewed coffee will help shake off the remnants of sleep clinging to you like a fog.

“Senpai—”

You don’t need to turn around to know it’s Satoru. You can hear the exaggerated whine in his voice before he even finishes the sentence.

“No, no, it’s fine.” you tell him, waving him off without looking back. “You guys are already causing enough chaos. Let me handle the coffee. I’ve got it.”

Gojo Satoru doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he pouts dramatically, his voice rising in that almost childlike plea that never fails to get under your skin. You could feel your eye twitch.

“But, senpai.” he whines again, his tone a mix of desperation and mock sadness. “You know I’m really bad at making coffee. Remember that one time I tried to brew it and we ended up with, like, coffee-flavored charcoal?”

You can’t help but snort, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, I remember. I also remember you trying to make me some instant noodles, and I still haven’t forgiven you for that disaster.”

Satoru’s pout deepens, and he stares at you with those wide, blue eyes, his expression pleading like a lost puppy. “Senpai, please. I swear, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll even throw in some cookies or something later. But just let me make the coffee, okay? I promise it’ll be good!”

You glance back at him over your shoulder, seeing his exaggerated frown, the way his lip quivers in mock sadness. He’s laying it on thick, but for some reason, it’s hard to keep a straight face. You shake your head. He’s such a child.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to burn down my kitchen, Satoru?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"That was one time!" he insists, dramatically throwing his arms up as though to plead his case. "One time, and I learned from my mistakes. I’m practically a professional now!" He gives a nod to himself as if he’s convinced of his own greatness.

You roll your purple eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. "Fine, fine." you relent, shaking your head in disbelief. "But if I end up with a cup of mud instead of coffee, you’re cleaning up the mess."

Satoru’s face lights up immediately, his eyes sparkling with what can only be described as pure glee. Ah, he can smile like that too, you think to yourself. “Deal! You won’t regret it, senpai, I promise!”

As you make your way toward the kitchen, you hear him behind you, his footsteps almost skipping with excitement. "You’ll see! This is going to be the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had! I’m practically a coffee connoisseur!"

You try to hide your smirk as you enter the kitchen, already bracing yourself for whatever absurdities Satoru is about to bring to the table. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Satoru.” you mutter under your breath.

Satoru pauses just before entering the kitchen, looking at you with mock seriousness. “Senpai, I’ve mastered the art of coffee. I’ve trained under the world’s finest baristas. You won’t even recognize the quality!”

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up from your chest. “Yeah, sure you have.”

Satoru steps into the kitchen with far too much confidence, already reaching for the coffee beans like he’s about to perform a magic trick. You know this is going to be interesting. You watch him closely. 

"This is gonna be amazing." he mutters to himself, as if trying to convince both of you.

You shake your head, standing back to watch the chaos unfold. Whatever happens next, you’re almost certain it’ll be more entertaining than your original plan of quietly making the coffee yourself.

As Gojo Satoru makes the coffee, he starts buzzing around and chattering about which rides to hit first, you can’t help but feel a little less annoyed about the early wake-up call. His excitement is ridiculous, sure—but it’s also kind of... endearing. 

Well, you’ve known that the moment you met him. But seeing it over and over again, it always made your heart ever warmer towards him. He’s different from every other clan folk you’ve met. And you were glad for that. You need more kind people in those spaces.

The soft morning haze still lingers, casting a gentle glow through the kitchen window as Satoru practically dances around your kitchen, his enthusiasm infectious but undeniably over-the-top. He’s already rattling off every possible ride and snack the theme park might offer, his words spilling out in rapid bursts like a hyperactive child who's had one too many sugar rushes.

"I swear, the rollercoaster is gonna be insane! I saw it on their website! And they’ve got this new cotton candy that’s like... blue and pink and it’s literally out of this world! Oh, and the haunted house? Don't even get me started. It's supposed to be the scariest thing ever! I’m telling you, we’re gonna have so much fun, senpai!” 

He continues talking for a little bit more, moving around the kitchen like a whirlwind, pulling out everything he needs with too much flair—coffee beans, a grinder, and what you can only assume is the most complicated brewing setup you’ve ever seen.

You stand by the counter, watching the chaos unfold with the kind of resigned amusement that only Satoru can provoke. You cross your arms and lean against the countertop. “Did you wake up on a sugar high, or is this your normal level of insane?”

Satoru spins around with a bright grin, his hair still slightly messy from sleep but somehow looking perfect in that way only he can manage. “Who needs sugar when life is this exciting? Also, if I don’t make this coffee, I’m pretty sure your day will be cursed, senpai. It’s like a public service.”

You can’t help but snort at his dramatic flair, though you can’t deny the faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Right. And I suppose the curse you’re talking about involves caffeine-fueled chaos?”

"Exactly!" Satoru says, as though it’s the most logical thing in the world. “I mean, what’s life without a little chaos? You need this, senpai.”

You can only shake your head as he starts brewing the coffee. The machine whirs to life with a hum that cuts through the air, and Satoru, ever the perfectionist (or at least pretending to be), stands over it like a chef preparing a Michelin-starred dish. His face is a study in concentration, except for the occasional exaggerated eyebrow raise as he checks to see if you're watching.

He adds the coffee grounds with a flourish, as if it’s some kind of secret recipe, and begins to press buttons and twist knobs, making it all seem far more complicated than it really is. He’s making it harder for himself.

"Don’t you think you're taking this a little too seriously?" you ask, still leaning against the counter. “It’s just coffee, not a rocket launch.”

Satoru doesn’t even glance at you as he nods, clearly in the zone. “Senpai, the key to a perfect cup of coffee is precision. It’s an art form. I’ve mastered the art of brewing.” He shoots you a look, clearly proud of himself. “You’ll see.”

As the scent of coffee starts to fill the room, you watch him continue to move around with far too much energy. His arms are wide, gesturing as though he’s explaining some life-changing revelation. “I’m telling you, the theme park’s going to be insane. They’re bringing in a whole new section for kids! You know what that means? More rides for us!”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying how contagious his energy is, even if it’s borderline exhausting. “Right, because you’re so mature.” you tease, though you can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “How does that even make sense? You’re literally going on rides for children.”

He pauses for a beat, then grins wider, as if proud of his reasoning. “You can’t blame a guy for wanting to have fun! Anyway, once this coffee’s ready, we can start planning. You’ll be wide awake and full of energy. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

You watch him for a moment longer, his utter absurdity and boundless enthusiasm filling the space like an electric current. The coffee machine hums away in the background, and you can feel the sleepiness start to melt away despite yourself. 

Maybe, just maybe, a little chaos in your day wouldn’t be the worst thing. After all, with someone like Satoru around, it’s never really quiet anyway. But maybe, just maybe, that’s for the best. It would keep the nightmares away, even for a little while.

"Did you know they have this crazy roller coaster that does a full 360 loop?" Satoru exclaims, pulling up images of the park on his phone and shoving the screen into Suguru’s face, as he drinks the coffee.

Suguru, still lying on the couch as he drinks the coffee, swats lazily at Satoru’s hand without even opening his dark purple orbs. "Satoru, please.”  he says in a gravelly voice. "It's not even 7 a.m. The park won’t open for hours. Go entertain yourself until then."

"But if we wait, the lines will be insane." Satoru whines, dropping dramatically onto the arm of the couch. "And if we don’t go early, we won’t get to ride everything!"

"Sounds tragic, really." Shoko mutters from her spot on the floor, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she peeks out from under her blanket. "Really, I don’t know how we’d recover from such a loss."

Satoru ignores her, spinning on his heel to face you. His glasses are perched lazily around his neck, and his azure eyes sparkle with an almost childlike glee. You drink your own coffee in silence. You didn’t want to look at him, but when your own lilac eyes and his own orbs met, you were done for.

"Come on, senpai." he pleads, clasping his hands together. "You already said you’d go. Convince these two party poopers!"

You rub your temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. But then he turns those eyes on you, full of such unbridled excitement that it catches you off guard. It’s rare to see Gojo Satoru like this, unfiltered and genuinely animated and fully eager, and something about it makes your earlier irritation melt away.

You sigh, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "Fine, fine. I already said I’d go, didn’t I?"

Satoru freezes for a moment, then lights up like a firework. "You’re the best!" he exclaims, bounding toward you. He stops just shy of your position, crouching down so he’s at eye level. "No, really. You’re the absolute best. I knew you wouldn’t let me down!"

His face is close—too close. You can see the flecks of light in his cerulean blue eyes, the faint curl of his grin, and the way his energy practically radiates off him in waves. It’s overwhelming, and before you know it, your cheeks are burning.

"Stop looking at me like that, Satoru. I’m trying to drink the coffee." you mutter, turning your face away.

Satoru tilts his head, his grin morphing into something softer, more amused. "Like what?"

"Like that." you snap, though your voice lacks bite. You feel like a flustered mess, and his teasing only makes it worse.

Behind you, Suguru sits up, his hair falling messily over his shoulders. "This is exactly why I said no sleepovers. In fact, never again." he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. "I forgot how exhausting the two of you can be together."

"You forgot because you’re just a party pooper." Satoru quips, standing up straight and stretching his arms over his head. "Come on, you two. Get up already! We’ve got a theme park to conquer! Sho, drink the coffee!"

"You’ve got a death wish, waking people up like this. On a Sunday, no less." Shoko says, dragging herself into a sitting position. She looks at you and smirks, her sharp gaze catching the faint redness in your cheeks. "And you. Blushing over Gojo Satoru, senpai? Never thought I’d see the day."

"I’m not blushing!" you snap defensively, though the warmth in your face betrays you. “It’s just hot, yeah, it’s just….”

"Sure, sure." Shoko says, standing up and stretching lazily. "I’ll let it slide since I’m getting Satoru’s black card paying for everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get up and drink the coffee, Sho!”

Suguru lets out a long sigh, standing and brushing imaginary dust off his pants. "Fine. Let’s get this over with. But if I hear one complaint about how tired you are later, Satoru, I'll convince senpai to leave you stranded at the park by yourself."

"Deal!" Satoru chirps, already darting to the kitchen to grab snacks for the road. "This is going to be amazing, you’ll see!"

As the sun starts to warm your face, the faint glow of early morning sunlight breaking through the coolness of the winter air, you find yourself inexplicably smiling. You can’t help it—no matter how ridiculous it all is, no matter how absurd Satoru’s plans seem, something about this feels right. You finally finished your coffee.

“Maybe this break is exactly what I needed.” you admit, glancing up at the sky. “Not just the time off, but… well, this.” You gesture to the group, already well into some new debate about which roller coaster will give them the best thrill. 

Shoko gives you a knowing look, her eyes slightly squinted in amusement. “Oh, so you’re finally admitting you’re not completely immune to chaos, huh?”

You shrug with a smirk. “I’m just saying, if I have to be dragged into a theme park against my will, at least it’s with the most entertaining people possible.”

Suguru shakes his head with a chuckle. “You know, I thought you were the one who was going to drag us into your chaos, senpai. But look at you now, following his lead.”

Satoru turns around mid-step, his energy never faltering. “Of course! It’s a lifestyle, people! Living on the edge, embracing the madness! You can thank me later when you’ve experienced true joy.”

“And I’ll thank you later when I recover from the exhaustion.” you mutter, but you can’t help but laugh. 

Even if it’s a little chaotic, maybe it’s exactly the kind of break you needed. You’d never admit it to Satoru, but the thought of having a day without responsibilities or missions, without constantly running from one problem to the next, feels like the small escape you’ve been craving.

As the group heads toward the train station, Gojo Satoru still chattering about all the fun things you’re about to experience, you realize that despite all your reluctance and doubts, maybe this chaotic, ridiculous, and loud is exactly what you needed after all.

══════════════════

YOU HADN’T EXPECTED TO FEEL SO FAMILIAR THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED INTO THE GATES OF THE THEME PARK. You used to come here often, with….them. Each time you have the time of day from the week, they would suggest coming here.

It wasn’t too far from Kyoto Jujutsu High, so it was pretty easy to make your way here and then back home in a quick succession. But you haven’t been back since. So, you were surprised that it would still feel familiar and all at the same time, feel different.

The noise of the theme park surrounds you like a warm, chaotic hug—the laughter of children, the shrill screams of riders zooming by on roller coasters, the sugary scent of cotton candy and funnel cakes hanging in the air.

It’s a whirlwind of bright colors, flashing lights, and energy, but you feel strangely detached, standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance.

It’s been so long since you’ve been to a theme park—six years, maybe more—and the memories that rise to the surface aren’t the happiest. The last time you were here, you were with Namie and Kaiko, and everything seemed so simple. 

You can still remember the sound of their laughter, the way their faces had lit up when they’d seen their favorite ride, the way they had dragged you to the food stalls for overpriced snacks. It was carefree. Happy. But that’s not how you feel now.

The moment stretches on as you find yourself lost in thought, staring at the entrance like it's miles away from you. Before you can sink further into the old memories, you feel a soft presence next to you—gentle, like the calm after a storm.

Suguru stands beside you, not crowding you, but close enough to show that he’s here. He watches you for a moment, his sharp gaze taking in your distant expression. You didn’t even realize how far you had drifted from the group until now.

"Hey, senpai." he says, his voice soft and steady. "You alright?"

You blink, slowly turning toward him, and suddenly realize how out of it you must have looked. It’s hard to hide things from Geto Suguru; he’s the one who always seems to notice when you’re not quite there. You try to brush it off, offering him a small, tight smile.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking," you mutter, hoping that will be enough to convince him.

But Suguru isn’t fooled. "Thinking about what?"

You hesitate, your thoughts still clinging to the past like sticky cobwebs, but you push them away. You can’t stay in that space forever, not here, not today. You didn’t want to dampen the mood.

And you highly doubt that it’s wise to bring up Kaiko. Geto Suguru would at least have a rough knowledge about who she is. But still, a part of you was protective of her. Even with what she had become, you loved her. You still did. You always will.

"The last time I came to a theme park, it was with my own team, in Jujutsu High." you admit quietly. "I guess it’s just... weird being here without them."

Suguru doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he stands there for a moment, looking at you with an understanding that makes your heart do a small flip. Then, without skipping a beat, he asks you with a small smile.

"What’s something you’re looking forward to today? Something you can enjoy here, just for you, senpai?”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the question. It’s simple—too simple, but somehow it feels like it’s exactly what you needed to hear. Your thoughts trail back to the rides, the sweet treats, the nostalgic excitement of being at a theme park. You hadn’t thought about what you wanted. It had all been about avoiding the past.

"I... I guess I used to love roller coasters, I suppose." you admit, a little sheepishly, as you glance around at the bustling theme park. "And the food, of course. They have some good sandwiches here. But, of course, it's so overpriced, but it always tastes amazing."

Suguru’s lips curl into a soft, almost amused smile as he watches your face light up, just a little. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, taking in the subtle shift in your demeanor. Then, with a flick of his hand, he gestures to the chaos around you, as if presenting it like a gift. 

“Well, what better place to indulge, huh?”

You chuckle at his nonchalant presentation of the madness around you. It’s comforting, somehow. It’s like he can see exactly what you need without saying a word. It’s one of the reasons why, in all the chaos, Geto Suguru feels like the calm center. He can be a safe zone. You think you could consider him as one.

"Then let’s make today about you, senpai." he says, his voice warm and steady. "You like roller coasters, right? Go get on one. You can even scream as loud as you want." He pauses for a beat, his eyes twinkling just a bit. “If you want, I’ll go with you.”

A laugh bubbles out of you at the thought of getting on a ride and screaming your head off. You didn’t think you could feel even a little bit of excitement today, but there it is—a lightness that you didn’t know you were missing. You shake your head slightly, but there’s a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Scream as loud as I want, huh? That might not be pretty, but sure, I’ll take you up on that.”

Suguru’s smile widens at the sight of you relaxing, just a little. His presence is so calm, so steady, that it feels like the weight on your shoulders lightens just from his quiet support. You find it oddly comforting, like the world is allowed to be a little less heavy for just a moment.

"You don’t have to hold back, you know." he continues, his voice soft but insistent. "Let go for once. It's just you, me, and the roller coasters. It’s about having fun. You’ve been too serious for too long." He gives you a knowing look, his expression sincere. “I get it. Sometimes you need someone to remind you how to laugh.”

His words are gentle, but they carry more weight than you'd expect. Suguru has a way of making you feel seen, like he knows the quiet battles you fight even when you don’t say a word. The tension in your chest eases, and for the first time since arriving, you feel something like hope stirring inside you. 

You realize how badly you’ve been craving a moment like this—something simple, something that doesn’t feel like a mission or a responsibility. It’s just a day, just a small escape. And you were grateful, grateful that you don’t feel this heavy weight on you. Even just one day.

“I might just take you up on that, Suguru.” you say, your smile widening as you meet his gaze. "But if I scream my lungs out, I’m blaming you."

Suguru chuckles softly, a warm, genuine sound that fills the space between you. "Deal. But I’ll be right there with you. We’ll make it a proper scream-fest."

With that, you feel your shoulders relax further, the weight on your chest lifting. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve been missing the little joys like this. The chaos, the laughter, and Suguru’s quiet support. You realize that sometimes, it’s the simplest things, the smallest moments, that make all the difference.

"And hey, senpai." Suguru adds, leaning in a bit closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, as if he's sharing a top-secret plan. "If you feel embarrassed, we can have Satoru with us. I’m sure he’ll scream worse and be scared worse. He’ll never live it down. Or better yet, let’s get him on a bungee ride. I’m sure he’ll look absolutely terrible on camera while he screams.”

You blink at him, and for a moment, you actually consider it. The image of Gojo Satoru flailing around on a bungee ride, his usual air of invincibility replaced by sheer terror, is just too funny to ignore. The mental picture has you snorting a little, despite yourself.

“You’re actually a menace.” you reply with a grin, shaking your head. “But that does sound like something I could get behind.”

Suguru’s grin widens, his purple eyes sparkling with mischief. “I thought you’d like that idea. It’ll be hilarious. Can you imagine the look on his face when he realizes he’s about to jump off a platform, all while trying to look cool?”

You can't help but laugh at the thought of Satoru trying to keep up his cool guy persona while the bungee cord yanks him into a wild, screaming freefall. “You know, you’re right. He would try to act like it’s no big deal, and then probably end up screaming like a baby.”

Suguru chuckles, clearly enjoying the idea just as much as you are. “Exactly. He won’t know what hit him. And then we’ll never let him live it down. We’ll put the footage on a loop in the dorms. Great cinematic masterpiece!”

At this point, you're grinning ear-to-ear, the tension from earlier all but forgotten. “I’m so in. I’m going to bring it up next time we’re all together.”

Suguru laughs, giving you a playful nudge. “I knew you’d come around. Best part is, he won’t even see it coming. Just wait until you hear him scream. You’ll thank me later.”

The way his laughter seems to light up the space between you makes your heart skip a beat. His words, the way he’s paying attention to you in a way that feels so... personal, warm you from the inside out. 

It’s not just about the theme park or the roller coasters anymore, those are little trivial things. It’s the small things—the way he cares without making a big deal about it. You don’t have to carry everything alone. Not when he’s around.

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks redden under his gaze. "Thanks, Suguru." you murmur, looking away, not quite able to hold his gaze for too long. "I needed that."

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich, like a warm breeze. "Anytime, senpai. I’m always here for you."

You give him a small, bashful smile, feeling a flutter in your chest as you turn toward the rest of the group. Satoru’s already waving at you from the front of the line for a roller coaster, looking far too excited for someone who’s supposed to be exhausted from sleeping late last night.

You could believe Shoko’s own demeanor to be more true to life, as she grumbles drinking her mocha frappe beside Satoru in the quiet. You glance back at Suguru, who’s still standing beside you, his calm demeanor making you feel a little more grounded.

"Alright." you say, finally feeling a bit more you than you did when you first walked into the park. "Let’s do this. But I’m not going on the bungee rides, no matter how much you try to make me."

Suguru raises an eyebrow, his smile still soft. "We’ll see about that, senpai. I can be pretty persuasive, after all."

You blush, rolling your lilac eyes, but as the group starts to move toward the ride, you feel lighter. It’s a small step, but a step forward nonetheless. Today, you’re going to enjoy the little things. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll let yourself have a little fun along the way.

As you walk toward Satoru and Shoko, you could tell that there was going to be chaos on the ride ahead. You could feel Suguru’s quiet presence beside you, as he follows you and the warmth in your chest spreads, gentle and comforting.

Maybe this can be a day for new memories with them. Not just old ones you’ve been keeping too deep inside. Maybe you could have more in this life than the grief too big to carry in your heart.

The moment you and Suguru start to fall in step with the rest of the group, Satoru was already bouncing on his heels, antsy with excitement. His cerulean eyes are practically sparkling as he spots the first ride beside the booths.

It was a towering, twisting roller coaster that loops and plunges in ways that make even the most adrenaline-junkie riders second guess their life choices.

“Come on! We’re going on this one first!” Satoru says, grabbing your wrist before you can even protest. His grip is firm but playful, and he tugs you along like you’re a piece of loose paper in the wind. “We’re going to have so much fun here!”

You stumble slightly as he pulls you forward, and your heart skips a beat at how sudden and strong his pull is. You knew he was enthusiastic, but you didn’t expect him to not be afraid of that. It was worse than a regular roller coaster you enjoyed.

"Whoa, Gojo Satoru—slow down!" you manage to get out, trying to keep your balance as you hurry to keep up with his eager steps. His energy is so contagious that it's a bit overwhelming, and you’re already feeling a little winded just from trying to keep up with him.

Satoru looks over his shoulder at you, giving you a wide grin, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh? You scared, senpai?" he teases, slowing just a little, but not enough for your liking. “I thought you were a roller coaster person!”

"I am!" you reply, more defensively than you mean to. "But I don’t need to break into a sprint to get on a ride, Satoru!" You wince, realizing you’re practically out of breath already. “You’re just too fast for me, that’s all.”

He chuckles, slowing his pace just enough to let you catch up, though you can still see the excitement bubbling in his gaze. He turns fully toward you, flashing that trademark grin. “Sorry, sorry! I just really want you to have fun! This ride is amazing, you’ll see! It’ll make you forget all about whatever you were thinking about earlier.” He winks, as though this is some grand plan to distract you.

You can’t help but blush at his playful confidence. It’s hard to ignore the way his presence takes over a space, even when he's just trying to drag you onto a ride. “You’re way too much sometimes, you know that?”

Satoru laughs, his hand still holding yours tightly as he walks backward in front of you, his gaze never leaving yours. “What? I’m just being enthusiastic! You’re gonna love it. I promise.”

You try to resist, but his energy is infectious, and despite your initial hesitation, you find yourself smiling. You glance over at Suguru and Shoko, who are walking a few paces behind, Suguru shaking his head with a small smile, clearly used to Gojo’s antics by now.

"Satoru," you say, pulling back just slightly, trying to dig in your heels. "I’m not sure I’m ready for that huge of a ride right off the bat. I mean, I—"

But before you can finish your sentence, Satoru is already gripping your hand a little tighter, his signature grin plastered across his face. Without hesitation, he begins turning you toward the massive roller coaster queue, practically dragging you along. 

“Nope, no backing out now, senpai! You said you’d scream, so let’s scream!”

"Wait, Satoru, seriously—!" you protest, stumbling a little as he pulls you forward with alarming enthusiasm.

"Suguru, help!" you call out, half-laughing and half-panicking, like a kid being dragged along by an overzealous parent.

Suguru, who’s been watching this whole spectacle with an amused smirk, laughs out loud. "Alright, alright. I’ll come with you, senpai." He gives you a knowing look, one that says he’s not about to let you go through this alone.

"Good. Thank you." you mutter, slightly relieved, though you're not sure how much that’ll actually help. Suguru’s calm presence is certainly reassuring, but there’s no amount of support that could fully prepare you for the monstrous roller coaster looming in front of you.

Satoru, in all his glory, turns to you with an exaggerated wink. “Don’t worry, senpai. You’re gonna love it. And if you scream like a little kid, I won’t judge... much.” He chuckles, then starts tugging you forward again. “Come on, let’s make this fun! Just think about the view from the top!”

“You’re both insane,” you mutter, though you can’t hide a reluctant grin. You can tell you’re probably not getting out of this one, not with Satoru’s unshakeable confidence and Suguru’s good-natured support. Maybe this would end up being more fun than you expected—though you’d reserve judgment until after the ride.

Suguru gives you a small smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Hey, it’s all about enjoying the moment. Besides, if you scream, we’ll have some great footage for the bungee to laugh at later. Let him have his fun here."

You pause, shooting him a sideways glance. “You guys really have it out for me today, don’t you?”

"Of course," Suguru replies with a teasing tone. "You look like you could use a good scream."

"You're going to pay for this." you warn both of them, but you can’t help the slight chuckle that escapes. Maybe, just maybe, this chaotic day was exactly what you needed after all.

“I’ll take three tickets, please.” he says confidently, practically bouncing on his feet as he hands over the money. “And they’re both with me!” 

He gestures to you and Suguru with exaggerated flair, and for a moment, you can’t help but roll your eyes, though you can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. His enthusiasm is impossible to resist.

As the three of you board the ride and take your seats, Satoru buckles in beside you with exaggerated care, flashing you a playful wink. "See? I told you we’d have fun."

Suguru takes your hand and smiles at you. “It’s going to be okay, senpai. We’re here with you.”

You chuckle nervously, glancing at the massive drops ahead of you. “You know, you’re really making me regret agreeing to this.”

Satoru tilts his head, his glasses slightly shifting as he grins. "I’m just here to help you face your fears, senpai.” He gives you a look of mock seriousness. "If you scream, I won’t judge. Promise."

You snort, shaking your head. "I’m not scared. I just don’t like being dragged into things at full speed."

The ride jerks to life hard, and before you know it, the cart lurches forward. You feel your stomach leap as you zoom forward on the track, the wind whipping through your hair.

And for a split second, you forget everything, the past, the hesitation, the weight of your thoughts. It’s just the rush, the dizzying sensation of the roller coaster twisting, turning, and plunging.

And there, right next to you, Satoru and Suguru’s faces are lit up with the brightest, most carefree smile you’ve ever seen. Their bright purple and cerulean orbs are wide with excitement, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound drowned out by the noise of the ride. 

You scream as you plummet down one of the steep drops, still holding onto Suguru’s hand. The other free one is trying to reach for Satoru’s, who catches yours as he laughs against the drop. The rush of adrenaline flooding your veins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel free.

As the ride slows and the ground levels out, Satoru turns toward you, his grin wide and unashamed. "See? Told you you’d love it."

“You really are gripping my hand hard, senpai.” Suguru butted in too, grinning. “You sure you aren’t scared anymore?”

You look at him, laughing, feeling the aftershocks of the ride still coursing through you. “You’re impossible. Both of you.” you say, though your tone is affectionate, and your cheeks are flushed, partly from the ride, partly from the fact that he’s just too damn charming.

Satoru just beams, squeezing your hand briefly before letting go. “Impossible is my middle name, senpai.”

Suguru laughs. “Wah, Satoru. That’s the worst thing you could have said. Corny as shit.”

“Hey, it was great!”

And for the first time in a long while, you find yourself really laughing, your worries forgotten, at least for now. Maybe it’s not about the past at all. Maybe it’s about moments like this, moments of pure, unadulterated fun.

With them by your side, you realize you might just start looking forward to more of them. For the first time in a while, you think you could smile with the utmost tenderness from your heart.

══════════════════

THERE WAS STILL MUCH TO EXPLORE. The sun is high, and the day stretches before you, bright and full of promise. The chaos of the theme park no longer feels overwhelming; instead, it’s just... fun. Y

ou’re laughing, you’re present, and the weight of the past feels just a little lighter with every ride, every bite of food, and every moment spent with the group.

The roller coaster was only the beginning, and now, you find yourself happily floating through the park, trying out different attractions with Satoru dragging you from one to the next like an excited child.

While Suguru keeps a steady, slightly exasperated pace beside you. His protective, calming energy balances out Satoru’s manic enthusiasm perfectly, and you can’t help but appreciate how easy it is to be around him, even in the middle of all this chaos. 

Shoko had taken the liberty of following you guys and disappearing, with Satoru’s black card in hand and buying at the gift stores. She was enjoying herself as much as everyone else too. When she wasn’t doing that, she was taking pictures and videos on her phone. Satoru excitedly tells her to send the videos over to him later. 

But of course, Gojo Satoru’s antics are far from over.

“Look at this!” Satoru exclaims, his voice nearly drowned out by the noise of the park as he rushes over to a nearby cart with trinkets. "I have to get this! It’s a giant plushie version of a panda! It's practically begging me to take it home!"

Before anyone can protest, Satoru’s already handing over wads of cash to the vendor, grinning wildly as he tosses the plushie over his shoulder like it’s no big deal. The panda plush is almost as tall as he is, which makes it even more ridiculous, but Gojo doesn’t seem to care.

Suguru, who has been following along at a slower pace, shakes his head with a smile that’s half exasperation, half fondness. "Satoru, that thing’s the size of a small child. You really think you’re going to carry that around the park?"

Satoru doesn’t miss a beat. "It’ll be my new best friend!" he declares dramatically, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. "You don’t get it, Suguru. It has character. It’ll make the trip ten times more fun!"

By this point, you also needed a break. So you found yourself joining Shoko as the two continued to argue. You and Shoko, who have been happily munching on snacks while observing the aftermath of their ridiculous skirmish, exchange a glance. 

Shoko takes another bite of her cotton candy and grins. "At least they’re both having fun, don’t you think?" she says, her tone dry but amused. "And if you’re being honest, you kind of like having them around like this, don’t you, senpai?"

You blush at her words, suddenly self-conscious. "I... I mean, who doesn’t? They’re both good people. And good natured too!"

Shoko raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint never leaving her eyes. "Right. One’s a man-child who thinks a giant stuffed panda is a necessity and the other arguing about how that isn’t a necessity with the passion of a thousand suns. Hm."

You laugh, a little embarrassed but also entertained by how spot-on she is. "Okay, maybe they’re both a little much sometimes.  But it’s hard not to get caught up in their enthusiasm. Satoru’s—well, he’s fun. And Suguru keeps that well–balanced, don’t you think?"

Shoko gives you a knowing look, her smile a little softer now, and you realize she might have noticed something you haven’t quite put into words. You shift uncomfortably, but before you can think too much about it, Satoru comes running back over to you, holding the giant panda up in the air like it’s some sort of victory flag.

"Look at this thing! Isn’t it amazing, senpai?" he says, practically bouncing with excitement. "I’m going to name it Taro. And no, Suguru, you can’t stop me."

Suguru sighs dramatically but can’t quite hide his smile. "I’ve given up at this point." he mutters, taking a french fry from your food box. "Do whatever you want."

You giggle at the dynamic between them. It’s like watching a child and his ever-patient older sibling, and it’s oddly endearing. You’d never had a sibling, but looking at them, you wondered if this is what it was like. 

"Well, Taro looks very... Gojo Satoru coded, don’t you think?" you say, reaching out to pat the plushie’s oversized head. "You two are practically made for each other."

Satoru beams at you, clearly thrilled with your approval. "Right? I knew you’d get it!" He gives the panda a dramatic hug, causing you to laugh even harder.

Meanwhile, Shoko, who's been quietly watching the exchange, takes another bite of her food before leaning toward you with a grin. “So, do you think this is a sign that Gojo Satoru’s never going to grow up?” she asks, a little teasing. “Our very own Peter Pan!”

You laugh and shrug. "I mean, who needs to grow up when you’ve got a giant panda plushie and a whole theme park to play in?"

Shoko nods sagely, as if this is the most reasonable thing in the world. "True. At least it keeps him entertained."

As you continue walking, Satoru and Suguru continue talking animatedly ahead of you, Shoko nudges you gently with her elbow. “But hey, senpai.” she says, her voice a little softer now, “I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s not easy for you. But you’re doing okay.”

The kindness in her voice catches you off guard, and you blink, surprised by the sincerity behind her words. "Thanks, Shoko." you say quietly. "I think I needed this. This moment, today."

“Good.” she says with a small, warm smile. “We all need to have some fun once in a while. Besides, Satoru wouldn’t let you get away without a little chaos. It's his specialty."

You laugh again, the sound light and free, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can breathe a little easier. Maybe you’ve been taking life too seriously. Maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to be a little reckless and carefree every once in a while.

And with Satoru pulling you toward yet another ride with Taro under his arm, you realize that you’re actually happy. Maybe this is what you’ve been missing—moments like these. Moments with people who understand you, who bring out your laughter, who make you forget the darker parts of your past, even if just for a day.

As Satoru hands you a churro, his grin wide and infectious, you feel your heart lighten. Maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to enjoy the chaos after all. You and the others continue enjoying the park, the laughter and chaos of Satoru’s little antics here and there providing a comforting backdrop, you find yourself starting to lose track of time. 

The once bright winter sun’s starting to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in a warm, golden light. You’re just about to take another bite of your churro when you hear a familiar voice call out to you from behind.

"Senpai….is that... you?" The voice sounds amused, a little teasing, and you immediately recognize it.

You turn, still holding the churro in your hand, and blink in surprise when you spot two very familiar faces making their way through the crowd. Iori Utahime is the first to wave, her expression a mix of surprise and slight exasperation as she spots you. 

Kusakabe Atsuya is also trailing behind her, looking as stoic as ever but with a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he spots you crowding with the Tokyo trio. You blinked and then smiled widely, waving at them.

"Utahime! Kusakabe!" you say, a little surprised but smiling nonetheless. “What are you guys doing here?”

Utahime smirks, crossing her arms as she gives you an exaggerated look. "I could ask you the same thing, senpai. But I guess it’s not surprising you'd be here.”

“Hm, I still live in Kyoto, no?”

“Yeah, I know. But considering all the hype Gojo Satoru’s been making about it, it’s a different loudness to behold." She tilts her head toward Satoru, who’s still clutching his giant panda plushie, clearly oblivious to the attention it’s drawing.

Satoru perks up at the mention of his name and waves the plushie in the air like a victory flag. "Hey, Utahime! Kusakabe!" he calls, completely unapologetic about the chaos he’s caused. "Come join the party! You guys have to ride the roller coaster. It’s amazing."

Utahime raises an eyebrow but doesn't seem all that surprised by Satoru’s little antics. "I'll pass on the roller coaster, thanks. But the food smells good, so I'll gladly join you for that." She glances at the churro in your hand and adds, "You’ve got the right idea, senpai."

You chuckle, holding up the churro in silent offering, and Utahime eagerly accepts. "Nice to see you’re indulging. It’s pretty good, this churro!" she comments with a small grin, then turns to Kusakabe, who’s silently surveying the park, arms crossed as usual. 

Kusakabe shrugs, clearly indifferent but still managing a rare, approving glance your way. "I’m just here because she dragged me along. She said it’s not good to hide away in the dorms all day.”

“I’m going to say she’s right.” You smiled at him. “You do hide away often, still practicing.”

“You’re not making a scene, are you, Gojo?" Kusakabe asks, his tone flat but carrying just a hint of sarcasm.

Satoru’s grin widens even further, and he walks over to Kusakabe, putting an arm around his shoulders in the most obnoxious, over-the-top way. "Making a scene? Me? Never!" Satoru says, practically vibrating with energy. "I’m just making memories with senpai and my friends, my man. This is what it’s all about!"

Kusakabe doesn’t even flinch, though you catch the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Right, right." he mutters dryly. "Making memories... with a stuff toy named Taro."

Satoru holds the panda up proudly. "Taro is my companion for the day! You can’t argue with that!"

You find yourself laughing, the sight of Satoru’s overenthusiasm, Kusakabe’s dry humor, and Utahime’s grin at the churro making the day feel even more perfect. It’s strange, but for once, you don’t mind the noise, the chaos. It feels... easy. Fun. Like this is where you were always supposed to be. Somehow, it was like the old days again.

"Okay, I’ll admit, senpai." Utahime says after taking a bite of the churro. "This place is pretty fun. I didn’t expect it to be so fun. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you till now.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, smiling. "See? I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Especially on the food.”

“Oh, I think it’s the best part!” She grinned at you.

“Right?” 

“Utahime–senpai!” Ieiri Shoko called out on the other side of the park cross, smiling as she held a shopping bag on her shoulder and another in her hands. 

Utahime blushed and smiled widely, waving back as she came rushing to her. “Shoko, you’re here too!”

You blinked, turning to Suguru. “Does she……”

Suguru laughed at your assumption. “I would have thought you would notice it first, senpai.”

Kusakabe chimes in with his usual deadpan humor, his arms still crossed. "I don’t know about you guys, but I was hoping for a more relaxing day. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

"Relaxing?" Satoru repeats with a dramatic gasp, as if the very word offends him. "Who needs relaxation when you’ve got theme park rides, food, and Taro here to make everything better?"

Kusakabe sighed heavily. “I can’t believe my day off is going to be spent like this.”

You smiled at him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t mind, Atsuya.”

///

YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT YAWN AS THE PARK GREW DARKER. You can feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones after hours of running around the theme park, riding everything from roller coasters to bumper cars, and indulging in far too many snacks. Your feet are sore, your eyelids are heavy, but there's a sense of contentment that you can’t shake off. Despite the chaos and noise, you’ve enjoyed yourself more than you thought you would.

Utahime, who had been tolerating Satoru’s antics all day, is clearly at her breaking point. She glares at him as he laughs, still carrying around that ridiculous plushie, and mutters something under her breath about "never going anywhere with him again." 

Shoko, ever the voice of reason, is beside her, trying to calm her down, though it’s clear she’s also amused by Utahime’s exasperation. You can think that the supposed crisis was averted when Shoko took her to go shop at more stores with her.

They were holding hands too, which made Utahime feel a little bit more at ease.  Kusakabe had gone off to follow them, when Satoru indulged in more rides. 

Geto Suguru, with his usual composed demeanor, is also enjoying the calm—his serene expression only interrupted by the occasional glance in your direction on his right side, already starting to feel the weariness of the day.

Unlike Gojo Satoru who had a boundless energy in him, you were already too tired to do anything except sit down. You had made your way over there, feeling like your legs might give out at any moment. As you sit down, your exhaustion catches up with you, and you rest your head on the back of the bench for a moment, just to steady yourself.

Without thinking, you lean toward Suguru, resting your head gently on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the soft weight of his presence beside you. It’s comforting. Safe. The world around you fades into a blur as your eyes flutter shut, the exhaustion finally pulling you under.

The sound of Satoru’s voice breaks through the haze of sleepiness. "Hey! Where’s everyone gone off to?!" he calls out, his usual loud, boisterous tone cutting through the air. You can hear the faint sound of him approaching, his footsteps getting closer.

Suddenly, you feel Suguru’s shoulder shift slightly, and you crack open one eye, only to see Satoru was standing in front of you, his mischievous smile wide. He’s about to say something when Suguru, with an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, raises a finger to his lips.

"Shh…." he says, in a voice low enough that only Satoru can hear. “Senpai’s falling asleep.”

Satoru blinks, surprised for a moment, before his smile softens and he looks down at you, still leaning against Suguru with your eyes closed. He crosses his arms, tilting his head, clearly trying to contain a grin. "Look at you two. So cute." Satoru comments quietly, his voice teasing yet soft. “Oh? Is senpai drooling?”

“Shhhh….let senpai sleep already.”

Suguru’s dark purple eyes flick up to meet Satoru’s infinite blue, and there’s a brief, silent exchange between the two of them. Suguru doesn’t even need to say anything. Satoru already knows. He looks down at you again, then back at Gojo with a small, barely perceptible nod.

Satoru, never one to back down from a playful moment, smiles even wider, his voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. He lets his finger trace against the edges of your hair. He smiles. 

"You know, you look really cute when you're asleep like that, senpai." He leans in closer, but not too close, his voice soft enough so you won’t hear him. “Get some sleep.”

Suguru glances up at Satoru once more, his calm demeanor never shifting, and he simply says, "Satoru, please.." His tone is polite, but there’s an edge of finality to it that even Satoru recognizes.

Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, clearly enjoying this more than he probably should, but he obeys, taking a step back. "Fine, fine." he mutters playfully. "But I swear, if I had a picture of this, I’d have it framed."

You barely hear him, still drifting in and out of sleep. There’s a soft, comforting pressure on your head from where your hair rests against Suguru’s shoulder, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing calms you, making you feel like you don’t need to worry about anything for a while.

You feel a smile tug at your lips, the warmth of their presence wrapping around you like a blanket, and you let yourself drift deeper into the comfort of the moment, surrounded by the quiet affection.

And then it happened.

Satoru looked up as soon as Suguru did.

The soft shift of your sleeping form caught their attention. You stirred slightly against Suguru, instinctively curling in a little tighter, your body seeking warmth as a chill swept through the room.

Suguru’s expression softened, his eyes tracing your movements, but it was Satoru who spoke first, his voice unexpectedly quiet. “It’s snowing.”

The faint glow of the streetlight outside caught the flurry of snowflakes falling from the sky, dusting everything in a soft, peaceful white. The world outside felt miles away from the cozy warmth of your shared space, but the beauty of the moment lingered between them.

Satoru’s usual playful demeanor faded for a moment as he watched you shift again, his gaze softening. It was rare for him to be still, his mind always racing with a thousand thoughts, a thousand plans. But the simplicity of the scene made him pause.

Suguru glanced at the window, then back at you, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “Guess we’re stuck here for a while, huh?”

Satoru chuckled under his breath, but there was a softness to it that didn’t quite match his usual carefree tone. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s nice to just... be here. For once.”

The snowfall outside grew heavier, the world outside becoming a blur of white. The silence between the three of you stretched on, comfortable and warm, until Suguru shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you. He adjusted the blanket, making sure you were tucked in tightly.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit.” Suguru murmured. “No need to rush back into the chaos.”

Satoru nodded, his grin returning as he looked at the falling snow. “Yeah, I think we all could use a little more of this.”

You didn’t wake, lost in the warmth of the moment, the sound of the snowfall outside blending with the quiet of the room. For a moment, everything felt like it could stay this way forever—still, serene, and untouchable. They wanted it to.

The night stretched on, and the snow continued to fall. And in that quiet, the weight of everything outside seemed to fade, leaving just the three of them, comfortable in each other's company, wrapped in warmth, surrounded by the calm embrace of winter.

Everything was great, that last Christmas.

The next year, you thought about these memories.

And just as much, you cried too much about it too.

Because you were alone again, without them to lean on.

But you would never know about it now.

[uncreative-cryptid]

Waveforms and Everything I've Learned About Them

@isthissarksouls

This probably wont be as long as the last one tbh

I think it's very easy to forget since it's not exactly a huge mention, but wuthering waves' world and designs and every thing inbetween is based off the concept of sound. We say frequencies and fortes and other fun words but the biggest thing to remember is these words are in reference to sounds.

well naturally in the world there is a way to measure these sounds, in that of sound waves.

Sound waves can be measured in a variety of ways and shapes.

Resonators are determined Natural, Mutant, Congenital, or Artifical, based on the shape and appearance of the curve and it's "convergence" or "non-convergence". it's a lot a blabbing and it's mainly boils down to this: physics in sound.

The shape of the soundwave is all about the harmonics, as realistically speaking, no sound is truly "clean" without some sort of contamination (background noise, other factors that can displace or affect the appearance of the shape).

In the most basic of terms, as simple as can possibly be, different shaped curves are going to have different frequencies, and different harmonics.

See how the different shapes exist? This is what the "Natural" and "Mutant" resonators might have (as an extreme example) of waveforms. In reality, it will probably look more along the lines of something like this:

However, if you converge the two lines, you get something more like this:

These are two different lines, converged into one, creating an odd 'square' shape. However, in physics, harmonics play a key role.

As you can see in the above graphs, the line is smooth, and steady: these resonators did not experience a lot of distress during this time.

A resonator who experiences a lot going on likely means they were exposed to more harmonics, creating a line more like this:

It is steep, jagged, and closer together. For non-convergent, something like this:

The more harmonics, the messier it will likely look.

In conclusion: A mutant resonator handles a lot all at once, and while the awakening of a forte is not fully clear or known, it's probably good to know that if your resonator is a mutant resonator, the blue line is going to be tighter, steeper, as the frequency is higher, and the pink lines will be very messy and frequent, but they do not cross.

A Natural resonator will probably not have as messy of a line like this, but take it with a grain of salt.

Fortes are widely not studied enough, and there are plenty of theories and understandings on a basic level, and my real life research can only take me so far as to what might be correct.

If you want to see these in action and mess with it yourself, use this site. This is where I got most of the visuals from, and sometimes messing with it actually helps to visualize the how and why it does what it does.

[interlink-au]

My thoughts on the establishment of Hyrule. New theory?

In the author’s note for In With a Bang, I mentioned some very general thoughts about Sky’s Zelda and the establishment of the monarchy, and a commenter wanted to know my thoughts in more detail. So I figured I may as well post it here. Get ready, because it’s a deep dive that ends in a super crazy theory that I don’t think I’ve seen before.

For context, here is what I wrote: “Sky’s Zelda is not a princess. She’s just a girl who turned out to be the Goddess Hylia reborn. I doubt she will even be a queen. I know people like to theorize that Sky and Zelda establish the kingdom of Hyrule, but I think it’s a stretch to think that these two would go from knights-in-training to inventing a monarchy. Where do they even get the idea? I think it happens some generations down the line, and possibly not for completely innocent reasons. Someone either greedily wanted power and control for themselves, or they needed power/control to stop something bad from happening. Or if you commit to the idea that the Zonai founded the original kingdom instead of refounding it, then you know how it went down.” 

So what is my personal take? 

My personal take is that the timeline is terrible and I hate it, but I’m going to deal with it one way or another. 😂 The theorizer part of me loves the timeline, but Nintendo makes it so hard to accept sometimes.

To begin with, I’m pretty flexible with people’s opinions about the whole Zonai thing on the timeline. I was uncertain for a long time, but eventually I agreed with all the people who said that King Rauru was reestablishing Hyrule. It’s nice and clean. I don’t need to worry about fitting Zonai stuff anywhere else. Awesome. 

And then TOTK: Master Works comes out and puts the Zonai founding of the kingdom at the beginning of the timeline. It made me mad, actually. I had just figured out what I believed! And then someone pointed out to me that, since no other games were included on that timeline, it didn’t necessarily mean that this founding of the kingdom was at the beginning beginning. I felt better. 

That was until recently, when I saw a translation in Master Works about Sonia’s character design where it said, “We wanted to convey an image of her as the ancestor of all the Zelda’s, so we incorporated visual elements from all of the past Zelda’s who have appeared in The Legend of Zelda games throughout her design.” Ok, devs, I get it. You’re truly putting the Zonai founding of Hyrule at the beginning. But they also don’t want to attach it in any way to any of the previous games. They put Echoes on the timeline, but they refuse to add BOTW or TOTK. 

So how am I going to handle it? 

I’m probably not going to acknowledge the placement of Zonai in the timeline in my story. But for my own sanity, I put the Zonai onto a different timeline. I really liked the idea of a converged timeline that was a running theory when BOTW came out, and I still do, but it’s just easier to keep the Zonai from cluttering the other three timelines because I have a hard time fitting all the lore together. 

But if they’re on a different timeline, what about the other games? Did that stuff happen?

Yes and no. I decided that the Zonai timeline is the converged timeline - from the beginning of the timeline to the end, all the stuff on the other timelines happened. All of them. The flood, the downfall, the twilight – everything. But they also sort of didn’t happen? At least not on this timeline. All of those events definitely happened on their own timelines, but on this converged Zonai timeline, they are just myths. Myths that may or may not have happened, because there is evidence both ways. People have struggled to figure out what timeline BOTW is in because there’s evidence of a great flood, but the Twilight is also referenced, and people have come up with tons of reasons why it might be the downfall timeline. But the only solid legend actually covered in the game is the one from 10,000 years ago that defeated Calamity Ganon. But then you have all the previous heroes’ armor sets. And not just as non-canon amiibos, because in TOTK they’re found in the depths. And there are treasure maps in the sky that encourage you to find them. If Zelda was sent back to the founding of Hyrule before all those heroes could even be born, then how are there maps on the floating islands for items belonging to heroes who haven’t had an adventure yet? Because they already have happened. Sort of. On the other timelines. Everything that happens on those timelines simultaneously has proof that they both did and didn’t happen on the Zonai/converged timeline. It’s like Schrodinger's box. 

You could think of it this way: the goddesses made this new timeline to combine the others. They created it after the events of the previous games, but the timeline itself stretches back to the Era of the Sky or even beyond. So, the goddesses, knowing what events take place, can place little references to things that happened on the other timelines. Did those events happen on this timeline? No. But the collective consciousness of Hyrule is aware of these ancient legends. The realities where those events did happen kind of brushed up against the reality that BOTW and TOTK and the Zonai live in, without fully intersecting with it. When the Zonai timeline brushes against important moments in history on the other timeline, sometimes things transfer over. Relics of bygone days. Armor, weapons, stories. Those events didn’t properly happen on this timeline, but there’s evidence that they happened somewhere.

I would have included all three timelines and the part of the timeline prior to the split in this image, but it would have complicated the idea unless I modeled it in 3D. So, yeah, this is a very simplified diagram.

As far as how the monarchy was established in the original timeline, before the Ocarina of Time split and before the creation of the Zonai/Converged Timeline, there are numerous possibilities. One possibility is that it has to do with the events during the Era of Chaos. After greedy people fought over the power of the Triforce and the Hylian Sage of Light, Rauru, built the Temple of Time, it may have been suggested that someone take charge of uniting a divided people. Perhaps it was Sage Rauru himself who suggested it. Or it could have been someone taking advantage of the chaos to gain power.

There is a bit of evidence that points to descendants with the blood of Hylia being something synonymous to a shrine maiden or priestess. It would make sense for whoever stepped forward to lead to use that claim to divinity as a right to rule, just like numerous monarchies did in the real world. Maybe the priestess herself stepped forward to lead. Unfortunately, I find it more likely that a man took the lead, seeing as how all Zeldas are “Princess” Zelda presumably until they're married even if they already have all the ruling power, like is seen in Twilight Princess or NES The Legend of Zelda. Due to these examples, it seems to me that princesses are only crowned Queen when they marry. And while we don't really have any good examples because the Queen is always dead in every game, it seems likely that the King is considered the main ruler between the two, no matter which ruler is the descendant of the goddess, considering that's how it usually works in the real world. But those are just a few possibilities. 

In any case, I think it was numerous generations, possibly even thousands of years, before any Zelda gained the title “Princess.”

Feel free to ask me questions if you don't understand, or if you have your own thoughts. If you have evidence for or against this theory, I'd love to hear it. I'm sure there are a lot of angles I haven't thought of.😊

[blackjackkent]

As they draw near the large amphitheater in the ruins that seems like the setting for the ritual, Helena is staggered to a stop in her tracks by a sudden hazy warmth that seems to be emanating from inside her own head. Her vision goes fuzzy, and she sways, almost falling off her feet.

"I feel you..." Elgar'nan whispers in her head, a soft and rumbling purr very unlike the authoritative barks they have heard from him in the past. His voice seems to caress her brain, sending strange shivers down her spine. "I see you. I know how you suffer. Come to me... and I will ease your soul..."

Through her for a moment floods belief in some sort of pure and uncut form, the overwhelming certainty of solace just ahead. Her soul does ache in a thousand different ways with the scars of a lifetime of battle, and this voice strokes the back of her neck and tells her that it will all fade away into peace...

Then her vision clears. She sucks in a sharp breath and steps back, almost running into Bellara behind her. The young elf has gone pale, her eyes even wider than normal, and she's trembling all over. "I feel it... in my head..." she whispers shakily.

-----

"All right?" she asks Bellara softly.

Bellara gives her an unsteady nod. "I-- I think so," she answers. "Was that..."

"Elgar'nan," Neve confirms grimly. Her lips are drawn into a tight line, her eyes narrowed to slits as she peers ahead of them.

"He felt so close," Helena mutters, shuddering. "Kind of makes more sense now, that he's managed to get so many followers together, if he's offering them peace like that." She grimaces. "We'll need to be careful. Stay focused."

Neve shoots her a sideways look; her lip curls in a smile without humor, an expression of shared understanding. "Remember they're Venatori," she says firmly. "Remember that. We know how to deal with Venatori."

Helena squares her shoulders, glancing at some of the nearby cultists, focusing on both the anger and sense of instinctive duty that comes with seeing anyone in those robes. "Yes," she agrees. "We do."

-----

We have a long slow walk down the bridge here, shuffling between groups of Venatori. It's very dramatic and only slightly marred by the immersion-breaking fact that the audio of cheering cultists is TERRIBLY choppy.

And Elgar'nan is still there, still trying to push into their heads.

"Your gods have returned..." he croons. "Give yourself to me, and be seated at my side when the Imperium rises again..."

"He's making promises," Helena mutters, and there's more effort in her voice now. "Tempting me..."

"No..." Bellara whispers. "Not like that... never like that..."

Helena shoves through the final line of cultists. Out of the corner of her eye she can see her other disguised companions converging out of the crowd, falling in behind her.

They all look up, and see the all-too-familiar form of Elgar'nan standing on a dais at the end of the amphitheater, speaking to the crowd below.

"For hundreds of years now," he thunders, "you have mourned the loss of your dragon gods. From beyond the Veil I heard your lament, and have come to deliver you from desolation."

He lifts his arms in exultation, his voice echoing out over them all, shuddering through Helena's bones. "DRAGON OF NIGHT! I BREAK YOUR CHAINS! HEAR MY VOICE AND RISE!"

The world rocks. A creature long slumbering beneath the water beyond the ruin shifts and then bursts upward with an explosive roar. A dragon, horned and gnarled and scaled and huge.

An archdemon. Elgar'nan's archdemon.

Helena's blood runs cold as she watches the smile that spreads across Elgar'nan's face. "I AM ELGAR'NAN!" he cries. "ONCE CALLED LUSACAN! AND I HAVE RETURNED!"

"The Archdemon is already fueling him," she mutters, half-turning towards Neve as she speaks -- and then the magic catches her like a slap, snapping her head backwards.

Everything is quiet. Peaceful. The world fades out and for a moment her soul forgets how to strain for violent justice, or how to sight a bow and set a bomb, or how to laugh. For a moment there is no end of the world in sight, and she does not have to carry it on her shoulders, forever on the edge of losing her grip. For a moment she truly is what she always pretends to be: she is not afraid.

"Your Tevinter crumbles under its own weight..." Elgar'nan whispers to her, soft and soothing against the inside of her mind. "I can restore it. All you must do is obey me. Worship me. Love me. And... kneel..."

Helena staggers, her knees buckling; her breath catches as she feels the pull of that seductive internal quiet.

At her side, Bellara stirs weakly. Her hands lift, twisting, tugging at her magic in quick, hesitant bursts. "I... I know this magic..." she whispers weakly. "It's... old... and dangerous..."

A burst of blue light sputters and sparks around her fingers. "Mythal'enaste..." she whispers, her voice trembling as Helena sways at her side. "It's too strong. I can't break it..."

Helena can hear her as if at the end of a very long tunnel. Bellara feels far away - but her voice is familiar, almost as warm and almost as soft as the spell that wraps her thoughts. She lifts her head with an effort of will, tries weakly to force against the grip on her mind.

On her other side, Neve too is struggling against the power sweeping over them, and another flicker of blue, ice-pale this time, joins Bellara's.

"We've got this," Neve whispers.

(A/N: I love this image. Helena's girlfriend and best friend saving the day while Helena trips balls in between them.)

There's a long, tightly strained pause. And then something clicks; the magic snaps into place, a barrier between them and Elgar'nan. And Helena's mind clears, that empty peace fading, her vision returning, and she inhales sharply, reaching out and gripping onto Bellara's arm to keep from falling over.

Bellara puts a hand over hers. Her eyes are wide with the effort of holding the shield in place. "I'm trying to conceal us," she whispers urgently, "but he'll know someone broke his hold."

Helena feels as if she has just emerged from a very deep water - but there's no time to catch her breath. Neve nudges at her shoulder firmly. "Bellara bought us some time, but we have to go - now."

Go, Helena tells herself. It was a brief dream, a moment of weakness; Elgar'nan is trying to play with her. She can't let him. And yet it takes more effort than she would like to put one foot in front of the other, to begin to strip off their disguises and reveal the natural clothes beneath as they disappear from the crowd and into the nearby wilderness.

A cold shiver works its way down her spine as she hears Elgarn'an's voice lift behind them.

"VENATORI! THERE ARE UNINVITED GUESTS AMONG YOU! BRING THEM TO ME!"

[archduchessgortash]

ten first lines tag game

I was tagged by @slayerdurge

(And @flamemittens)

(Thanks! I don't have ten, but I'm following @slayerdurge's lead and adding lines from unposted WIPs, too. Also, lines is plural, so I'm doing more than one line from each because I'm a yapper. I know it's only plural for grammar... but see if I care! 😈)

Rules: Post the beginning lines of your 10 most recently published fanfics, then attempt to tag 10 people!

1. The Gondian Inconvenience This is part 2 in my series: Not Today. (Baldur's Gate 3, F|M Durgetash fic featuring my gnome necrolock, set 9 years before the events of the game)

His long black jacket flapping behind him as he slammed the doors open, Enver Gortash stormed into the front office of his primary place of business, and growled, ‘Not again. This is the third one!’

2. Apotheosis Diaboli (Baldur's Gate 3, a Durgetash poem/prophecy, part of Love Is A Tyrant: Additional Documents)

A convergence may crown a cambion, A brilliant fool twisted by the yearning for power. The Lightbringer unbinds the Dark.  A black hand and a bloody blade.  A skull they drag behind. 

3. Her Hand, His Throat (This is part 1 of my series Not Today)

Enver Gortash woke with a gasp, staring up into the demonic red and inky black eyes of a raven-haired gnome. Her skin was so pale that it gleamed like a bleached skull in the spear of moonlight that plunged into the darkness of his bedroom through a gap in his drapes. A very subtle smattering of freckles spread over the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. Red horn-shaped tattoos began at the inner corners of her eyes, curved under her eyebrows and swept up over her temples to elegant points ending a short distance from her hairline. Her septum was pierced by a golden horseshoe ring capped with red gemstones. Her diminutive frame straddled his chest, his arms pinned under her knees and his plush bedspread, a blade like the tongue of a devil poised beneath his chin. He could certainly remove her, but not before she bled him. Best convince her to move on her own.

4. Kressa's Notes (Part of Love Is A Tyrant: Additional Documents)

Test Subject Observations 2nd Nightal, 1491 DR Race: Halfling, aged approximately 35 years. Gender: Female presenting.

5. Would You Still Want Me... (BG3, Durgetash one-shot written like a scene in a play featuring my default Durge, Praxas, and Gortash from my series: The Ribbon)

[Evening. Rain patters on a rooftop. Sitting in his office (not Wyrm's Rock), Gortash finishes a stack of paperwork with a relaxed sigh, his eyes traveling to the tall, broad dragonborn across the room. His boots flaking dried mud onto Lerry's desk, Praxas is leaned back in the half-elf's chair, ankles crossed, skimming a halfling cookbook whilst mentally modifying all the recipes to substitute the listed protein for actual halfling. He rubs one foot along the side of the other absently, dirt clods littering neatly stacked parchment. Gortash stands, walks to the front of his own desk and leans against it.] Gortash: [With a little smirk] Would you still want me if… I was a worm? Praxas: [Instantly slams the book shut. Parchment and dirt fly off the desk as he stands, nostrils flared] Name and address.

6. The Ribbon, Part One: A Gift For An Equal (BG3, M|M Durgetash fic featuring Praxas, set in 1490 DR, just as things get steamy)

The Bhaalspawn reclined against the stone wall of one of the many balconies that extended out from Moonrise Towers into the mist and darkness of the former riverside township of Reithwin, now more commonly known as the Shadow-Cursed Lands. The wall was at the bottom of a short stairway leading down from some sort of throne overlooking the Chionthar River. A pile of logs burned brightly in a brazier about three meters from him. 

7. A Dead God's Dream and the Man Who Invented Himself (This is part 1 of my series: Love Is A Tyrant, F|M Durgetash double redemption fic that starts their stories when they are still children)

[Suffering from severe writer's block on a section of this one so barely anything is posted.]

Five-year-old Enver Flymm was dazzled by the view as he walked through the arch of Heap Gate, and glimpsed the Upper City district of the Wide for the first time. Though crowded with merchant stalls, the cobblestone streets were cleaner than any he'd seen in his life. Heapside was filthy, the roads in such disrepair that he often tripped and fell in all the dips and holes. Shop windows were boarded up, and he had to walk almost to the docks before the fishy scent of the water overpowered the reek of garbage in the Heap. Here in the bazaar, it smelled like roasting meats and nuts, leather and… flowers.

[Here ends the posted fics, so I'll tack on 3 WIPs]

8. No Goodbyes Allowed, unposted Part 3 of Love Is A Tyrant, originally intended as Part 2.

The frigid breeze sent a shiver through Enver Gortash as it stirred his hair in layered pieces that one could easily mistake for the feathers of a raven's wing. The dawn's brilliance gave an amber glow to his skin, disguising the roughness in his complexion and washing out his crows feet. As he knelt, tilting his head, his dark eyes ensnared beams of orange and golden light, holding both captive therein, much as they held the woman before him, often enraptured, ever lost, yet never, for even one moment, scared.

9. Act 3: Coronation is the working title for this 70K words of unposted Durgetash that is Part who-the-fuck-knows-at-this-point of Love Is A Tyrant

‘You're… him, aren't you? The man from my memories… Env,’ Tyrsa mused, realizing from seeing his face up close, the sound of his voice and most of all, how he looked at her, that this was the man she had memories of… some of the only ones she had recovered that weren't awful.

10. Untitled Raphael Reader fic set a long time post-canon (I'm not much of a second person writer or reader, but I will finish this one day)

‘Little Mouse?’ Raphael whispers, his breath a breeze across cinders, hot and dry in your ear, the tips of his claws testing the tensile strength of your tender mortal flesh as he squeezes your shoulder. He knows exactly how hard to press. Your eyelids flutter but do not yet open, your thoughts heady with the memory of every scar those claws would have inflicted if he'd been able to tolerate a single blemish lingering on your skin. His magic had allowed you to hold onto pain for as long or as short a time as you wished to, a freedom only a god could grant. Even now, as age had stolen nearly all of your strength and surely your beauty as well, you had never once been permitted to see a single line crease your skin, not since the day you'd delivered him the Crown of Karsus and stormed the Nine Layers of Baator by his side.

Hmm...

Dearest @twinaquapisces must be tagged, for without them, not a single line I've written would have ever been posted to AO3.

[No pressure, ofc, but... everyone needs to read your Rhack fics! And leave kudos!]

On to the next victims... I mean, uh... let's see: tagging @defira85 @astarioffsimpmain @bardrizz @carjani @flymmsy @j7arlet @kaava @litsenn @optimisticgrey

Apologies if you've already been tagged!

[toxotesjc]

Cut scene from Always Comes First Ch2

Under the cut. 843 words, somehow.

So there's this part in the beginning where Mack and Will are talking on the phone pre-draft, and Mack is trying to impress Will, and Will has just gone to the aquarium (specifically, in my head, the New England aquarium). I expanded on it but it did ultimately get cut, because it didn't do anything for the story's themes that other scenes weren't doing better, and also it's 843 words. It's a shame. I do like aquariums. So I tried to clean it up a little, and here it is.

“Sorry,” Mack says an hour into the call. “I had to go piss. My brother’s been hogging the bathroom all night, so I gotta get in there while I can.”

“I thought you just got back from the club,” Will says. “You said– with the new fake ID?”

Macklin doesn’t have a fake ID, and that’s not because some dick bouncer cut it up, despite what he told Will. Desperately, he fakes a laugh. “Nawww, that was last night I was at the club, man,” he says. “Did I say tonight? I guess I had a liiiiiiittle to drink.”

“Okay.” Will doesn’t sound like he disbelieves Mack, but he doesn’t seem impressed, either.

“Can you tell me about the aquarium?” Mack asks. He catches the way he sounds too late: voice up in the top of his throat, hovering above the panic that spends every day now in his diaphragm.  He clears his throat and tries again. “Can you tell me about the aquarium? I used to love it. When I was a kid.” His voice comes deeper now, forced, more the man he is and has to be than the boy he can’t admit he still feels like.

“I went with my mom,” Will tells him. 

“Why?” The question comes unbidden. Doesn’t Will know how that looks? Doesn’t he know he should be going places with his friends, with other men, by now?

“Because I like her. She’s a pretty cool lady. Do you want to hear about the aquarium or not?”

Mack loves his mom. He loves Dada, too. He’s not sure he can imagine a day out with either one of them, not for no reason, not to somewhere as unproductive as the aquarium.

“Obviously I saw the sharks. Wanted to see if they’d recognize me as one of their own now.” Will doesn’t wait for him to answer. “There was a nurse shark. Kinda smooth-looking, with a little mustache. Not all toothy like sharks usually are in movies. And it was in with all these fish, but the guy said it didn’t hunt them. And these other spotted guys, um, hold up.”

In the old movies, people always twirled the twisted cord of their rotary phones round their index finger. There’s something in the depths of Mack’s brain that pairs the action with the old-fashioned phrase wrapped around your finger. That’s how you do it, maybe, get someone around your finger: spend ages on the phone with them, twirling that line around and around.

“Epaulette sharks!” Will says triumphantly, clearly having googled it. “Epaulettes are, like, the tassels on the shoulders of old-fashioned army uniforms. I wonder why they named a shark after them. Maybe cause they’re so pretty.”

Mack pulls the phone away from his ear and opens Google. The shark is sort of pretty, with a round little face and a slightly open mouth. “It’s okay, I guess,” he says.

“--and it can walk on land,” Will says, “like a salamander or a newt, because it’s conversely– convergently?– evolved.” He’s clearly reading from the Wikipedia page.

“I knew that.”

“You did not, asshole. So there was this room downstairs with baby sharks, like the size of your finger, and they were so cute.”

“Any pretty girls there?” Mack asks, trying to change the subject. He’s not good at cute, or at least he shouldn’t be. “Pretty girls, like not your mom.”

Will doesn’t seem to need to take time to consider. “You saying my mother’s not a beautiful lady? But I actually don’t know if the sharks were girls. I can’t tell.”

That’s not what Mack meant, and he knows Will knows that. “Human women, bro. You can’t tell me you weren’t looking.”

“What was your favorite when you went to the aquarium? As a kid?”

Mack grew up going to the aquarium pretty often: there are some good ones in California. He has an answer to this, and it’s swimming urgently up his throat.

“I always liked jellyfish,” he admits.

“Oh yeah? The big white ones, you mean?” And just like that, they’re off, the conversation so alive that Mack couldn’t derail it, couldn’t tow it back to calmer, more familiar waters if he tried. Not even if his father was in the room.

The two of them have been like that for more than a week now, conversations just lasting and lasting until Will eventually falls asleep midsentence and Mack pretends he has, too, so he has an excuse not to hang up until the morning. The trick is just getting the right topic, something that grips them both: Will has a particular touch for it, while Mack flounders helplessly. He knows the deep voice and the party talk is only bogging him down, knows he probably isn’t even fooling Will, not when the pretense gets dropped as the night wears on.

He wonders if Will’s mom took pictures of him with the sharks. He wonders if she put them on Facebook for her friends, and if so, what her name on there might be.