#these dumb filters are going to be the death of me

[sgtgarricks]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ your gentle hands are enough

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst kinda?, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, praise kink, creampie!!, reader referred as 'pet' like twice, smut with sadness, hurt/kinda comfort, mention of johnny's death, simon is scared of commitment :(, we still love him.

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

NEXT PART (HEA): i want your hands on me for all my life

notes: my first ever fic that i'm posting on this site !! feedback is appreciated ♡ dedicated to @rowarn for being lovely and entertaining my rambles!

You and Simon weren't exactly dating.

He visits you almost every night whenever he's in the city and he's always gone before you're out of bed. But you relish on the rare occasions that you're awake before him — the moments you get to brush your hand through the raised scars littered all across his face, the moments you get to tangle your fingers in his hair to hear his little grunts.

Simon Riley has rough hands, scarred and calloused from years in the battlefield. Yet when those hands are caressing your body softly, you know he's being unnecessarily gentle to not let you feel the roughness in his hands — as if he was trying to prevent all the hurt and pain he's inflicted with his fists from bleeding into you.

You pretend to have only just woken up, eyes blinking slowly trying to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

"Morning, Si."

"G'morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?" He places a warm palm on your hip, not fulling resting the weight of it.

"I always do when you're here." You raised your hand to his chest and feel his heart thumping steadily below you. His body always runs hot no matter the weather and it makes you nuzzle into him more during the bleak winter.

Silence engulfs the two of you, lulling you into a vulnerable state of bliss as you recall the events of last night.

You had barely opened the door for him last night before his hands were all over you, lips crashing onto yours as he kissed you with desperation. Strong hands working swiftly to remove your clothes gently as he pushed you towards the bedroom.

Simon was always gentle with you, but you've been with him long enough to know the difference between him missing you and him scared at the thought of missing you.

Instead of gently laying you down on the plush mattress, he pushed you with a little bit of force than usual.

"Simon!" You yelp. You must've been too distracted by him to fully notice that he was now fully naked below you.

He had a glint in his eye that let you know you were not going to be able to rest until he coaxed multiple orgasms from you.

His hand was constantly on your body, not wanting to go for a second without feeling your skin under his. Greedy kisses were peppered all across your collarbone that were now marked with the imprint of his teeth.

You knew Simon was trying to memorize every inch of your body, leave his marks on you because he was going to go back on deployment soon.

This realization is what snaps you out of your peaceful reverie. That your Simon is going to leave you soon.

The mere thought of having to see him leave your apartment in a few hours and not getting to see him for another week? Months?

It leaves a sour taste in your mouth that made you frown and turn your head away.

Simon, ever so vigilant, notices your downturned lips. He cups your chin and swivels it to face him. He nudges his nose with yours, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

You hate that he was playing dumb. Hates that he thinks you don't know his antics by now. Hates that he thinks you don't know him by now.

"You know why, Si." Pushing your hands on the plush bed, you rest your back on the headboard. You stare at Simon disapprovingly, upset that he's trying to pretend everything is fine.

He sighs heavily and run his hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was.

"How do you know?" He finally lets out, still laying down on his side staring up at you.

You scoff at him. Maybe because you've seen him through his highs-and-lows. You've seen his little smirk at your antics. Listened to his stories intently as he fondly recalls memories with his squad mates.

But you've also seen him coming to you bloody, battered, bruised, and shaking as you stitched his back. You've seen him scare himself awake at night, dreaming about the last time he saw Johnny.

He chuckles when you stare at him pointedly and finally sits up. He waits for you to stop sulking for a few minutes, before sighing once more.

The bed creaks with his weight as he tries to stand up from it, turning towards the window. You know what's coming next and you are fully aware there's nothing you can do to stop him from going on deployment.

What you can do, is at least try to make him stay a little bit longer.

You crawl forward from your position, throwing both your arms around his wide torso — at least try to, he's way too wide for you to fully engulf him in your arms.

"Don't go."

Your lips are pressed against his back as you softly plead with him to not go. Simon takes both your arms in his hands and angles his upper body towards you. Slowly, you move up from your sprawled-out position and kneel in front of him.

"Please." You slowly pull away your arms from his grip. He reluctantly lets you go before you slowly wrap them behind his neck. You inch closer to him, slowly leaning down and kissing his neck.

Simon moans languidly, still groggy.

"You play dirty, love." He cups your behind, angling his neck upwards to give you more access.

"You love it."

"Being cheeky, are you?" You grin against his neck, biting down softly. Arching your neck subtly as Simon tugged on your hair.

These were truly the moments you truly enjoy the most. Not that you don't enjoy sleeping with him, you definitely do. But being able to love him freely in the daylight made it much more intimate.

You suspect it's why Simon always tried his best to leave before the sun came up.

You know Simon loves you, albeit in his own unique way. He's never been nothing but kind and gentle to you, always making sure you feel safe and taken care of with him. From locking your door with the spare key he has after he leaves, to making sure to take care of you after having sex — always gets up to clean any messes he had left on your body with gentle wipes and ending it with a soft kiss to your forehead.

Despite your numerous attempts to get him to open up about his past, he doesn't bite often. Though, you know some part of him wants nothing more than to tell you every single thing about himself when he speaks little snippets of his past.

He doesn't tell you anything overly upsetting, always keeping it minimal and with as little details of violence as possible.

Perhaps, his idea of a small mercy.

Maybe he thinks he's doing you a favor, giving you little bits of himself hoping you eventually realize how damaged he is. He doesn't understand how those flickers of vulnerability makes you hungrier for more of him. You wanted him, thorns and all.

Simon lets himself get roped back into your arms, all his muscles relaxed, no trace any tautness or rigidness lingering. He feels safe in your arms.

"How long Simon?" You finally ask, preparing for the worst.

Simon was mostly gone for around a month.

But on the rare times you couldn't see him for more than half a year, it was like hell. It hurt so deeply knowing even if he had been killed off somewhere, you might not even know. The only traces left of him would only be the few shirts he's let you take and the Simon-shaped hole he would have left in your heart.

It scared you that you could never be able to smell his earthy musk lingering in your sheets again, that it would fade one day and you wouldn't remember what it smelled like anymore.

"I dunno. More or less three months?"

You hated when he was vague. He was often trying to spare your feelings.

"So... more."

He nods with his face still hiding in your neck. You can feel him press his nose harder and inhale deeply.

Deep down, you feel crushed. You always do when he has to leave. You want to tell him how much you love him again, how much you need him, and you wanted him to say it back so badly.

You thought you had gotten so far with him, slowly breaking down his walls after getting him to start staying over instead of leaving. Something changed after he lost Johnny — he was more touchy, more clingy, but he never let you get any closer anymore. You could physically feel him wince if you told him you loved him during one of your vulnerable moments.

The first time you told him you loved him, he looked at you with a somber look. He didn't say anything, but he pulled you close and gave you a bone-crushing hug.

I'm sorry.

He gave different reactions every time. Some days he'd simply sigh and drag his fingers through your hair lovingly. On worse days, he'd shake his head and do nothing else.

It was like an impenetrable wall had suddenly appeared when it wasn't there before.

You take a deep breath. Simon has been nothing but gentle with fragile you. He's been trying his best to not taint the heart that you've freely ripped out of your chest for him.

Maybe this time, you can do something for him and let him go back without the weight of your love on his shoulder.

"Better make the most of it then, eh?" You pull back from him and hear a grunt of protest. You start pushing him until his back hit the headboard gently. Kissing your way down to his groin, you tug at his boxers impatiently.

"Sweetheart you don't have to-"

"I want to." You cut him off.

"Fuck. You're gonna be the death o' me, love." He lifts his hips and lets you drag his boxers down, revealing his semi-hardness.

God, his cock is so beautiful. It's so thick you could barely wrap both your hands around it even when he's not fully hard.

"I'll make sure to send you off gently with a kiss, Simon." Your mouth slowly engulfs the tip of his cock, licking all around it. Simon lets out a groan as he grabs your head gently.

"Oh, fuck. That's it, sweetheart. So sweet, being so good f' me." He encourages sweetly and it's enough to get you preening and moving your head excitedly down his length.

Just as you know his habits, Simon also knows what makes you tick. Getting praised by him almost always makes you putty in his hands and he makes sure to take advantage of this information to its full potential. He loves to praise you even for the smallest of things, such as cooking for him when he gets back.

Telling you how lovely you are and how he's thankful for you taking the time to cook for grumpy, old, Simon.

You continue taking more of his length in your mouth, gaggling slightly from the sheer size of him. You can taste the salty precum on your tongue and your eyes roll back from pleasure, taking him in more enthusiastically.

"Slow down, love. Don't want- ugh.. you t' hurt yourself." Simon tries to pull your head back to give you space, but you're not happy about it. You glare up at him best as you can before taking him down to the hilt.

Nose pressed deep, you can smell the slight tang of his musk, making you slightly delirious. You moan, sending vibrations up throughout his body.

Simon trembles with pleasure, groaning.

"Yeah, you like that sweetheart? Love choking on my cock? Hmm?"

At his words, you slowly take your mouth off of him, replacing it with your hands. Slick from your spit and his precum, your hand glides along his shaft easily as he bucks into your hand.

"Mhm.." You put your mouth on him once more, only pulling away to rub it all over your face. "Love it so much, Si. Love having your cock in my mouth. Can't live without it."

Simon admires you, cockdrunk on his leaking shaft. Even with his mess all over your face as you slobber on him, he thinks you look absolutely gorgeous.

Looking up at him, it's like you can see hearts in his eyes. You've been wet since the moment you woke up to him next to you, but him looking at you like you're the only person he wants to see on him makes you feel on top of the world.

Unable to take it anymore, you whine pathetically and start humping the bed.

Simon sees you writhing on the bed below him and chuckles as you continue kissing all over his cock.

"Look at you.. so needy, sweetheart. You don't need to hump the bed like a dog in heat. I'm right here, love." With that, he gently pulls you off his cock. You groan dismay, body going slightly limp from desperation.

"Need you so bad, Si." You beg him, tears starting to form in your eyes. You think you're going to crazy if he doesn't fuck you soon. He's about to leave soon for months and you're desperate for him to leave his mark on you.

Simon gently tuts and caresses your cheek. He's in awe of how he's got such a lovely, needy, pet wrapped around his finger. He hasn't had someone this devoted to him in a very long time — someone who's always excited to see him come home, someone who's never asked for him for more than what he can give.

Maybe it makes him a narcissist that he's happy of the fact that you're so desperately in love with him, you'd rather have parts of him than not at all.

But during early mornings where he'd find you sniffling into your pillow, he feels pain in his chest where his heart resides. He knows you cry over him.

He mourns the love that you two could have, but he'd rather mourn over the fantasy he's created in his head — the fantasy where he wasn't fucked up and is able to receive the kind of love you freely give, than have you be heartbroken when Simon inevitably doesn't come home one day.

"I got you, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good." He rumbles against your lips. In a split second, he'd managed to lay you out on the bed and now hovered above you.

He takes a moment to stare at your face. Wide-eyed, sweating, and panting heavily. He peppers kisses all over your face.

His little pet all worked up over sucking his cock.

He's staring at you for a few seconds, making you writhe around, but you never break his stare. It was as if the both of you were trying to commit each other's faces to memory right in this moment, not knowing when you were going to be able to see each other again.

You bring your hand up to his face, slightly wiping the sweat away from his eyes.

His eyes.

The moment he looked at you, you know you were done for. Those eyes never fail to send shivers through your whole body, as if your entire being was standing to attention when his eyes were on you.

"You're so pretty, Simon."

That seemed to break him out of his trance. He grunts slightly as if disagreeing with your statement. You sigh, knowing he's never going to see himself the way you see him.

That's okay. You'll spend as much time as he'll give you to convince him.

Simon kisses and caresses down your body as you moan from the feel of it. Teasing you with his lips and leaving small marks all over. When he gets to your thighs, he slowly raises both of them as he lightly rubs his scruffy chin on it.

"Lift those pretty legs f' me, hm?"

When you don't respond, he gently bites to get your attention and you huff. You grasp your bedsheets so tight your knuckles were going white when you feel his hot breath on you.

"Such a pretty pussy. Just for me, yeah?" He kisses your folds gently, the sensation of his scruff causing a prickly sensation, making you wail in pleasure.

"S-Simon!" You were so needy and sensitive — Simon loved that about you.

"So sensitive." He murmurs against your weeping pussy. He runs his finger across your folds, gathering the wetness. You look down at him as he tastes your wetness on his finger.

"Fuck, Simon."

"Mm, my favorite taste."

After a few moments of simply kissing all around your folds and your clit, Simon decides to stop teasing you. He presses his face in your folds and licks a stripe across it.

He repeats this action multiple times, sucking on your little bud in between. He rolls his finger around your clit as his mouth makes suckling noises. The sensation of his tongue and finger on you make you gasp loudly — your eyes rolling back.

You arch your back and don't stop chanting Simon's name like a prayer. Like he was going to disappear if you stopped calling his name.

"That's it. Let me hear what you want, pretty." He brings two of his fingers back inside your walls, lightly caressing them. He's teasing you, waiting for you to beg him to put his fingers inside of you. You break instantly, begging for him to use his thick fingers to please you.

"Please, Simon. Please, please, please. Need your fingers in me."

How could Simon deny you when you beg so sweetly?

Humming against you, he slowly sinks his fingers inside your aching walls. You sigh in contentment, unconsciously clenching on his fingers.

"Relax love, you're choking my fingers." You relax a bit at his words, trying to get your breathing back to normal. The death grip you

It seems that Simon had other ideas, because as soon as you loosened, his fingers started picking up. You start wailing again at his sudden shift in pace, grabbing his hand that was gripping your thigh.

His hand lets go of your thigh and entwines it with yours.

"Doing so good for me. You can take it, sweetheart. Be good and cum on my fingers, yeah?" At this point the both of you were panting heavily, his heavy cock still leaking precum onto the bedsheets. You didn't realize it before, but you're just now realizing how the bed is creaking from his hips.

Simon pants heavily, the room getting warmer by the second. His heavy groans makes your pussy throb around his fingers as you feel a pressure building in your lower belly.

"Si- please. So close."

Knowing you're close sends him over the edge, his tongue works faster and sloppier in tandem with his fingers. Simon moans and and your back starts to arch higher than before.

You're now making a mess on the bedsheets, wet noises can be heard loudly as it echoes throughout the entire room. You feel hot, sweaty, and suddenly everything's too much.

The lights are too bright, the noises too loud, and you feel so sensitive it burns.

"Simon, I-" You whine, legs starting to thrash as Simon pulled his fingers away to hold your legs. You feel your nerves lighting awake as you feel every single sensation as he sinks his tongue inside.

"Love you Si, love you so much. I'm—" Your body seizes and freezes for a moment and a little flick of his tongue against your bud makes you lose it. Your orgasm washes through you like a crashing wave, causing you to tremble in his hold and let out gasps as you struggle to breath normally and let your legs fall.

Simon lets you catch your breath as he lifts himself up, still hard. You rest your eyes on him and you see him lick his lips — his entire mouth and chin shiny with your slick.

He hovers above you once more, leaning down to give you a kiss. You reach up enthusiastically, pulling him down by his neck. He grunts at the sudden force as you slant your lips against his. It's messy, his lips slick with spit and yours with a small trace of drool. The kiss is desperate, teeth knocking into each other more than once.

It goes on for a while before Simon starts to pull back. Before he's successful, you wrap both your legs around his waist and Simon gasps at the sensation of his cock pressed against your slick.

"Need you inside, Simon. Want you in me." Murmuring against his lips, your hand desperately wanders down his sweaty body and grips his cock.

He lets out a grunt at the sudden warmth enveloping him and is unable to control as his hips involuntarily thrust forward.

"Yeah? You want my cock? Take it, sweetheart. It's all yours." He watches in a daze as you slowly align him with you. The moment he feels his tip rub on your slippery folds, he lets out a whimper.

"Please Si.." You whisper to him. "Wanna feel you inside me so bad." Simon coos at you, seeing you beg him to fuck you never fails to make his brain circuit for a few seconds.

He teases you a few seconds longer, just to hear you beg more for him. He begins to feel bad when you start humping the air in hopes of getting his head inside you.

You're babbling incoherently now, eyes closed, hands wandering all over Simon's body. He gives you mercy and starts to push inside your throbbing hole. It takes a bit of time, but when his head manages to push through, he's already able to feel your walls pulsate around him.

"Oh, sweetheart. So needy f' me." He's also barely coherent, his eyes focused on his cock deeper inside your tight hole. "What are you gonna do when I'm gone, hm? Who's gonna fuck you this good?" Simon barely realizes what he's saying until he's spoken them. The thought of someone else fucking you when he's gone lights a fire inside him.

"Oh, fuck." His cock is fully in you now and you can feel every vein pulsating inside of you. Your hands are gripping Simon harder, possibly leaving red marks all over his body — you relish in the thought of Simon looking in the mirror and seeing the marks you left on him. "No one, Si. No one's gonna fuck me as good as you. Don' want you to go. Want you here with me." Your mouth hangs open uselessly, overwhelmed with the pressure of Simon in you.

Hearing you admit so openly you weren't going to fuck anyone else drives Simon even crazier. You realize now how much of an impact your words have on Simon when he starts pounding your poor pussy that was still sensitive.

"Yeah? That's right, sweetheart. No one can fuck you like I can." It takes him a few seconds to get his words out, huffing above you. You can barely hear what he's saying, ears ringing from the blinding white, hot pleasure coursing through your entire body. Your hands try gripping him as long as you can but his thrusts are causing your body to jostle relentlessly, and now your arms flail helplessly before holding onto the headboard.

Simon is no longer on his forearm, his head resting in the crook of your neck as his hands grip your waist. You're sure his hands are going to leave prints in the morning from how hard he's gripping you.

You don't mind at all.

Your brain feels foggy, only speaking Simon's name over and over again. Simon's no better than you, grunting and groaning at every thrust that leads him deeper into your hole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He moans. "So good for me, so sweet for me." Your legs no longer have the energy to stay corded behind his back, limping helplessly beside you as Simon fucks you.

You feel another orgasm creeping up on you as your walls begin to clench around Simon's cock. Simon hisses at the feeling, leaning up to look at your cream gathering at the base of him. He looks up to the ceiling, gasping in pleasure.

"Si, I'm so close, I-" He brings his head down to give you a chaste kiss before pulling away, nose touching yours and staring into your eyes.

"Let go f' me, sweetheart. Gonna cum on my cock and be good?" He coaxes you, one of his hands going to your face. You don't even realize you're crying until Simon wipes your tears away.

You can't take it anymore, the loving look in his eyes and feeling him inside you breaks you.

"Love you so much, Si. I love you so fucking much." You cry out to him as you're finally sent over the edge. You wail loudly, back arching as Simon continues to thrust at a slower pace, going deeper than before.

"God, fuck. I love you, I love you. Fuck." He continues to mumble against your neck. Your jaw goes slack and another orgasm seizes your body as you clench and gush all over him.

His thighs are drenched from your slick and when he feels your walls pulsing repeatedly over him, he feels shivers all over his body and he cums.

The blinding pleasure takes him off guard, thighs shaking from the sheer force. He continues thrusting shallowly, dragging out his orgasm as his cum fills up your hole to the brim.

He gasps and bites down on your neck, not stopping until he's fully come down from his high.

You're shell shocked, one hand over your eyes as you thinking about what just transpired. This was nothing like before. He'd never said 'I love you', ever. You take a moment to regain your thoughts, heart thumping wildly.

By this point, your hopes had soared like never before, the small part of you that still believes you can have something with Simon begins crawling out of you — coming back alive.

"Si-" You start as you catch your breath and lift your head slightly to look at him.

"Sorry." He mumbles lifting himself from your body, plopping himself on the pillow beside you.

There's nothing but silence for a few minutes. A part of you wants nothing more than to confront him, get him to face his feelings. But you know Simon and that if you did that, he'd panic.

So, you wait. And wait. And wait.

Until he coughs.

"I have to go. Supposed to meet the boys in an hour." He grumbles, fumbling around to get himself off the bed and find his clothes.

Your heart breaks. Was he really going to go away for a few months without talking about what just happened? You had to make a choice. Either speak now or forever hold your peace.

"Simon." You speak with such a finality in your tone that it renders Simon frozen. He pauses putting his pants back on and stares up at you, terrified.

"I love you." You say, loud and clear. You've told him you loved him in the throes of passion and in the sleepy haze of early mornings, but never when both of you were wide awake. Like a secret that's only meant to be whispered so as to not let it get snuffed out.

You see his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. He seems to debate what he wants to say. You badly wish for him to just say something, anything at all.

He doesn't.

Simon continues to put on his pants and slip his shirt over his head. Once he finally gains the courage to look at you once more, he had to clear his throat. The forlorn look on your face would haunt him until the day he dies.

He knows you love him so deeply and honestly, that there was no questioning your devotion to him. He knows that you feel for him so deeply, you'd rather hurt yourself over and over than let him go.

But he's also once harbored care and affection to someone, fighting side-by-side with someone he thought was going to never stop speaking gibberish in his ear.

If Simon almost couldn't survive losing Johnny, there was no way you were going to survive losing him.

With his heart in his throat, Simon stares at you, fighting back tears that threaten to escape. God, he wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you and tell you he loves you more than anything in this world. That he'd fight through any battlefield with broken limbs just to come home to you. But he knows he can't give you that promise. That promise that he's going to die of old age with you.

He expects you to cry or scream, but nothing in the world would be able to heal the way Simon's heart breaks when you only give him a sad smile.

"That's okay. I know you're not selfish enough to love me back."

He knows he should just leave, but he can't help himself from hurting you once more. Simon steps forward, cradles your head in his hands and lay a kiss atop your head.

And then, he leaves.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 8

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"The fates already fucked me sideways,"

summary: the secrets out

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 8

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 7

next | chapter 9

The sun filtered through the church windows, casting a soft glow over the sanctuary where the girls' dance troupe had been practicing for hours. Tomorrow was the big day—the fellowship celebration—where all the church elders, members, and their families would gather to witness the performances. The pressure was on, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders. This was your first time leading something, and the responsibility felt immense.

Jemima had been a godsend, helping you organize the routines, going over each step with the girls until everything was perfect. Her calm, reassuring presence had been a balm to your nerves. Joel had been equally supportive, his quiet encouragement easing the anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm you. Just thinking about him brought a smile to your face, even in the midst of all the stress.

During a break in the practice, you and Emma headed to the back of the church to grab some snacks and drinks. The two of you chatted idly, the tension from the rehearsal melting away with each laugh you shared. It was a rare moment of calm, one you desperately needed before the whirlwind of tomorrow’s event.

But then, as you reached for a bottle of water, a familiar, unwelcome presence loomed over you. Your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see Jamie standing there, his eyes dark and malicious.

“Hi, Jamie,” Emma greeted him casually, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie ignored her, his gaze locked on you, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you tell him, hm?” His voice was low, taunting, sending a chill down your spine.

You froze, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach. “What are you talking about, Jamie? Just get out of here.” You tried to keep your voice steady as you turned back to the snacks, hoping he would just leave you alone.

But Jamie wasn’t finished. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I know about you and him.”

Your body went rigid, the blood draining from your face. Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, hoping to deflect his insinuations.

Jamie chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. “Don’t play dumb. You think I wouldn’t find out? I knew you were always a dirty slut, but damn, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Emma glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on?"

You didn’t answer, your mind racing, trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation. “Jamie, just leave me alone,” you repeated, your voice shaking.

But Jamie wasn’t done yet. His eyes glittered with malice as he continued, “If you say anything about us, I’ll make sure everyone knows about you and Joel.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure Emma could hear it. The mention of Joel’s name made you freeze in place, terror gripping you like a vise.

Emma’s eyes widened as she processed what Jamie had said. She looked at you, then back at Jamie, horror dawning on her face.

Jamie grinned wickedly, relishing in your fear. “Oh, she didn’t tell you, did she? The saint preacher's daughter over here has been fucking around with good ol’ Joel Miller. Isn’t that right?”

Emma’s face went pale, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. “Jamie, stop,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. But he ignored you, his cruel words cutting deeper with each passing second.

“He’s old enough to be your dad, for God’s sake,” Jamie sneered. “He should be in jail for what he’s done to you, and you…you should be ashamed of yourself. But then again, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always such a little whore.”

Jamie’s words hit you like a slap to the face, the weight of his accusations crashing down on you. Emma stood frozen beside you, her eyes wide and filled with disbelief.

“I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Jamie’s threats hung in the air, and the reality of what he could do, the damage he could cause, made your head spin.

Without another word, Jamie turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Emma standing there in stunned silence. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything spinning out of control as you tried to process what had just happened.

"Emma..." you said. you are scared, scared to death.

Emma’s eyes were wide, her face pale with shock as she pulled you into the small storage room, slamming the door shut behind her. The dim light barely illuminated the cramped space, casting long shadows on the walls. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest echoed in your ears, drowning out the faint hum of the air conditioning unit.

“What the fuck?” Emma’s voice was a harsh whisper, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. “Joel Miller? Ellie’s dad?! Are you fucking crazy?!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Panic seized your throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. You felt trapped, cornered by both Emma’s piercing gaze and the weight of the secret that had just been exposed.

“I…I can explain,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you said it, you knew how hollow it sounded. How could you possibly explain something like this? How could you make her understand the connection you felt with Joel, the way he made you feel safe, loved, and cherished in a way you had never experienced before?

Emma’s expression softened for a moment, as if she could see the turmoil in your eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Explain? What’s there to explain? This is crazy! He’s twice your age, he’s Ellie’s dad and YOUR DAD'S BEST FRIEND!, for God’s sake. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

"This could ruin everything. Do you even realize the danger you’re in? What will happen if your dad finds out? If the church finds out?” She said again.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to break down. “I know how it looks, Emma, but it’s not like that. It’s not just some fling or something… I love him, and he loves me.”

Emma stared at you, her mouth agape, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Love? You think this is love? He’s a grown man, He should know better!”

“He does know better,” you shot back, your voice rising in desperation. “But I’m not a child, Emma. I know what I want, and I want Joel. He’s not taking advantage of me. It’s real. He protect me, he...he's always there for me,"

Emma shook her head, her face a mix of anger and hurt. “You’re so blinded by this…whatever it is that you can’t see how wrong it is. What do you think is going to happen when people find out? What about your dad? He’ll go ballistic. And Joel…he could get in serious trouble. You’re both going to get hurt.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, the reality of the situation crashing down on you. You knew she was right, but the thought of losing Joel, of being torn away from him, was unbearable.

“Emma, please,” you begged, reaching out to grab her hand. “Please, don’t say anything. I know this is a mess, but I can’t lose him. I love him, and I don’t care about the consequences. I just…I just need you to understand.”

Emma looked down at your hand clutching hers, her expression torn. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, and you held your breath, praying that she would somehow find it in her heart to forgive you, to keep your secret.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t know what to do. This is so messed up. You both will get exiled! Or worse, he could be in jail for molesting you!”

Her words struck a nerve, the idea of Joel being painted as some sort of predator made your blood boil. “He did NOT molest me!” you snapped, your voice rising with a fierce intensity that startled both of you. Emma’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but you couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions any longer.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, Emma,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady. “He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted this. I wanted him. Joel is a good man, and you don’t understand—he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth something. He’s been there for me when no one else was, not even my own dad.”

Emma’s face softened, but there was still a deep conflict in her eyes. Don’t you see how wrong this is? It’s not just about love or how he makes you feel. This could destroy everything—for both of you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s not what people expect. But it’s real, Emma. What we have is real. And I don’t care if it’s wrong in the eyes of the church or society. All I know is that I can’t lose him. I won’t.”

Emma shook her head, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t just about you. It’s about him too. If this gets out…if people find out, it won’t just be your life that’s ruined. Joel could lose everything. His reputation, his business, his freedom. Is that what you want?”

The weight of her words hung heavily between you, but you couldn’t back down. “No, of course not,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “But I can’t just walk away from him. I love him, Emma. I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone else. And I can’t imagine my life without him.”

Emma’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for some sign that you might change your mind, that you might realize the gravity of the situation. But she didn’t find it. Instead, she saw the depth of your resolve, the unyielding determination in your gaze.

“Then you better be prepared for the consequences,” she finally said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Because this won’t end well. Not for you, not for Joel. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you faced Emma, your heart pounding with the weight of the truth you were about to unveil. “I’m already hurt, Emma,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Every day I have to pretend that I’m okay, that I’m fine living this life. But I’m not. Joel is the only thing that makes it bearable. And I’m willing to risk everything for him.”

The desperation in your voice hung heavily in the air, and you saw Emma’s resolve begin to waver. Her eyes softened, the anger and judgment in them slowly being replaced with concern and fear for you. “Please, Emma,” you begged, your voice cracking, “please, I'm begging you, don’t tell anyone. Joel’s not the bad guy. He’s not who you think he is. He saved me.”

Emma hesitated, her face torn between wanting to protect you and not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. You knew there was only one way to make her see, to make her understand why you couldn’t let go of Joel—why you couldn’t go back to the way things were before.

Taking a shaky breath, you let the words spill out, words you’d kept buried deep inside for so long, words that had been eating away at you like a poison. “You want to know the truth, Emma? The real reason why I’ve been avoiding Jamie? Why he’s been threatening me like that?”

Emma’s eyes widened, fear creeping into her expression as she shook her head slightly, as if not wanting to hear what you were about to say. But you couldn’t stop now, not after holding this secret for so long.

“Because he raped me,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the word, the shame and pain you’d been carrying for so long finally breaking free. “He took my virginity by force, Emma. He didn’t care about me—he just wanted to prove he could have me, no matter what. And when he was done, he left me there, feeling like nothing.”

The tears finally broke free, streaming down your cheeks as you saw Emma’s face pale, her eyes filling with horror and disbelief. “He—he did what?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your voice wavered as you continued, the weight of your confession bearing down on you like a cross too heavy to carry. "I felt so dirty," you whispered, your words trembling in the still air between you and Emma. "So broken. I wanted to end it all, to just disappear and never have to feel that way again. I started drinking, hiding bottles in my room, sneaking out at night just to numb the pain. I even went to church drunk, praying to God to take this all away, but no one ever noticed.”

The words tumbled out like confessions at a confessional, your voice cracking under the strain of so much pain. "Every night, I would whisper to God, pleading for mercy. I’d pray for the angels to come down and take this burden from me, to carry me away on their wings to a place where I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. And if no angel would come, I begged for death, for the final peace of oblivion, because I couldn’t keep fighting. I was drowning, Emma, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break the surface.”

You took a shuddering breath, your hands shaking as you clutched Emma’s arms, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood. "I prayed for deliverance, for a way out of this darkness. I asked God to send me someone, anyone, who could make me feel whole again, who could remind me that I wasn’t just a vessel for shame and sorrow. And then Joel came into my life, like a beacon of light in a storm. He made me believe that maybe I wasn’t beyond saving, that maybe there was still something left in me worth loving."

Emma’s eyes were filled with tears, her face a picture of grief and understanding. She didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, as if trying to shield you from all the pain you had been carrying alone for so long.

“And now, I’m terrified, Em,” you admitted, your voice breaking completely. “Because I’m afraid that if I lose Joel, I’ll lose the last bit of hope I have left. I don’t want to go back to that darkness, to that place where I prayed for death. I don’t want to feel that way again.”

Emma’s arms tightened around you, her tears mingling with yours as she whispered, “You won’t go back there. I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes.”

The weight of your confession hung in the air like incense rising to the heavens, a prayer of desperation and sorrow. And in that moment, you felt a glimmer of something—something like hope—begin to take root in the cracks of your broken heart. Emma’s embrace was like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on for so long.

"I can't lose him, I can't," you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter the fragile hope beginning to bloom within you. The thought of a life without Joel, without the one person who made you feel seen and loved, was unbearable. You clung to Emma as though letting go would mean slipping back into the darkness that had once consumed you.

Emma held you tighter, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not going to lose him," she murmured, her voice firm yet gentle. "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in Emma's shoulder, her words offering a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed so desperately. It was the first time in a long time that someone had promised to stand by you, no matter the cost. "Thank you, Emma," you managed to choke out, your gratitude overwhelming.

Emma pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her expression serious. "You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. The fear still lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been before. With Emma by your side, the path ahead seemed a little less daunting. The darkness that had once felt all-consuming now had a small, flickering light within it—a light that you were determined to hold onto.

But as the two of you stood there, the reality of your situation pressed in on you once more. Jamie’s threats echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the fear of what he might do. The thought of him exposing your relationship with Joel sent a shiver down your spine.

“What if he tells?” you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety. “What if he goes to my dad, or the church? Joel could be ruined, and I—I don’t know what would happen to me.”

Emma shook her head, determination hardening her features. “We won’t let that happen."

You swallowed hard, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. Emma’s faith in you, in both of you, gave you strength.

As you stood there, side by side, the weight of the world felt just a little bit lighter. The storm was far from over, but at least now you knew you didn’t have to face it alone.

***

The night had settled in, wrapping the world in a cloak of darkness as you and the other girls finished your practice. The church hall was now empty, the echoes of laughter and chatter fading away as everyone headed home. The dance routine had been drilled into your muscles, each movement precise, every step aligned with the rhythm. You had pushed yourself hard, knowing that tomorrow would be a day of judgment—not just for your performance, but for the life you had chosen to live in secret.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air kissed your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the practice room. The streets were quiet, almost eerily so, with only the occasional flicker of streetlights breaking through the darkness. The silence was a stark contrast to the noise in your mind, where thoughts swirled like a storm.

Emma offered to drive you home in her new car, her concern evident in the way she lingered, keys in hand. "Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It’s getting late," she asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. "I’ll be fine, Emma. I just need to clear my head a bit. I’ll walk."

She hesitated, searching your face for any sign of doubt. "Alright," she finally said, though her eyes still held a trace of worry. "Just… be careful, okay?"

You nodded, reassuring her with another smile. "I will. See you tomorrow."

With that, you both exchanged goodbyes, and you started your walk home. The night seemed to press in around you, the darkness heavy with unspoken fears and unvoiced hopes. Your footsteps echoed on the pavement, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

You clutched your backpack a little tighter, its weight grounding you as your thoughts drifted. Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day—your dad would be home early, the church event would be in full swing, and all eyes would be on you. But all you could think about was Joel. The way he made you feel alive, seen, and cherished in a world that often felt cold and uncaring. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, of having that light snuffed out by the darkness that threatened to consume you.

The streetlights cast long shadows on the road ahead, their glow flickering like the doubts that gnawed at your mind. What if Jamie followed through on his threats? What if your dad found out? The thought made your chest tighten with fear. You had built this delicate web of secrecy, each strand woven with care, but it could all unravel with just one word, one misstep.

You tried to push the fear away, focusing instead on the warmth Joel had given you, the way his presence had pulled you back from the edge time and time again. You repeated to yourself that you couldn’t lose him—not now, not ever. He was your anchor, your sanctuary in a world that had so often felt like a battlefield.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late. As you rounded a corner, a rustling sound from the bushes made you pause. Your breath hitched, and you stopped in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, like a specter emerging from the darkness, Jamie stepped out from the shadows, his presence cold and menacing. His lips curled into a twisted smile as he saw the fear flash across your face.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice low and taunting. His presence casting a dark shadow over you. You took a step back, a chill running down your spine. “Get the fuck out of my face, Jamie,” you demanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he advanced. “You told Emma about me, didn’t you?” His tone was cold and accusatory. Fear tightened in your chest, but you tried to hold your ground.

“If you ruin me, I’ll make sure I ruin you,” he sneered, his threat hanging heavy in the air. “I’ll make sure they take him away from you.”

Desperation and anger flared inside you. “What the fuck do you want from me?!” you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion.

Without warning, Jamie’s hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you toward the bushes. You struggled against his grip, trying to scream for help, but his strength overwhelmed you. The world seemed to close in as he shoved you down onto the dirt, his actions abrupt and frightening.

In a surge of panic, you tried to push him away, your heart racing as he started to unzip his pants, “No, Jamie, please!” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t!”

Jamie’s voice was cruel and mocking. “Did he make you feel good, huh? You should thank me. I brought out this slut hidden beneath you, didn’t I? I should be the one who fuck you good, not some old fucking ass like Joel Miller.”

His words cut deep, and you felt a sense of helpless dread. The stars above seemed to spin as you tried to escape, your heart pounding with fear and sorrow. But Jamie’s hold was unrelenting, and your pleas seemed to fade into the night, swallowed by the dark.

"Please, don't, please," you try your best to shoved him but he pull your skirt down, "Help!" you scream and Jamie punch you again, "Be quiet, you dirty whore,".

As Jamie’s grip tightened, he enters you by force, and the world seemed to tilt, your mind sought refuge in the distant twinkle of the stars. You closed your eyes, trying to escape into the silent comfort of the night sky. Each star above was a distant beacon, a reminder that somewhere, beyond this moment, there was still a world of light and hope.

You tried to focus on the stars, their cold, indifferent light providing a fragile sense of calm. In the midst of your torment, you held onto the hope that this night would end, that the dawn would break and with it, bring the promise of a new beginning.

The beauty of the celestial expanse above seemed to offer a quiet solace, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is still a universe beyond, filled with unspoken promises and untold stories.

As Jamie’s actions continued, the pain and fear seemed to blur, becoming a distant echo compared to the clarity of the stars. You imagined yourself drifting among them, free from the terror below, where the hurt could not reach and the darkness could not touch.

Just look at the stars, you'll be fine

As the tears running down your face, you bit your lips to hold the pain, Jamie's moaning on your ear. You tried to focus on the stars, their silent brilliance a reminder of a world beyond this moment. You whispered a prayer to the universe, to any higher power that might be listening, to make it stop, to take away the suffering and grant you the strength to endure.

"Jesus Christ, please, make all of this stop, I'm tired," you prayed, your voice a desperate whisper that mingled with the night’s silence. The tears streaming down your face were a testament to your exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

Jamie, lost in his own world, was too consumed by his actions to hear your plea. His mocking laughter echoed through the night, a cruel reminder of the powerlessness you felt in this moment. His words and actions were a stark contrast to the gentle night sky above, where you tried to find solace.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you continued to gaze at the stars, seeking refuge in their distant, unchanging light. They were your silent witnesses, a reminder that there was something beyond this immediate suffering, a world where this moment of anguish would eventually fade into the past.

With final thrust, he finally reach his climax, he came inside you.

The night was a tapestry of silent suffering and shattering despair. When Jamie finally finished, he lay beside you, breath ragged and labored. The stillness of the night contrasted sharply with the turmoil of your heart. You lay there, numb and tearful, as though the ground beneath you was a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

Jamie eventually rose, zipping his pants with a contemptuous smirk. His words were a chilling echo of his earlier cruelty. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” he threatened, his voice cold and indifferent. With that, he walked away, leaving you alone in the dirt, a broken figure beneath the indifferent stars.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you lay there, struggling to gather yourself. The pain was a relentless tide, overwhelming and unyielding. The stars above, once your silent witnesses, now seemed distant and cold, a vast expanse that mocked your suffering.

You slowly sat up, the weight of the night heavy on your shoulders. Your dress was torn and stained, your hair a tangled mess. Every movement was a reminder of the agony you had endured. You tried to fix your appearance, but the effort felt like an exercise in futility. The blood staining your legs was a harsh reminder of what Jamie had done.

As you walked through the night, your steps were unsteady, your mind clouded with despair. The questions swirled in your head: Why had this happened to you? Why did life have to be so painfully cruel? The burden of your suffering seemed almost unbearable.

Desperate for solace, you made your way to Joel’s home. Each step was a struggle, your heart aching with the need for his presence, for his comfort. When you reached his door, you knocked, hoping against hope that he was home.

Ellie opened the door, her eyes widening in shock as she took in your disheveled and bleeding appearance. Her voice was filled with panic as she called out, “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

With tears brimming in your eyes and your voice trembling, you asked, “Ellie, is… is Joel home?” The words were barely a whisper, but they carried the weight of your desperation.

From inside, you could hear Joel’s voice from inside, “Ellie, who's on the door?"

Joel’s eyes widened with alarm as he saw you standing there, a vision of distress and anguish. Without hesitation, he bolted to the door, his face etched with fear and concern. As he reached you, the dam holding back your tears finally broke.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your strength crumbling. You collapsed into his arms, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably. The dam of your grief had burst, and you clung to him with all the strength you had left, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Joel’s expression shifted from panic to a fierce, protective concern. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as though he could shield you from the world’s cruelty simply by being there. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

Ellie watched in stunned silence, her hands covering her mouth as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. Joel guided you gently inside, his movements tender yet urgent, as if every second mattered. He led you to the living room, helping you sit down on the couch, his touch both steady and soothing.

“Joel... he... he did it again,” you said weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper. The words felt heavy on your lips, each one a painful reminder of what had happened.

Ellie’s confusion turned to alarm as she processed your words, her face pale with concern. Joel, however, understood immediately. His anger was palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “That son of a bitch,” he cursed slowly, his voice low but seething with fury.

He moved you gently, laying you down on the couch with careful hands. As he began to check you for injuries, his touch was both deliberate and compassionate. When his fingers brushed against your legs and he saw the blood, his expression shifted from anger to a deep, heart-wrenching sorrow.

Joel’s face contorted with grief as he realized the extent of Jamie’s cruelty. He shouted “FUCK!” in a voice that shook the very walls, causing Ellie to flinch and step back in shock. The raw emotion in Joel’s outburst was a stark contrast to his usually composed demeanor.

With a trembling hand, Joel placed his forehead against yours, the warmth of his skin mingling with your tears. For the first time, you saw him cry—silent, heartbroken tears that spoke volumes. His voice was a whisper as he spoke, “I’m going to make sure he pays for this. I promise you.”

You looked into Joel’s brown eyes, feeling a mix of fear and sorrow. The pain in your body was overwhelming, and you could barely comprehend what had just happened. “Joel, it hurts,” you managed to say through your tears.

“I know, baby,” Joel said, his voice filled with tender sorrow. “I know it hurts. We’re going to fix this.”

He turned to Ellie, his voice now frantic. “Ellie, get a bucket of warm water and a napkin, now!” His desperation made Ellie’s hands shake as she hurried to follow his orders.

Returning to you, Joel’s eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and determination. “I need to know, baby,” he said softly, “Did he... did he...”

“Inside of me, Joel,” you sobbed, “He came inside of me.”

Joel's world had never felt so fragile, so perilously close to shattering. The weight of your words bore down on him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in a sea of grief and rage. His heart twisted with a pain so fierce it felt as though it might break him in two. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, but right now, his only focus was you—protecting you, comforting you, holding you together when you were on the verge of falling apart.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he fought to control the storm inside him. He pressed his forehead against yours, the gesture tender and desperate, as though he could transfer some of his strength to you, even as his own reserves were dangerously low. His voice, usually so steady and composed, wavered with emotion as he whispered, "He will pay for what he did to you. I swear it."

But your voice, so small and broken, cut through the darkness of his rage. "Joel, I'm scared," you whispered, and the fear in your voice was a knife to his heart.

In that moment, Joel’s protective instincts surged to the forefront. All thoughts of vengeance were pushed aside by the overwhelming need to be there for you, to make sure you knew you weren’t alone. “You’ll be okay, I promise you,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I’m here. I got you, babygirl.”

Ellie returned with the warm water and napkins, but she paused in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the scene before her. Joel’s forehead was still pressed against yours, his eyes closed, as he murmured soft words of comfort. There was a raw, unguarded tenderness in his expression that Ellie had never seen before—an intimacy that spoke of a deep, unspoken connection between the two of you.

She felt a pang of confusion and something else, something she couldn’t quite name, as she watched the way Joel held you. He was always protective, always looking out for her, but this... this was different.

As she handed Joel the bucket and napkins, she kept her gaze on the two of you, trying to reconcile this new reality with the Joel she knew. He was always a guardian, a protector, but this... this was a depth of care and love that shook her to her core.

Joel took the supplies from Ellie with a quiet “thank you,” but his attention never wavered from you. He dipped the napkin in the warm water, his hands gentle and sure as he began to clean your wounds. His touch was reverent, almost like he was handling something sacred, something fragile that he couldn’t bear to see hurt anymore. Each movement was careful, deliberate, as if by caring for your physical wounds, he could somehow heal the ones buried deeper within you.

You watched Joel through tear-filled eyes, seeing the pain etched into every line of his face. It was as if the roles had been reversed—where once he had been your protector, now you saw how deeply he was affected by your suffering, how much he needed you to be okay, not just for your sake, but for his.

Ellie stood by, watching Joel taking care of you, her heart heavy with the weight of this new understanding. She could see the fear and hurt in your eyes, the way you clung to Joel as if he were your lifeline. And Joel... the way he held you, the way he whispered reassurances, it was clear to Ellie that this wasn’t just about protection. This was love, fierce and consuming, and it terrified her as much as it comforted her to see it.

She began to replay moments in her head, memories that had seemed insignificant at the time but now took on a new meaning. There were the sudden, unexplained changes in Joel’s behavior—the way he’d started going to church more often, sitting quietly at the back but always there, as if he were trying to keep an eye on someone.

She remembered conversations she’d had with him, And then there was that offhand remark from Tommy at work, about how Joel had started to “smell like a woman.” At the time, it had just been a joke, something Ellie had brushed off as Tommy teasing his brother. But now, it struck her differently.

And then there was that conversation with you and Emma, the one where you had hesitantly asked Emma and her about falling in love with someone. older. Ellie had laughed it off at first, not thinking much of it, but now those words echoed in her mind, each one slotting into place like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t even realized she was solving.

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the breath out of her. 

***

When they reached your home, the quiet of the night wrapped around the small house like a blanket. Joel and Ellie helped you inside, your steps heavy with exhaustion. Your mother, who had been waiting anxiously, rushed to the door as soon as she saw you, her face pale with worry.

“Oh my God, what happened?!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling as she took in your disheveled appearance, the bruises, the blood. Her hands fluttered helplessly as she looked to Joel for answers.

“There was an accident,” Joel lied smoothly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “She got caught up in a fight between some kids from out of town. It wasn’t her fault, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your mother’s eyes widened in horror. “A fight? But—”

“It’s okay,” Joel interrupted gently, his gaze steady and reassuring. “She’s going to be okay. I took care of her, and she just needs some rest now.”

You clung to Joel, your hand gripping his shirt as if he were your lifeline. The pain and fear still echoed in your chest, but with Joel there, you felt a small measure of safety. “Please stay,” you whispered, your voice small and pleading.

Joel’s heart clenched at the sound of your voice, and he stroked your hair gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I have something to do, baby,” he murmured. “But I’ll be right back, I promise.”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy as sleep began to pull you under. Joel waited until you were settled in bed, your breathing evening out as you drifted off. Only then did he stand, his eyes lingering on you for a long moment before he turned to your mother.

He walked over to her, his expression serious. “Please,” he said quietly, “don’t tell your husband about this when he comes home tomorrow. She doesn’t need him getting worked up over it, and it won’t help her. Just tell him she had a fall, or something like that.”

Your mother frowned, confusion and concern etched into her features. “But why? He needs to know—”

“Trust me,” Joel cut in, his tone firm. “It’s for the best. I’ll be back in the morning to check on her, I promise.”

After a few more reassurances, Joel finally left with Ellie. The drive back to their house was silent, the air between them thick with unspoken words. When they finally arrived home, Ellie could no longer hold back.

“Joel,” she started, her voice tense as they walked into the house, “what’s going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's going on between you and her?"

Joel froze for a moment, his back to Ellie as he hung up his jacket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, trying to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Don’t lie to me,” Ellie shot back, her voice rising with frustration. “I have eyes, Joel. I saw how you were with her tonight. And it wasn’t just about protecting her—it was more than that."

"She’s... she’s barely older than me! What the hell are you doing?”

Joel finally turned to face her, his expression pained. He knew there was no dodging this, not with the way Ellie was looking at him—like she was trying to make sense of something incomprehensible, something that felt like a betrayal.

“Ellie,” Joel started, his voice low, laden with the weight of his guilt. “I can explain—”

Ellie cut him off, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Explain what, Joel? That you’re sick? That you’ve lost your fucking mind? How could you do this? How could you even think about her like that?!”

Joel’s heart ached at the venom in her words, the disgust that he could hear so clearly. “It’s not what you think—”

“It’s exactly what I think!” Ellie shouted, her hands shaking as she tried to comprehend the man standing in front of her. “How could you, Joel? How long has this been going on?"

Ellie’s voice wavered, the anger boiling over as she struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. “How long, Joel? How long have you been doing this behind my back? Behind everyone’s back? She’s just a kid! How could you even think about her like that?”

Joel swallowed hard, his mind racing, searching for the right words, but everything seemed wrong. “Ellie, it’s not... I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just... it just did.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed his response. “We both knew her father beat her, Joel!"

Joel’s heart skipped a beat as Ellie’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Ellie... how do you know about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost fearful of the answer.

Ellie’s eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness. “I’m not blind, Joel. I have eyes. I saw the bruises, the way she flinched when her father was around. And I saw the way she looked at you, the way she leaned on you. That night, dinner at Tommy's I noticed how she clung to you. She was scared, Joel, and I thought you were stepping in to be the father figure she needed. Like you were for me.”

Joel’s chest tightened, the guilt of Ellie’s words cutting deep. He had been so caught up in his own feelings, in his need to protect and care for you, that he hadn’t noticed Ellie was watching, understanding more than he ever gave her credit for.

“But you weren’t just being there for her, were you?” Ellie continued, her voice trembling with accusation. “You were supposed to protect her, Joel. Instead, you... you took advantage of her.”

Joel’s breath hitched, the weight of her accusation pressing down on him like a physical force. “Ellie, no... it wasn’t like that. I protect her,"

Ellie shook her head, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “Protect her? By doing this? By crossing a line that should never have been crossed? How could you, Joel? How could you do this to her?"

Joel’s patience snapped, the fury and desperation he’d been trying to keep in check finally boiling over. “BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE HER!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the house, raw and unfiltered.

Ellie froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him, wide-eyed. The intensity in his voice, the sheer force of his confession, left her reeling. Joel’s chest heaved with emotion, his eyes wild as he finally let the truth out, the words he’d been too afraid to admit even to himself.

“I love her,” Joel repeated, his voice breaking as the weight of it all crashed down on him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. She’s not just some kid to me, Ellie. She’s everything. And I know it’s wrong, I know it’s messed up, but I can’t help it. I love her, and I’m not gonna let anything happen to her.”

Ellie stared at him, her mind racing to process what she’d just heard. The Joel she knew, the man who had become her family, was now a stranger to her in this moment. She could see the pain in his eyes, the sincerity, but it only made it harder to reconcile.

“You’re out of your mind,” Ellie whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear. “This isn’t love, Joel. It can’t be.”

Joel shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “It is, Ellie. I wish I could change it, but I can’t. I love her, and I’m gonna protect her, no matter what. Even if that means keeping her safe from me.”

She didn’t know what to say. "And I will make sure the person who did this to her pay," Joel said again.

Ellie stared at Joel, her emotions a tangled mess of fear, love, and resignation. Joel had been more than just a guardian to her; he was the closest thing to a father she’d ever known. The thought of losing him, or of watching him spiral into something dangerous, tore at her heart. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a path that could only lead to disaster.

“Joel,” Ellie began, her voice shaky, “I don’t want to lose you. You’re my father, and I love you. But this… what you and she are doing… it scares me. What if her father finds out? He’s not just going to let this slide. What if Tommy finds out? What if the whole town finds out?”

Joel’s face tightened, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right. The risks were enormous, and the consequences could be devastating, not just for him, but for you, for Ellie, for everyone involved. But despite all of that, he couldn’t turn away from what he felt.

“I know, Ellie,” Joel said, his voice heavy with guilt. “I know what could happen, and it scares the hell out of me too. But I can’t… I can’t lose her..."

Ellie looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something like acceptance. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Joel. I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. And I don’t want to see her hurt either.”

Joel nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll do everything I can to protect her, Ellie. And I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too. I promise.”

Ellie sighed, the fight leaving her as she came to a reluctant acceptance. “If she makes you happy, Joel… then I guess that’s what matters. But please, be careful. This could blow up in your face in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Joel reached out, this time placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Thank you, Ellie. Thank you,"

note: FUCKKK i think chapter 7 and 8 are shit, i promise i'll be better

[lovingdynamight]

This dumb quirk

Summary: You and Bakugo had a routine. A perfectly balanced, highly competitive, painfully frustrating routine. You pushed his buttons, he pushed yours, and the class just accepted it as the natural order of things. You weren’t enemies, but you sure as hell weren’t friends either. You were rivals—constantly bickering, constantly toeing the line of something else neither of you dared acknowledge.So when you got hit by a “Personality Opposite” quirk during training, Bakugo knew something was wrong before you even spoke.

A/n:this isn’t one of my best I definitely think that my others are better but I did need something to post

One second, you were standing next to him, dusting yourself off with your usual annoyed scowl. The next, your entire body relaxed, your expression going soft in a way he had never seen before.

Then you turned to him—eyes bright, lips curled into a warm smile—and said:

“Katsuki.”

What the hell.

The class collectively froze, the air buzzing with anticipation. No one had ever heard you call him by his first name before. Not even as a joke.

Bakugo took a wary step back, eyeing you like you’d grown a second head. “The hell did you just call me?”

Instead of snapping at him like usual, you giggled. Actually giggled.

His stomach flipped.

“You’re so serious all the time,” you said, tilting your head. “It’s kinda cute.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

Mina slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal. Denki was already grinning like an idiot. Kirishima looked deeply, personally betrayed.

“…What.” Bakugo blinked, his entire system failing to process the situation. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” you sighed, stepping closer. “You’re not as mean as you pretend to be. You’re actually really—”

Your hand landed on his forearm.

Bakugo stopped breathing.

It wasn’t even a big gesture. Just your fingers, curling lightly around the sleeve of his uniform. But it was casual, effortless, like touching him was the most natural thing in the world.

Like you wanted to.

Bakugo knew he should shake you off. Say something. Anything. But his body locked up, his traitorous brain focusing on the warmth of your hand instead of figuring out what the fuck was going on.

“Kaminari,” he gritted out, barely holding his composure, “what kind of stupid-ass quirk is this?”

“Personality Opposite,” Midoriya answered instead, looking between you both with wide eyes. “It flips a person’s natural disposition.”

Bakugo felt something cold settle in his stomach. That meant—

“Ohhh,” Kirishima’s grin widened. “So this is how Y/N really feels.”

Bakugo’s face ignited. “Shut the hell up, Shitty hair!”

“Why?” Mina smirked. “Afraid of a little honesty?”

“This isn’t honesty,” Bakugo snapped, glaring at them like he could explode the smugness off their faces. “It’s a damn quirk.”

“Hmm.” Mina gave you a once-over, eyes sparkling with mischief. “They seem really happy to be around you, though.”

“That’s because Bakugo’s actually really great,” you said easily, squeezing his arm before lacing your fingers with his. “He just doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Bakugo glitched.

You were holding his hand.

In front of people.

Voluntarily.

He didn’t even know where to start—how to untangle the complete mess of emotions slamming into him all at once. The only thing he did know was that his heart was pounding, his palms were sweating, and if he didn’t get out of this situation soon, his friends were never going to let him live it down.

“Alright, that’s it—fix this!”

Mina just grinned. “Nah. This is fun.”

Bakugo saw red. “I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”

________________________________

Bakugo had been in hell before. Grueling training sessions, brutal fights, the occasional near-death experience—but nothing compared to the absolute torture of dealing with you under this damn quirk’s influence.

Because you?

You had no filter.

As the class walked back to the dorms, you stuck to his side, eyes practically sparkling like some lovesick extra. It was disturbing.

“You’re so warm,” you sighed, nudging his arm.

Bakugo flinched.

You’d been touching him—light brushes, fingers lingering—since the quirk hit, and he did not know what to do with himself. His brain was malfunctioning, running hot, trying to make sense of how easily you closed the distance between you two.

And the worst part?

He didn’t hate it.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t let anyone see him react.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, scowling. “Tch. The hell are you goin’ on about?”

You blinked up at him, completely unfazed by his gruff tone. In fact, you seemed to deliberately ignore it, because instead of backing off like you normally would, you giggled.

Giggled.

Bakugo nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Oh, you’re so grumpy,” you teased, poking at his bicep. “It’s cute.”

Denki audibly choked from somewhere behind him.

Kirishima coughed to cover a laugh.

Bakugo’s eye twitched dangerously. “Shut the hell up, Shitty hair.”

“I didn’t even say anything—”

You suddenly looped your arms around Bakugo’s, effectively silencing everyone. He stiffened like you’d just dumped ice water down his back.

“Y’know,” you continued, your voice unnervingly soft, “you’re kinda hot too.”

Oh, hell no.

Bakugo felt every single pair of eyes burning into him. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay cool, but the heat crawling up his neck betrayed him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He hissed, glaring at you.

Your smile didn’t even falter. If anything, you leaned closer.

“You tell me~”

And that was it. That was his breaking point.

With a frustrated growl, Bakugo grabbed you by the waist, hoisted you over his shoulder, and started marching toward the dorms.

The others barely had time to react.

“Dude-“

“Where are you taking them?!”

“The hell does it look like? I’m lockin’ them in their damn room until this stupid quirk wears off!”

You kicked your legs, though there was no real struggle in it. If anything, you seemed delighted by the sudden turn of events.

“Wow, Bakugo~ if you wanted me in your room so bad, you could’ve just asked.”

Kirishima wheezed.

Denki nearly collapsed.

Bakugo swore his soul left his body.

“SHUT UP!”

_______________________

Once the quirk finally wore off, you spent the rest of the night avoiding everyone, especially Bakugo. The embarrassment of everything you had said and done hit you like a truck the second you snapped back to normal.

The others wouldn’t let you live it down, either.

Denki had been relentless with the teasing. Kirishima kept shooting you and Bakugo knowing looks. Mina, of course, had immediately demanded details, and you were one more comment away from locking yourself in your room forever.

But Bakugo?

He’d barely said a word.

Which should’ve been a good thing, except you could still feel the weight of his stare, the way his eyes lingered whenever you entered the room.

So when you found yourself alone in the kitchen later that night, desperately trying to avoid everyone, you weren’t completely surprised when he showed up.

Still, you stiffened when his voice broke the silence.

“The hell are you doin’ in here?”

You turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Uh…existing?” you muttered, focusing very intently on your glass of water.

Tch. Of course you were being weird about this.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and walked further inside. He stopped just a step too close, and you really wished your face didn’t heat up at the proximity.

“…You really don’t remember anything, huh?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I remember most of it, but—”

“So you remember callin’ me cute, then?”

You choked.

Bakugo smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. “I hate you.”

“Tch. No, you don’t.”

There was a beat of silence.

Slowly, you lowered your hands. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bakugo huffed, looking away, like the words physically pained him. “It means you were actin’ weird, yeah, but… not that different from how you always are.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He scowled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think I don’t notice? The way you always stay close, even when you’re pissin’ me off? Or how you argue with me, but never actually go too far?”

You swallowed. Your heart pounded.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, still avoiding your gaze. “Tch. Dumbass. I like you too.”

The words hit you like a punch.

Your brain short-circuited.

“…What.”

His face twisted like he immediately regretted saying it. “Don’t make me say it again, idiot.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No words came out.

Then, before you could even process it, Bakugo was suddenly right there, his hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a kiss.

It was rough, almost frustrated, like he was annoyed with himself for even doing it. But you melted into it anyway, gripping his shirt to pull him closer.

When he finally pulled back, his scowl deepened. “…There. Happy?”

You blinked up at him, dazed. Then, you smirked. “So you think I’m cute too, huh?”

His entire face turned red. “I WILL THROW YOU OUT THE WINDOW.”

Thanks for reading. All works done by me. Reblogs comments and likes are encouraged and appreciated. Make sure to leave request in my inbox.

[salmonballsss]

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 6)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Talks of death, Blood.

It was almost embarrassing how productive you’d been yesterday.

Not in a triumphant, academic breakthrough kind of way — more like manic focus masking a hollow ache. You had shut yourself inside your hotel room from sunup to sundown, hunched over the Old hotel desk, surrounded by coffee cups and open books, trying to make sense of centuries old trauma and the woman who somehow kept creeping into your research.

By midnight, you'd written nearly two thousand words about the sociopolitical function of scapegoating in 17th century Puritan Massachusetts. Half of them, you suspect, were thinly veiled projections.

You kept typing the word “hysteria,” then deleting it. Too reductive. Too easy. But weren’t you starting to sound a little hysterical yourself?

You slept restlessly. No dreams you could remember. Just the feeling of eyes on you—watching, waiting, patient.

Now, morning sunlight filters through the gauzy hotel curtains in a washed out gold. You're standing in front of the mirror with a towel knotted around your chest, water still clinging to your shoulders, mentally running through the day.

Call Billy after this. See Irene around noon.  Don’t check Agatha’s address on Google Maps again.

What? Who said that!

You towel your hair dry, flipping it over and shaking it out like it’ll knock something loose. The last time you looked in this mirror — really looked — your skin wasn’t so pale. Your eyes weren’t so tired. And your brain wasn’t so loud.

Not from the research—you loved the research. But something about the way you’d slept, the way your body held tension now like it didn’t trust the air around you… it was catching up.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, thumb hovering over Billy’s contact. A small tightness curls under your ribs.

You should call. You want to call.

But what are you going to say?

"Hey, I think I accidentally developed a fixation on a middle aged woman who might be a witch?" 

You sigh.

Like Billy would judge you. He’s definitely heard worse. And it’s not like he didn’t already hear your first rant about her.

Though… you did tell him this trip was just for a thesis. Not Agatha.

Oh, to hell with it.

He should expect this from you by now.

You hit dial anyway.

It rings. Once. Twice.

You tuck the phone between your cheek and shoulder, curling onto the far side of the bed as Billy picks up on the second ring.

“Well, well, well,” Billy drawls. “If it isn't, the cryptid come back to life.” His voice becomes mock suspicious. “Do I need to sage my phone or something?”

You sigh, exhausted already. “Hi, Billy.”

“Dude, it’s been a week . I thought you died.”

“Not far off,” you mutter.

There’s a pause on his end. You can practically hear him cocking an eyebrow. “Okay, so… what happened?”

You rub a hand over your face. “I don’t know where to start…. I found her…Agatha…”

Billy goes quiet for a beat. “Wait, like ghost woman Agatha? She's real?”

You give a half laugh, tired. “Worse. She’s real. Very real. And… I think she’s messing with me.”

“Oh, so the ghost girlfriend has opinions now,” Billy says, amused. “What’d she do, haunt your dreams?”

“She read my notebook,” you blurt. “ All of it. My notes. My dumb theories. The stuff I scribbled at 2 a.m. with, like, chocolate on the pages. Everything.”

“…Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

Billy lets out a low whistle. “Okay, but how’d she get it?”

“I left it at her place the first day we met without realizing… and—God, she was so smug about it. Like, waving it around like she was proud of reading it.”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead into your palm. “And then she just—started quoting it. Out loud. Like it was funny . Like I was funny.”

“Honestly? A little funny.”

“Billy.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m on your side.” A pause. “Mostly.”

You shake your head, voice dropping a little. “I’m just… embarrassed, I guess. She knows . That I came here for her. That I think she’s suspicious. And instead of denying it or clarifying anything , she just… smirks. Dodges. She won’t answer a single straight question.”

“So she’s hot and mysterious and makes you feel insane. Wow. Your taste is consistent.”

“Billy!”

He laughs again. “Okay, but real talk — why does it bother you so much? Is it just the thesis? Or…?”

You go quiet.

There it is. The real question.

“…I don’t know,” you admit. “I want it to be just the thesis. But every time I talk to her, it’s like I’m on the verge of something. Like if I just asked one more question, or stayed one minute longer, I’d figure her out.”

“And instead?”

You sigh. “She plays coy and calls me ‘hon’ like she’s older than time. Like she’s seen it all. And—god, Billy, I don’t even know how old she is. Her eyes—”

“Oh no,” he interrupts, voice teasing but laced with concern. “Not the ‘her eyes have seen centuries’ thing.”

You groan. “Shut up.”

“She’s definitely a vampire. Or a demon. Or like, a forest hag who got a glow up.”

“Not helping.”

“I’m just saying. You went looking for answers and instead you got hot girl gaslit.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Yup. That’s the thesis title now.”

Billy softened a little. “Hey. Jokes aside… are you okay?”

You were quiet for a beat. Then: “Not really.”

“Wanna fly home?”

“I can’t.”

“Because of the thesis?”

“…because of her.”

Silence.

You hated how true it felt. How your chest twisted just saying it out loud.

But before Billy could respond, your phone buzzed against your ear.

A text from Irene:  

Hey, just got home. Does noon still sound good?

You checked the time.  

11:45 a.m.

Shit.

“Billy, I gotta go,” you said quickly, sitting up. “This older woman I met—long story—is expecting me. She might have answers about some of the older trials.”

Billy groaned. “Ugh, fine. Ghost girlfriends and witch grandmas. You really are living the dream.”

You chuckled. “I’ll call you later. I promise.”

“You better. And hey—just… be careful, okay? Mysterious women in creepy houses have a reputation.”

“I’ll add that to my notes.”

“Add m e to the acknowledgements page when this turns into a horror memoir.”

You snorted. “Deal. Bye, Billy.”

---

Irene’s house sat at the end of a winding street, tucked behind a crooked gate and half a dozen rosebushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed since the Clinton administration.  

The door creaked open before you could knock.

“Come in, come in,” Irene said brightly, waving you in with a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ polite.”

You stepped inside, immediately hit by the unmistakable scent of old books and something faintly herbal beneath it all — like dried sage or mint tea left too long on the stove.

The house was cluttered in the way only an old woman’s house could be. Not messy, exactly. Just… lived in. The kind of clutter that came from decades of refusing to throw away a good basket, or realizing too late that your cat had claimed the best reading chair. There were stacks of mail, ceramic knickknacks on every windowsill, and faded photographs nestled in dusted frames.

A shawl draped over the back of a chair. A teacup still on the table from last night.

“Ignore the mess,” Irene said, already shuffling toward the kitchen, voice lilting like it was just part of the house itself. 

You smiled despite yourself, shrugging off your coat and glancing around the room.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve seen worse!” you said, following her into the kitchen. “You should’ve seen my grandma on my mother’s side. Now that woman could hoard.”

Irene chuckled under her breath, reaching for the kettle. “Ah, well—there’s a difference between hoarding and holding onto what still works. The trick is knowing which is which.”

She cast you a look over her shoulder — knowing, almost playful — as she set out two mismatched mugs and pulled a tin of tea from the shelf.

“You like mint?” she asked. “Or are you one of those fancy girls who needs three adjectives in her drink order?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Mint is fine.”

Steam curled up from the kettle as she started the steeping process, moving with the practiced ease of someone who made tea as often as she breathed.

“So,” you asked, watching her hands, “what is it you wanted to show me?”

“I brought my laptop and notes, like you told me to…”

You couldn’t help the flicker of anticipation in your chest. Irene had mentioned it offhand at the coffee shop — her late husband, the history teacher, his collection of old maps and books. Stuff that might help you. Stuff no one had digitized or indexed or filed away in some library basement.

“Old maps. Articles. Some books from my late husband, He taught history before he passed. Big on the weird stuff, like you.” 

You’d repeated the words in your head all night. Weird stuff. Like you.

Irene handed you a mug. “Perfect. Go sit in the living room, wherever you’re comfy. Make yourself at home.”

You nodded, taking the warm cup in both hands and moving back toward the front room, the scent of mint trailing after you. Irene, meanwhile, was already in the kitchen again, humming faintly as she sliced into the lemon cake she'd promised.

You sank into the nearest armchair, careful not to disturb the crocheted doily draped over the back. The tea was hot and sharp on your tongue, a welcome shock to your system after the restless night. Irene reappeared a moment later with two chipped dessert plates balanced in one hand, a slice of lemon cake on each.

She handed you one, then lowered herself onto the floral loveseat with a dramatic exhale.

“God, these knees,” she muttered, rubbing one of them as she settled in. “Don’t get old, sweetheart. It’s a trap.”

You smiled, curling one leg under the other. “I’ll try to dodge it.”

Irene grinned, fork already diving into her cake. “So. You really flew all the way from Washington for this paper of yours, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing a bite. “I know, it sounds a little unhinged.”

“Mm, not to me,” she said through a mouthful of cake. “My Harry would’ve called that dedication. Or madness. Or both, depending on whether you interrupted his football.”

That made you laugh. “He was a history teacher, right?”

“Thirty seven years,” she said proudly. “High school mostly, then he did some community college stuff after he retired. Couldn’t quite give it up. The man had a brain like a bear trap and no filter whatsoever.”

You sipped your tea, already picturing him: cardigan, chalk dust on his sleeves, a thousand strong opinions.

“He sounds like someone I’d get along with.”

“He’d have loved you,” Irene said simply. “Especially with all this witch trial business. He was obsessed with that era. Said it was where the country first learned how to be afraid of itself.”

That gave you pause. You looked up. “That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”

“He had his moments,” she said, smiling down at her cake. “Used to come home with weird little newspaper clippings or dusty first editions from estate sales. I’d be halfway through cleaning and find something like Witchcraft and Folklore in New England shoved under the sink.”

You laughed again, warming more and more to the space around you.

“Do you still have any of it?” you asked gently. “His books?”

Irene glanced toward the back of the house. A pause. A breath.

“Most of it’s still in his study,” Irene said. “Haven’t really gone through it since he passed. But I think it’s time.”

She stood, slower this time, pressing a hand to her hip with a faint grunt. She glanced back at you, her eyes catching the light — something soft in them, thoughtful, and just a little unreadable.

You offered her a small smile, taking a quick bite of lemon cake with a happy little hum before setting your mug down and rising to follow. Irene shuffled down the hall with the practiced sway of someone who knew every creaky board, and you trailed a few steps behind.

The hallway was narrow, wrapped in white wainscoting that had yellowed slightly with time. A dozen photos lined the walls — some black and white, probably from when Irene was a girl, and others full of faded seventies tones and wide collars. A few featured Irene beside a kind looking man with a thick mustache and a proud posture that had to be her late husband, Harry.

You smiled to yourself. Even something as simple as old family photos had the ability to make your historian heart flutter. Just a glimpse into another time, another life — preserved in paper and frame.

God, if only time machines existed. You’d sell your soul just to skip the guesswork.

Irene glanced back to make sure you were still with her, and something about it tugged at a distant memory — the first time you’d visited Agatha’s house.

Except Agatha hadn’t looked back. She’d just opened the door and walked in, certain you’d follow.

Agatha always seemed to know.

Know what you’d do. What you’d ask. What you were searching for.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until the soft click of a door jarred you from your thoughts. Irene had opened a glass paned door near the end of the hallway, dust lifting in the light as her hand curled around the knob.

“Here it is,” she said quietly.

The room smelled of paper and time. The kind of smell libraries tried to bottle and candles couldn’t quite replicate. It was musty, yes, but it had a kind of warmth beneath the dust — like the room had been waiting, patiently, to be remembered.

Your gaze swept the room — tall bookcases, the edges of volumes just barely visible through the haze of time; a sturdy desk piled with boxes, folders, and notebooks; and more stacks tucked into corners, waiting to be unearthed. You only recognized a handful of titles at first glance.

The sight made your chest ache in the best way.

It reminded you of the library back in Washington — the one you’d practically lived in. You wondered if Mrs. Calderu had noticed your absence. She always gave you that silent, knowing look whenever you missed a day, like a librarian’s version of a guilt trip.

Eight days now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but… yeah. You were starting to miss home.

Irene made her way to the desk, brushing dust from a large cardboard box. “So, Harry was… not exactly what you’d call organized,” she muttered, her lips twitching in a fond sort of grimace. “No matter how much I hounded that man.”

You giggled, stepping deeper into the room and peering into the box beside her as she began pulling out old papers.

“Some moon landing clippings in this one,” she said with a sigh, rubbing her temple. Then she turned with practiced ease and crouched — slowly — beside another box on the floor.

“I’ll help you look for anything about the witch trials. I know there’s a few boxes full. Harry was about as obsessed as you are.”

She tossed you a teasing look over her shoulder — eyes glinting with mischief.

“Except his obsession was with the history ,” she added. “Not a certain mysterious woman.”

Your face burned as you ducked your head, trying to hide the sudden flush. “No—well—maybe,” you laughed, shaking your head and waving a hand at her. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Irene said, smiling as she handed you the first folder.

Irene helped you sift through the first couple boxes, making soft commentary here and there — the way someone might talk to themselves when they think no one’s really listening.  

“That’s from the old newspaper that used to run in the sixties — folded faster than it started.”  

“Yep, that’s Harry’s handwriting — barely better than chicken scratch.”  

“Oh, now this might be something, though it’s mostly speculation. He liked collecting fringe theories. Said the truth was usually hiding in the weird.”

After a while, she straightened up with a quiet grunt, brushing her hands on the front of her cardigan. “Alright, you’ve got your bearings. I’ll leave you to dig. I know how serious you research girls get.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks again for letting me look.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the truly bizarre stuff.”

She waddled toward the hallway, then paused in the doorway. “I’ll be back in a bit. Brought your bag in from the kitchen — figured you might want your computer or your notes.”

True to her word, she reappeared twenty or thirty minutes later, gently setting your bag on the floor beside the desk without interrupting your focus.

You murmured a quiet “thank you” as you sifted through another box — mostly political clippings from the 1970s and some odd astrology magazines.

Nothing helpful. At least not yet.

You kept digging. Some folders held property records, maybe even relevant for local witchcraft accusations — but it was mostly dry stuff. Minutes from old council meetings. Reprints of school articles. A few references to “land disputes” that might have hinted at something darker if you squinted hard enough.

You leaned back, sighing. Glancing down at your hands with a small grimave, your fingers had dust in every crease.

Then your fingers caught on the corner of a heavier box tucked behind the desk, half smothered under an old afghan. You dragged it out, coughing softly at the plume of dust it kicked up.

It was heavier than the others. Marked in faded black ink: 

WITCH / 1692-1694 — underlined twice.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were folders bound with string. Notes scribbled in the margins in different inks. Theories. Names you recognized. Names you didn’t. One old manila envelope labeled simply:

  The Hollow Wood Incident.

And in the bottom of the box, tucked between two larger books, something handwritten. Ink faded. Cover soft from wear. The title had been crossed out and rewritten in different pens over the years, the most recent inscription scrawled in blue ballpoint:

“Witch Lore, Local Accounts (Unverified — H’s Notes)”

You smiled, slowly, as your fingers curled around the spine.

Now this — this felt like a breakthrough.

The cover was soft with age, the paper inside a patchwork of different types — thick yellowed pages, some brittle as if they’d been near a fireplace too long, others torn from notebooks, or scribbled on napkins. No order, no index. Just thoughts, theories, clippings glued haphazardly alongside Harry’s looping scrawl. 

You flipped carefully through the first few pages — passages on local legends, sightings of women vanishing into the woods, ritualistic markings found on trees. Names. “Ann P.—seen at the river with no reflection.” “Martha K.—claim of glowing hands in the tavern.” Half of them sounded made up. The other half? Too detailed to ignore.

And then, something stranger: a loose sheet fell free from the back of the notebook and drifted to the floor. You bent to pick it up.

The texture was different — thicker, smoother. Almost waxy. The edges were scorched, as if it had been near a candle flame. The ink wasn’t black or blue, but brown. Dried blood, maybe. Or just very old.

It wasn’t English.

You held it up to the light. Latin — you thought. Though some words didn’t quite track. At the top, it was labeled:

"Invocatio ad Angthetham"

Underneath, a hand-scribbled note in English, smaller, messier:

“Can’t translate fully. Name unclear — resembles 'Agatha' but no root found in Latin dictionaries. Possibly fabricated. Possibly phonetic.” 

The rest of the text was indecipherable. A chant? A ritual? You didn't know Latin — not really — but you could pick out the rhythm. Repetition. Phrases beginning with veni... aperi... da nobis. 

Come.  

Open.  

Give to us.

You glanced toward the door, as if someone might be watching. The room had gone oddly still.

Tucked behind the page was something else — a photograph. You hadn’t noticed it fall. Black and white, faded. A group of people in front of a stone circle. Too many shadows to make out their faces, but one woman stood at the front.

She looked like Agatha.

Or maybe that was your brain playing tricks again. You squinted — the photo was too grainy to be sure.

You set it down, hands slightly trembling now, and dug deeper.

At the bottom of the box, under another folder marked simply “Misc” , was a bundle wrapped in muslin. You untied it carefully.

Inside were remnants. Objects. A short black candle, burned nearly to the base. A few half melted wax drips clung to it. A matchbook with only one match left inside. A pressed sprig of some herb — mint, maybe, or sage. A dull stone, smooth and egg sized. A dried flower. A brass coin with a pentacle engraved on one side.

And another slip of paper.

"Tested 3/19/85. Results inconclusive. Felt presence. Weather shifted. H refused to try again." 

The words felt heavy in your chest.

You sat back in the chair, blinking. The air in the room felt different. Stiller. Thicker.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

You had no idea what any of it meant — not yet. But you’d found something. Something real.

And if this Angthetha was just a name… or if it was more than that…

You swallowed. Maybe Irene would have thoughts. She knew this town. Knew you well enough already to raise an eyebrow at your obsession.

And if not Irene…?

Well, there was always the forest.

Always Agatha.

You sigh, arms full of findings — the handwritten book, the scorched page, the photo, a few of the stranger objects wrapped in muslin. You cradle them against your chest like you're afraid they might vanish if you let go.

Back in the living room, Irene’s sitting. The lemon cake has been nibbled down to crumbs, and a half empty mug of mint tea sits forgotten on the end table. Her knitting rests in her lap — the same project you’d seen at the coffee shop, the same slow, steady progress. maybe a scarf, maybe a blanket. Hard to tell. She looked up when she heard your footsteps.

"Find anything useful?" she asked, her needles pausing midstitch.

You let out a long breath and lowered everything onto the coffee table, careful not to scatter the contents. "Uh. Yeah. Maybe. Definitely weird."

That got a chuckle out of her.

You picked up the old notebook — Harry’s notes — and turned it toward her. “This was at the bottom of a box labeled 'Witch / 1692-1694.' It’s all handwritten. Half of it reads like folklore, the other half like he was genuinely trying to make sense of it. There’s even a section called The Hollow Wood Incident.”

That got her attention. Her knitting paused again, this time for real.

“Hollow Wood?” she echoed, one brow arched just slightly. 

“I thought maybe it was just a coincidence,” you said, flipping to the burnt sheet of Latin text and sliding it toward her. “But then I found this.”

Irene leaned forward, pulling her glasses down from her forehead and resting them on her nose. She looked over the page without touching it.

“Latin,” she murmured. “Or something trying to be. Not your usual bedtime reading, I hope.”

You smiled faintly, watching her eyes narrow.

She squinted at the title. “Angthetham…”

You cleared your throat, feeling a little silly now that you were saying it out loud. “I thought… I mean. Doesn’t it sound kind of like Agatha?”

Irene didn’t respond at first. Her eyes lingered on the strange name, on the scrawled chant, on the note that mentioned Harry refusing to try again. Finally, she leaned back with a quiet exhale.

“Well,” she said, voice soft. “Harry always said the old names changed. Slipped through tongues like river stones. Wore down into whatever people could pronounce. You ask me, Angthetha could’ve been Agatha once. Or maybe something that came before her.”

You blinked. “Before?”

Irene just gave you a little shrug. “Who knows. Names have long shadows.”

You stared at her for a moment, but she was already knitting again, as if she hadn’t just casually nudged open the door to a hundred new questions.

“Irene,” you said slowly. “Do you think this… I don’t know. Do you think it could actually do something? Like — a spell?”

She glanced up at you with that same dry look from the coffee shop. “Do I look like someone who speaks dead languages and dances naked in the moonlight?”

You coughed on a laugh. “Not exactly. ”

“I think…” she paused, knotting a bit of yarn. “I think Harry believed more than he let on. That’s why he never threw that thing out, even after the fire in the shed. Said some things should stay buried. But he also kept it all boxed up . I think he wanted someone else to find it, eventually.”

That quieted you.

She glanced at you again, her voice gentler. “You think your Agatha’s tangled up in this?”

You nodded, sheepish. “I don’t know. Maybe. It feels like it.”

Irene smiled — soft, but with something bittersweet behind it. “Then maybe you’re meant to find her. Just… don’t go calling up things you don’t understand, sweetheart. Not all of them are interested in being found.”

You swallowed.

Too late, maybe. 

After that, you stayed a bit longer and finished her lemon cake. And true to her word, it really was a mean lemon cake.

But after a moment of silence, a question crept in, unshakable.

You glanced up. “Hey, Irene?” you asked, hesitating. “Can I ask something kind of… personal?”

She looked up, her expression still but open.

“How did Harry pass?”

Irene hummed low in her throat, setting her knitting aside. Her eyes drifted off, brow furrowing like the memory was a wrinkle she still hadn’t smoothed out. “Well… it wasn’t anything medical. No heart problems or cancer. My Harry was a health nut — even when he’d stay up all night with some historic mystery buzzing in his brain.”

You nodded, quietly, urging her on.

“He was found,” she said, voice distant. “Deep in the woods. You mentioned you went to the cemetery? Near the ranger park?”

You hummed in agreement.

“He was just past that. Some teenagers found him while they were camping. Maybe partying, I don’t know. I can’t remember now.”

She picked up the knitting again, though the rhythm had slowed.

“His body was mauled. By… something.”

You didn’t breathe.

“The last thing he told me before he left was that he was going out to do some research. Of course I said it was fine — my Harry never got into trouble… or, well, not that I knew of.”

You didn’t dare speak. You were on the edge of your seat.

Just what was out in the Hollow Wood forests that could’ve done that? 

And you’d been there. At that very cemetery. With that feeling — that creeping, awful sense that something was watching you.

“I thought it was murder, at first,” Irene went on. “Told the police it couldn’t have been some bobcat or wild dogs. I mean… his eyes were gouged out.”

You flinched.

“But the police…” she sighed. “They said animals always go for the soft spots first.”

You gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Irene sighed back, heavier. “No worries. I’m old now. And I’ve heard enough sorries.”

Then she turned to you, face suddenly more serious than you’d ever seen it. “So don’t go wandering near that cemetery again. Not while you’re here.”

You gulped, a chill dragging down your spine. You glanced at the stack of notes on the table… then at the clock ticking in the corner of her living room.

3:23 PM.

“I won’t,” you said, quietly.

You stood, shrugging into your coat, the weight of everything settling deep in your bones. “I guess I should get going. Digest more of this.”

Irene nodded, watching you move. “Take Harry’s things. The Latin. The notebook.”

You turned, surprised. “Really? Are you sure?”

She was already rising — muttering about her knees — and crossing to the table. She handed the items to you, her hands staying on yours just a moment longer than expected. Her eyes were steady, serious.

“I have no use for them,” she said. “Whatever Harry was doing… or looking into… he had to’ve been on the right track.”

She gave a faint, hollow smile.

“People don’t just die.”

---

Later that night, back at the hotel, you’d tucked some of Harry’s things into your bag — others were spread across the desk, waiting for a once-over.

Irene’s words echoed in your head.

People don’t just die. 

You chewed on your nail in thought, eyes drifting toward the window. It was nearing dark… probably an hour left of light.

Irene had warned you not to go back to the cemetery. Especially after dark. 

And she wasn’t the first.

“Though I wouldn’t recommend making late night cemetery visits a habit.” “Well. Don’t go again. It’s dangerous.” 

Agatha’s voice joined the chorus in your head.

Your stomach knotted. Irene knew something. Maybe the same thing Agatha did. They had to have met. Irene had mentioned her — back at the coffee shop.

And if Harry had been digging into this the same way you were…

And he’d ended up mauled in the woods. 

You grumbled.

Your mind wandered to Agatha again — her house, her voice, that look in her eyes last time when she told you to leave. Would she even let you in again?

You groaned and flopped onto the bed, arm flung dramatically over your face.

You couldn’t just show up at her place asking if she knew some eighty year old woman with a knitting hobby and a haunted past. That’d be a one way ticket to being kicked out permanently.

Your gaze slid toward your duffel bag.

There, right on the floor — the T-shirt and sweatpants Agatha had given you. Crumpled on the floor. Still probably smelling like her.

You paused. Took your nail out of your mouth.

…Okay. So maybe you couldn’t ask about Irene.

But you could return her clothes.

A harmless excuse. A friendly gesture. A reason to knock on her door again.

You shot up from the bed like a girl with a plan, grinning as you grabbed the clothes and tucked them neatly into your bag. You slung it over your shoulder, then paused in front of the mirror, giving yourself a onc over.

“You, beautiful lady,” you said to your reflection, dead serious. “Are brilliant. ”

And with that, you peeled out of the room.

---

The walk was quicker this time.

You slipped into the woods with practiced ease, past the cobblestone bridge, a left down the trail lined with old, whispering willows, then over the second bridge — the one that made it easy to cross the stream without getting your Shoes wet.

It was practically muscle memory now.

Your heart gave a small flutter. You were getting giddy. To see Agatha. 

Would she be happy to see you? Annoyed? Maybe a little smug that you'd come crawling right back?

Not that she should be surprised — you’d told her you were leaving for now, not that you were never coming back.

There was a rustle in the trees.

You paused, then brushed it off. Just Hollow Wood wind. Probably.

The pep in your step? Honestly? It should be studied.

Actually—scratch that. They’d find too many disturbing things in your brain.

The sun was sinking faster than you expected, but you were close.

Right on cue, you pushed past the final thicket and stepped into the clearing.

And there it was.

Agatha’s Victorian house. Just like before.

Purple door, ivy trailing up one side.

You smiled, soft and stupid, and marched right up the creaking porch steps like you were an old friend who belonged there.

There was another rustle behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing. Just wind. Again.

“The weather here is odd,” you muttered under your breath.

You raised your hand, just like you had the first time, and knocked three times on the door.

You hummed. Shifted from one foot to the other.

Nothing.

You thought back to your first visit — how she’d taken a moment to open the door, and how you’d tried to avoid that awkward mid-knock face-to-face. 

So you waited.

And waited.

You sighed, glancing up. The sun was nearly gone now. The porch light clicked on overhead.

You jumped. 

Then immediately giggled at how dumb that was.

You looked back at the door. Still nothing.

Should you knock again?

It didn’t take this long last time.

You leaned in, knocked three times again. Counted to thirty.

Still nothing.

Again.

“What the hell…”

You huffed and leaned toward the side window, trying to peek through. Were the lights on? Was she just… ignoring you?

No lights.

You squinted, searching for movement. Anything. And that’s when—

Rustle. 

Close.

Too close.

Not like wind.

Not like leaves.

Like… breathing.

On the back of your neck.

You spun around fast — heart pounding — eyes scanning the woods.

Nothing.

But something moved. 

Far back, between the trees.

You squinted.

Your pulse thudded behind your eyes.

Not a bunny.

Not the wind.

Something was out there.

Panic spread through you.

Instantly, you knocked harder on the door.

“Agatha!”

Nothing.

You pounded your fist against the wood, harder now. “Agatha, open the door! Please!”

Still nothing.

Silence.

Too much of it.

Even the birds were gone.

You turned, something primal in your chest pulling your gaze toward the trees.

Something was watching you. 

You felt it before you saw it—goosebumps erupted across your skin, your throat went dry. The air turned sharp, metallic.

And then—

There it was.

Between the trees. Half shrouded in shadow, standing too still to be human.

Tall. Lanky. No real shape to it. Like it was wearing a human silhouette like a costume. 

No face.

Just a stretch of black. And eyes—

No, not eyes. Not really. But two pale yellow lights.

Like fireflies.

Faint. Flickering. But locked on you.

You couldn’t breathe.

The scent of blood hit you all at once—thick and iron rich, like a slaughterhouse left out in the sun. You gagged on it, stumbled back.

The thing didn’t move.

Not a twitch.

But it was there. Waiting. 

Your fingers fumbled for the doorknob again, hands shaking. “Agatha,” you whispered, hoarse. “Please.”

The lights blinked. Closer now. Somehow.

You blinked tears. It wasn’t moving. But it was closer. 

The woods around it swayed, but it didn’t.

Then—

The screech split the sky above you.

You ducked, but it was already on you—black feathers, flapping chaos, claws tearing through your sleeve and ripping your arm .

You screamed, hands over your head, stumbling off the porch. The pain was sharp, slicing.

The crow— that crow—was attacking.

Or that’s what you thought. 

You swatted at it, adrenaline flooding your veins. You turned and ran , sobbing.

“Get off me! What the fuck— what the fuck— ”

Branches tore at you. Roots caught at your boots. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. 

Your lungs ached. Your throat burned. Your arm was bleeding.

And behind you—the screeching stopped.

And so did the eyes.

Gone.

The thing— whatever it was —had disappeared. Just like that.

And the crow?

Nowhere to be seen.

Next Chapter

[mustardyellowsunshine]

In today's episode of Shut Up Robin, Nobody Cares:

InuKag bickering is so good because it's deeply telling of how comfortable InuYasha and Kagome are with each other at almost every stage of their relationship.

For starters, contrary to seemingly popular belief, arguing does not inherently signal dysfunction. It can sometimes signal the opposite: it demonstrates a level of intimacy and trust in your relationship that you are able to openly disagree with your loved one. You are not afraid of conflict because you know it won't break the relationship. In my experience, at least, it's shaky relationships that avoid conflict at all costs. When there's not enough emotional security with each other to openly disagree without fear/anxiety, open conflict never happens. That's why "arguing like an old married couple" is a cliché: it's the people who've built trust and security who will bicker like that.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it doesn't feel great to be in conflict with a loved one, even in a secure relationship. But being able to navigate conflict together in a way that eventually leads toward understanding and compromise is the sign of a strong relationship. Arguing is often a step in that process.

Which is why I find InuKag arguments absolutely, lip-smackingly delicious.

When they first meet, their arguments have the distinct flavor of, "I don't like you and I don't care what you think about me." Which is an excellent vintage tbh, full-bodied flavor with refreshing tartness. 👌👌 There's something so intrinsically entertaining about watching early-series InuKag butt heads, all the while knowing they eventually get married. And because early-series InuKag doesn't especially care about the other person's opinion of them, they don't hold back: there's no politeness barrier between them, there's no equivocating or filtering. They just have at it. They're not afraid to be themselves around each other, even when they dislike each other.

Then when their friendship begins to form—stage two InuKag 😁—their bond is forged from the two-pronged fire of 1) having each other's backs in life-or-death situations, and 2) experiencing the humdrum quotidian moments that come with traveling together all day, every day for long stretches of time. I've talked about this before, but I love how they know all the dumb little things about each other that you only learn from prolonged proximity: they know the timbre of each other's snores at night; they know how long the other can go without food before hangry-ness rears its head; they know which posture signals irritation or exhaustion, which facial expression signals daydreaming contemplation or a playful mood; they know which jokes will get a laugh and which insults will get the sharpest glances; the little intimacies abound!

By the friendship stage, InuKag bickering takes on a slightly different flavor. There's still that unfiltered, no-holds-barred vibe about them (because they're so used to being blunt with each other), but it also has the tenor of easy familiarity. Friends falling into the same low stakes argument they've had a hundred times already. There's not often any real heat or tension to the bickering, it's more like rote muscle memory. And when they do have real arguments, with real tension and emotional stakes?? It's delicious precisely because there are emotional stakes now! Goodbye, "I don't care what you think about me," hello, "I care so much what you think and I hate it and you're going to hear about it." It's still arguing InuKag, but with different emotional fuel sparking the arguments. Now there's affection and trust underpinning their unfiltered way with each other. It's mmm mmm good! I can eat it up all day.

And as the series progresses, and InuKag begin to develop obvious romantic interest in each other—stage three InuKag, yes it's terminal—the flavor of the arguments gets deeper because now those emotional stakes? They're even higher. And yet despite the higher stakes and the messy complications, they're still not afraid to butt heads. They're not afraid to be blunt and hash things out. I love this example of InuYasha's hack-and-slash style of conflict resolution. If there's a wall between him and resolving the tension, he'll just punch his way through it. 😂 Another favorite of mine is this banger scene where Kagome bluntly calls InuYasha out on his jealousy.

But probably my favorite stage three InuKag fight scene is this one, from chapter 310:

(Full scene here.)

Man, it's so good! Kagome—after taking pains to save Kikyo, who then essentially taunts her for it—starts to feel angry and resentful and then wallops InuYasha with those feelings. (Before any haters pipe in: characters need to make mistakes sometimes. This is one such occasion. Let the 15-year-old girl character make a mistake ffs.) And what does InuYasha do? He sticks around so they can hash it out. The best panels in this chapter are Kagome thinking, "He probably hates me now," only for her to look up and see him right beside her. He can handle her mistakes and flaws, because he knows Kagome. They've spent 300 chapters building trust in each other, and we see the fruit of that here. InuYasha knows very well that Kagome cares for him—cares so much that she's risked her life for him many times over by now, and cares so much that she just saved her own romantic rival partly for InuYasha's sake (but largely because she's just a good person). I think that's why he handles this moment with pretty good composure. He knows Kagome doesn't actually hate him, briefly hurtful as that comment surely was. So he waits until she's processed her feelings a bit more, and they talk it out. (While we're here: I really like that he's sitting close to her but is facing away from her, like he's trying to give her the space/privacy she needs to process her feelings without actually leaving her alone... ugh I love it.)

Notice how, even in the midst of this fight, they start checking in with each other, putting the other person's interest before their own. Kagome sincerely urges InuYasha not to "hold back," the subtext of which reads to me: "Don't let my outburst tie you down, please do what you need to do." InuYasha responds in kind (his subtext reads to me: "Be honest, don't just put on a brave face for me") and also reassures Kagome's underlying anxiety. When he says, "You saved Kikyo, right? Then she'll be fine, I'm not going after her," he's speaking directly to the source of Kagome's insecurity—he's telling her in no uncertain terms that concern for Kikyo's safety was his only motive for seeking her out. Now that he knows Kikyo has been healed and isn't in imminent danger, he's not going after her. Again, he is intentionally addressing what he knows to be the source of Kagome's outburst when he says, "You healed Kikyo? Then I don't need to see her." To me, his message is pretty clear: "I wasn't looking for Kikyo for the reasons you think."

Like! Look at them! Openly and honestly communicating! Messily sharing their feelings! Resolving conflict and talking shit out! They've come so far. 🥹

These stage three InuKag fights feel different than their early-series fights, and they should! InuKag have built trust and love, but with that love comes vulnerability. It's the people we love who have the power to hurt us most. So even while InuKag have fundamental trust in each other, they're both aware that their feelings come with greater potential to hurt each other. And watching them navigate that tension and that duality together? MMM MMM GOOD.

Like truly, InuKag fights at every stage of their relationship are my favorite thing, it's all such good food.

[starrstruck-xx]

arthur and merlin conversation in my fix it au when the magic reveal in s3 happened:

(arthur and merlin are standing in the throne room, just the two of them with tense silence, right after uther’s death)

arthur: well aren’t you full of surprises merlin: what can i say…i never ceased to entertain you…

Merlin is nervous, hoping to whatever entity out there that arthur forgiven him. But it seems unlikely, not after he killed his father. arthur: …am i a lie too then? merlin: what? arthur: is this- are we- you think it’s funny isn’t it? merlin: i’m sorry? arthur: (scoffs) stop acting like an idiot merlin i know you’re aren’t one…do you really think that i would believe that you are just some dumb fool?! I know you don’t go to the tavern merlin!! merlin: what??? But-

(Pulls merlin’s collar and shoves him against the wall)

merlin: arthur- arthur: HOW COULD YOU?! Do you think this is a game to you? i trusted you… merlin: and i-i’m sorry, i really am- arthur: AND WHAT? THAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO LIE TO ME?! (screaming) I HAVE ALWAYS OPENED MY HEART TO YOU, DO YOU NOT TRUST ME ENOUGH TO DO THE SAME?! WHAT AM I TO YOU?!

merlin: arthur … arthur…please, please,listen to me … please arthur …please… i’m sorry… (arthur tightens his grip, inching closer to him until merlin is only a breath away) arthur: i want you to leave merlin: what? arthur: leave, far away from camelot, you are no longer welcomed here

(he lets him go, merlin recognized that arthur is using his political tone. The one he uses when dealing with diplomatic matters and turns away from him. Merlin feels like death is better than whatever this is)

merlin: no…what? No arthur- please- (merlin tries to grab arthur’s hand but arthur bats him away) arthur: do not touch me sorcerer.

(Merlin falls at his knees, kneeling at arthur’s mercy)

merlin: please…my lord, please don’t cast me away…please sire, you’re the only one i live for, please your highness, don’t cast me away, please i can’t live without you…i’ll do anything…please- please-

(arthur fall to his level, putting his hand on merlin’s head. It travels down to rest on merlin’s face, guiding him to look at him)

arthur: i, king arthur of camelot, hereby declare your banishment, merlin of ealdor, son of hunnith. If i see you on camelot’s ground after the rise of the sun, i will strike you where you stand

arthur left the room, turning a blind eye to merlin’s cries. Season 3 ends on Merlin’s crestfallen expression.

Update 25.09.2024 : i just realized how cringe this convo is, i changed it a bit I HOPE ITS BETTER 😭😭

main post:

To find my other ramblings about this AU, filter with the hashtag #must we really rely on fate?

[oatmealmika]

What Are They Like On Social Media (Headcanons)?

feat. luffy, zoro, nami, sanji, usopp, robin, franky, and brook

requests open for other things like this!

Luffy

nami made him make an Instagram account and he did so... BUT NOT WITHOUT DOWNLOADING 8 VIRUSES THE MOMENT HE GOT ONTO IT

he started clinking on every ad he saw, of course, and now he's got to pay 100000 dollars by the end of the month or else world government will find him.

he took that as a challenge.

basic, but his username is kingofthepirates or strawhat69 or something

maybe even a pun or some shit bro

follows anybody he even slightly likes and comments dumb shit on all of their posts.

ex; luffy commenting on a post robin made w chopper "can you ask him if reindeers are real?"

takes weird angled photos of his friends and posts them (ex. forehead shots)

Zoro

username is bestswordsmanofficial

usually posts training videos, but also sometimes puts on his story a cry for help to his friends cuz he got lost again

also not the most tech savy guy

i get vibes he would straight up record himself coughing to death and post it

he went viral once, actually.

was dragged by nami to be a backup dancer for one of her tiktoks

stiffly dancing

on snapchat, he uses weird filters like the broccoli one and just sent it to everyone he knew.

Nami

username is nami.venmo.me

probably makes scams in order to get money

she has two accounts; a scamming account and a real account (both under similar usernames actually)

on snapchat, she and usopp have a 200+ snapscore

they both contemplated jumping ship when they messed it up..

matching pfps with usopp too! ex.;

nami is cookie monster, usopp is screaming man

Sanji

username is lovecook_sanji

other than posting the food he makes, he also posts aesthetic photos of him crying💀

ALSO posts photos of baths with rose petals that he only made cuz he wanted to be desperate in the caption like "such a beautiful place... i just wish that... someone could share it with me... :("

out here posting "i wish i was beautiful :(" posts for attention and zoro out here commenting back "i wish you were too💀"

blocked zoro after that

tags ONLY nami and robin in his posts whenever he posts the group

"the rest of them are just some guys 🙄"

Usopp

username is god..usopp

also is in charge of the strawhat official social media accounts

nami makes the aesthetically pleasing posts while usopp posts the funny hahas

like that time luffy slipped off ship with his mouth full of food (and bcuz he can't swim w his devil fruit) so he almost sank to the bottom

plugs his personal acc on the strawhat official acc too much

luffy used to be the manager of the account but that acc got banned...

so usopp was given the job to make a new one and manage it (no luffy you can't write the caption)

Robin

username is nico.robin

mostly posts about the books she's been reading, such as reviews

formats them nice and neatly

all her posts are very aesthetically pleasing

besides book reviews, she posts a lot of chopper

she's like a mom in that way making her kids pose for photos and takes photos as much as possible

overall very pretty account

Franky

username is franky_da_cyborg

when not posting inventions, he posts crewmates doing random things

doesn't have to be weird at all most of the posts are just straight up usopp making a sandwich or robin reading

all posts are very low quality tho lol

Brook

username is musician-brook

obv posts him playing music but also posts himself saying terrible dad jokes

"singing in the shower is fun until you get soap in your mouth. then it's a soap opera."

he got the phone confiscated for that one

apart of nami's backup dancers for her tiktoks

actually works it

go grandpa go!

all right reserved. do not repost or copy my work but relogging, comments or feedback is very much appreciated! Thank you.

[harukamitsuki]

Okay... I am currently back on my Voltron bullshit and continuing my rewrite of Voltron. And I'm constantly reminding of HOW MUCH I HATE LANCE.

Don't get me wrong. I am still treating Lance fairly in my fic, making sure he gets screen-time and a proper character acr and stuff.

But by GODS. This man pisses me off so much and that's only made worse by his stans. I was scrolling through Keith's tag here on tumblr. I also have Kl@nce filtered out. I cannot see a single post without at least three pages of scrolling and then it's only ONE POST. AND IT'S STILL KLANCE BECAUSE IT HASN'T BEEN TAGGED CORRECTLY.

Anyway. Onto the actual things I hate about Lance and not just his fandom.

Lance is a fucking asshole. I mean that on the deepest level. Let's go through it chronologically because I cannot rank it from least to most assholery, because some things are on the same level.

1 - Allura wakes up from the cryopod and Lances catches her. She's confused and dazed and the first thing you should do is ask if she's alright. Oh, but Lance is above that. Instead, he flirts with her. Karma given immediately as she calls his ears hideous and puts him in a submission hold, which is why I kept that scene in my fic, but that was still wrong. I know it was played for comedic effect, but that doesn't make it not canon. It's canonically accurate that if you've awoken from a coma, Lance's first instinct is to flirt with you if you're pretty.

2 - Literally throws Hunk into the middle of a battle. I get that Hunk was supposed to leave the Lion anyway, but just shoving him out when there are lasers everywhere and Hunk has no protection? Yeah. So much for 'best friend'. Add on the fact that Lance never really treats Hunk like a friend. At all.

3 - Okay. Season 1 Lance isn't bad outside of those two examples, even if he has his dumb moments, so let's jump to Season 2. Starting shit with Keith for no reason. People can go 'oh, Keith obviously did something to him at the Garrison' but he DIDN'T. The writers themselves confirmed that Keith did nothing to Lance, he just started shit with Keith all the fucking time. Like accussing Keith of wanting Blue and cutting him off when he tried to explain what was actually happening, even though Lance is the one who was outraged initially that Keith had Red. Or how about Lance getting up in Shiro's face and screaming his head off about how Keith would rather kill people than listen to them, as if he knew Keith at all after bullying him the entire time.

4 - Okay. This one pissed me off the most and is the biggest reason I'm making this post. The fact that Lance used Shiro's death/disappearance against Keith. Keith outwardly expresses his lack of desire to become the leader and accidentally let it slip that Shiro wanted him to do it. To which Lance is all 'convenient that you say that when Shiro's gone'. What. What the fuck. Stans really say that Lance is precious but how the hell are you justifying that? A blind man could see how much Keith loves Shiro, and Lance has the fucking gall the say that Keith is USING his death/disappearance for a position he doesn't want? He didn't even apologise for it. He just told Keith to suck it up later on. This is one of the reasons I hated Lance as the Red Paladin, the others being explained in an earlier post of mine.

5 - Oh, yeah. We're not done. Because after Keith, it's Allura. Allur@nce is probably the worst ship that could have happened, apart from Kl@nce. If you wanted a straight ship, how about what was canon for the past Voltron series? Kallura? Anyway. Yeah, Lance treats Allura like a prize instead of a person. He's posessive in a way that he has no right to be because they were not together. He glares at Matt for flirting with Allura, something he only does once. He gets mad at Lotor and tries to stop them from spending time together, EVEN THOUGH LOTOR IS HELPING ALLURA AND BONDING THROUGH ALTEAN THINGS. HELPING HER KEEP IN TOUCH WITH ALTEAN CULTURE. In Season 8, he literally yells that it should be Lance and Allura?? What a fucking weirdo?? You can't claim that you're destined to be with someone without being together. That's not how healthy relationships work. That's how a stalker's mind works. Lance is constantly flirting with Allura throughout all of Voltron and she never once reciprocated until Season 8 where it's so obvious that Lance is just a rebound but the writers wanna make it so that it's 'true love' and they want Lance to be happier than anyone so they just gift her to him like some sort of trophy. Lance didn't care about loving Allura, he cared about winning her. At least Lotor actually cared for and respected her. I still don't like canon Lotor, but that's mostly because the writers didn't want to deal with gray morality. Cowards.

1 - Honestly the worst example of a leader. It's shown from episode one. Now, there is the argument of learning to become one, but Lance just never learns? He's never facing the consequences of his actions and, if he is lectured, he ignores it. Keith actually takes lessons to heart and tries to improve and he does. If Lance became the Black Paladin, the universe would have been doomed because he can't get over himself for a single moment to even bother listening to anyone else's advice.

So. Yeah. Those are the main reasons why Lance is an asshole. Now to make the Lance stans really pissed.

Reasons why Lance would have been a terrible leader and could never have been the Black Paladin.

Remember episode one? Remember how the hydraulic stabiliser was out in the simulator and Lance still tried to push on, even though Pidge and Hunk advised him not to? Totally great leadership qualities there. There's nothing better than a leader that refuses to listen to you. 'Oh, but Keith is stubborn and didn't listen--' yes he did. He's stubborn and unrelenting at first, but he eventually realises that they're right.

Remember episode three? Remember when Lance bragged about kicking, which made Voltron fall, then proceeded to try it again and failed again even when Keith advised him not to? Yeah. Lance does not make good decisions and does not listen to any advise. Even from the leader's right hand man.

Remember Season 1 Episode 12? Remember how they were waiting for Shiro and Allura to get back and then Keith saw someone taking quintessence so he decided to follow them? Remember how Lance said no and was ignored but did nothing more to stop Keith? He has no authority and no charisma to keep anyone at bay. Pidge herself mocks Lance for being the pinnacle for leadership. Sarcastically. Because he's far from it.

Pidge doesn't respect Lance as a leader, Keith never would considering Lance treats him like shit, Allura can't take Lance seriously with him hitting on her every ten seconds, and Hunk is always questioning Lance's decisions. If nobody respects you, you cannot be a good leader.

2 - Easily distracted. Yes, it's a very popular headcanon that Lance has ADHD, and I agree with that, but that doesn't make it okay. And he's distracted in the easiest ways. Just shove a pretty girl and he'll instantly get distracted and lead the entire team to doom. Remember Nyma and how easy it was for her to steal the Blue Lion? How he didn't even warn anyone that he was taking her out for a ride because he didn't want anyone contesting his conquest? Yeah.

Don't get me wrong. It's fine to have ADHD or get distracted easily. Monkey D. Luffy from One Piece is a great example of a leader who gets easily distracted, but the second he sets his mind on something, he blocks everything out. Lance just doesn't have the capability to do that, nor do I think he'd be able to learn how to.

3 - Gets jealous really easily. As in. Really fucking easily. He's jealous of Keith from the get-go, starting a one-sided rivalry that he's constantly on the losing side of because Keith doesn't care. He gets jealous of Matt when he flirts a bit with Allura. He gets extremely jealous of Lotor for having actual chemistry with Allura. He's constantly jealous and a good leader is only ever in competition with himself. A good leader will only strive to become better for the sake of the team, not to say that they're better than someone else, much less if they're someone that you are in charge of. It's a horrible trait to have.

Jealousy in and of itself is not a bad thing. It's when that jealousy overrides your logic and controls you, instead of you controlling your jealousy: which Lance struggles with a lot. And getting jealous over anyone who even looks at your crush is a very bad thing to do because you do not own your crush. It's okay to be jealous, but not posessively like Lance is. Not to the extent of trying to scare off any potential suitors.

4 - Nowhere near as skilled as Keith or Shiro. Sure, the writers may claim that he is better, but the proof is in the pudding. Keith and Shiro are fucking unmatched. I've defended Lance's skills in a previous post, but I also said in that post that, while he is skilled, he is nowhere near Shiro or Keith's level. I mean, Shiro was the golden child of the Garrison and set so many records. He was known as the best pilot. Keith beat those records and his flying capabilities are always, always noted. I haven't heard a single character comment on Lance's skills, other than to point out how bad they are. Keith was the only one who could have flew through the astroid field, he was the only one who could fly into the Marmora base which was in a blue star surrounded by two black holes, he was able to fly a Galra jet just by pushing the right buttons and knowing what the do, and he's the one who unlocks the warping abilities of the Black Lion. Shiro was able to connect with the Black Lion far before anyone else, able to see through Black and connect with Black to the point of his soul being saved by her.

Lance hasn't done anything spectacular. And, no. He was not 'done dirty'. He was given almost everything he wanted except the Black Lion. The writers claim he's the best pilot, but have not shown it at all. In my eyes, Keith and Shiro will always be the best.

5 - Selfish. Again. Nothing against being selfish. It's perfectly fine to be selfish, so long as it doesn't actively harm others. But for a leader? You should be as selfless as you can be. The team comes before you. And that's exactly what Lance isn't.

Lance is selfish and that's okay, but it's not leadership material. The whole reason Black rejected him is because he wanted the position out of selfish reasons. When he enters Black, he says 'Come on, Lance. You can do this'. In other words, he wants to pilot her because he wants to prove himself. He wants the acknowledgement. He wants the title of the Black Paladin and leader. Black accepted Keith, both at the start of Season 2 and Season 3, because he piloted her for purely selfless reasons. For Shiro.

Lance wants things for himself. Keith wanted things for Shiro. It was only after Shiro came back, (or so they thought), that Keith started focusing more on himself. Even then, he put everyone else before him. He distanced himself from the team so that Shiro could pilot Black again, and he was constantly risking his life for the Blades.

Lance just... isn't the type. He has put others before himself, but he expect things out of it. He expects a parade and acknowledgement. Nobody knew what Shiro went through to rid Zarkon of his connection to the Black Lion. Nobody knew what Shiro went through in his imprisonment because he doesn't want to burden anyone with that. Nobody knew what Keith went through to save Black and Shiro from Zarkon. Nobody knew what Keith went through when they were all mad at him for missing an attack. Lance doesn't withold that sort of stuff. The only thing he doesn't talk about is his insecurities, which he ends up spilling to the mice and Laika (the Yupper) anyway.

6 - Last one. Promise.

Nothing fucking happened. While Keith was gone, nothing of importance happened surrounding Voltron specifically. There was the Lion mind meld and Lotor joining, but all that served to prove was, with the mind meld, if Keith was there, he would have heard Shiro. And with Lotor joining, all it proved was how immature Lance was.

The second Keith gets back, things start happening again. Lotor gets outed as cruel and manipulative (still an ass-pull, by the way), Shiro gets outed as a clone, and so on. If Lance was leading, they all probably would have died ages ago. I'm talking Season 3 Episode 2, ages ago. Because Lance just isn't cut out for it.

So. Yeah. Those are the main reasons I hate Lance and why Black Paladin Lance is an awful idea. Screw the people who believe in it. It is awful.

Like I said, this won't affect my treatment of Lance in my rewrite, because I can fix those issues that come up. I don't have an issue with Season 1 Lance, it's later on that gets problematic. I just hate people building Lance up by bashing all the other characters, then claiming that Lance is the most traumatised, sad character when SHIRO AND KEITH ARE RIGHT THERE. NOT TO MENTION ALLURA, WHO LOST HER ENTIRE SPECIES, AND CORAN WHO LOST EVERYONE INCLUDING ALLURA AND NEVER GOT TO SAY GOODBYE TO HER.

Fuck. I hate Voltron so much but I can't help but love it.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #7452:

Not to be that guy, but the Proship and Antiship stuff is stupid. Either you overindulge or underindulge and at this point these words mean nothing and ultimately depend on a case by case basis.

I think it’d be better if we just said what we believed instead of making up stupid little circlejerk groups where we all send each other death threats (Both if y’all do it and I know because I used to be part of each side in sections of my life) and act all tough like you’re actually doing something with your lives.

I’m not saying you can’t argue, have online interests, or that y’all should just dance together hand in hand while singing in god’s orchestra but what I am saying is that this fandom infighting is solving nothing. Block people you don’t like, follow those you do like, don’t go after people, and stay in your own lane.

As long as someone isn’t committing a full ass crime or purposefully trying to cause physical/mental harm (Reading something that was properly tagged but simply made you uncomfy doesn’t count) then just walk away and don’t engage.

It took me years to stop caring and take the mature route of just blocking those I personally don’t wish to interact with but I think everyone should. No one is reading your dni to make sure they don’t accidentally make you upset, so filter it out yourself or realize you’re not mature enough to handle interactions on a platform with thousands of other members with different opinions and leave until you are.

Also morality doesn’t work in fandom. Your morality is not the problem of strangers online and therefore they aren’t obligated to follow. Lack of morality also doesn’t need to be followed as well and you have to accept that not everyone wants to hear about the 2 grillion chapter fanfic you wrote about your favorite ways to watch Mr. Blorboscrungly get brutalized.

On the subject, NO ONE IS OBLIGATED TO HOUSE YOU IN THEIR SPACES! If someone is uncomfortable by your presence, drop it and leave. Don’t be a cunt and try to weasel your way in and send them creepy shit.

Make your own spaces, but be open to your opinions being questioned and let yourself grow instead of staying in your little fandom cage.

(Sorry for word vomit, I just think the shipping stuff is dumb because no one knows what shit means anymore.)

[davenportia]

lab rats, if it was not produced by disney, or at least not disney xd (maybe netflix or disney+) would have been a much better show. bryan and chris did a great job with what they had but unfortunately were working for disney. if you’re following my insta, you heard me talking about this on my story yesterday, but i’m going to try to type it all out here. trigger warning, trauma, abuse, and deaths. i will also do another warning right before the topic is brought up. here we go

time: i am aware that disney shows whether channel or xd only have a certain amount of time for table reads, filming, editing, and then airing. for a show especially like liv and maddie, they REALLY didn’t have time as dove had to film everything twice. disney episodes, unless a special episode, are usually between 24-30 minutes. but it’s so annoying how everything gets solved so fast. the laugh tracks (i am very used to them but i am aware that people find them annoying). it’s not very realistic that way. now to swiftly move to the next topic, scripts and reality

scripts and reality: even a show like fuller house on netflix, which also only had 24-30 minute episodes, had a more realities script. disney said “tweeter, twits, facegab, e-phone, madame googoo, vuuugle” because they’re cheap, fuller house would say “new kids on the block, facebook, nintendo, hamilton, pippin” ACTUALLY NAMES OF things. even outside of that, they talked like normal people would. in a disney show, something would go wrong, they would cut to commercial break, then come back and say “i can’t believe you ____! how are we going to fix this?!” NO ONE talks like that except for disney characters. whyyyy

characters:

adam; he was the token dumb character and honestly, not a nice person. i know that disney always has sassy characters but adam was just rude and didn’t have a filter. there should have been more to his character. maybe he would have had some sort of special interest like dez from austin and ally. dez was dumb but had his sweet moments and was a really good filmmaker and director. all adam seems to do is make fun of others and use his super strength. he should have been more useful outside of his bionics. had some sort of personality other than being dumb.

bree, trigger warning - drinking? ; bree, desperately wanting to be a normal teenager, would have gone crazy with partying. literally in the first episode, she said she was close to getting a curfew she was going to break. she wanted to be rebellious from the first episode. bree would have been one of those teens that either did not want to grow up or wanted to grow up too fast. she may have even been a bit of a rebel in school. not too bad, but like getting detention sometimes. once she grew out of that phase possibly, she would have had an identity crisis. and yes, i mean that kind. she was not straight. there’s no way. she should have struggled with her sexuality. maybe even a potential love interest that was a girl. i mean, considering she was the only girl besides tasha, there should have been some sort of identity issues with her.

chase; chase probably could have been explored the most. disclaimer, i promise i am not being biased by saying that; i just know him the best out of all the characters. chase is the smartest man in the world and in my opinion, was way too sane. katie from alexa and katie would get overwhelmed thinking about high school and college and would have panic attacks. chase was stressed out a lot and probably should have had panic attacks. and it pains me to say that because the last thing i want is for him to have mental health problems but it’s very realistic that he would have struggled with anxiety and panic attacks. additionally, i have seen a lot of people say this, i could see him being autistic. i don’t think he is, but if someone were to confirm it somehow, i would totally see it. i could see him being overstimulated and like how he jumps up and down when he’s excited? that could be him stimming. also, i’ve always wondered this, isn’t it painful to use his bionic eye? i feel like i would get headaches. and then all the apps he has? commando app (i will talk about spike momentarily), magnetism app, override app (no pressure??), internal hard drive, laser bow, molecular kinesis, super senses, levitation (which was only used once wtf), and obviously, super intelligence. think about how overwhelming that is, and they called him WEAK? bro was holding the team together. even if he weren’t autistic, he should have gotten overstimulated more.

follow up- spike; i’m going to be incredibly contradictory here but just bare with me. what the fuck did spike even do? he just caused destruction and distress for chase. when chase was nervous, mad, or embarrassed, he came out, but only when the episode revolved around him. i understand davenport’s intentions: remove the flight part of fight or flight, but why did he make him so angry? and also, i think that’s a bit insulting to chase, as if saying he’s too weak to handle himself. ugh, the very little he did was just useless. i wish we had gotten more of him and that he had had a bigger role. he was written terribly and never came out when he really should have come out. leo’s jam, trent gets schooled, rise of the secret soldiers, bionic rebellion, space colony, and the attack episode are all examples of where spike could have come out because chase was embarrassed or upset. also chase clearly didn’t like spike being a part of him. why did davenport never realize this and remove him when not only does chase not like him but also, he was doing anything but help chase.

leo- trigger warning, mentions of divorce, abuse, possible death; did the writers forget the literal first scene of the show? his mom literally got remarried. what happened to leo’s dad? did they get a divorce. did leo’s dad die? was he abusive? was he not around? so many questions. and we know they were married because leo excitedly said “my 𝐧𝐞𝐰 dad is batman!” so it’s not like tasha and leo’s biological father had a baby but were never married. in ‘can i borrow the helicopter?’ leo confides in davenport about his crush on janelle and he told tasha, which leo was upset about, but he had the opportunity to be more upset than he was. maybe his old dad never would have done that. maybe he’s used to it so he wasn’t as upset but he never thought davenport would have done that to him. he also forgave him way too fast (again, fast-paced episodes😒). he also should’ve had a harder time adapting to gaining 3 siblings after being an only child his whole life. i mean, even chase - who already had a brother - had a hard time gaining even on sibling. other than familial life and possible trauma leo could have had, i don’t have much to say about the character. he was written pretty well and had some awesome lines

i’m going to make a part 2 so stay tuned!

[makib1tch]

ummm all of them 😅

OKAY OKAY THISLL BE LONG BUT ILL TRY

the character everyone gets wrong : Alnst Luka. LIKE I GET THAT PEOPLE DONT LIKE HIM BUT HE ISNT THE VILLAIN. THE ALIENS ARE THE FUCKING VILLAINS. Like I lowkey feel like he doesn’t understand that what he’s doing is wrong. Like he wants to survive. Thats how the alien taught him too. DONT GET ME STARTED ILL RAMBLE WAY TOO FUCKIN MUCH

a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom: uhhh my fav is Aventurine and I see him as a switch sooooo….idk 🥲🥲🥲🥲.

screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr : uuuuuuh idk sorry

what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person? : idk if it counts but like I had a friend I vented to her and told her I $h and she started to insult me and yea I was having a panic attack and blocked her

worst discord server and why : I’m never on discord so idk

which ship fans are the most annoying? Not all of them (I sometimes ship it too) but aventio/ratiorine/call them what u want idc. Like. There are ratiorine shippers who are like "OOOOHOOHH AVENTURINE IS SUCH A HORNY BOTTOM WHOREEE AND RATIO IS A HORNY DOM EUZKZKALALAL" and then they go and ruin the entire fucking characters. Like I like the ship when it’s done right. When they respect the fuckin characters. Not when they ship them out of pure horniness. BUT NOT ALL OF THEM. Oh and it’s the same for Ruikasa (pjsk) shippers.

what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them? : I used to hate Ratio. Because of the weird ratiorine shippers.

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about : THAT LUKA FROM

ALNST IS THE VILLAIN

worst part of canon : idkidkkdk

worst part of fanon : idk too sorry im shit at ask games

number of fandom-related words you've filtered : none

the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them : Alnst Luka. Again with him. HES SUCH A FUCKIN INTERESTING AND COMPLEX CHARACTER ILOVE HIM

worst blorboficiation : the fuck is that?

that one thing you see in fics all the time : in x reader like "you have blue eyes and black hair" THEN NO THATS NOT AN X READER

that one thing you see in fanart all the time: aaaaaahh idkk I see way too much fanarts everyday

you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc) : Hyuna x Luka. I don’t understand. They’re so toxic like

there should be more of this type of fic/art: anyone comforting aventurine. My baby needs comfort. I love him. I want to hug him

it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on... : i don’t think people have been sleeping on but idk she still doesn’t get enough credit everyone go read @aventurineswife ‘s fics they’re so fuckin good.

you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like... : those x reader fics that are written out of straight up horniness. They be having the most obscene and devious devilish things.

part of canon you found tedious or boring : the whole xianzhou luofu quest ig. Expect for Tingyun I love her. But like idk I was kinda bored in it. Maybe it’s just me idk

part of canon you think is overhyped : Himekos death in csm. Like I saw people being super sad but like…idk. I didnt feel sad for her. I felt bad for Aki since he was sad yeah. But Himeko like her death didn’t do anything for me.

your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores : AAAAAAAH IDK IM SORRY

ship you've unwillingly come around to : Ratiorine, I used to hate it. Now I like it. (I’m not sure I understood the question lmao)

topic that brings up the most rancid discourse : The hospital scene in the End of Evangelion. I don’t have to explain. I think just no one should talk about it.

common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing : "Denji is a dumb pervert."

OK FINALLY FINISHED I TOOK WAY TOO FUCKIN LONG TO ANSWER THIS

I’m shit at ask games sorry lmao

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory: Chapter Seventeen

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ Smut (I’ll sneak the sexy warnings in at the end so you can look away if you want) Mild Anxiety if you squint, drinking/alcohol, discussion including sex references, gentle brotherly bullying, a lot of pointing and laughing at Jake (lovingly), Pirates Of The Caribbean references, Tall Tales from our Short King, Fluff, wholesome family time, silly banter amongst the boys.

*smut warnings*: sexual language, praise kink insinuation 😏, fingering, use of captain/daddy (it’s mild) thigh riding, Jake is sexy as hell, everyone.

Word Count: 5.1k 🤭

Summary: It’s Trivia Night! Charlotte decides to hang out with everyone for the night and gets to hear plenty about our favorite little pirate man.

Author's Note: ITS A FAMILY EPISODE 🥰 This was honestly way too fun to write 😂 I hope you enjoy getting to hang out with everyone because it was fun finding ways for them to interact with my main girl, Charlotte. 💕

(I listened to Bed Chem and Juno by Sabrina a lot also while writing parts of this chapter so do with that what you will! 🤭😘)

Nonsense - Sabrina Carpenter "I'll be honest, Lookin' at you got me thinkin' nonsense, Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in."

It took some mild convincing from Quinn and Jacob, but I’ve decided to participate in Trivia Night with everyone. Not going to act like I'm not a little nervous to hang out with everybody again since the only time I saw them all together was at Halloween, and I was drowning my nerves with whatever drink ended up in my hand.  

“You’re already friends with Quinn, and I’m sure the ladies love you,” Jake quietly tried to pep talk me as I sat in my usual seat at the bar. 

“No, I know,” I sigh. “It’s more the boys that make me nervous.” 

“They’re just louder than me,” he laughs. “They’ll be nice to you though, don’t even worry about them.” 

I take a deep breath as I look at him. 

“I’ll spit in their drinks if they’re mean to you; how’s that sound?” His eyebrow raised as he said it, and I couldn’t help the laugh that fell out of me. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re not clocked in, so,” he says with a dumb little smile on his lips. 

“Oooo Lottie, you’re hereeee!” Quinn yells as they step foot into the bar. The rest of them slowly trickled in behind them.  

They wrap their arms around me, practically swaying the barstool with them. “Come sit with us?” Okay, okay, okay. I nod and follow behind them. 

Once the booth has been claimed, the boys apparently wander off to grab drinks and queue up songs on the jukebox. 

“Since the boys aren’t here for a minute— have you two.. y’know?” Quinn asks with a dramatic wink, and I can feel the blood rushing to my face. They already know you’ve kissed him; what’s the harm?

My hand covers my mouth, trying to hide the smile growing while I nod. I practically received a standing ovation at the confirmation. 

“You have to tell us how it went because we’ve never really even seen any girl that he’s even been on a date with! Let alone actually sleep with,” Willa says, leaning into her hand with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. 

“Oh, um, well,” I hesitate, not really knowing what to say. This was easier with Cass because we just didn’t have a filter with each other, and I’m still not sure what is too much with them. 

Quinn can definitely sense the panic so they cave and ask, “Does he know what he’s doing?” 

“YEAH,” my eyes go wide. “He’s probably more deceiving than you’d think.” My eyebrows practically touch my hairline at the thought. 

A collective giggle from the table made me laugh. 

Mel whispers, “Did he make you–”

“Three times in one night.” 

“JAKE, YOU DOG,” she whisper-screams back to me. 

Willa and Quinn just look at each other before Willa finally lets out, “.. must run in the family.”

“What runs in the family?” Sam asks, handing Willa her drink. Danny is next to him, handing Mel’s drink over to her, and then takes off to get trivia night going. 

Mel’s eyebrows shoot up as she lets a quiet “Being a little bitch,” slip out before she sips on her drink; the smirk on her face is undeniable.

“Oh, fuck off,” Sam laughs, sitting in the booth next to Willa. 

Josh isn’t far behind him, holding three drinks. Setting them down, but quickly handing Quinn’s over to them and then sliding one over to me.

He leans down to me, whispering, “I was given the task of bringing your beverage from a secret admirer of sorts.” My stomach filled with butterflies at his comment. 

“Hey! This is the family table, no secrets!” Sam pipes up. 

Josh whips his head over, “I was just politely asking if I may squeeze in next to my little lovebug over there; otherwise, I will take the shortcut!” He steps his foot onto the edge of the table, making everyone panic for a moment. I quickly slide out of the booth while Mel and Quinn trade spots to make it easier. 

Danny starts explaining the basics of trivia night to everyone; hearing his voice like that was so odd because he’s been so quiet around me; it’s almost like I hadn’t heard him speak before. 

“Tonight’s theme is Pirates of the Caribbean! “ His enthusiasm is rapidly met with a collective groan from everyone. I glance over at Jake, who is just beaming over the theme—of course, he’s excited. 

A few patrons, including Linda, hollered, ‘Not fair!’ 

“Hey now,” Danny chimes back in, “Before everyone gets too mad, Jake will be bartending as his handicap for tonight’s trivia!”

Everyone I’m sitting with is pointing and laughing at Jake as he dramatically pouts behind the bar. I can’t take my eyes off him as he finally breaks the sad face, laughing with someone sitting in front of him at the bar. It’s adorable how much he loves his job. His eyes meet mine, making my heart stop for a second, as he smiles and shoots me a little wink before turning to grab another drink for someone. 

“We’ll start with an easy one- a warm-up, if you will. Which movie was the infamous mermaid scene in?”

The fourth one.

“Charlotte, has Jake told you about the first time he got drunk?” Sam asks, already laughing at the question. 

My eyebrows raise, and I glance over at him behind the bar. “He has not, and I’m fully ready to hear it.”

“Oh, it’s a treat– TRUST,” Willa chimes in. 

Sam and Josh whisper between themselves before turning back to me, “Okay, so Daniel was actually at the house with me because it was a weekend, obviously.” 

Oh, he’s locked in, I’m ready.

“We were what, like thirteen or fourteen at the time, right Daniel?” 

“Something like that,” Danny quickly answers. 

“Anyway- so we’re just playing video games, as teenage boys do, and then Josh knocks on the door.” Sam looks to Josh, who is always ready to take over a story. 

He leaned forward, looking over at Jake and then back at me. “This guy over here decided that he would just drink anything that was handed to him at this party. Lo and behold, he ended up walking like  a baby deer by the time we got home.” He barks out a laugh, “He ended up eating shit in the front yard because he swore he didn’t need my help.” 

It was my turn to laugh, looking over to Jake, who was bright red at this point; he must have had to sit through this story often because he was taking it like a champ.

“Oh, and it gets worse,” Danny chimes in. 

“Yes! So, I ran inside quietly and grabbed these two,” Josh points at Sam and Dan, “To try and help me get the drunk out of the yard before our parents woke up.”

“But even with all three of us, we couldn’t get him stable enough to walk into the house carefully.” 

“You guys don’t have to tell everybody this story, you know?” Jake shouts from behind the bar. 

“Oh, but we do!” Josh rebuttals.

“After a few minutes of trying to get him up, we realized it was a lost cause and went and got our dad for help.” 

“Oh my god, no,” slips out of me before I can stop it. 

Making them all laugh because they know what’s coming next. 

“Well, our dad surprisingly didn’t get that mad,” Sam starts, “But he did insist on taking pictures before carrying him inside.” 

“Mom added them to a scrapbook!” Josh adds. 

My hand flies up to cover my mouth as I laugh at the thought of drunk teenage Jake passing out in the yard. My self-control ran low when I finally let out, “Please tell me she would send you the picture right now; I need to see it.” 

“Oh dear, I thought you’d never ask!” Josh laughs, pulling out his phone. “While we wait for the glorious photo, may I offer you another silly Jake story?” 

“You really don’t have to,” Jake says, setting down a tray of new drinks for the table. “Feels a little unfair; you’re airing out my dirty laundry, and I can’t even defend myself.”

“But, Lottie needs to be caught up on the Jake Lore!” Quinn pipes up, making the whole table laugh. His head drops back when everybody laughs, but his smile creeps through as he tries to scowl at them. 

“Can you at least throw in one redeeming one?” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see, kid.” 

‘What is Will Turner wearing when he’s rescued?’ 

Oh.. the pirate medallion that Elizabeth takes. 

“Look who came to say ‘Hi’ for a few minutes!” Mel announces as she approaches the table with her daughter. I’ve never seen a group of people get so excited over a child. I watch as everybody takes turns hugging her. Josh definitely took the most time, spending time talking with her. They are the most precious little buddies.

She’s sitting on Quinn’s lap when I see her eyes light up as Jake comes over to the table. She quickly stands up in the booth, pointing to him with a big cheesy smile. Jake reaches out, stealing her away from Quinn, and despite the fact she probably couldn’t hear him, he lets out a, “Come here, sweetheart.” 

Why is that sexy? My hands start to sweat a little as I watch him hold her; he has her propped up with one of his arms. He brushes the hair away from her face as she just beams at him. Oh my god? 

“I’ll get you,” he mouths to her before tickling her little neck and then her belly. I can’t stop myself from noticing how big his hands look right now, as his palm seemingly takes up half of her tiny body. Her laughter fills the air as he plays with her for a minute. I don’t think I’ll be able to get this out of my head now. Why.. How is he so good with kids? 

She wraps her arms around his neck in a hug, his hand rubbing her back as Mel walks back up. 

“Oh, how sweet,” she says, “She was asking if you would be here tonight, Jake.” 

“She hasn’t figured out I live here yet, huh?” he jokes, looking at her and smiling so big at her. I’m not even in a relationship with this man; why is this so–

His voice pulls me out of my head, “Char, do you want another drink?” Hearing him call me by a nickname catches me off guard. He hands Iris over to Danny as I’m nodding at him, and he steals my glass from me. 

“Oh, perfect timing!” Josh boasts, sliding his phone across the table. “The requested photo.” The way I picked it up could have been at record speed. 

And what a feast for the eyes it was; there lies a baby version of Jacob, absolutely obliterated in the grass. 

“You can swipe for another good one,” Josh pipes up, his cackle quickly following.

Hesitantly swiping to the next one, it’s of him thrown over his dad’s shoulder with Sam cheesing next to him. Jake’s eyes are shut, and his hair is all over the place, but the way you can tell in the photo alone that he has just given up is hilarious. It’s cute that his family didn’t yell at him for it, and if this was the worst punishment he got, he was pretty lucky. 

“Oh god,” Jake’s voice suddenly next to me again. “Not my best moment, clearly.” I laugh quietly as I look up at him, his face softening a bit when he looks back at me. 

“Didn’t pin you as a sloppy kind of drunk, Jacob,” I tease. 

His smile grows quickly, “He’s a different breed– I don’t like to let him out very often.” Oh, I need to see him a little drunk at some point. 

‘What is Jack’s last line in Dead Man’s Chest?’

Jake leans down, his mouth hovering over my ear before saying, “Hello, beastie,” in his finest Jack Sparrow accent. The sound of his laugh graced my ears as he stood back up. Not entirely proud of how the English accent affects me, but he doesn’t need to know that.  

“Oh!” Josh pipes up, “Jacob, remember when you planned that one date in high school?” 

“Haha, oh boy, I have a bar to tend to, unfortunately,” his eyes wide as he walks off to escape this story. 

“So what about this date?” I lean into my hand, looking over at Josh. 

“It was really very cute,” he starts. “He asked this girl out, and she actually said yes. So, he spent like a week and a half planning out this date-” 

A collective ‘awww’ coming from the rest of us. 

“Well, she never showed up. He was devastated. Our poor Jake has been getting ghosted since the beginning of time.” 

How does he have such bad luck with girls? 

“He did get stood up— what was it like three months ago?” Willa asks, looking at Sam. He nods mid-sip of his beer. “Poor guy moped around for a week.” 

“It’s honestly baffling; he really is such a sweetheart,” Quinn adds, with Josh nodding along with them. 

“How come Quinn can say that and it’s okay, but I tell him he’s handsome ONE TIME—,” Willa starts, her face back towards Sam. 

“Wrong– you’ve said it twice,” he corrects her with a smug look on his face. 

She rolls her eyes, “Sam, be so serious right now,”

“YEAH, that’s right, I’m keeping track!” his voice raises for a second but immediately drops when he says, “Plus, you’re MY very beautiful and hot girlfriend, we don’t need to give him any ideas.” He side-eyes Jake while he wraps his arms around her shoulders tightly.

“He’s not going to try and steal Willa from you, Samantha,” Quinn giggles, watching him hold her hostage.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After finally being able to get away from the storytime table, I hustle to the bathroom: two drinks plus  Josh’s storytelling skills, a recipe for disaster. 

“Oh, excuse me,” I back away from the bathroom door as an older lady walks out. 

She stops in front of me for a second, her eyes lighting up, “Well, it’s about time I run into you.” 

“Um..” I hesitate. 

“I’m Eleanor,” she grabs my hand gently, “Or El, whichever the boys feel like that day.” The realization of who she is hits me; this is the one Willa said Jake was going to marry. 

“Oh! Hi, I’m Charlotte,” I shake her hand lightly, “I’ve heard about you, nice to officially meet you.” 

Her smile is contagious, “What a pretty name for such a beautiful girl.” 

“Oh, you’re too sweet.” 

“It’s nice seeing him so happy, you know?” She starts, “I’m not trying to tell all his secrets, but the poor boy has just had no luck the last few years. Constantly being let down by all these girls— which is such a shame because he’s such a charming young man.” 

My heart hurts hearing her say that. Why would girls not like him? 

“Oh really? I didn’t realize it had been that bad.” 

“Yeah, the poor thing had basically given up on dating. He really just invested himself into being here, which is admirable of him, but between you and me,” she leans in, “Linda and I are so glad that you’re getting him out of here a little. He needs it.” 

“He really is something special,” I admit to her, “It’s a loss for all the girls who didn’t give him enough of a chance.” 

“You said it!” she giggles; it seems her voice is just quiet by nature. “If I were younger, I’d be trying to take him home with me.” Her little wink made me laugh. 

“I’m not one to kiss and tell,” I whisper, leaning closer to her, “But you’d be making the right choice.” She giggles with me this time. 

“Well, let me not hold you up any longer! I’ll see you out there,” she squeezes my forearm gently as she turns to walk away.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As I’m walking out of the bathroom, I catch him coming from the back room and promptly make myself in his way. 

“Hey you,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” I say quietly back, “What are the odds I can steal you away?” Letting my hand run down his forearm, he subtly grabs it while he listens.  

“For work or..” his voice trails off, and that damn eyebrow of his popping up. 

Shaking my head, “Mmm.. definitely not work.” I pull my bottom lip in with my teeth as I look at him. 

“Ohhh, I see,” his shitty little smirk coming out. 

“So, is that a yes?” 

He looks down the hall past me, “I don’t know about that, Red.”

“We could just sneak upstairs real quick,” I don’t even care how desperate I sound at this point because I am a little desperate. 

“The bar’s kinda busy, I don’t–” 

I quickly cut him off, “What about your office?”

“Someone’s eager?” His eyebrows pull together for a second as he looks me up and down. 

Hooking my finger into his belt loop, tugging him toward me, “Baby, please,” batting my eyelashes at him.

“What’s gotten into you?” his laugh lacing the question.

“Just seeing you with Iris, I don't know..” trailing off, I lean forward into him, my hand holding the side of his face, “I just think you’d make a cute daddy.”

 Pink creeps into his cheeks rapidly before he spits out, “I’ll meet you in my office in five minutes.” ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

He backs me into his desk, slotting his leg between mine. He leans against me, letting his weight press into me. 

“Jake, please,” I moan as he leans even further into me, making my hips grind against his thigh. 

“Needy little thing,” he whispers as I moan into his mouth, still trying to resist riding his thigh. He glances down for a second as my hips betray me, “Does that feel good?” 

My face warms up, and a small “mhm” escapes me. The smirk on his face makes my stomach turn, nervous about whatever is going on inside his head. He leans in, the kiss feels more heated than before. His teeth lightly grabbed my lip, which sent a little shiver through my body and caused my hips to start moving a bit more forcefully. 

“Keep going,” he whispers against my lips, “use me, honey.” 

“Fuck me,” falls out of me, the friction making my head spin. 

He quietly laughs, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

God, he needs to never stop talking. 

His lips leave kisses down my neck, finding every sensitive spot he can get to. I’m doing everything in my power to refrain from moaning too loudly, but he’s making it increasingly more difficult. The waves of pleasure shooting through me every time I roll my hips are only made worse by the feeling of his smile against my throat. 

“Jake–,” I whine. “Touch me.” I slide my hand down the back of his arm, trying to pull it from behind me. 

“Oh, you need my hands?” He teases me, whispering a breath away from my ear. “Is that what you want?”  He unbuttons my pants but hesitates to do anything else. The amount that I want, need rather, him to just touch me, is bordering painful.

“Baby, please,” I moan into his ear, “You’re just so good at it.” His hand immediately slid into my pants at the praise, running his fingers across my panties that are practically drenched at this point. 

“All that for me?” He coos into my ear, sliding the soaked fabric to the side; his fingers gently rubbing against my throbbing clit, causing a louder moan to slip out. “Gotta stay quiet for me, honey. Unless you want everyone to know how good I make you feel.” 

His voice was killing me as he added pressure with his fingers; the build of my orgasm was quick once he got involved. His hand slides down as he hooks his middle finger into me. Letting his palm rest against my clit as his finger pumps into me, the friction was just enough to keep inching me closer. 

“I’m so close,” I quietly whimper. 

He leans in closer to my face, hovering just above my lips, “Let me have it, honey.” He slid his ring finger into me as he said it and then leaned in to kiss me as his hand moved faster. I can feel the orgasm about to snap inside me when he lets his tongue gently dance across my lip. My jaw falls open as my release finally hits; I can feel the wetness against his hand as he works me through it. As I come down from it, his hand slows with me. 

He carefully pulled his hand back, grabbed my jaw with the other, and pressed one slow kiss into me. He lingers close to me for a second and, with his cheeky little smirk, asks, “Feel better?”

I giggle against his lips, kissing him a few more times before deciding to add fuel to the fire, “For now.”

“For now?” 

“Oh, Jacob,” I tease, sliding my arms around his neck. “I’ll be ready to actually ride you later.”

His eyes light up at my comment, “You may be the greatest friend I’ve ever had; I hope you know that.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I managed to slide back into the booth with minimal questioning, though I think Josh knew what had happened with the way his eyes were burning a hole into the side of my head for a moment. 

“Oh, I did think of something wholesome for Charlotte,” Sam announces to the table. 

“He’s not here,” Josh reminds him, “You don’t have to suck up to him.” 

Sam’s laugh makes me laugh when he comes out with, “No, I know, but don’t we want them to get toge—“ 

“What were you going to say, babes?” Willa, wide-eyed, cuts him off before he finishes his sentence. Wait- do the boys want us to..? 

“I was just thinking that- he’s always been the one we go to,” he says, his tone feels different. “Like, with anything. He’s typically the first one I’ll think to call if I need actual help with something.” 

“No, that’s so true, actually,” Quinn chimes in. “He will do so much for the people he cares about. The amount of times he’s texted me to let me know that he left the door unlocked for me or that he bought more of the coffee creamer I like since I was at their place all the time anyway.”

Danny was lingering near us while they all talked about the exuberant amount of nice things Jake had done for them. 

“He got me the job at the shipyard and then basically created a job for me here; I feel like that speaks volumes about who he is as a person,” Danny says quietly. 

I look over as he’s at the opposite end of the bar; his smile is so wide. He must be talking to Linda and Eleanor– always taking time to talk to everyone while they sit there, but for those two specifically, he really makes sure to dote on them a little extra. 

The table falls quiet, well- quiet is subjective, and I take my chance to ask the question that I’ve definitely been sitting on. 

“Is there a reason for the Bob Seger cut out?” I ask. “Actually- there’s just a lot of Bob Seger that happens here? Because I’ve been here near closing time, and Night Moves, I think..has been on every time.” 

Everyone looked at each other; it was almost comical the way they all paused when I asked. 

“Jake!” Josh hollers, “Your presence is needed!” I watch him move through the room, slowly moving through people to get to us. “Someone is asking questions that..you should be here for.”

“Okay, shoot.” 

I look up at him, “What’s with all the Bob Seger?”

“Oh!” His eyes darted over to Josh. “Haha, well–.”

Willa chimes in, “Oh, this should be good.” 

“It started with Night Moves and, uh,” He pauses, looking down at the table for a second. 

Josh quickly chimes in, “Mind’s slipping away from you?” 

His head whipped up to look at Josh, “No no, just want to make sure I recall it correctly!” 

“Well,” Sam pipes up, “we got ALL night.”

Danny bumps into him, whispering something in his ear. 

“Ah! Yes, thank you, Dan,” he says, patting Danny’s arm as he walks off. “Have you heard the lore of the Old Port Pirate?”

“Obviously not,” I giggle. 

Sam pipes up quickly, “Really!?” 

“Oh! Charlotte, you’re in for a treat,” Mel says, leaning into her hand, ready to hear this story. 

“Josh, do you mind watching the bar for a minute while I explain this?” 

“Oh, but of course!” He quips back.  “I do love this story, so I’ll be lingering over here!”

I let Josh out of the booth, with Jake sliding in next to me as I sat back down. He turns to face me a little with a smirk on his face. 

“So, there’s this man who wanders around the Old Port, typically found sitting in front of one of the stores nearby. We’ve been told that he thinks he’s a pirate, so..that’s where the name comes from,” he chuckles at himself.  “Well, he wandered in here the day we opened, and obviously, from one pirate to another, I wasn’t about to send him on his way.” And a precious little pirate you are, Jacob. 

“Of course not! Pirates are always welcome in a tavern!” Quinn chimes in. 

“Exactly– I’m glad you understand,” he says. “While he was here, he barely spoke. Just kept to himself the entire night until Night Moves started playing.”

I glance around the table; Sam, Willa, and Mel are all fully invested in this. Wait..

He excitedly continues his story time, “He waved me down and proceeded to tell me about how Night Moves was his favorite song. Said that he actually knew Bob at one point– which I’m not going to tell him that I don’t buy it because.. well, if you saw the guy, you’d understand.”

“So you just…play it every day?” Why do I kind of believe him?

“Well, we never know when he’s going to come back or if he will,” he tells me. “But I want to make sure he feels welcome!” 

Willa asks, “Didn’t he pay with a doubloon?” 

“He did! That’s why it’s framed over there!” Josh hollers from behind the bar. 

“Oh,” I try to collect my thoughts. “Well, um—”

“I know it’s a pretty exhilarating story- take your time to process it,” he says, double-tapping the table. “I do need to go take the bar back from Josh, so if you have any more questions, you know where to find me.” His hand gently squeezes my arm before he scurries back to the bar. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Alright, be honest,” I say as he walks over to me. “Is this pirate man real?” 

“Of course, he is,” he says, no hesitation in his voice. “Do you want more to drink?” I nod as I’m trying to figure out if he’s lying. 

I let out a small, “Mmmm..” folding my arms over my chest as I watched him make a fresh drink for me. 

He slides it over to me, “Have I lied to you before, honey?” 

The way I want to kiss- I mean, smack the smirk off his face. My arms drop, and I can’t fight the smile on my face any longer, “Alright, I’ll believe you.” 

He leans forward onto the bar, resting his head in his hand, “While you’re here.. you should stay with me tonight.”

“Mmm.. I don’t know if I should,” I tease him.

He blinks slowly at me, a little smirk on his lips, “What if I promise to make you breakfast?” 

“Well.. that does sound nice but..” trying to sound dramatic, but let’s be honest- there’s no way he wouldn’t win this battle. 

“Josh is going to Quinn’s,” he pauses and lowers his voice “.. we can have sex.” His eyebrows shoot up, making me giggle. 

“Now we’re talking, Captain.” I lean forward into my hand now; we probably look ridiculous right now. 

“What was the other name you called me?” He winks at me, pulling his bottom lip in with his teeth. 

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” 

“Might need to try it out later and see,” he says, giggling to himself. It’s cute how excited he gets over little things like that. I wave him closer, and he leans a little further. I stand on the little supports of the barstool to meet him in the middle. 

I whisper into his ear, “Whatever you want, daddy.” 

His jaw goes slack, as he stares at me, slowly shaking his head while that devious little smile of his grows on his face. I just raise one of my eyebrows at him, waiting for the truth to come out. 

“If you keep talking like that,” his voice trails off. 

I can’t stop myself from asking, “What about it?”

“I’ll be making sure you let the neighbors know.” 

I gasp before I can even think, “Jacob!” 

“Yeah, it’ll sound kinda like that,” he says; the smug look on his face as he backs away is killing me. 

I know my face has to be red at this rate; I let out a fairly loud “Um!” Glancing around at the people near us, including his brothers. 

“They didn’t hear, don’t worry,” he laughs; I hate how sexy he is sometimes. “I only want you to hear me anyway.”

Oh, this man is on one tonight. 

“Charlotte!” Willa yells from across the room, distracting me from him. Thank god.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Spending the rest of the night laughing and hanging out with everyone. Jacob still managed to school everyone on his Pirates of the Caribbean knowledge, not that anybody was shocked. It was nice getting to just spend time with people, even if it was a lot of them having to fill me in on the backstories of most conversations. They were so welcoming to me. 

And amid another Josh story, I hear the sweetest sound faintly over the chatter in the bar and even cutting through Josh’s voice; the opening chords of Night Moves started to play. I glance over to Jacob, whose eyes are locked on me, and something about his stare makes my heart flutter. 

‘Workin’ on our night moves—“

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Eighteen

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[wizisbored]

wip wednesday sentences for 19/3/25

this is the week i started doing my fills in a notebook or on my typewriter, and i was going to post scans or photos, but i do not have the time right now. maybe sometime when ive got the time i will do it for another set of prompts.

The Book in the Birdbath @zyrafowe-sny @tamsinswriting @combeferres-mothematics @planeoftheeclectic @kalira @thefandomlesbian @nonbinary-octopus

“Okay, but what do you actually think? Like, honestly.”

“Sounds dumb,” Beetlejuice says. “You should do it.”

“Wasn’t asking you,” Lydia snaps. Skye cocks her head, swinging her legs off the side of the monkey bars. “I think you’re cool enough to pull it off.”

Lydia considers that thought as she presses her eye to the viewfinder of her camera. It had started as just a passing thought, something that popped into her head last night as she and Skye were sitting awake again, leafing through the handbook together. And too tired to have much of a filter, she’d looked at Skye with her fingers still tracing the buzzed patch in her hair and asked if she should just shave the entire left side of her head. She doesn’t doubt her ability to pull off the hairstyle; for all her issues, confidence in her appearance was never one of them. It’s less the hair, more what’s under it.

“Maybe you could ask your dad about it?”

Beetlejuice laughs loudly. Lydia doesn’t blame him.

“Skye, you’ve seen my dad. Does that look like the type of man that anyone should be going to for style advice?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I said that because he’s coming over now.”Lydia twists to look over her shoulder at where she’s pointing. One of the benefits of having permission to be outside, she’s found, is that her dad knows where to find her. She raises a hand to wave.

Heritance of an Occultist @dreamed-for-not @twyrewolf @tamsinswriting @atomsforthewin

“Clothes cupboard?”

“Wardrobe,” Charles supplies as he leads her across the room.

“Wardrobe. Yeah. Whys in wardrobe?”

“We aren’t in a wardrobe, we’re in a shop. You remember us talking about shops?”

“Mm.”

“And you remember we’re going to talk to a seamstress?”

“I remember.”

“She’s not stupid, Chuck. We’re in a box with fabric and she called it a wardrobe, big whoop.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply-”

By this point, Lydia has gotten quite good at tuning out the bickering. Instead, she looks up at the woman behind the counter they’ve been walking towards. When she looks up and catches Lydia’s eye, her smile is warm.

Ten Paces @somefishycat @meggiejolly @aparticularbandit @eriquin

Lydia lifts a foreleg, shaking off water and making a point to stomp quite hard as she sets it back down. The demon doesn’t pay that much mind, focusing on getting the bucket refilled and bringing it back to her side. Lydia cringes, bracing herself for another soak, but this time is met instead with the feeling of a wet cloth against her side. He’s found a washrag, apparently. Lydia stomps again, because that’s the only way he’s going to understand when she says “this still isn’t okay.”

He gives her some sort of reply, which judging by the accompanying scratch of her back is probably reassurance. She flicks her roughly tied tail in annoyance.

“I don’t need you to help me. It’s your fault I’m alone, if you hadn’t taken me from my dad we could have just done this ourselves.”

She looks down at her feet, pawing absently at a pebble. How long has it been since her dad last tended to her coat? It was an aunt, mostly, after the death of her mother. She’s not sure who it was Charles was going to for grooming, but it wasn’t his daughter. He didn’t want that bonding time with his foal, apparently. The more she thinks about it, the more certain she is that the last time her father combed her coat was the day her mother died.

The Running Iron @auburnlaughter @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin @stonemaskedtaliesin

There’s a jerk on Lydia’s harness as the metal bar between them is unbolted from the flatcar, and its full weight falls onto the two centaurs.

“To the left!” the man behind them calls, and Beetlejuice turns towards her and starts picking his way across the tracks. Lydia takes the hint and shuffles off to the left. The harness and the bar are still heavy, but walking without a weight on the traces is still an immense relief.

“Woah, now,” the man says once they’re both off to the side of the rails, and they stop. Lydia’s tail flicks irritably.

“I hate this,” she mutters. “We’re not horses.”

“That’s a real nice sentiment, kid.”

Netherborne ch17 on @phantom-z0ne

My mama protected me. I didn’t do anything brave, I just… got hurt.”

“You-”

“Barbara, I don’t want to be praised for it.”

[luna-spring]

final thoughts about "the secret history" by donna tartt

Okay, y'all! It's finally here!

I have so much to say about this book now that I'm done with it. First of all, it was a long and demanding read, mostly because some of it was very slow. Sometimes it seemed pointless — now I understand that we need it to see Richard's mental decline, to realize what an unreliable narrator he is — and because, at times, I felt way too dumb to comprehend what was happening.

That being said, I do not believe I've ever truly understood what an "unreliable narrator" was until I read this book. I'm quite used to being a spectator when I'm reading — almost like I'm seeing a play and the characters are on a stage. Or even, I feel like I am the character and actively part of the tale.

With The Secret History, it was an odd in-between, mostly because we're reading an autobiography/memoir. We see things from Richard's perspective — his romanticized eyes. I truly believed Henry was this master-genius, "kind-hearted" person, when in reality, he just used and manipulated the people around him as he pleased, as he saw fit, and Richard only realized this when he served Henry's purpose and then was once again kept in the dark and treated coldly. It was honestly my biggest disappointment; I fell for his act like a little duck.

Another big example of how Richard is an unreliable narrator is every time he speaks of Camilla. It honestly made me dislike her very much, just because he saw her in such an angelical light that clearly wasn't accurate, so we never actually got to know Camilla for who she was. All we know about her is filtered through Richard and his borderline obsessive desire.

In a similar light, there's Julian, and I don't even have much to say here because Richard himself acknowledged he wanted to see Julian as this "saint-like" authoritative figure — and once again, I fell for it until the spell was broken and the masks fell. Unfortunately, I don't have much to say about Francis or Charlie for that matter because... well, they aren't very likable, and I don't have much to say regarding either of them. I would love to hear what other people have to say about them because, to me, they are just not at all compelling.

And then, there's Bunny. I don't even know where to start with this character. I think I can start by saying the very obvious: he was an arsehole, and I don't feel bad about his death. He was ungrateful, petty, and outright rude in every aspect of his personality. He wouldn't ever take a hint (or pretended he didn't), he took advantage of others without a second thought, and he liked to make others feel bad and embarrassed — not to mention he was blatantly dumb. However, we will never know for sure how much of that is true since Richard can be so biased toward certain people as he pleases. It took me one month and a half to get through it, and I'm not going to lie, at times I had to force myself to keep going because an awful lot of it felt uninteresting — mostly because I didn't really care about or feel attached to any particular character. They're complex, sure, but I needed a whole lot more to get myself to... for lack of a better word, vibe with them.

Everything happened way too fast, and it felt hollow at times. This is a personal preference — I enjoy a form of media way more once I can really dive into the details and read between the lines. I understand that this may have been the author's intention; it was life, and you don't clearly remember everything that happened years later, and you certainly don't know every detail. For example: what was Henry's accident? How did it happen? What did he whisper in Camilla's ear right before shooting himself? There are so many unanswered questions, and I get that's because it is reflecting life, but by God, I don't like the unfinished feeling it left behind (which I assume is also intentional since Richard didn't die).

Overall, it was a long and difficult read, but good nonetheless. I also feel like it is way too long — unnecessarily so. It gives me the impression that the whole thing could be wrapped up in about 300 pages because so much of it led to nowhere.

Anyway, it's not one of my favorites, but I'm glad I read it.

Favourite Quote:

But isn't it also pain that often makes us most aware of self? It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from all the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one's burned tongues and skinned knees, that one's aches and pains are all one's own. Even more terrible, as we grow older, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us.

[sillydummydum]

*DROPS S/I ON THE GROUND*

*RUNS AWAY IN SHAME*

S/I Yap time!!

OK SO-- I made this little S/I art yesterday and felt like sharing!! My Persona 5 S/I is basically-- well, me (bubbly and annoying) and nothing else lolol I literally insert myself in the universe with some plot changes and it's fun!! She likes space and music! Cuz i do too! :D She's also an indie musical artist but it's like more of a hobbie than anything! (Even if it does helps with money and all! she also does haves some good amount of followers on the niche! But nothing big out of the indie bubble) She wants to work as a songwriter for a famous singer one day!

Her background is nothing crazy but I made some silly changes, like aging up my irl brother (he's currently a lil baby and I made him a lil kid :3) and making me live with my grandma! (fucking love my grandma kisses grandma!!) Also some dramatic aah stuff like dead mom and no dad for me (the basics) 😭😭 My S/I has a strong special interest in space!!! Which is something I'm getting really into lately! So I made mommy an astronomer! She was like best friends with Wakaba (scientific nerds lol) and Sojiro so S/I was very close to Futaba since childhood for that reason!

She is a phantom thieve (shockerz) and uhm I wanted to use my personal experience as a bullied child growing up (mostly because of ableism) and turn that into motivation to make justice, since no one did that for me before!! (Grr goddamn adults!) And finding my own group of weird little people made me much more open and generally happy in real life! So that's what I'm doing on this universe as well! ^^

Yes she entered in kamoshida's case cuz I wanna imagine myself in every little story event.

Yes I study at Shujin.

Yes I am basic. /j

Even tho when it's for self shipping purposes I usually make my stuff in the 3rd semester because... life is beautiful and husby has no filter so it's funnier ✨️ AND YES I AM HELPING THE ROYAL TRIO WITH MARUKI FUCK IT NOW WE ARE FOUR!! (Depression afterwards :<)

Her Persona is called Selene! Based off the greek goddess of the moon!! She has nuclear/almighty based skills simply because it's chaotic and looks cool!! FUCKING MEGIDOLAON ON THEM!!! POOOWWW BOOM KABOOM!! 💥👊ALSO FUN FACT SHE'S VERY CHAOTIC!! (just like me fr maybe because it is me duh) often being too dramatic, explosive and loud!!! totally ruining stealth when it comes to infiltrating palaces, which usually makes some funny aah scenes because she was dumb-- maybe she's not a good phantom thief...

maybe.

Talking about metaverse stuff! Her clothes are based off Magicians! Because of her lil show off nature, making everything a explosive dramatic spectacle! And uhm magicians are cool!! -v-"

This concept was made with the help of my bestie! Helping me take a more Kaito kid/Tuxedo Mask inspired design, which i really like allot! big thanks to him!! <3

Relationship dynamics:

On this section I wanted to give a small little insights on her relationships with most characters! Since I felt like it would be fun to do so! :3

☆~☆~☆

Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya

- Her relationship with Akira is pretty much like a siblings relationship, Luna looks up to him allot and is the "I wanna be like you when I grow up" type lol even if they are the same age. He is her inspiration to get better, so she will get at his level one day! He also makes extra suggary cappuccino to her when she goes to Leblanc 🤝 ☕️

Ryuji Sakamoto

- Her relationship with him is pretty much the chaotic duo type, shes always giving him death stares when he starts to talk about girls or some dumb Ryuji shit like that 😭 Her and Morgana are constantly slandering him for the funzys, but Ryuji also likes to pick up on her so they're eternally on a war-- and in general they are two loud dumbasses who share the same braincells and have little silly banters 🤲 also HC that Luna helps him dye his hair 🫡

Ann Takamaki

- Her relationship with Ann is the girly besties type, constantly going out shopping, Ann usually helps her to buy her clothes since Luna definitely can't pick her clothes on her own without it looking weird 😭 they also go out allot to eat! Try the newest deserts all around Tokyo! Those two would probably kill for a chocolate cake. And they are getting progressively more poor because of that... She likes to paint Ann's nails and style her hair for fun! because she personally thinks Ann looks like a pretty porcelain doll!

Yusuke Kitagawa

- Her relationship with Yusuke is another of pure admiration!! Yusuke admire Luna for her artistic side on the music and Luna's eyes sparkle at every little sketch he does, I like to think that Luna (just like me) is an artist for fun who really has allot of trouble with drawing certain things that aren't fanart lol, and they go out on little panting sessions togheter. Like I dunno go to Inokashira Park to draw the scenario and his comes out like the next monalisa and hers is like... Blue and Green all mixed up togheter. And she probably got her clothes dirty in the process. He does encourages her to continue tho! And gives her tips that she usually doesn't get-- so uhm sensei Yusuke Ig?

Makoto Nijima

- Her relationship with Makoto is... *sighs* very sibling-like too. Luna isn't the best at school, and always cry for help when it's exams week 💔 Makoto usually scolds her for being too careless at everything, school, metaverse, crossing the road-- but only because she really cares about her. Luna is like the little sister she needs to lookout for so she doesn't get herself killed by accident. Oh fun fact but Luna is also very afraid of Sae (just like me im afraid of pretty woman) so yeah she freezes when she steps in the room 😭

Futaba Sakura

- Oh boooyyy Futaba time!! My relationship with Futaba is so silly and fun and I wanna yap about it!! Ok third person mode on--

So, since they were basically raised togheter, they are pretty close to one another, and have gathered the same types of interests through the years. Since I have the Autistic Futaba HC, I like to imagine that they get each other more than anything, engaging in parallel play most of the time when she was a shut-in. And I like to imagine that Luna was pretty much the only person she talked to at first after her Palace. Also HC that they play Pokemon United togheter. Cuz I said so. They exchange allot of gifts related to their special interests too! Ugh I have so many HC's for us but basically we are best friends forever two little chaotic autistic sillys but i help Futaba with her social anxiety! yipeee :3

Haru Okumura

- Her relationship with Haru is the tea time besties, they talk all day over a good cup of tea and Haru frequently gives her tips of how not make her plants die (very important, I never can make them live...) which is a hobby Luna really is trying to... make possible... (plz don't die this time) and generally her time yapping with Haru is a very comforting one, usually when shes feeling dramatic she goes and hugs Haru and makes her little drama, and Haru is usually the only one who's like "Oh dear :(" and stands her when she's being extra or cheers her up when shes actually sad too! 😭 shes such a sweetheart! <3 don't be mean with Mona and Luna! Haru is gonna politely ask you to stop. (Looking at you ryuji)

Morgana

- Her relationship with our favorite not cat! He's... Morgana. We know him. But Luna can be considered pretty much his #1 fan???? She thinks he's HELLA COOL like the best phantom thieve ever!! (I love morgana!!!) She really respects him and Morgana is really grateful to have someone that looks up to him (Luna looks up to lots of people! ><") Luna also likes to pat him. Allot. (IM A CAT PERSON OK) which well he doesn't mind but still he's not a kitty that you can just pat like that!!! (He's purring)

Sumire Yoshizawa

- Her relationship with Sumire is... damn, Luna is LOUD. And well we know that Sumi isn't exactly as extroverted as she makes herself seem when she takes on the Kasumi role. So uhm let's say Luna is overwhelming-- very overwhelming! 😭 She's always jumpy and bubbly and is constantly trying to cheer Sumire up, turning into some type of cheerleader for her when she starts to self-depreciate in any way, being overly affectionate and in general being extra EXTRA around her since she gets very worried about Sumire's mental health-- So yeah, Luna is basically constantly cheering her on and admiring her for being able to make things she can't (Even if Sumire doesn't think they're that great :< )... ooh we have another extreme admiration case here!!! Maybe the person she admires the most! Hell yeah! Give my girly some love!~ My bestie <3

Haha that's the end nothing more to see here... hah... haha.... bye...

Ok...

*sighs*

Goro Akechi

- That's probably the most important relationship of all-- why did I put him in last? I'm embarrassed. Uh... shy? 😭 gonna be more personal about this one uhm-- well

That's my boyfriend over there, I hate him I don't really enjoy his company and I hope he gets therapy. /hj

No, really tho, our relationship is... I can't even describe it, but our dynamic is DEFINITELY the "aww they do care about each other" type-- I constantly enjoy to annoy the hell out of him, just because it's funny?? I'm the devil from the bible. Er... so... the thing is, Akechi constantly get dismissed through story for obvious reasons, he's openly agaisn't the Phantom Thieves and later they do have much MUCH more motives to not fuck with him-- but Luna? DAMN. That girl is I N V E S T E D In being friends with him. Specially on the start, his sob stories actually made her pity him and get all "aw he's miserable... 🥺" lol so she constantly insisted on being his friend, even tho he was internally screaming and trying to push her away, she was CONVICTED. SHES A FRIENDSHIP MACHINE BABY. YOU CAN'T ESCAPE HER!!

So with that forced proximity, they eventually started getting closer, and it was something very... slow? Definitely. Luna never cared about hiding herself no matter how weird people seemed to find her, maybe he would admire that... envy that? Who knows.

Suddenly he started to enjoy her company. Even if she was... oh well a little dumb, yeah, he definitely thinks she is-- He never had people who were close to him, and definitely didn't had someone THAT determined to bother him 24/7. Maaaybe he could call her something close to a friend... right? (Yes they were she stated that every 3 seconds and Luna rules 🫡) And that was before he "entered" to the Phantom Thieves, and when he did? Damn she was kinda happy! Don't talk about the blackmail part showing off to him and telling him all the cool things she could do as she ""teached"" him about the metaverse (lol like this bitch needed to) and they got even closer!! Damn! Let's go play darts togheter and silly around! Yay! :D

I also like to HC that he would eventually let some good amount of things about his real self slip, and Luna would be like totally clueless and okay about it, when most people would think it was weird or out of character. Maybe that's why he got so weirdly comfortable around her? She didn't gave a fuck-- and oh well he wasn't THAT detective princefied around her by that time. Yeah she's probably the closest he got to it... (sweeps Akira under the rug)

And uh... let's skip allot of things so I won't yap about the whole Akechi arc here. Maybe another day.

But Luna was utterly miserable after everything (yall know what), she wasn't angry... just... shocked. Maybe a bit quieter? Less energetic? She was since the revelation, but it was worse now... and the penny dropped at the worst time-- And uh yeah sad above everything I think that's pretty much expected when you lose someone you really like. Despite everything, he was a friend... someone she cared about... maybe more than she should...

Wait.

Cared about, huh? OH FUCK SHE WAS IN LOVE WITH HIM!!! (Shockerz) GASP WOW WOAH! *VINE BOOM* Who would've guessed. So uhm yeah that sucks, now it's too late...

A little more timeskip--

Oh well damn hi Goro!! What the fuck??? :D

That's where most of the romantic relationship aspects take part, damn he was there now???? It was literally her chance!! To what? Nothing really-- just spend more time to him and get more clingy (like she wasn't enough before) and even MORE bubbly than before!! She was genuinely happy! And now with the useless knowledge that she was utterly and absolutely in love with him. Oh well. And... damn she fell even more for him now! LIKE 20× MORE!! STOP HER PLEASE!!

And uh well she's not very good at hiding it so yeah her secret didn't last long, maybe i'll write how the confession went someday! :)

So basically... at first he was like "What the fuck?? Why????" But uhm maybe er... maybe he uhm... you know-- maaaybeeeee--- okay im flustered BUT MAYBE he would realize in the moment that he was in... love too? Uhm... get a little... yk... awkward there... ,÷*×&×(× er-- I don't know!! I MEAN FUCK OF COURSE HE DID I LITERALLY SELF SHIPP WITH HIM UGH IM DUMB--

OKAY WE ARE DATING NOW. That's the point. 😭😭

It's awkward, not ideal for what people expect of a couple, we definitely still have our little silly banters, he does want to kill me! and i do like to annoy him!! BUT I LIKE IT THAT WAY!! We aren't a veeeery affectionate openly lovey dovey couple but we are deeply in love! And when we do have our little lovey dovey moments it's just us being two dumb messes who don't know a thing about what we are doing! Hand holding? Just the little fingers! Kisses? Barely cheek ones! (On my part obviously im kissing the hell outta his cheeks mwah mwah mwah) I mean, we are trying! I love him and he loves me!! Allot!!! Even if we get a little weird and flustered about it!

>//<

I like awkward dating. It's fun. I love my boyfriend. :>

Oh damn I realized I yapped allot, more than I should-- I was about to write my relationship with other minor characters in the game but uhm that's too much already! Sorry for making you read that much! ^^"

But thank you for reading anyways!! I really appreciate it <3 for reading to my ULTIMATE s/I yapping!! Or... well, a yapping about me! I hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to ask questions about my s/i or my self ship if you have any! Oh damn even yap back at me about your S/I's! F/O's? I would love to hear it! ^^

Bye everyone!!!~ ☆

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 53✧˚₊‧

The morning sun filtered through the trees of the temple courtyard as three small figures stood in a heated standoff over a wooden practice sword.

"I called dibs!" Megumi declared, his tiny fists clenched at his sides, his dark brows furrowed in a scowl far too serious for a seven-year-old. "It's my turn!"

Maki, a full head taller at eight, yanked the sword away with a scoff. "No way! You got to use it yesterday. And I need it—I can't even see curses without these stupid glasses!" She adjusted the thick-framed spectacles on her nose with her free hand, glaring.

Beside them, Mai—smaller, quieter, but with a sharpness in her eyes—crossed her arms. "You're both being dumb. Just share it."

"No!" they shouted in unison.

Before the argument could escalate further, the sliding door to the main building opened, and Rin stepped out, her hands on her hips. "Alright, enough. Mai, Megumi—come with me. We're going to practice cursed energy control."

Megumi groaned but trudged toward her, shooting one last glare at Maki. Mai hesitated, glancing at her sister, but followed after a nudge from Rin.

That left Maki standing alone in the courtyard, clutching the wooden sword like a lifeline. Her shoulders hunched, and she kicked at the dirt, her lips pressed into a stubborn pout.

Then��a hand landed on her shoulder.

"You know," Satoru said, grinning down at her, "it doesn't matter that you don't have cursed energy."

Maki huffed. "I do have some. A little."

He shrugged. "Won't matter either way."

She blinked up at him, confused.

Satoru's grin widened. "Come on. We've got a big day of training ahead."

Maki's grip tightened on the sword. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Maki followed Satoru through the bustling temple grounds, her small fingers wrapped tightly around the wooden practice sword. The air hummed with energy—both the usual kind and the crackling, visible pulses of cursed techniques from the new sorcerers who had recently joined them.

Their presence was impossible to ignore.

A woman with skin like cracked marble walked past, her arms shimmering with veins of glowing energy. Nearby, a man with elongated fingers—each digit tipped with a curved, obsidian claw—adjusted the straps of his training gear. Maki watched them with mild curiosity, unimpressed.

Weird, she thought, but not scary.

Mai had been terrified of whole group of them from the moment they arrived. Then again, Mai had grown up in the cushioned halls of the Zen’in manor, where even the slightest deviation from perfection was met with hushed whispers and sidelong glances. Maki, on the other hand, had learned early that the world wasn’t kind to those who stood out—unless they made sure no one dared to look down on them.

The newcomers weren’t nice, exactly. Most of them sneered at the kids, muttered under their breaths, or outright ignored them. But Maki had figured out quickly that if she kept her head down, stayed out of their way, and didn’t act afraid, they left her alone.

A sharp whistle snapped her attention back to Satoru.

"Eyes forward, kid," he said, grinning down at her. "You’re here to train, not gawk."

Maki scowled. "I wasn’t gawking."

"Sure, sure." He ruffled her hair, laughing when she swatted at his hand. "C’mon. Today’s lesson’s gonna be fun."

Maki rolled her eyes but followed him into the training yard anyway.

Satoru was… strange. Tall, obnoxious, always smiling like he knew something she didn’t. But he was also the only adult who didn’t treat her like she was made of glass just because she couldn’t see curses without her glasses. He didn’t coddle her. Didn’t pity her.

And, weirdest of all—he already seemed to know exactly what kind of weapons she’d like best.

The first time he’d handed her a halberd, she’d been suspicious. "How’d you know?" she’d demanded.

He’d just winked. "Lucky guess."

(She didn’t believe him. But she didn’t ask again.)

Now, as they reached the center of the yard, Satoru stretched his arms overhead with an exaggerated groan. "Alright, let’s see what you’ve got today."

Maki tightened her grip on the sword.

Maybe the new sorcerers were scary. Maybe Mai was right to be nervous.

But Maki wasn’t afraid.

Not when she had a path to walk.

And not when the biggest idiot in the world was leading the way.

Meanwhile in Kyoto the morning air rang with the sound of Haibara’s enthusiastic clap as he called out to his small group of students. "Alright, squad! Gather up!"

Nanako and Mimiko, already bouncing on their toes, hurried over immediately, their matching braids swaying. Yuta trailed slightly behind, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt—still new, still unsure—but Mimiko reached back without looking, her small hand closing around his wrist with a reassuring tug. "C’mon, Yuta! It’s fun, promise!"

Yuta offered a hesitant smile and quickened his pace.

Haibara crouched down to their eye level, his grin infectious. "Today’s lesson is all about control. We’re gonna work on maintaining a steady flow of cursed energy—all the time."

Yuta’s brow furrowed. "H-How do you even do that?"

"Easy!" Haibara winked. "Think of it like… humming a song. You don’t gotta belt it out, just keep it running in the background." To demonstrate, he held out his palm, where a faint, shimmering aura flickered to life—not a burst, not a flare, just a constant, quiet glow.

Nanako gasped. "Whoa! Like a nightlight!"

"Exactly!" Haibara laughed. "Now, Mimiko, you first. Imagine your cursed energy is a little thread. Hold onto it, but don’t pull too hard."

Mimiko shut her eyes, her nose scrunching in concentration. A wisp of pale energy curled around her fingers, unstable at first, then smoothing into a delicate ribbon.

"Perfect!" Haibara cheered. "Nanako, your turn!"

Nanako didn’t bother closing her eyes—she just stuck out her tongue and pushed, her energy flaring like a sparkler before sputtering out. She pouted. "Mine’s too loud!"

"That’s okay!" Haibara ruffled her hair. "Try whispering instead of shouting."

Yuta watched them, equal parts fascinated and nervous. When Haibara turned to him, he stiffened.

"No pressure," Haibara said softly. "Just breathe."

Yuta nodded. He inhaled—slow, shaky—and exhaled.

Nothing happened.

Then, so faint it was almost invisible, a thin veil of energy rippled around him, clinging like mist.

Haibara’s eyes lit up. "There it is! That’s control!"

Yuta blinked, stunned. "I… did it?"

"You are it," Haibara corrected, grinning. "Now, let’s see if you can keep it up while—" He suddenly lunged, tickling Nanako’s sides. She shrieked with laughter, her energy flaring wildly again.

"Hey! No fair!" Mimiko giggled, trying to mimic Yuta’s steady flow while dodging Haibara’s playful swipes.

Yuta, still glowing faintly, found himself smiling.

Maybe this was fun.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The meeting room was thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken grievances and fragile alliances. Yaga sat at the head of the table, his massive frame casting a shadow over the map of Japan spread across the whiteboard. Around him, the faces of sorcerers—old and new—watched with varying degrees of wariness and resolve.

Satoru lounged in his seat, one leg draped over the other, his ever-present grin and blindfold hiding the rest of what expression he'd really want to show. Beside him, Gakuganji sat rigid, his gnarled fingers steepled, while Kusakabe leaned back with his arms crossed, his usual scowl deeper than usual. Rin and Nanami were silent, their expressions unreadable. Shoko exhaled a slow stream of smoke from her cigarette, her gaze distant, while Utahime fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

Then there were the newcomers—Tanaka, a hulking man with skin like petrified wood; Lily, a sharp-eyed woman whose smile never touched her cold stare; and Juha, a hunched old woman who hadn’t spoken a word since entering.

Yaga took a breath and gestured to the map.

"For those new to these meetings," he began, his voice gravelly but measured, "this is where we stand." He circled three locations with a marker—Kyoto, Sendai, Fukuoka—each marked with a small, black ‘X.’ "These are the sites where we’ve retrieved ashes."

His marker then moved to two other circles—the Gojo estate, the Gakuganji estate—both labeled in red. "These were given willingly. Their power has been integrated into our efforts."

A murmur rippled through the room. Tanaka shifted, his massive shoulders rolling. "And what’s the point of all this?"

Yaga’s gaze didn’t waver. "To tip the scales in our favor and take away any of their opportunities to change it."

A beat of silence. Then—

Juha, the old woman, let out a rasping chuckle. "The boy," she croaked. "He’s been busy."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Nanami’s fists clenched. Rin’s breath hitched.

And Yaga, staring at the map, wondered—not for the first time—if they were already too late.

"He has," Yaga agreed. "His team, though using radical methods, has also managed to collect three sets of ashes."

"It doesn't matter," Satoru chimed in, "Suguru won't use them to go back yet, if at all. We need to be more concerned about future ashes he may create."

"So he still has the sorcerer capable?" Tanaka asked, "Shouldn't we focus on capturing that individual?"

"Yeah, but it's harder than you think," Satoru said with a smile.

"It's only hard because you won't just take her," Shoko said with a scowl.

Satoru shrugged. "I could do that, sure, but ideally we want her to agree to come with us willingly," he explained, "Her technique can cut through Limitless so I don't want to be on her bad side."

"You're saying our greatest weapon is afraid?" Tanaka taunted.

Satoru raised up his blindfold with this thumb, staring the big man down. "Oh, I'm sorry, you probably forgot that I could crush every single person here with my pinky. When I say something is an issue for me, you should take that seriously."

Yaga's finger tapped the map, circling a small, unmarked island off the coast. "Our next move is based on intel from Gakuganji," he said, his voice low and steady. "Endo—one of the higher-ups who went into hiding—has been operating from a hidden manor here. Until now, we couldn’t pinpoint its location."

Nanami adjusted his glasses, his tone clipped. "Has that intel already been disseminated among the ranks?"

Shoko exhaled a plume of smoke. "Yes."

The sharp-eyed woman—Lily—leaned forward, her painted nails tapping the table. "So the opposition already knows we’re coming." It wasn’t a question.

Satoru stretched his arms behind his head, grinning. "Yep. Probably knew before we even finished planning to have this meeting."

Rin’s fingers tightened around her cup of tea. "We’ve tried stealth before. Multiple times. They’re always waiting." She met the eyes of the newcomers. "Which means there’s a rat in the group. But at this point, it doesn’t matter."

Tanaka’s brow furrowed, his tree-bark skin creaking as he crossed his arms. "How the hell doesn’t it matter?"

Kusakabe cut in before Rin could respond. "Because when you’ve got this many Special Grades clashing, subterfuge is pointless." His voice was rough, pragmatic. "They’ll sense the cursed energy from miles away. They’ll know. So we don’t hide. We play counterattacks—keep their heavy hitters busy defending—and send whoever’s left to complete the real mission."

Yaga's voice cut through the murmurs of the room like a blade, his massive hands flattening against the table as he leaned forward. "Before we proceed, we need to address our most dangerous opponents—those who once stood with us and now stand against us."

He didn't need to raise his voice. The room fell silent.

"First and foremost," Yaga said, his tone leaving no room for debate, "Suguru Geto."

A ripple of unease passed through the gathered sorcerers. Even Satoru's ever-present smirk dimmed slightly at the name.

"Should he be spotted on the field in any capacity," Yaga continued, locking eyes with each person in the room, "Satoru Gojo is to be notified immediately, and everyone else is to clear the area. No hesitation. No discussion. Just leave."

No one argued. No one dared.

Yaga moved on. "The secondary issue is Yu Haibara." He tapped the map for emphasis. "His Domain Expansion, Beat Down, takes longer to descend than most, but its range is still undetermined. If you're trapped within it, it can inflict severe mental damage—if Haibara chooses to."

Nanami adjusted his glasses, interjecting calmly. "It's worth noting that Haibara is unlikely to permanently harm anyone. His technique is invasive, but he's not malicious."

Yaga nodded. "Agreed. But that doesn't make him any less dangerous in the field."

"Is Yuki still MIA?" Shoko asked.

"Yes, but we can't rule her out completely," Yaga said, "Should she arrive, she is another opponent for Gojo alone."

He paused for a moment before he continued. "Next, we have Larue and Miguel—two sorcerers who should not be underestimated. Larue's cursed technique specializes in sensory deprivation, and Miguel's physical prowess is on par with a Special Grade's. Do not engage them alone."

Then Yaga's voice dropped, his next words deliberate.

"And then there's Sarah."

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Yaga ignored him. "She is to be captured if possible. She may not take a visible position in the battle."

Utahime frowned. "She's not a frontline fighter?"

"No," Yaga admitted. "But she is dangerous—when paired with Haibara. Their techniques synergize in ways we still don't fully understand. Alone, she's harmless. Together, they're a problem."

A beat of silence.

Yaga's voice was firm as he met the eyes of each person at the table. "Sarah must be a priority. If we don't deal with her first, the others will be nearly invincible."

Tanaka, Lily, and Juha remained silent, but their expressions betrayed their confusion. Tanaka was the first to break the silence, his deep voice laced with skepticism. "What kind of technique makes the others untouchable?"

Satoru, who had been slouched in his chair with an air of forced indifference, let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll spell it out." He propped his feet up on the table, ignoring the irritated glances from the others. "Sarah's technique lets her absorb the damage meant for her allies. You stab Geto? She bleeds. You hit Haibara with a cursed technique? She takes the backlash. And the worst part?" He grinned, sharp and humorless. "She doesn't die. Ever."

Tanaka scoffed, crossing his massive arms. "No one can heal through infinite damage. Overwhelm her, and she'll break like anyone else."

"Ahhh, see, that's where you're wrong," Satoru sing-songed, wagging a finger. "She won't break. No matter how much you hit her. She's a tough cookie."

Tanaka's brow furrowed. "How is that possible?"

Satoru's grin didn't waver. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Yaga shot him a warning look before turning back to the group. "The point is, until Sarah is neutralized, any direct assault on the others is pointless. She’s the linchpin."

Satoru dropped his feet back to the floor, his playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. "Which is why no one engages until I find her."

The room erupted in protest.

"That’s ridiculous!" Yaga snapped.

"You can’t expect us to just sit back!" Kusakabe growled.

Shoko, who had been silent until now, exhaled a slow stream of smoke and fixed Satoru with a knowing look. "I know you want her back. But you can’t afford to be reckless."

Satoru's expression darkened. "This isn’t about what I want. It’s about the fact that none of you can handle her."

Juha's dry chuckle cut through the tension like a rusted blade. "Why not let the boy do as he pleases?" she croaked, her milky eyes glinting with something between amusement and indifference. "He’s a Special Grade, isn’t he? Let him handle his own."

Shoko’s cigarette glowed as she took a slow drag, her gaze steady. "If we wait too long, the target dies. And then what? We lose our chance to end this cleanly."

Nanami adjusted his glasses, his voice measured but firm. "The issue isn’t just the ashes, Gojo. It’s the bodies piling up." He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Suguru’s faction is committing murders. Even if we overthrow the higher-ups, we can’t stop the Japanese government from demanding justice for the dead. So far, we’ve managed to keep the killings contained—but that won’t last. Not with new sorcerers joining both sides. Not when the lines are already blurred."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Yaga’s jaw tightened. "This isn’t just about power. It’s about legitimacy. If we want to rebuild, we can’t do it on a foundation of unchecked slaughter."

Satoru huffed, leaning back in his chair with his arms hanging down loosely. "Not a problem. I'll be in and out faster than you can—"

"Satoru," Yaga warned.

Satoru groaned and clicked his tongue. "Fine, you tell me your plan and I'll decide if I like it."

Yaga’s voice was steady as he laid out the strategy, his thick finger tracing the rough sketch of the island compound on the map.

"We operate under the assumption that Suguru won’t show himself yet," he began. "He’ll flood the area with curses instead, testing our response. The compound has four floors, a screened courtyard, and a pool area—plenty of space for ambushes."

He pointed to the main entrance.

"Satoru will take the most direct path, as usual. His priority is locating Sarah. If she’s there, he alone handles her." His gaze flicked to Satoru, who gave a lazy salute, his expression unreadable.

"Nanami, Rin, and Tanaka will follow Satoru’s advance, focusing on intercepting Miguel and Larue if they engage. Your job is containment, not elimination."

Nanami gave a curt nod. Tanaka cracked his knuckles but said nothing.

"Haibara will position himself in the middle floors, ready to deploy his Domain if needed. His role is suppression—keeping the enemy pinned while we secure the objective. Ideally we all avoid him, but if he should capture someone we know we'll have at least three minutes to act without worry."

"Juha, Lily, Kusakabe and Utahime will move in after the initial push, reinforcing where necessary. I will go personally to retrieve the ashes along with three of our students. Any remaining sorcerers will focus on exorcising curses in the area."

Yaga’s voice hardened as he leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the table.

"One rule—absolute. No killing. Not a single sorcerer dies by our hands. Suguru’s faction has avoided killing our people, and we will extend the same courtesy."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"And if they don’t hold back?" Lily asked, her sharp eyes narrowing.

"Then we make them," Yaga said flatly. "We’re not here to escalate. We’re here to end this."

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as Satoru stepped out of the meeting hall, his hands buried deep in his pockets. The breeze ruffled his white hair, but his mind was elsewhere—sharp, restless, turning over every possibility.

His jaw clenched, then unclenched.

Something was up.

Suguru wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t orchestrate all of this—the theatrics, the proxies, the demonstrations—without a purpose. But what was the endgame?

This was a trap, obviously. But for what? To break him? To prove a point? To force his hand?

Satoru smirked. It didn’t matter.

Just like in his first life, he’d walk right into it—eyes open, fists ready. Because that was the thing about traps. They only worked if you couldn’t tear them apart and Satoru had only met one cage that could hold him.

With a slow exhale, he tilted his head toward the sky, the Six-Eyes burning beneath his blindfold.

Alright, Suguru. Let’s see what you’ve got.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Suguru capped his marker with a soft click, his grin sharp as he surveyed his gathered allies. The makeshift war room—a dimly lit back room of the island manor—was cluttered with maps and scribbled notes, but the energy in the air was electric.

Sarah sat cross-legged on the floor, idly twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Beside her, Haibara nudged her arm playfully, earning a small, knowing smile.

"Satoru will go straight for Sarah, like always," Suguru said, tapping the map where the main entrance was marked. "We can count on that."

Boe, arms crossed, leaned against the wall. "So we’re just doing the same thing as always? How’s that gonna work?"

Suguru’s grin widened. "Because this time, they won’t expect what we’re going to do."

Haibara perked up. "Ohhh, is this the time for the song I’ve been practicing?"

"Exactly," Suguru confirmed. "This time, we play it a little harder."

Boe’s eyes narrowed. "You sure about that?"

Suguru met her gaze, his smile softening just slightly. "It’s going to be alright. Satoru always recovers."

A beat of silence. Then—

Miguel cracked his neck. "So. We let them think they’ve got us figured out, then hit them with the Domain?"

"Not just the Domain," Suguru corrected. "The song."

Mo, the skinny young man who’d been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. "They won’t know what’s coming."

Suguru’s fingers drummed against the table. "No. They won’t."

Outside, the wind howled against the manor’s walls.

Boe’s marker hit the table with a sharp clack as Suguru caught it mid-air. The room’s atmosphere, once charged with strategy, now crackled with tension.

"So what, you’re not showing up again?" Boe demanded, arms crossed. "You’re just gonna sit back and let everyone else handle Satoru while you—what? Hide?"

Suguru’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. "It’s not hiding. It’s strategy."

"Bullshit," Boe snapped. "If you want him to understand so badly, why don’t you just talk to him? Like a normal person?"

"Because he’s stubborn," Suguru bit out.

"Oh, like you aren't?" Boe shot back, mocking.

Suguru’s fingers twitched around the marker.

Boe wasn’t done. "If he doesn’t get how bad things are, then show him. Not through some fucked-up mind games, not by dangling Sarah in front of him like bait—just talk."

Haibara, lounging against the wall, let out a soft chuckle. "It makes sense, though."

Boe whipped her head toward him. "What does?"

"You know. It." Haibara grinned, and Sarah muffled a laugh behind her hand.

Boe’s eyes narrowed. She looked between them, then back at Suguru. "...Are they okay?"

Suguru waved a dismissive hand. "They’re fine."

But even Larue and Miguel exchanged glances—subtle, but uneasy.

Miguel's brow furrowed as he leaned forward, his deep voice cutting through the lingering tension. "This 'song' Haibara keeps talking about—if it goes off, will it pull us into it too?"

Larue chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, come on, you worried about getting caught in the drama?"

"It's not that," Miguel snapped, shooting him a glare. "I don't like the idea of being trapped in some damn Domain with no control."

Haibara, still grinning, waved a hand dismissively. "If you get caught in it, just enjoy the ride."

Miguel clicked his tongue in irritation but didn’t press further.

Suguru interjected, his tone smooth but firm. "The ashes aren’t the priority. Let Yaga’s faction have them."

Boe crossed her arms. "Should we at least pretend we care? If we don’t put up a fight, Gojo’s gonna realize something’s up."

Suguru nodded. "Exactly. Play the part. But don’t waste energy on it."

Sarah stretched with a dreamy sigh, her arms arching over her head before she slung one lazily around Haibara’s waist. "Well, I’m heading to bed. Big day tomorrow."

Haibara laughed and, without warning, hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of rice. She shrieked in mock protest as he took off down the hall, their laughter fading into the distance.

Boe watched them go, her lips pressed into a thin line. There was something... off about those two lately. Too playful. Too unbothered.

She glanced at Suguru, but he was already turning away, his expression unreadable.

Larue broke the silence, his voice low. "...She is coming back for the fight, right?"

Suguru chuckled, dark and knowing. "Oh, she’ll be there."

The room fell quiet again, the weight of tomorrow pressing down on them.

The manor’s dim hallway swallowed Suguru’s footsteps as he stepped out of the meeting room—only to be stopped by a sudden tug on his sleeve.

Boe stood there, fingers clenched in the fabric of his robe, her gaze fixed on the floor instead of him.

"What’s wrong?" Suguru asked, voice softer than he intended.

She didn’t answer at first. Then, barely above a whisper: "...I’m worried about this plan."

"Why?"

Her grip tightened. "What happens if we fuck with Gojo too much?"

Suguru exhaled, almost amused. "You know him. He won’t break from something like this."

Boe’s jaw worked silently before she forced out the next question. "...How did you get Sarah to agree to this?"

"She’s ready to help," he said simply.

Boe’s eyes flicked down to her pocket—then back up, sharp and searching. "Are you sure about this?"

"You don’t need to worry."

He reached out, brushing his fingers through her hair in a gesture that used to comfort her.

She flinched.

Suguru’s hand froze mid-air, his stomach dropping.

Boe stepped back, her fingers now curled around a folded piece of paper—crumpled from how tightly she’d been clutching it. For a heartbeat, Suguru considered asking.

But he didn’t.

And as she turned and walked away, the guilt settled heavy in his chest.

Because he knew that look.

It was the same one she’d given him the day he’d first lied to her.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Sarah danced along the manor’s rooftop ledge, barefoot and weightless, the tiles warm beneath her toes. The wind kissed her skin like a lover, whispering secrets in hues she could taste—indigo like crushed violets, gold like honey on the tongue.

She hummed, a melody without a name, as the sky bled into liquid watercolors above her. The clouds weren’t just white; they pulsed pearl-pink-lavender, shimmering like the inside of a seashell.

Beautiful.

Her fingers tangled in her own hair, tugging just enough to feel the sweet sting. A giggle bubbled up, unbidden.

Everything was soft. Everything was bright.

No sadness. No pain.

Just the hum in her veins, the universe singing her name in a key only she could hear.

She hadn’t had a bad day in ages.

And wasn’t that wonderful?

Sarah crouched down, fingers threading through Saturn’s sleek, moon-bright fur. The massive cursed spirit stared up at her with eyes too knowing, too human, and let out a soft whine.

So sad, she thought, tilting her head.

"It’s alright," she murmured, scratching behind his long ears. "Suguru knows what he’s doing."

Saturn huffed, his breath warm against her wrist.

"Not forever," she promised, her smile lazy, golden. "C’mon, let’s go see Satoru again—"

A presence loomed behind her. She turned—too fast, too unsteady—and nearly collided with Miguel’s broad chest.

"Woops!" She giggled, swaying. "Sorry ‘bout that."

Miguel’s lips curled, his smile sharp enough to cut. "You should go back inside."

Sarah blinked. "Why?"

"Geto wants everyone rested."

Saturn’s growl vibrated through the tiles beneath them. For a flickering moment, the colors in Sarah’s vision dimmed. Was that a request? Or an order?

Then Miguel’s hand settled on her shoulder—heavy, final—and the haze rushed back in, sweet and syrupy.

"C’mon, princess," he said, steering her toward the door. "Dreamtime."

Sarah let herself be led, humming again. But Saturn didn’t follow. And somewhere, deep down, a voice—small, distant—whispered:

This isn’t right.

But the wind stole the words away and the colors swallowed them whole.

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