#post type : [timestamp]

[anbaisai]

It's not even actually their birthday

(Based on a conversation I had with a friend + Jamil's 2024 birthday present to the player)

[skunkes]

[paper-mario-wiki]

[kyuyua]

I AM A SUCCESSFUL FAN

[reminiscentrainclouds]

Fictionkin Journal Day Six

[1:03 AM]Something that I worry about a lot is wondering if maybe acknowledging and/or actively engaging with fictionkin stuff is actually unhealthy for me. Maybe this is a situation where the past really should be left in the past, maybe it's making me too hyperaware of my identity, maybe it's holding me back, maybe it's bad for my sense of reality, etc.

It's something that feels important to me, but maybe I really should just try to ignore it.

Maybe this will just exacerbate my dissatisfaction with this life. That's the biggest one, I think.

All that could still be true to some extent (although I hope it isn't), but lately I've really been feeling like acknowledging it makes me feel like being alive here and now is all the more meaningful.

See, I won't lie. There are a whole bunch of things about this world that I hate. If it were up to me, I really wouldn't want to be here. Nothing is the way it should be and I don't feel like I belong at all. Being fictionkin compounds on that and yeah, it does make me wish I was there rather than here. It makes me miss things that technically never existed, at least not here.

I spend a lot of time thinking about it, but I try not to let it get in the way of finding whatever small joys I can in the present moment, too. I feel like that's important.

It's taking me a long time to get to my point. Basically, yeah it does kind of add to my frustrations of living in a world that doesn't feel welcoming to me at all, but it also adds meaning to my life that I wouldn't have otherwise had.

I don't feel like I belong here, but I belonged somewhere. It's not impossible. Nothing feels meaningful here, but I had plenty of things that felt meaningful once, so I can carry that meaning with me here and hold it close so I can find things to enjoy anyway.

I can't change where I'm at, but I can find things to love. I can try to make a space for myself where I am. And some small part of me hopes that I'll be somewhere I belong again, eventually, and maybe I'll see the people I miss so much again at some point.

Like maybe who I am now is a continuation of a line of puzzle pieces that kinda sorta fit together. I can be someone new now but still hold who I've been before close to me?

I feel like I'm leaning too poetic now but all I'm trying to say is: maybe it means something, maybe it means nothing. But it feels like it means something and there's nothing wrong with creating a bit of meaning in your life yourself. That's the only way to create meaning in your life, really, and I've only just started having fun with it recently. I love being fictionkin and I love being a little bit weird to the average person and I love having lots and lots of things that feel important to me even though they aren't important to anybody else.

And to be honest, what fun it is to be an artist and bring parts of your old life into your new one. I love that, it's so fun.

It's like a crazy opportunity to look back on your life after it's all said and done and maybe (not always) learn something from it, which is really cool to me.

Well mostly. There are The Horrors but there are cool parts to it too. Like creating AUs where none of the bad things happen.

This one was too long.

[erstwhilesparrow]

i do keep trying to Make Quick Poast about mohwee+owen outsiders and it just will not cohere due to how i am trying to condense like six months worth of thinking about them into a handful of paragraphs. so instead i will make Longer Poast. come with me on this journey.

let's... start at the beginning? the thing that Gets Me about early mohwee+owen is that mohwee is constantly pushing for going into the maze, damn the risks, trying to argue that they should just be looking out for themselves in there, and he is not clocking at all that people like owen and graecie are trying to stop him because you can't just make people who are worried about you not worry about you. mohwee disappears briefly during a run and when they get back to the clearing, owen punches him once. says, later, "i don't have it in me to punch him again." he doesn't want mohwee hurt, at his hands or any others'! and, like, to be clear, i don't think that owen's concern here is specific. i bet he'd be Like This about anyone who ran off into the maze without warning; he cares about mohwee because he's decided it's his job to care about the people of the clearing, and mohwee is a person from this clearing.

but it's not terribly long before owen starts to just... resign himself to mohwee being like this? one of the first times they find levers in the maze, mohwee tosses owen a bow and arrows he had on him, and while the others protest, owen says, "let him do it. clearly he has a death sentence [sic]." a few times, mohwee runs out of sight and instead of trying to call him back, owen chases him and asks, "what did / do you see?" even this early on, they are testing each other, learning to work together.

another thing owen says about mohwee from this time period i'm normal about:

What's the point of the objective if you die in the process? What about me?

i think hearing it in context makes it reasonably clear owen's "what about me" is mostly referring to how if mohwee runs off, that also directly risks the lives of people with him because something could happen to them and mohwee wouldn't know / be able to help. but it sure is something. asking mohwee to think of who he's leaving behind. asking mohwee to think about him. another interaction in this space:

Owen: I almost died there because of you. Mohwee: ...I didn't ask you to go in. Owen: Yeah, but that's the point! You're my friend! I turned and went in with only a minute left!

and later:

I care about you a lot, Mohwee, I just--

all this, before mohwee even disappears into the maze for his months of absence! but of course he does disappear, and owen's really normal about that too. during mohwee's disappearance, owen talks about how he doesn't trust mohwee, how he's never going to let mohwee take anyone else into the maze again, and on one hand, yeah, he is saying these things, but on the other, he is speaking in the present tense about a person that the other outsiders have been consistently arguing about: is mohwee alive? is he dead? shouldn't we just give him up for dead and move on? owen tells graecie that mohwee might still be alive, but like. i don't think he's helping her cling to that hope just for her sake.

anyway. owen declares to himself, "My job is to protect people. To the best of my abilities." adds, later, "All I remember about myself is that I was raised to protect people." mohwee's lever on the sign-out wall stays flicked down. owen stays in the maze overnight to look for mohwee, says he would do anything to get them one step closer to finding him, and he doesn't notice that he's doing the exact same thing as mohwee. saying he's happy to risk himself and then not registering at all that risking himself does in fact risk more than just him, for various reasons which include how you hurt other people by getting hurt yourself. there is no escaping the bonds you have made with these people!! neither of them recognize this in themselves, but it is the very thing that keeps them bound to each other!!

and then mohwee's back. he staggers into the firelight battered and bloody and screaming at them for leaving him to die. ("How did you survive?" someone asks. / "Should I tell you?" Mohwee snaps. "I don't think you deserve to know.") he and oeca walk away to talk, and owen chases after them, asking if they need space, if they need owen to hold the others back. it's just... it's an interesting move, yknow? owen, who has spent so much time up to now arguing and disagreeing with mohwee, trying to corral him, now going, i'm on your side, i'll give you what you're asking for.

(total sidebar: it breaks my heart that owen says (paraphrased), "so do you want us to leave you alone?" and mohwee doesn't say yes.)

(second sidebar: it's not even like the arguing is a strike against the idea of owen caring about mohwee, really. they can't help caring about each other. they wouldn't keep going back, to the maze, to the clearing meetings, to the arguing, if they really really didn't care. they keep saying they're done, they won't go back, and then they do, every time.)

it's at the point that i start thinking about... what owen-as-gatekeeper might look like to mohwee. the promises owen keeps making: he's going to protect everyone, he'll turn back and drag you out of the maze by force if he has to, he'll hunt you down in there no matter what it takes. i think about mohwee's time in the maze, his blatant terror of the monsters inside, his insistence that the outsiders cannot mess with the maze because it will kill them. owen, compared to the implacable and unknowable mechanisms of the maze, must seem pretty straightforward. even the things he gets angry about are more or less predictable. if mohwee were to go into the maze again, owen would come after him.

i think about owen in this time period, as it becomes increasingly evident that he was not joking about how fundamentally violence is part of him, is in his bones so deep even wiping his memories doesn't take it away. he is profoundly committed to what he thinks is right. he's gone from [couldn't bring himself to punch mohwee more than once] to [willing to bring ori down to a single heart] for the sake of 'protecting' everyone. he'll beg at the gates, he'll do real physical harm to 'keep people safe'. i think also about how he comes up the elevator and one of the first things he does is make and collect weapons. he says "i need to help protect people" and he builds an arena where he says he'll teach people to fight. he is forever talking about how he used to be a soldier. he doesn't really seem to know how to care for people except through violence. i think about him threatening to hunt mohwee down.

at one point during owen's gatekeeper arc, mohwee threatens to run past owen into the maze, and then backs off laughing and claiming it was a joke when owen punches him for it. but do you think he thought about it? do you think during this arc mohwee ever looks at owen, all his threats, all his dedication, and discovers that there is a comfort to knowing exactly what you'd be hunted by?

anyway. i'm also thinking about how after that initial do you want me to hold them back with mohwee and oeca, owen... kind of keeps acting as intermediary between them and the rest of the clearing members? mohwee and oeca build up a barricade, and later, mohwee, angry and hurt, says, "i'm tearing [the barricade] down; they don't deserve this," while owen follows him and tries to talk him down. owen as the connecting line between mohwee and the rest of the outsiders, owen as the one who turns and calls to ask what mohwee saw, as the one who chases after to ask for mohwee's opinions.

there might be something here as well to the notion that the people owen treats as on-level with him are often people he's been antagonistic with (e.g. ori, mohwee -- he is not doing the Careful And Gentle routine with them the way he does even with oeca), and some of it is definitely that he's treating them seriously because he's treating them as potential threats he'll have to confront at some point, but i do like the idea that owen's protection and care is a little indiscriminate at this point, but you have to fight for his respect. i think at any rate it is fair to say there's Something Different about how these two relate to each other. and i think that Something Different doesn't not have an effect. i think it is a really interesting element of mohwee's character that when he comes back from the maze, it's obvious enough that he's hurt and upset, but instead of focusing on himself, he really quickly gets caught up in shouting at the other clearing members for ostracizing oeca. and then when squidney comes back, she says she's forgiven them for leaving her behind, but mohwee doesn't. mohwee continues getting angry on her behalf, arguing that rasbi shouldn't get to escape blame for abandoning her, and it's about his own abandonment, but it is also about that thing none of them seem to fully grasp, that they can't avoid caring about each other, and they will express that care badly, in ways clearly inflected by their own trauma, but they will care. he and owen have something in common here. look out for your people. be ready to do something drastic on their behalf.

(tangentially related: found in my notes a bullet point about mohwee yelling, "i'm not processing! i'm getting to work!" around the building of the barricade. man. ;-; )

after the second gate into clearing A opens, mohwee comes up to owen and asks him, "spikes?" just the one word, but they have grown to know and trust each other enough that it works. they can rely on each other to be concerned about the maze, to want to figure it out and help everyone get out. this is after owen has renounced being a leader, but mohwee still checks with him before taking action, still seeks out owen specifically to talk to. some exchanges from this period that make me want to bite something:

Owen: There wasn't any point [in me being leader]. Mohwee: What do you mean there wasn't any point? There's always a point. You taught me that.

and

Mohwee: You sound really sad. Are you good? Owen, laughing: No, no, I'm fine!

and

Owen: People would lose their nut if I went in there-- Wait, why do I care? Mohwee: Yeah, why do you care? What if we just went in and no one knew?

and i don't have direct quotes for this last one, but mohwee and owen sit down to talk about how they think the new maze entrance should be investigated, and owen jumps immediately to mohwee as someone he would be want to have on his team when they go. ("What a team, huh?" / "Yep, look at us go!")

there's a point during the prison arc where mohwee comes running to owen to tell him that no one's watching over apo, checks with him that owen knows and that this is okay. it was at this point i messaged my friend, "mohwee REPEATEDLY AND DEMONSTRABLY ONLY TRUSTING OWEN. owen did you train your own guard dog. what happened." and mohwee doesn't actually have owen's dogged (ha) loyalty like that, but there's something here, maybe. about their lives intertwining in this really particular way. about seeing each other, about trusting each other and also wanting to push each other farther. owen tells mohwee, "I see why you didn't want to be leader." says not being leader means you can do whatever you want. owen tells mohwee he'll make sure to drag mohwee back to the clearing if he's downed in the maze but doesn't expect the same from mohwee. mohwee promises he'd do the same.

and specifically the thing here is mohwee seems to like pushing at owen's limits, trying to see if he'll go back on his own beliefs. there's the back-and-forth they are constantly having in early outsiders about who should go into the maze and when, but there's also owen talking about how it's always mohwee who doubts owen's memories of being a soldier, who's willing to ask well are you SURE you were a soldier? and when they go into the new maze section together, mohwee takes such a plain pleasure in seeing owen break his own rules. they joke about the little barricade that's been built in front of the second gate. they laugh about what they find scattered around the maze, about mohwee nearly plummeting off a sharp drop but catching the vines just in time. they dare each other to make jumps, they're excited and playful and having fun. mohwee says:

Owen? I like this side of you. Just do what you want.

there's a dynamic here that's almost like... i want to unravel you, i want to break you down into the you i'd rather you be, but i also know you as you are and knowing you means knowing how and when to push you right up against your limits. if you want me pinned you will have to fight for it the whole way. mohwee running for the gate knowing full well owen will see and stop him. owen saying he sees why mohwee doesn't care for leadership, then turning back to the leader role anyway.

(another sidebar: there's a few instances around this time period where owen's in the maze alone and he'll notice something -- a tree, or scallions -- and connect it back to mohwee. he describes the big landmark tree he stumbles across as "mohwee's tree.")

the next big incident is the finding and attack(s) of the griever den. mohwee runs ahead basically immediately and owen says to the other party members, "yeah, he has a tendency to do that." later, when they find the den seems to be empty, owen climbs up some vines to look around and mohwee comes up after him. there is the following again, the knowing each other again. on their way back, owen overhears mohwee talking to himself:

Mohwee: Actually, that might be something I have to do alone. [to Owen] I want to go back there. How much time left before night? Owen, stopping dead in his tracks: That doesn't sound like a good idea. Mohwee: Of course it's not a good idea.

transcribing it like this does not really capture how they are quick with each other, paying attention and never quite willing to bend. and also, later:

Mohwee: What if I just went? Owen: Please don't. Mohwee: What if I-- What if I just pulled a day one? Owen: Day One Mohwee? [sighing as he steps away to talk to himself] I can't let him go in there alone! He'll die in there!

then, after a flashback to his time as a soldier, owen goes to find mohwee:

Owen: Let's go. [Some confusion, during which Mohwee says something like "Right now?"] Owen: You said! You made out like you wanted it to be now. Mohwee: No, I'm just surprised, I'm just surprised that you even wanna go. Okay, fine. Owen: I can't let you go in by yourself. Mohwee: Okay, no no no no no. We are not going so you can protect me. We are going so you can help me. Owen: I-- I'll help you. Mohwee: And because you want to go for yourself.

owen follows mohwee. mohwee follows owen. mohwee wants owen selfish, owen wants mohwee safe. it's circling each other, it's chasing each other, it's knowing each other as only hunter and hunted can. do you see what i'm saying?

(sidebar: later in the maze, they also have:

Mohwee: All right, Owen, task at hand, okay? Owen: Mhm. [then, to himself, muted prox chat] I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for Mohwee, even if he says he doesn't want that to happen.

there is a... truth to what they want from each other, i think. owen admits much later that he was selfish, not wanting to sacrifice his life and so being grateful that others did. under many of mohwee's clashes with owen, the undercurrent of fear and hurt: mohwee wants out of here, mohwee wants to never have to worry about the maze again. it's not that mohwee throws himself into this for glory, it's that he wants to be done, he wants to be safe.)

before they actually try again, mohwee gathers their little assault party for a speech. he talks about how his entire time in the glade has lead up to this moment, to helping everyone get out. he says, "We can do this. Magic knows why we're in here. If something happens, others can carry it on for us." this is their only chance, he says. they can't back down when they do this. he tells owen, as they close in on the griever den, "we got this. we got this." (this is mostly not that relevant. i probably should have put it in a sidebar. but hey, you read this far and i'm really sad about this one.)

and then it... fails. mohwee's confidence was misplaced, squidney's dead, they trudge back to the clearing and from owen's pov, you can just hear mohwee murmur to himself, "I was so confident..."

before owen disappears into his house for his Terrible No-Good Very Bad Coma, he talks to mohwee again:

Owen: I just-- I gotta go take some rest, okay? Mohwee: What's wrong with you? Owen: [...] It's been a lot to take in. Mohwee: Are you angry? [...] Owen: No, no, not at all, not at all. Mohwee: It'd be understandable. I kind of dragged you into it. Owen: No, no-- I went in there... to help. And-and-and at least we learned something, eh? Mohwee: You look pale. Owen: I'm fine, I'm just in a bit of shock. Mohwee: Okay. Owen: 'Kay, I'm gonna rest, I'll talk to you later? Mohwee: Okay. Bye-bye.

writing it out like this doesn't really convey how... neutral mohwee sounds for this whole exchange. even the "what's wrong with you" comes across... not quite emotionless, but like he's trying not to inject too much emotion into it. like he really genuinely wants owen to answer the question, and like he's braced for owen to be mad but too proud to admit it. i think... he hasn't quite figured out how to admit it. but he is concerned, and paying attention, and trying to take the next right step.

isn't it so sad that the next big thing i have to talk about is mohwee dying? i have fewer notes for this section because at that point i was mostly just along for the ride, but it makes me want to chew drywall that mohwee's last words to the outsiders are take care of each other. the thing is, even if his impulses at the start of all this were entirely selfish, even if he really wasn't thinking about the people who would put themselves in danger for him, even by the time he was back, before they knew about the second clearing, he was saying he'd change for graecie and ori. he cared about his people even if he never said it directly. the barricades he put up with oeca, the arguing for people not to fuck with the maze, the insistence on remembering who had ostracized oeca or abandoned squidney. in those last moments in the dark maze when owen is trapped in that corner with kyle, mohwee comes back. he specifically says he came back to look for owen. he wanted to learn the maze, wanted to kill the griever, wanted to do the work to get them all out. he cared so much. the last thing he said to them was take care of each other.

i think about how after this, owen is going to have his Turn and mohwee will be dead and have no idea about it. owen is going to lie to and trap and murder the other outsiders and die a miserable death alone under the clearing and mohwee won't ever know about it. mohwee knew owen as a lot of things but he'll never know owen as this. mohwee dies knowing owen as the one who taught him that trying to do right by others is the only thing you really can do.

i have spent a lot of this post highlighting that point; i'm sure you get it by now. but i think part of the crucial thing here is despite this, they both still die in the maze, mohwee and owen. they don't get out alive. they never even say that they might know each other in ways unique to the two of them, much less that they love each other, whatever that flavour of love is. there is something here about finding a specific, terrible, beautiful, fleeting understanding in one another, and having that understanding shape you. i said to a friend at one point while writing outsiders fic that i can write romance in the maze so easily because i know that for certain people in a certain type of world, desire is terrifying. and in outsiders it works especially because loving people you cannot control, who will risk their own lives because they love you just as much back, loving people who are so constantly on the precipice of death and knowing it, is terrifying. and they still do it. they cannot help themselves. to say it out loud means knowing you'll die for them and they'll die for you and so you can't say it except indirectly, approached sideways or in the heat of the moment, and even then it will never be enough. mohwee and owen were neither of them the only person in the other's life. they died alone, separate, and there are pieces of them that their counterpart will never find out about. but their lives did intersect. they changed each other. the actions they took mattered to one another. however bleakly it ends, it matters that it happened.

[pocket-mobster]

gonna infodump/soliloquize to no one for a sec, but 24-hour time and military time are different things. while the terms are used interchangeably in the US, military time refers to a specific formatting of 24-hour time that's used *obligatory pause* in the military.

for example, it's currently 19:48 EDT (7:48pm UTC -4; yes, this matters). 24-hour time would simply be writing the time as i did before (time zone optional i guess). but military time requires specific formatting, namely removing the colon from the time and adding a letter clarifying the time zone thus rendering 1948Q (or 1948J since J(uliett) is used universally to mean local time regardless of time zone). spoken aloud, this would be "nineteen hundred forty-eight quebec*/juliett" (*pronounced "kebeck" lol), though unless the time is being noted in an official capacity, the time zone letter's usually omitted.

if you've ever seen a really long date/timestamp with a Z in the middle, that stems from the aforementioned time zone lettering practice with Z(ulu) referring to GMT/UTC+0. despite referring to the occasional time zone of a random point on some arbitrarily chosen island, it's used globally as the common reference point to prevent ambiguities due to time zone differences.

[sisyphus-prime]

You can't make every guy you find hot a woman. ... why do you find a cookie hot

You must be new here. Don't worry, I make some hot chicks men too. No one is free from gender shifts here. I usually maintain pronouns too <3

Also im a slut for jesters

[kyra45]

How to spot a scam blog

A very simple guide to figuring out if the blog messaging you is a scam:

Was you sent an ask within some time of sharing a specific type of post such as a trending topic or subject? - Usually scam accounts target particular posts and will spam asks to everyone who shared it. The ask may relate to certain events going on or more. These asks are always sent to many users all at once so it’s suggested to tumblr search part of the ask and see if its been sent by other accounts labeled as a scam or accounts with similar style.

Is the account relatively new? - More often than not, the accounts sending the asks are about a week old or even newer. They haven’t been made too long ago and often send asks within hours of being made. If you have timestamps turned on, you’ll be able to see the date something was posted. A fresher account is usually not going to be one who’s finding you unless they are searching tags and saw your blog.

How many posts are on the account? - Scam accounts rarely have many posts on their blogs beyond the initial pinned post. All their posts, being very few are very little, are most often just posts from a trending topic they looked up or a popular tag they decided to look through. They will share only a few and then make no further posts. This is to pad out their blog to make it look used but it’s easy to see how new the blog is if you scroll to the end.

Are the shared posts fitting a theme? - Scam accounts try to share posts based on the scam they’re trying to run. This means they’ll share posts related to the topic of their choosing and then stop once they’ve shared a few. Most of these posts come from the OP themselves and not from someone the blog is following though in rare cases they’ll find a person to reblog from so they don’t look suspicious.

Are the reblog dates accurate? - If you use timestamps, find a post the blog shared and check ‘Other notes’ and see if the reblog date matches the date that is listed on the blog itself. Often, scammers will backdate posts to make them look much older then they really are in an attempt to deceive people into thinking they’ve used tumblr for months or years.

Is the url auto-generated? - Not always seen from a scam account, but scammers often just use auto-generated usernames because it’s quick and easy to do. But real accounts may have these too. It’s just a thing to keep in mind.

Is the url familiar or similar to one you’ve seen before? - Scammers often try to copy their older accounts by using usernames based around previous scam attempts. It becomes obvious after about a while and usually makes it easy to figure out the scammer is back again. This isn’t always from scam accounts as regular accounts may do this for reasons.

How often do you get asks? - If you barely get asks and suddenly keep getting mutual aid asks it’s very likely you’re just a scammers latest target and they’ll keep spamming asks. This means you’ll consistently get the same style of asks from a brand new account that shouldn’t know you unless they found you in tags. You will keep getting these asks on a daily basis. You will eventually always get these asks.

Did they request you to message them directly? - On rare occasions a scam account will want you to send them a direct message and then they’ll just ask you for thousands of dollars on the spot.

Does your bio say no mutual aid asks? - Scammers don’t read/don’t care they will ignore that and send you asks anyway that won’t stop them.

Short version: More often than not the blog asking you for money is a scam if you don’t usually get asks for money from brand new accounts.

[sixeyesonathiel]

no one else needed to notice

pairing — g. satoru x gn reader

synopsis : you weren’t looking for connection when you replied to a quiet post on a jujutsu forum. but what starts as late-night messages with a stranger turns into something warmer, steadier, and unexpectedly real.

sometimes, the person who sees you best is the one you’ve never even seen. until now.

tags –> one shot, 6.4k wc, non-canon compliant au, internet strangers to lovers, emotional intimacy, mutual comfort, secret voice calls, found each other online, reader is from kyoto, soft gojo satoru, extremely mild angst with a happy ending, first kisses, lighthearted moments, a little rain, stupid jokes and late-night feelings, love is about compromise, rip to gakuganji’s office chair. inspired by the song ‘no one noticed’ by the marias.

a/n : writing this made me bawl, to be loved is to be known. there’s just something about being understood by a stranger and finding solace in each other that gets to me. being known & being loved without being seen in a literal sense? sign me up :P i wanna sob because my pookie bear deserved better aaaaa

red string of fate collection m.list

you didn’t mean to answer the thread.

you never do, usually. the forum’s a chaotic sprawl, a digital graveyard of encrypted usernames—like “void_eater69” or “cursed_snacc”—and timestamps mangled by timezones no one bothers to sync. posts pile up like offerings to some forgotten curse: cryptic rants about residual energy, half-baked spell theories, or someone whining about a shikigami that won’t behave. it’s not a place for real talk. more like a dive bar at the edge of a cursed womb, where everyone’s nursing their own ghosts and shouting into the void.

but that night, your room was too quiet. the kind of quiet that creeps under your skin, heavy as a grade-two’s miasma. kyoto’s winter had settled in, and your tiny apartment felt like a box of stale air, the radiator hissing like it was mocking you. your phone glowed on the tatami, a stubborn rectangle of light that wouldn’t let you sleep. your brain was a traitor, replaying the day’s monotony: a sparring session where you’d nearly twisted your ankle, a debrief that dragged until your eyes glazed, the faint smear of cursed blood you’d scrubbed from your sleeve hours ago.

you scrolled the forum to shut it up. past a thread arguing if reversed cursed technique could fix a hangover. past some guy asking if spirits could get drunk—seriously, dude?—and then you saw it. buried under the noise, posted hours ago, short and raw, no punctuation, no pretense:

“does it ever get easier”

you stared at it, your thumb hovering over the screen. the words sat there, small and unadorned, like a stone someone had left on a path. most posts like that were traps—bait for trolls or vents that fizzled into nothing. but this one felt… different. quiet, like a whisper you weren’t meant to hear. genuine, like it had slipped out before the poster could rethink it.

you broke your own rule. typed back without letting yourself second-guess: “define easier. like, emotionally? logistically? existentially?”

he replied in under a minute.

“yes”

and just like that, you were in it.

at first, it was anonymous, the way the forum always is. two sorcerers dodging missions and boredom, tossing words into the dark like talismans. you didn’t know his name, and he didn’t ask yours. just screen names—yours a string of numbers and a bad pun, his something absurd involving mochi and a curse word. you talked about things you’d never say out loud, not to the kyoto higher-ups or the first-years who looked at you like you had all the answers. like how a room full of people could still make you feel like a ghost, drifting just outside their orbit. or how debriefs left a sour taste in your mouth, like you’d bitten into something rotten—guilt, maybe, or just the weight of it all.

he was… unexpected. not funny in a cheap, knock-knock way, but ridiculous, like he’d turned life into a stage and forgotten the script. his jokes were elaborate, stupid, sprawling things, like he was performing for a crowd that didn’t exist. one night, he typed: “i think the veil’s thinning. saw a tanuki trying to do taxes with a stolen abacus.”

you snorted into your pillow, the sound loud in your empty room. “should’ve let it,” you wrote back, fingers flying across the screen. “might’ve gotten a better refund than me. my last one barely covered a coffee.”

he sent a laughing emoji—unironically, the dork—and you could almost hear him cackling somewhere far away. it made you grin, your face half-buried in a blanket that smelled faintly of incense and yesterday’s takeout.

the chats kept going, stretching across weeks. you’d be slumped on your couch, boots still muddy from a mission, when your phone buzzed with his latest nonsense. “ever wonder if curses dream?” he’d ask, and you’d fire back, “only if they’re dreaming of paperwork. that’s the real nightmare.” he’d reply with a string of sobbing emojis, and you’d roll your eyes, but you’d keep typing, because somehow, it felt like he got it.

then came the voice calls.

always at night, when kyoto’s streets went still and the stars pressed against your window like they had something to prove. he’d call from somewhere else—somewhere alive with sound. sometimes it was traffic, a distant honk cutting through his laugh. sometimes it was the ocean, waves hissing like they were gossiping with him. once, a vending machine jingled, coins clinking as he muttered, “what do you want? melon soda? or that sweet corn one that tastes like regret?”

you laughed, your voice muffled by the scarf you hadn’t bothered to unwind from your neck. “melon,” you said, curling your knees to your chest on the couch. “corn’s for masochists.”

“noted,” he said, and you heard the machine whir, then a can crack open. “one melon soda for the meanest sorcerer i know.”

“flatterer,” you deadpanned, but your lips twitched, and you tucked the phone closer to your ear, like his voice could fill the cold corners of your apartment.

you never asked where he was. he never asked your name. it was a rule you didn’t need to speak—just a line neither of you crossed, because crossing it might break whatever this was. but he was your favorite stranger, the one who made the nights less heavy, the one whose voice felt like a tether when everything else was slipping.

the thing was, you weren’t miserable.

not exactly.

just tired, the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t touch, like a curse that’s sunk its claws too deep. your life at the kyoto branch was a loop: wake to the chime of your battered alarm clock, spar until your muscles burned, assist on missions that left your hands smelling of ash and ozone, report to gakuganji in a room that always felt too small. sometimes you mopped blood from training mats, the sponge heavy in your grip. sometimes you taught theory to first-years, their eyes glazed as you droned about residuals, your voice echoing off chalk-dusted walls.

sometimes you lay on your futon, staring at the ceiling’s chipped paint, wondering if you used to feel bigger than this—brighter, like the sky before a storm.

he changed that.

not in a loud way, not at first. it was softer, quieter, like the sound of his breath hitching when you said something sharp. like finding a rhythm with someone, even if your steps didn’t quite match. he’d ask you things no one else did, questions that felt like they were peeling back your edges.

“what color’s the sky in kyoto tonight?” he’d say, and you’d lean against your window, phone cradled against your shoulder, and answer, “pink, like someone spilled their drink on it.” he’d laugh, and you’d feel it in your ribs, a small, stubborn warmth.

“do curses feel pain?” he asked once, his voice muffled, like he was chewing something—probably mochi, knowing him.

you hummed, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “maybe. depends if they’re sentient enough to know they’re hurting. what do you think?”

“dunno,” he said, and you heard a rustle, like he was flopping onto a bed somewhere. “but i hope they don’t. makes it easier to sleep after.”

you didn’t reply right away, just listened to him breathe, steady and slow. “you’re softer than you act,” you said finally, and he made a noise—half scoff, half laugh—that made you smile into the dark.

he loved dumb questions, too. “is it immoral to laugh when a cursed spirit looks like a balloon animal?” he asked one night, and you could hear the grin in his voice, like he was picturing it.

you were sprawled on your floor, a half-eaten onigiri beside you, and you snorted so hard you nearly choked. “only if it’s a good balloon animal,” you said. “like, if it’s trying to be a dog, you gotta respect the effort.”

“fair,” he said, and you heard a clink—probably another soda can. “you’re funnier than you think, y’know.”

“and you’re weirder than you sound,” you shot back, but your cheeks were warm, and you pulled your knees up, hugging them like you could trap the feeling.

the best moments, though, were when he dropped the act. when the theatrics fell away, and his voice went low, soft, like he was afraid the words might break if he pushed too hard. one night, after a call that had stretched past midnight, he said, “sometimes… i think i only exist when i’m useful to someone. is that stupid?”

you were half-asleep, your phone slipping against your cheek, but his voice pulled you back. you blinked at the ceiling, the shadows pooling like spilled ink. “no,” you said, quiet but firm. “it’s just sad.”

he laughed—not the emoji kind, not the loud kind, but something small, like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding. “you don’t pull punches, huh?”

“you’d hate it if i did,” you said, and you heard him shift, like he was nodding to himself.

“yeah,” he murmured. “i would.”

it went on like that for months, long enough that you started noticing things. the way he yawned before he said goodnight, a sleepy hum that made your chest ache. the pauses in his sentences when he was choosing his words, like he wanted to get it right for you. the way his voice warmed when you rambled about something small—like the stray cat outside your building that kept stealing your bento scraps, or the time you’d botched a talisman and spent an hour scrubbing ink from your hands.

he’d listen, really listen, he always does and then say something like, “bet that cat’s got better taste than gakuganji,” and you’d laugh until your sides hurt.

you didn’t ask who he was. he didn’t push for your name. it was perfect, fragile, like a bubble you were both afraid to pop.

until one night, your phone buzzed, and it wasn’t the usual late-hour joke or random question. it was a call, his name—or rather, the string of nonsense characters he used—lighting up your screen. you hesitated, thumb grazing the accept button, then pressed it, curling into your futon as the kyoto cold gnawed at the window.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, like he was speaking through a held breath. there was no hum of traffic tonight, no vending machine jingle—just a faint rustle, maybe his sleeve brushing the phone, and a stillness that made your pulse loud in your ears.

you didn’t answer right away, just listened to him breathe, steady but careful, like he was standing on the edge of something. your apartment felt smaller, the night pressing against the glass, cold and heavy, like it was waiting for you to move first.

“can I…” he started, then paused, a hitch in his voice you hadn’t heard before. “can I visit you?”

you froze, fingers tightening around the phone until it dug into your palm. the words landed like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through the quiet. your eyes flicked to the window, where the dark seemed to lean closer, listening. your heart did something stupid, tripping over itself, and you bit your lip, hard enough to sting.

“like… here?” you said finally, voice low, almost lost in the radiator’s hiss. “in kyoto?”

“yeah,” he said, and it was quiet but firm, like he’d been turning the idea over for hours before daring to say it. “i’m nearby. for a mission. thought… maybe. if it’s okay with you.”

you swallowed, your free hand fidgeting with the blanket’s edge, twisting it until the fabric bunched. you didn’t know what he looked like. he didn’t know your face. but the thought of him—your stranger, your tether—standing in your city, his voice no longer trapped in static… it made your chest ache, like a curse unraveling too fast to catch.

“we don’t even know what we look like,” you said, softer now, half a shield, half a truth, your breath catching as you spoke.

he was quiet for a moment, and you heard a faint shift, like he was leaning closer to the phone, shutting out the world. “i know,” he said, voice low, steady, like a vow he hadn’t meant to make. “but I think I’d recognize you anyway.”

your lips parted, but no sound came out. your heart stumbled again, and you pressed your knees to your chest, the blanket slipping to the floor. you wanted to deflect, to toss back something sharp, but his words sat there, heavy and warm, like they’d carved out a space you didn’t know you’d left empty.

“you’re weird,” you managed, but it came out too soft, too honest, and you winced, tucking your chin to hide the smile you couldn’t stop.

he exhaled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-relief, like he’d been holding it in all night. “you’re mean,” he said, and you could hear the curve of his mouth, faint but real, unguarded in a way that made your ribs tighten.

“you like it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, and your fingers hovered over the phone’s edge, like you could reach through it if you tried.

he didn’t answer right away. just breathed, slow and close, and when he spoke, it was so quiet it felt like a secret. “yeah,” he said. “i do.”

the call didn’t end, not yet. you stayed there, listening to the silence stretch, his breath a steady rhythm against the night’s weight. and that ache in your chest grew, sharp and warm, like it was making room for something you weren’t ready to name.

that morning, when he texted for the address, you gave him the name of a small café tucked just off the main street near kyoto campus—nothing fancy, barely even marked, just a warm pocket of space where time slowed down and no one asked too many questions. not because you were scared. not exactly. but the idea of him—this faceless voice, this stranger you somehow knew better than people you’d seen every day—being in your space, standing in your doorway, seeing your real life... it made something flutter behind your ribs. something you couldn’t name without sounding stupid.

it rained that day. not hard. just the kind of persistent drizzle that painted everything in shades of grey, slicked the pavement until it gleamed like wet ink, and made your sleeves cling to your wrists. your shoes scuffed softly against the tile as you pushed open the café door. inside, the air was warm, thick with the smell of coffee beans and something sweet rising from the back oven.

a couple of students in uniforms sat by the counter, arguing in low tones about spell theory. the barista barely looked up as you ordered your usual, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm against the side of your phone. you picked the window seat. always the window seat. you liked watching people go by, liked the illusion of being somewhere else.

time passed.

you checked your phone once. then again. your fingers curled around your cup, heat seeping into your palms. condensation fogged the glass. you were early. or maybe he was late. or maybe the whole thing was a joke you’d fallen for, like a damn idiot. your heart did this stupid stuttering thing every time the bell over the door moved.

then it rang.

and he walked in.

white hair, slightly mussed from the rain. the tiniest drop caught in his bangs, trailing down toward the curve of his cheek. his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and he was tall—taller than you'd expected, even though you should’ve known—and dressed like he didn’t care how loud he looked. hands in his pockets. shoulders loose. like he’d just wandered in off some catwalk that ended in your direction.

he scanned the room once, those ridiculous glasses perched low on his nose, catching the café’s dim light like twin moons. his eyes—sharp, too sharp for any one place to hold—skipped over the students bickering about cursed residuals, the barista wiping down a steaming espresso machine, and landed square on you.

his smile cracked open, instant, effortless, like the sun spilling through a storm cloud.

“hey.”

you froze mid-sip, your mug hovering an inch from your lips. your eyes locked on his, and the world did that thing where it shrinks to a pinprick, all cinnamon air and rain-slicked windows fading out. the ridiculous truth hit you like a badly timed talisman:

holy shit. that’s gojo satoru.

your mouth opened. closed with a soft click. opened again, because apparently your brain decided to blue-screen.

“you’re fucking kidding me.”

his grin stretched wider, all teeth and mischief, as he sauntered across the floor toward you. long limbs moved like they were choreographed, raindrops clinging to his white hair like tiny glass beads, scattering light. he shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, shoulders hiked just enough to betray how stupidly pleased he was with himself.

“surprise?” he said, voice lilting like he’d just pulled off the world’s dumbest magic trick.

you blinked, unblinking, your fingers tightening around the mug until the heat stung. your face was doing something—probably a mix of shock and are you serious right now—because his laugh bubbled up, low and warm, like he’d caught you red-handed.

“you—i—you’re you,” you stammered, eloquent as a first-year tripping over their own incantation.

“i am,” he said, tilting his head. a single droplet slid from his bangs, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before dripping onto the floor. “last i checked, anyway. unless you’ve got a better theory.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

he paused a step from the table, one hand escaping his pocket to scratch at the back of his neck. his glasses slipped lower, and you caught a flash of those eyes—crystal blue, too bright, like staring into a clear sky after a curse’s miasma. he nudged the frames up with a knuckle, but then, in a move that made your breath hitch, he tugged them off completely. folded them with a click. set them on the table like a dare.

“didn’t wanna scare you off,” he said, quieter now, his gaze unguarded and pinning you in place.

yo squinted, lips pressing into a thin line to choke back a snort. your eyebrow arched, sharp as a well-placed shikigami. “you thought being yourself would scare me off?”

he shrugged, weight shifting from one foot to the other, his coat swaying like it was in on the joke. “it usually does.”

you blinked again, slower, and something in your chest unknotted. for a split second, he looked… smaller. not the gojo satoru who could level a city block with a wink, but a guy who wasn’t sure if he was too much or not enough. his hair was a mess, sticking up where he’d ruffled it outside, and his eyelashes were wet, catching the light like they were trying to apologize.

you set your mug down with a soft clink, the ceramic warm against your palm, and gestured to the chair across from you. “sit down, satoru.”

his grin snapped back, bright as a spark talisman igniting. “yes, ma’am.”

he dropped into the chair with all the grace of a cat knocking over a vase—legs sprawling, then tucking back, elbows hitting the table before he leaned forward like he was about to spill a secret. his coat bunched at his shoulders, and he smelled faintly of rain and something sweeter, like the mochi he’d probably swiped from a vendor on the way here.

“this place smells like cinnamon and potential,” he said, voice dipping low, conspiratorial. he waggled his brows, and you swore his eyes flickered with a tease no technique could replicate. “you sure you don’t wanna marry me right now? i’d get you a ring pop. blue raspberry, your favorite.”

you snorted, the sound punching out before you could stop it. your hand flew to your mouth, but it was too late—he’d heard it, and his whole face lit up like he’d won a bet with the universe.

“you remembered that?” you said, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing like you could shield yourself from his smugness. your lips twitched, betraying you.

“‘course i did,” he said, tapping his temple with a long finger. “you said it during that 2 a.m. ramble about cursed vending machines. blue raspberry ring pop, ‘cause it stains your tongue and freaks out the first-years.” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a mock-whisper. “i pay attention, y’know.”

your cheeks warmed, and you hated how your mouth kept trying to smile. you kicked his shin lightly under the table, just enough to make him yelp—a dramatic ow that had the students at the counter glancing over. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, but your eyes flicked to his glasses, still folded neatly beside his elbow. “and put those back on, idiot. you’re gonna give yourself a migraine squinting like that.”

he blinked, then laughed—a real one, not the showy kind he threw at missions or bad jokes. “what, you worried about my eyes now?” he said, but he didn’t reach for the glasses. instead, he propped his chin on one hand, staring at you like you were the only thing worth seeing. “i took ‘em off for you, y’know. six eyes makes everything loud—too many colors, too many things. but you…” he trailed off, and his voice softened, like he was peeling back a layer he usually kept buried. “you’re clearer without ‘em.”

your breath caught, and for a second, you forgot how to be a smart-ass. your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, and you ducked your head, letting your hair fall forward to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “that’s sweet,” you said, voice dry but wobbling just a fraction. “also stupid. you’ll strain yourself, and i’m not dragging your whining ass to a healer when you’re seeing double.”

he grinned, undeterred, and flicked a sugar packet across the table at you. it bounced off your knuckles, and you swatted it back without thinking, starting a lazy game of tabletop tag. “would you rather i didn’t see you?” he asked, catching the packet mid-air with infuriating ease. his fingers were quick, precise, like he could’ve dismantled a curse in the same motion. “c’mon, admit it. you like being seen.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips curved, and you couldn’t quite stop it. “i like when you’re not a headache,” you shot back, snatching the sugar packet from his hand. you tore it open, dumping half into your coffee just to mess with him—he’d gagged once during a call when you’d done it, claiming it was “coffee abuse.” now, he just watched you with a smirk, like he was cataloging every move you made.

“liar,” he said, stretching his arms above his head until his shirt rode up, flashing a sliver of pale skin above his waistband. you looked away, quick, and he noticed—his smirk grew positively diabolical. “you told me last week you like my voice best at midnight. all raspy and annoying, you said. direct quote.”

you groaned, sinking lower in your chair, but your foot nudged his ankle under the table, a traitor to your own defenses. “i was delirious from a mission,” you said, pointing a stirrer at him like a tiny sword. your brows furrowed, but your eyes were bright, dancing with the kind of energy you hadn’t felt in weeks. “and you were the one who kept talking about cursed tanukis stealing your socks, so who’s the real mess here?”

he laughed again, loud enough to make the barista glance over with a raised brow. his hand dropped to the table, fingers drumming a restless rhythm, and you noticed how his pinky brushed the edge of your mug—like he was testing how close he could get without you pulling away. “guilty,” he said, tilting his head until his bangs fell into his eyes. he shook them away, and the motion was so boyish, so normal, it made your heart do a stupid little flip. “but you laughed. i heard it. best sound in the world, by the way.”

you froze, stirrer halfway to your mouth, and your eyes flicked up to meet his. he wasn’t grinning now—just watching you, steady and soft, like the rain outside had melted all his edges. your lips parted, but no snark came out. instead, you reached across the table, picked up his glasses, and slid them toward him with a pointed look. “put these on before you ruin yourself,” you said, but your voice was quieter, like you were afraid of breaking whatever this was. “i’m not worth a headache, satoru.”

he didn’t touch the glasses. instead, he caught your hand before you could pull it back, his fingers warm and a little calloused, curling around yours like they’d been waiting to. “disagree,” he said, simple as that, and his thumb brushed your knuckle, light as a feather. “you’re worth a lot of things.”

you swallowed, and the café seemed to hum quieter—the clink of cups, the murmur of students, all fading into a soft blur. your pulse was loud, though, thudding in your ears as you looked at him. his hair was drying now, curling at the ends, and his eyes were still bare, unguarded, like he’d stripped away every barrier just to sit here with you. your lips twitched into a smile, small but real, and you squeezed his hand once before letting go.

“you’re gonna regret saying that when i steal your last mochi later,” you said, leaning back to break the spell, but your foot stayed pressed against his under the table, warm and steady.

he gasped, clutching his chest like you’d cursed him. “not the mochi,” he wailed, but his eyes crinkled, and he leaned forward, stealing your stirrer to twirl it between his fingers like a baton. “fine, but only if you say ‘satoru, you’re my hero’ first. gotta earn it.”

“in your dreams, pretty boy,” you shot back, but you were laughing now, soft and easy, and the sound made his whole face soften, like he’d been chasing it all along.

you stayed in that café for hours, trading sugar packets and stupid stories, your shoes bumping under the table, his glasses still untouched. the rain slowed to a drizzle, painting the windows in lazy streaks, but neither of you noticed. the world was just this—cinnamon air, warm mugs, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted to see clearly.

and somewhere in between the rain tapering off and your drinks going lukewarm, something shifted. not abruptly. not dramatically. but gently, like gravity starting to lean in a different direction. he was exactly the same—annoying, charming, impossible—but there was a quiet steadiness beneath it all. like he looked at you and saw not just a person, but a place. somewhere he could stay.

all while you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that gojo satoru had been the idiot on the forum sending you tanuki memes at 3am.

he called you a cryptid. you called him emotionally constipated. he told you your voice was the only one he actually waited to hear. you told him he needed better taste. he laughed so hard he knocked his knee on the underside of the table.

when the café finally closed, the barista shooing you out with a tired smile, satoru held the door open, his clear umbrella already unfurled against the drizzle. it was comically small for his ridiculous height, barely shielding his broad shoulders, but he angled it carefully, keeping the rain from kissing your hair. his sleeve darkened, soaked through where the mist clung, but he didn’t seem to care. the night was quiet, steeped in that velvet hush that trails a long rain, streetlights casting blurry halos through the mist, like half-forgotten curses glowing in the dark.

his footsteps matched yours, slow and deliberate, scuffing softly against the wet pavement. he didn’t need to adjust his stride—you noticed how he shortened it, just enough, like he was savoring every second of this walk. his fingers brushed yours once, a fleeting warmth against your knuckles. he didn’t grab your hand. brushed again, lingering, like a question he wasn’t sure he could ask. you didn’t pull away, your pinky curling slightly, grazing his, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, like he’d caught a secret.

“can I see you again?” he asked, glancing down at you, his voice stripped of its usual swagger. it was quiet, raw, like a wish he’d whispered to the night before daring to say it aloud. his glasses slipped low, catching the streetlight’s gleam, and his eyes—too blue, too open—held yours like you were the only thing tethering him to the ground.

you tilted your head, pretending to mull it over, your lips pursing to hide the smile tugging at them. your scarf fluttered in the breeze, and you tugged it tighter, catching the way his gaze flicked to the motion, like he was memorizing it. “I’d kinda like it if you called me first,” you said, voice dry but warm, your eyes darting to his before skittering away.

his smile softened, reverent, like you’d handed him a talisman he hadn’t earned. he ducked his head, damp hair falling into his eyes, and pushed it back with a quick flick, scattering droplets. “yeah?” he said, and it was so soft, so hopeful, it made your chest ache like a bruise you didn’t mind.

“yeah,” you said, and your fingers brushed his again, deliberate this time, a spark in the quiet.

he didn’t kiss you. not yet. but the way he looked at you—head tilted, eyes tracing your face like he was mapping a new constellation—felt louder than any words. like maybe, finally, he’d found the place he was meant to land, and you were standing right there beside him.

you kept walking, the umbrella tilting as he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. the mist curled around you like a veil, and he started humming—some off-key pop song he’d probably heard on a mission, the kind you’d mocked him for liking during one of your calls. you shot him a look, eyebrow arched, and he only grinned, utterly unrepentant.

“you’re gonna ruin my reputation,” you muttered, but your lips twitched, and you nudged his arm with your elbow, just enough to make him sway.

“too late,” he said, voice lilting like he was sharing a conspiracy. “you laughed at my tanuki tax joke. you’re already doomed.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in the quiet, and he laughed—low, warm, like it was his favorite sound in the world. “you remember that?” you asked, glancing up at him, your scarf slipping to reveal the curve of your neck. his eyes followed it, then snapped back to your face, like he’d been caught.

“‘course I do,” he said, tapping his temple with a long finger. “filed it under ‘proof you’re secretly fun.’ right next to you admitting you like my midnight voice.”

your cheeks warmed, and you shoved your hands into your pockets, muttering, “delirious ramblings don’t count.” but you didn’t step away, and he didn’t either, the umbrella wobbling as he tilted it to keep you dry.

then he stopped walking, abrupt enough that you turned to face him, a brow raised. “what?”

his expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between mischief and something heavier, like he was about to say something that could tilt the world off its axis. his hair was wet now, silver strands curling at the ends, clinging to his forehead, and his glasses fogged slightly at the edges, making his eyes look softer, closer.

“come work in tokyo,” he said, the words spilling out like they’d been waiting all night.

you blinked, your breath catching. “satoru.”

“no, I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer, the umbrella dipping until a stray droplet grazed his cheek. he didn’t wipe it away, just kept looking at you, earnest in a way that made your throat tight. “same uniform, better pay, vending machines that don’t eat your coins. plus—” he leaned in, voice dropping to a mock-whisper—“you get me. scientifically proven to make life less boring.”

you laughed, sharp and startled, and it broke the tension like a snapped thread. “you’re the cause of my stress,” you said, poking his chest with a finger, your nail catching on his damp coat.

“and I’ll keep causing it,” he said, catching your hand before you could pull back. his fingers were warm, curling around yours, and he tilted his head, grin softening. “but I’ll be closer. way better than those kyoto stiffs who don’t know how you take your coffee.”

you froze, lips parting, because he did know—black, no sugar, the way you’d grumbled about during a 3 a.m. call when a mission had you wired. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice wobbled, and you didn’t yank your hand away.

“you don’t belong there,” he said, quieter now, his thumb brushing your knuckle, light as a wish. “they don’t see you. not like I do.”

you opened your mouth to deflect, to toss back something sharp, but nothing came. because he was right, and the way he looked at you—steady, unguarded, like you were more than a shadow in a debrief room—made it impossible to argue. you closed your mouth, exhaling through your nose, and he smiled, small and real, like he’d won something bigger than he’d planned.

two weeks later, after one strongly worded proposal, two forged signatures, and a very public argument with gakuganji that ended with a chair launched across a meeting room, satoru showed up at your apartment, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that screamed trouble. his coat was slung over one shoulder, and he held a crumpled paper bag that smelled suspiciously like mochi.

“congrats,” he said, voice bright as a spark. “you’re moving to tokyo. pack a toothbrush.”

you stared, one socked foot still on the tatami, a half-packed box of books at your side. “what the hell did you do?”

“justice,” he said, tossing the bag onto your counter, where it landed with a soft thud. he stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel, and winked like he’d just saved the world. “also, maybe a little bribery. you’re welcome.”

and just like that, you were tokyo’s problem now.

on your first day, he was waiting at the jujutsu tech gates, a paper flower crown perched crookedly on his head, petals fluttering in the breeze. he held a sign—scrawled in marker, “WELCOME HOME, CRYPTID”—and two matcha lattes, one wobbling dangerously in his hand as he waved like a kid spotting their best friend. the other sorcerers passing by shot him looks, but he didn’t care, his grin wide enough to rival the sun spilling over the campus.

you tried to scowl, to keep your cool, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a smile that felt like surrender. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, stepping into his orbit, close enough to smell the sugar on his breath and the faint cedar of his cologne.

he looped an arm around your shoulder, easy as breathing, like the space beside him had been yours all along. his lips brushed your temple, a fleeting warmth, then lingered, soft and deliberate, like he was testing if you’d pull away. you didn’t.

“and yet,” he said, voice low, teasing, “you never left.”

you rolled your eyes, but your head tilted into his touch, just a fraction, and you felt him exhale, like he’d been holding it in. “I’m not wearing the flower crown,” you said, flicking the sign with a finger, making it wobble in his grip.

“not yet,” he said, adjusting the crown on his head, petals catching the sunlight like tiny flames. he handed you a latte, the cup warm against your palm, and you noticed he’d drawn a tiny cat face on the lid—lopsided, with one ear missing, like your stray back in kyoto.

“not ever,” you shot back, but you took a sip, and the matcha was perfect—sweet, not too bitter, exactly how you’d mentioned liking it months ago during a call about bad coffee stands.

he laughed, a sound like summer breaking through clouds, and you looked up, catching the way his eyes crinkled, the way his hair glowed gold in the morning light. his thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, like he was confirming you were real.

and then he kissed you—no fanfare, no dramatic build, just the quiet press of his mouth against yours, soft and certain. it was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission because it already belonged. like the final word in a sentence you’d both been writing in secret.

his lips were warm, moving against yours with a reverence that made your breath catch. his hand cupped the side of your face, fingers splayed gently against your jaw as though afraid to press too hard, like you were something delicate, worth holding and not breaking.

your eyes fluttered closed. the air between you and the world seemed to hush, like even the breeze knew not to interrupt. your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat—soft, heavy, smelling faintly of rain and something that had to be him.

your knees went a little soft. your heart, stupid and loud, climbed up into your throat.

he pulled back just barely, but didn’t let go. his forehead rested against yours, breath fanning across your lips, sweet with matcha and something sweeter beneath it—something like hope.

his grin was criminal. boyish. blinding. like he’d stolen something precious and gotten away clean.

“told you you’d like tokyo,” he said, voice low, still laced with laughter.

and before you could even think of dodging, he plucked the flower crown from his head—now slightly lopsided from the kiss—and dropped it gently onto yours.

you blinked. scowled. felt your cheeks catch fire.

you shoved it back onto him, petals scattering onto his nose, and he sneezed, dramatic and loud, making a passing student jump. “shut up,” you said, but you were laughing now, full and bright, and his fingers laced with yours, warm and steady, like they’d never let go.

and in that moment—the sun dusting your cheeks, his hand anchoring you, you knew one thing for sure:

no one else needed to notice.

because he did.

and that was enough.

(and yeah, he’d submitted three fake transfer forms in your name, because apparently love means committing light fraud. you’d yell at him later. probably.)

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @k0z3me

[cuntyji]

hello guys enemies to lovers with sukuna time 😛

there are times in a woman’s life where she has opps. opponents. oppositions, even. and in your case, it’s ryomen sukuna.

yes, that ryomen sukuna. tattooed menace with red eyes and the inexplicable ability to look offended by air. he’s the kind of man who listened to arctic monkeys and the neighbourhood back during the og tumblr era, fully convinced he was the moment.

(he also definitely wrote cryptic posts in all lowercase like “this song tastes like silver” and reblogged blurry gifs of joints without ever smoking one. no, he won’t tell you what his url was. yes, he judges you for asking.)

he considers himself someone with “elite” music taste. like he can sniff out artists before they go viral, like his ears are certified A&R agents or something.

you, on the other hand, are just… you. you make playlists with names like “phonk you very much” and “i think my soulmate is in the waiting line to earth.” 

and for reasons unknown to god or spotify, this man has made it his personal mission to beef with your playlists.

oh this? this is war. you’ve stopped being surprised by the near-daily ritual at this point. the moment you post a new playlist—“songs for when i imagine myself as the villainess in a 2014 CW drama” or “music that plays when i bite into something dramatically in a romcom”—you know it’s coming. the ping of a message. the telltale little green circle lighting up next to his contact name lovingly saved “red eyes hypnotise” as he continues to type. the incoming storm.

”‘fruitcake funeral’?” he starts. no hello. no warning. just a full attack. “that’s what you named it?”

“oh, so you listened to it?”

“i suffered through it. voluntarily, even. are you proud of that?”

you are, actually. but that’s not the point.

“it’s a feeling. you wouldn’t get it.”

“i get migraines, does that count?”

he’ll text you live commentary too. timestamped. 

track 4? “this sounds like a pigeon died in a reverb chamber.”

track 7? “this one made me stare at my ceiling for three minutes but not in a good way. in a ‘i think my soul left my body’ way.”

track 11? “ok fine this one’s good. shut up.”

you didn’t even say anything yet.

but what you don’t know, as you laugh and roll your eyes at his texts while putting together your next collection of musical insanity, is that sukuna is lying on his back, headphones in, your playlist on loop for the fourth time in a row. he’s critiquing every transition like it’s a damn thesis defense. one minute he’s scoffing—

“why the hell would anyone go from phoebe bridgers into hyperpop? are you okay? are you mentally stable?”

—and the next minute he’s got a hand over his eyes as some obscure bedroom pop track hits a little too hard. the kind of song you sneak in between the meme-y ones. the kind of song that says, “this one’s for the moments you cry in the shower at 2am.”

he replays that one. twice. 

he doesn’t text you about it.

he likes knowing you didn’t just make these for fun. you made them because music says what you won’t. because it’s all layered between jokes and silly titles and aggressively chaotic vibes.

you’re like a walking contradiction to him—loud playlists, soft centers, weird-ass transitions. and he doesn’t even realize when exactly he stopped judging and started looking forward to every drop.

the next time he meets you, he’s already bracing for you to bring it up. but instead, you hit him with:

“so. you liked track eleven.”

he tries to scoff.

“i tolerated it. it was…acceptable.”

“you added it to your own playlist.”

“that was a moment of weakness.”

“you renamed your playlist after it.”

“…get out of my phone.”

he’s in too deep. he knows it. you know it.

but you’re still shocked when one day, randomly, you find a new public playlist from him. it’s called “playlist that doesn’t suck (probably)”. you click.

track 1? your favorite song.

you message him:

“what is this.”

he just replies: “a peace treaty. maybe.”

“unless you post another playlist called ‘songs to twerk to while my hair dye dries.’ then we’re fighting again.”

too late. you were already working on it. and maybe you don’t know it yet, but he’s already refreshing your profile, waiting.

playlist war may be his chosen battleground, but it’s not hate he’s fighting.

it’s the crush from hell.

and it’s winning.

[himewonu]

꒰ MASTERLIST ꒱ POSER! ; jeon wonwoo

summary it's hard pretending to be good at video games when it's so obvious you have no skills. too bad the guy you're trying to impress is the only one who tells you you're trash at the game.

starring gamer! wonwoo x f! reader

genre smau, romcom, enemies 2 lovers, she fell first he fell harder, esports au, that one reverse trope where he's nice to everyone but you, suggestive in later chapters

contains profanities, ignore timestamps, some gaming terminology, the jokes in here are not nice..

status completed ! (01 15 ‘25 - 03 12 ‘25)

playlist | taglist is closed

from rhin, LMFAOO i watched a tiktok where some school's varsity fortnite team makes it to provincials so i got inspired to write gamer!wonwoo

please do not spam like ! please support by reblogging <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪profiles

character profiles

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪chapters

i, BRO ITS NOT A BBL

ii, imagine if gam3bo1 got a low taper fade

iii, a winner never loses

iv, #switchingtocod ( written )

v, ur not special lil bro

vi, Herro answer my call ( written )

vii, dairy_ninja17

viii, i can’t call them a racial slur

ix, life sucks being 6’0”

x, grandma larping event

xi, IM A MINOR ( written )

xii, rainbow glittery pens

xiii, i felt my shit go up my bum

xiv, “i bought a property in egypt” ahh post

xv, dekubopdumnem

xvi, a wannabe nonchalant opp ( written )

xvii, eye of woo

xviii, who tf is mingyu Bro

xix, tallwonwoojeon1996

xx, taco tuesday ( written )

xxi, this is so kawaii desu

xxii, #tryharderloser

xxiii, my evil mandarin warrior twin

xxiv, he’s cooked too

xxv, lip virgin

xxvi, i just party with the demons

xxvii, he’s from UTAH

xxviii, #gokys

xxix, DONT clip me ( written )

xxx, eat sleep fortnite repeat

xxxi, in the psychward

xxxii, do you mean ‘man tf up’

xxxiii, insanely negative

xxxiv, ‘peanut or done’ ahh

xxxv, icl ts pmo r u fr rn sybau mane

xxxvi, lego octo game

xxxvii, hate from home

xxxviii, ur sister’s husband’s parents’ in laws?

xxxix, clearly ur resort doesn’t have an airfryer

xxxx, blue seashells ( written )

xxxxi, type yes to confirm

xxxxii, lmk if u wanna be my opp

completed !

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[cinnamanz]

— ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ DARLING, I .ᐟ ·˚ ༘ MANON BANNERMAN

when new york city’s widely-known spider-woman's life becomes unknowingly entwined with a member of the rising global girl group katseye, she learns that juggling superhero duties, university, and a sudden crush may or may not just be the downfall of her. but hey, at least she's helping people, right?

tags .ᐟ smau, crack, fluff, idol x superhero, unserious awkward losers, coarse language, suggestive themes, university! au, horrible jokes

featuring .ᐟ katseye, itzy, skz, le sserafim.

pairing .ᐟ manon bannerman x reader.

status .ᐟ completed— 5 jan 25.

notes .ᐟ this smau was made for fun and entertainment. it is not an actual portrayal of the people mentioned in this smau, nor are the photos used to portray y/n. also let's just say that some kpop groups are currently living in nyc. IGNORE THE TIMESTAMPS. divider creds: @/adornedwithlight.

PROFILES!

nightmare blunt rotation brainrotted fine shyts brainrotted fine shyts 2.5

01. YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBOURHOOD SPIDER-WOMAN!

02. TOO LIT!

03. CAKE!

04. SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST!

05. WEDGIES IN A SPANDEX!

06. MAMA A MINION GIRL BEHIND YOU!

07. FREAKY N PROUD!

08. WUH LUH WUH?

09. LOST IN TRANSLATION!

10. STALKER!

11. IT'S A DATE!

12. SICK N TIRED!

13. BOOTS R QUAKING!

14. SO ANXIOUS!

15. AND THE CROWD IS CONFUSED?

16. CANDIDS!

17. NEW YEAR, NEW ME!

18. NEW YEAR, NEW FRUSTRATIONS!

19. FEMALE DJS DO IT BEST!

20. JENNIFER!

21. LAST STRAW!

22. BLOCKED!

23. THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED!

24. SO COOKED!

25. WHAT DOES IT #MEAN?

26. HEIROGILGER AHH TEXT!

27. QUEEN NEVER CRY!

28. THE TYPE OF GREED THEY TALK ABOUT IN THE BIBLE!

29. EYES ON ME!

30. FINALLY!

31. ONE HELL OF A DATE!

32. HALLELUJAH!

33. TOO GAY TO FUNCTION!

34. EMBARRASSING!

35. BLOCKED PT. 2!

36. THREE WEEKS!

37. SPIDER-WOMAN!

38. APOLOGY GIFT!

39. SALUTATIONS BEAUTIFUL!

40. IDGAF WAR!

41. APOLOGY GIFT PT. 2!

42. BLOCKED PT. 3!

43. SO HELP ME GOD!

44. OH SHIT!

45. LIFE OR DEATH!

46. STUPIDITY!

47. LIZARD THING LIVESTREAM!

48. MOVIE DATE!

49. WOMAN ON A MISSION!

50. SUSPICIONS!

51. GO HOME!

52. THE END!

bonus! incorrect quotes n text messages.

™ CINNAMANZ 2024

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[jxmis]

Lose You To Love Me

Pairings: Yu Jimin / Karina x Reader

Summary: Everything changed between Y/N and Jimin after Milan Fashion Week. Months later, Y/N, now in New York, releases their first song, an emotional track that reveals their heartbreak, making Jimin realize her mistake too late.

Warning(s): heavy angst, toxic behavior, male being is mentioned

A/N: sorry in advance 😭 I also still suck at summarizing 😅 header photo is not my best work… did it during work cuz i was bored 😆 and look at me not disappearing again after i post a fic 🤭

Inspired by Lose You To Love Me by Selena Gomez ❤️‍🩹

The night air in New York carried a sharp chill, but Y/N barely noticed. Their fingers hovered over the play button on their phone, hesitating. The song was finished. Every lyric bled from the pain Jimin had left behind.

The world had already moved on.

Aespa’s Karina and Actor Lee Jae-Wook reportedly engaged?

The headline was everywhere. But Y/N wasn’t sure if they’d ever actually move on.

Not when they could still remember how it all fell apart.

5 MONTHS AGO

“This is a big opportunity, baby.” Jimin’s voice crackled through the speaker, excitement laced in every word. “Milan Fashion Week. I’ll be sitting front row next to designers, actors—people who could open doors for me.”

Y/N smiled, despite the uneasy feeling curling in their gut. “I’m happy for you, babe. I just…” They hesitated. “I wish I could come with you.”

“I wish you could too.” A beat of silence. “We’ll celebrate when I’m back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jimin left the next morning.

And when she returned, something between them had changed.

At first, it was subtle. The late-night texts that used to be filled with love were now short and mechanical. The phone calls grew shorter, her voice distant.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Y/N said one evening as they sat across from each other in Jimin’s room.

Jimin barely looked up from her phone. “Just busy.”

“It’s not just that.” Y/N swallowed hard. “Did something happen in Milan?”

Jimin tensed, but her answer was smooth. “Nothing happened. You’re overthinking.”

But Y/N could see the cracks forming. The way Jimin’s mind was elsewhere. How she flinched when Y/N reached for her hand.

➽───────

A few days later, the final blow came.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, but her words rang louder than anything Y/N had ever heard.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Jimin exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I just… I don’t feel the same way anymore.”

“Since when?” Y/N’s voice cracked. “Since Milan?”

Jimin hesitated. That was all the confirmation Y/N needed.

“I thought we were okay,” Y/N whispered. “I thought we were forever.”

Jimin looked away. “I’m sorry.”

And just like that, everything they had built crumbled.

It only took a few days. A blurry photo surfaced—Jimin and Jaewook leaving a restaurant together, his hand resting on her lower back.

Y/N stared at the screen, numb. The articles speculated, fans theorized, but nothing was confirmed.

Not yet.

But two months later, Dispatch made sure the whole world knew. Sharing evidence that couldn’t be mistaken as another one of Dispatch’s fake news. It’s too real to deny.

Aespa’s Karina and Actor Lee Jae-Wook: Korea’s New Power Couple

Y/N felt sick. Seeing all the pictures with dates and timestamps. Anonymous workers giving details of what was supposed to be private date nights between Jimin and Jaewook. All of it were exposed.

Jimin had replaced them. After two months. And this time, there was no coming back.

➽───────

Aeri knocked on Y/N’s apartment door the day after the Dispatch article dropped.

“Checking to see if I’m still breathing?” Y/N joked, stepping aside to let Aeri in.

Aeri sighed, sitting on the couch. “Something like that.”

“Thanks Gi.. I’m good don’t worry.” But Aeri doesn’t buy it. Skipping the common “Are you okay?” or “How are you?” questions with these type of situations. Why would she ask questions she already knew the answer to. Knowing your answers would also be bullshit anyways.

Aeri hesitated before asking, “So… what now? What’s next for you?”

Y/N leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “A label in New York reached out. They want me as a producer.”

Aeri’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! Wait, that means you’re moving?” With this, Aeri looked around Y/N’s apartment. Finally noticing how empty it looks. Boxes filled with Y/N’s belongings in the corner of the living room.

You chuckle but your eyes filled with sadness. “Yeah.. they’ve actually been offering me this opportunity for a while now. I just always declined it because…”

“Of Jimin,” Aeri says finishing Y/N’s sentence.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. There’s nothing left for me in Korea. Nothing keeping me here.” They exhaled, the weight of their words settling in. “I think it’s time to start over—to finally put myself first. I really thought… we could fix this. That she just needed time and space. But I guess I was wrong. I should’ve known better instead of waiting around like an idiot.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Aeri cut in. “No one saw this coming. Not even me or the girls. I love Jimin but.. she’s the idiot for not realizing what a huge mistake she’s making by letting you go.”

Y/N let out a bittersweet chuckle, shaking your head in response. You appreciate Aeri’s attempts to cheer you up, even if the pain still lingers.

Aeri studies them for a long moment before nodding. “Then go kill it over there. Make her regret everything.”

Y/N wiped away the tears that had slipped down their cheeks, then mustered up a smirk. “Oh, don’t worry—I will.”

➽───────

PRESENT DAY

Aeri, Ningning, and Minjeong sat silently in the studio as Y/N’s voice poured through the speakers.

I gave my all and they all know it

Then you tore me down and now it’s showing…

Jimin’s betrayal was woven into every note. Y/N had turned their pain into something tangible, something undeniable.

When the song was released, the world listened.

And so did Jimin.

Jimin wasn’t sure what she had expected when she pressed play. But the moment she heard Y/N’s voice, she felt her heart crack.

You promised the world and I fell for it.

I put you first and you adored it.

The lyrics were a knife to the gut.

She had promised Y/N forever. And then she had thrown it all away.

Tears blurred her vision. She had told herself that her feelings for Jaewook were real. That she had made the right choice.

But why did she feel so empty?

I needed to lose you to find me…

The chorus crashed over her like a wave, every lyric cutting deeper than the last.

Y/N had written about them. About her.

Jimin squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears came anyway. The memories hit her like a storm—Y/N’s laughter echoing in their apartment, the way they’d dance in the kitchen at midnight, the way Y/N would whisper Jimin like it was the only name that mattered.

And then, the fights. The distance. The heartbreak.

Jimin sucked in a shaky breath.

She had let Y/N go.

And now, they had let her go too. This was Y/N’s closure. But Jimin couldn’t help but try and fix things.

➽───────

Meanwhile, you’re in your studio in NYC when your phone buzzes. You smile seeing it’s from Aeri.

[GA AERI 🤡]: The song—damn, Y/N. It was raw. More importantly… the biggest plot twist of the century! I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this voice of yours all these years?! Who knew the Y/N Y/L/N could sing?!?!

Y/N laughs, feeling a mix of pride and amusement.

[Y/N/N]: Thank you, thank you… means a lot coming from Aespa’s Giselle 😆!! I guess I just needed the right motivation to finally show this side of me. But now I get why you get so emotional, that look on your face like you’re on cloud nine whenever you talk about writing your own music.

[GA AERI 🤡]: So what I’m hearing is that I inspired you to make your own music? 😏 You’re so welcome! 😉 I expect to be credited!!!

You roll your eyes, but can’t contain the small chuckle that escapes your lips.

[Y/N/N]: Shut up 😒 It feels nice, actually singing the music rather than just being behind the scenes, you know what I mean? There’s something freeing about it. It’s like finally owning my story, not just creating it for someone else.

[GA AERI 🤡]: In all seriousness… Ning, Mindoongie and I are so proud and happy for you. 🥹 Is it too soon to ask for a visit from the Y/N Y/L/N? We miss you…

[Y/N/N]: I miss you guys too. I’ll see.

[Y/N/N]: No promises tho.

[GA AERI 🤡]: I see, too big for us now huh big shots 🙄

You laugh, shaking your head at Aeri’s antics. You can’t help but miss the japanese girl and the other two clowns.

➽───────

Weeks passed after the song dropped, and Jimin finally found the courage to call.

Y/N didn’t pick up.

Not a second later, her phone buzzed—a message from Y/N.

She opened it, heart pounding.

[Y/N/N ❤️]: Goodbye, Karina.

That was it. Short and simple. Y/N’s message loud and clear. No baby. No babe. No love. Not even Jimin.

Never again.

Seeing Karina sent a chill down her spine. Y/N had never, ever called her Karina before. It felt strange, like the distance between them had solidified in that one word, a reminder of everything that had changed. Yet Jimin knows she deserves it.

And now, far too late, she had realized she lost the one person who had truly loved her.

Y/N looked out at the New York skyline, breathing in the fresh air of a new beginning. For the first time in a long while, they felt at peace—no longer defined by Yu Jimin or their past. It was their own story now.

This was only the start.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝ ⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝ ⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──

The end.

[shadowuserannie]

Me when a character is Consistent slash you can visibly see a character flaw; Nathaniel struggling slightly with his temper/impulsivity/shortsightedness AGAIN that was shown in Reverser. Remember his very...empty-headed moment where he tore Marc's journal? And him still being upset and talking to Alix later at the Lourve?

(Side note--was very surprised to see his hair apparently being natural since his parents are both redheads?? But also poor Nathaniel doesn't have his best friend to rant to anymore since she's chilling everywhere and nowhere in time.)

I bet you at timestamp 15.05 HE WOULD HAVE TRANSFORMED RIGHT THERE AND THEN IF LADYBUG HADN'T ARRIVED. HIS MOM ATTACKED MARC.

Nathaniel can be shortsighted and that was why he got caught, because he left the script out (that being said, I feel like there's a genuine chance that he would've been incriminated either way if his parents/mom are the nosy type to search his stuff) and this was highlighted again along with his impulsivity when he transformed in front of Marc on a whim BECAUSE HE WANTED TO.

And it's just. Consistent character flaw I'm enjoying seeing so far, and how consequences play out. Not just how this temper might land him in trouble during combat in the future, but also what the impulse gay identity reveal may result in. This was ONE LONG POST-CREDIT AND BY GOSH WAS THE QUEER WORTH IT

I also just love when characters fight their parents with no hesitation because they're being pieces of shit. No need to convince Nathaniel to keep his powers unlike Penalteam's theme where the last heroes to be introduced rejected their Miraculous; he showed up ready to throw hands bsfr

[star-sim]

"noo! she's taken!" ☆ enha hyungs

☆ non-idol! bf! enhypen hyungs x celebrity! fem! reader ☆summary: you are a very well-loved celebrity, and your relationship is finally revealed to the public. ☆genre: fluff, silly boys ☆warning(s)? ygs liked the maknae ver so here's the hyung ver! maknae ver

heeseung ☆

i think ur a musician here

one of those very personable and insightful ones

giving laufey or mitski yk?

anyways heeseung is THE stan

within your fandom

he's the guy that EVERYONE KNOWS

like ppl will argue who is the best [name] stan and the moment he's brought up they shut their mouths

heeseung does not play around when it comes to stanning you, his gf

somewhat like riki, heeseung runs multiple stan accounts for you

but he's most active and most well-known on 1) youtube and 2) tiktok

all his youtube videos are titled

"[name] concert 11/25/2023 nyc, usa (she looked at me!)"

"[name] concert 11/26/2023 miami, usa"

"[name] concert 11/27/2023 berlin, germany (i touched her hand!)"

"[name] concert 11/28/2023 jakarta, indonesia"

"[name] concert 11/29/2023 melbourne, australia (i met her!)"

like how the fuck is he going to all of these concerts when theyre literal hours apart and OCEANS AWAY

he likes to vlog his concert experiences

and theyre very entertaining because he's like genuinely enjoying himself

on his tiktok he also records his concert experiences

but i also think he posts your fancams and makes edits of you

too many times where an edit of you became known as "that one [name] edit"

he makes a lot of thirst edits of u

too many captions like "i want her so bad" or "she's so fine i need her biblically"

everyone knows who he is, even ppl outside of your fandom or the music scene

hes just that one guy that really likes you

one day ur on tour

its all fine and dandy, ur eating everything up, ur fans are loving it

and heeseung is documenting his concert experience

as he always does

and then it ends and heeseung posts it

however

this concert vlog

is

uh

receiving a lot of attention

TOO MUCH ATTENTION

THAT ITS

VERY

SUSPICIOUS

........

you and hee are just hanging out in your hotel when his phone starts blowing up

and yours too

all the comments on his video are normal, the ones that are expressing playful envy at heeseung's presence at ur concert

and like

it's not like heeseung doesn't get these types of comments

but one comment catches his eye

it has like 50k likes

and hes like oh shit

"at 3:05 heeseung why are you kissing [name]"

kissing.

[name].

he clicks that timestamp

and oh my god

THERES LIKE A CLIP OF HEESEUNG KISSING YOU

you see

when heeseung records your concerts he's recording it both for his fanpage and for the memories

he'll take as many cute couple pictures and videos with you as possible

and he just so happened to accidentally add one of the clips of you and him

kissing.

in fact

he accidentally added A LOT OF CLIPS AND PICTURES of you and him being a couple

ones of you hugging him backstage, ones of you two holding hands, even one where viewers can faintly hear you calling heeseung "babe"

and the other comments

OH LORD THE OTHER COMMENTS

"THAT SHOULD BE ME"

"HEESEUNG MOVE ASIDE!!!!!!!!!"

"i hate seeing people live my dream"

"SHE'S MINE *growls*"

"[NAME] GET BEHIND ME"

obv theyre all half joking half confused, but i think ppl are able to joke w him bc he's such an obnoxious stan 😭

and heeseung is like

poor heeseung is sweating and panicking

bc shit HE JUST EXPOSED UR RELATIONSHIP

but when he tells u

you literally are just like

"okay"

OKAY????

"it's not a big deal"

heeseungs like WHATATATATA

at first he's kinda unsure

bc ur so chill abt it that he's almost afraid that ur actually mad at him 😭

but you legitimately do not care

and when he realizes this

he goes from

😱

to

😈

because

NOW HE CAN FLEX ON EVERYONE

he goes straight to twitter and drops more couple-y pictures of you and him

he probably posts a tiktok that pans over to you on his bed or something

caption like "it's exposed now, but yeah, [name] is actually my gf"

its goes so viral

hes so smug about it too

like whenever he gets into arguments abt who's a better fanpage hes like "I'M LITERALLY A HER BF???"

he becomes an inside joke in ur fandom

i think everyone jokingly flames his ass too

"why did she pick heeseung of all people...."

"pixelated fancam, ass editing, shitty camera, yet [name] still chose him... what did we do wrong"

"[name] wasn't lying in her song when she said she has bad taste in men"

"i can't believe heeseung literally stole my spot... i should be the one that she writes all her love songs about..."

free him 😭😭😭

jay ☆

ooh this one is kinda juicy

ur a musician slay

but sometimes you do modeling

for one of your shoots

you're showing off your midriff and ur just glowing sorry

all ur followers are like

"ughhh step on me [name]"

"i don't think ygs understand i need her"

"[NAME] ONE CHANCE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE"

"i want her."

very quickly goes viral

ur just so hot ughhhhh

but ppl notice something upon closer inspection

you have a tattoo on ur back

at first everyone is like

"okay sexy lady love the tat"

but then

when they look closer

they can't help but see that incorporated into the design

is two

very

specific

letters

J and P

almost like they're someone's initials

🤨🤨🤨

hmmmmm

interesting.....

who is JP?

HMMM???

and now that ppl look at it

you have so many songs and albums that refer to JP

like ur one album

called

"just playing, i love you" but it's commonly abbreviated as "jpily"

JP????? ILY?? JP I LOVE YOU???

WHO THE HELL IS JP

"whoever jp is, he needs to meet me in the parking lot so we can have a talk 😆"

"jp my opp"

"jp kys!!!"

"jp is living my dream"

hehe

you see this

and jay aka mr JP himself sees this

and ur like

yk what let's tease the fans

for the next few months ur just teasing jay's existence

using his intials

like one time you wear a heart necklace that has the letters jp engraved in them

or when you tweeted "i love jp" but followed it up with "Jurassic Park is a wonderful movie 😆"

oh god you make it so obvious

"jp is the reason i make my music" and then following it up with "Jimmy Page is my favoritie guitarist 😛"

like ur fans are tired

and theyre getting outright insane

"guys the winter is getting cold and dire... the voices in my headare telling me that [name] is dating this jp person and i don't know how much longer i can live in denial"

"fuck you jp that should be me!!!"

"i hope jp knows how lucky he is... if a hot woman like [name] tattooed my initials i think i'd die maybe"

"i'm fighting demons (and jp)"

until finally!!!

you go to an award show

you look great as always

ugh queen

and ur getting interviewed

the interviewer asks you a playful question like

"oh are you here with any date?"

AND YOU JUST SMILE

"of course, i'm here with my boyfriend, jay park."

oh man

when that gets posted

EVERYONE IS GOING CRAZY

JAY PARK

JP

AAAAAAAAA

and when the actual award shows gets posted

it keeps panning over to you and jay

and everyone is like

THAT'S HER BF????

all jay can say is that he's prideful duh

everyone wants u but he's the only one that can have you

you definitely take a lot of pictures on the red carpet at the award show

and jay is with u in a lot of them

he's holding ur waist so tightly

like you're not gonna run away cuh it's okay omg 😭😭😭

anyways i think it gets resolved pretty easily

ur fandom accepts jay

but they still joke abt him

and when jay makes a twt account it gets worse

he WILL respond to them

and he WILL flex u

every time he does it shuts down the argument right away.... if he wants to win he just needs to mention ur name

"jay meet me after the concert, we will fight to the death for [name]'s love"

and this mf responds "can i bring [name] to be the ref?"

"jay ur hair looks so fucked up in this picture"

and he responds "yet [name] still picked me and not you"

you have to tell him to stop fighting ur 16 yr old fans HELP

jake ☆

sorry ur a musician again

you have a new song that came out

yk how in some songs

there's almost like an interlude

where there's speaking parts

like in agora hills theres a small part where doja cat says "baby can you call me back, it's so lonely in my mansion" yk?

you have something like that in your newest song

cute!

except it's not just your voice

but a MAN'S voice too

JAKE'S VOICE

the speaking part is very flirty and suggestive

and when it comes out

ppl are like

WHO IS THAT MAN

and then when the music video comes out

theres a male actor that you have many scenes with

now.... the male actor's face is cut out...

but there are still many scenes with you touching him, holding him, kissing him, and vice versa

and when the speaking part comes on

that male actor is supposed to be the male part if that makes sense

that male actor is

drum roll plS

JAKE

when ppl read the credits of the song and music video

they can't help but notice "jake sim"

and when they search ur other songs and mv's

"jake sim" has never showed up...

until this song.....

interesting....

ur fans do a lil detective work

and this jake sim guy doesn't have any involvement in the music or acting industry....

so why is he in ur song AND music video....

hmmmm

they can't find any ig account linked to him

except one that's very obscure

it has a funny username like

"@laylasdad1115" so ppl are like "oh that's probably not even him" and you weren't even following that account so they just let it go

WRONG!!1

@LAYLASDAD1115 IS JAKE

and although you're not following that account on ig

when ppl scroll down to your very very old posts

they see something

very

very

very

miniscule

but

very

very

very

crucial

a post of you and a golden labrador.... and the caption says "i love you layla"

layla... laylasdad1115

and THEN BOOM

NEW SONG COMES OUT

AND AT THE BEGINNING

YOU SAY

"jakey, kiss me!"

OH MY GOD

WHO IS JAKE SIM!!!!!!

"@laylasdad1115 u better watch out...."

"who do you think u are jake sim..."

and then you have a concert

and its not a massive stadium, it's very casual

and there's a part of the concert where you just answer questions that ur fans have and just hang out w them

and someone asks as a joke

"who's jakey in ur song btw?"

and with the most straight face

ur just like

"oh he's my boyfriend!" and then you point to the front row and ur like "he's actually here tonight, say hi baby!"

and jake is so enthusiastic abt it, hes like "hi guys!"

while everyone else in the room is like

WHAT.

the way ygs are so casual abt it is so appalling

"[NAME] YOU CAN'T JUST CASUALLY DROP THAT U HAVE A BF I THOUGHT WE WERE GETTING MARRIED"

"she's taken..... i'm gonna die.... "

LMAAOAOAO

it's known in ur fandom now that ur bf is jake sim or wtv

i don't think anyone even calls him jake

out of pure disrespect (😭) they call him by his instagram username

"laylasdad1115 might be dating [name] but i'm legally bound to her so who's really winning"

when jake shows up to your concerts i do think your fans joke w him like

"ouuu jake ur so lucky [name] is here or i'd give you a black eye"

FREE HIMMMM

sunghoon ☆

three words: your personal bodyguard

you're an actress cutie

and it's award show season

at all of your award shows ppl notice there's this tall brooding figure looming over you

ITS SUNGHOON LMAO

he's like

GLARING AT EVERYONE

HE KEEPS SQUARING UP RANDOM PPL 😭😭😭

ik this might be a crazy crossover but the moment he spots ryan gosling he's so ready to throw fists

"okay barbie boy you look like you want a broken nose"

sunghoon is very protective of you

obv bc the film industry is lowk kinda sus and exploitative, he def watches out for u a lot

everyone kinda just assumes that he's ur scary bodyguard

but then paparazzi pictures come out

and hes with you

in every

single

one

"goddamn her bodyguard is passionate about his job 😭😭😭"

in fact when the annoying invasive paparazzi interviewers come to talk to you sunghoon is sending the the NASTIEST GLARES

but like it's valid bc ur literally walking to Walgreens at 9AM on a tuesday why do you need to be photographed

"hi [name] can we ask you a few questions-"

hoon literally answers for u

"No. 😐."

interviewers are so rude, theyre like "well i didn't ask you, did i... [name] can we ask you-"

sunghoon just blinks and says

"No. 😐😐😐😐😐😐😐." again

and then ygs leave

theres clips of you at the airport where sunghoon is scaring all ur fans, which makes way for you to have a cmfortable flight

i think ur fans appreciate him but theyre lowk scared

"oh god this guy does not play abt his job 😭😭"

until one day

you get playfully asked abt ur bodyguard on an ig live

and ur like "wait what that's not my bodyguard, that's my bf"

UR WHAT????

HUH????

😱😱😱

ur fans are in the trenches

"i cant hate him bc he protects [name].... but damn i wish that was me 😞😞😞"

and when they review some of the clips w you and sunghoon they see you smiling and giggling with him

"he makes her happy so ig i'll let him have her </3"

"this is the hardest sacrifice i have to make"

i lowk think sunghoon doesn't care

he FIGHTS EVERYONE

only for u ofc 😊😊😊

maknae ver