#to be fair to myself I was eleven years old

[strangersteddierthings]

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

A continuation of Bad News First, Eddie. I am absolutely floored by the responses I received, and I will try my best to tag everyone who asked. I know it's not Eddie's part, but chronologically, Wayne's part felt right.

-

Of all the things Wayne’s been called, unobservant isn’t one of them. He’s lived in Hawkins his entire life. He knows who is who, what is what, and to keep his head down and believe there’s a cougar in the woods when he’s told.

So, when Nancy Wheeler shows up, asking questions, Wayne has answers. Is willing to give those answers because he remembers when little Will Byers went missing, and how Nancy and her friends had done more to try and find him than the entire police force of Hawkins. Nancy and her friends always seemed to be in the orbit of whatever terrible thing was happening in Hawkins these last few years.

So, foolishly, terribly, he doesn’t intervene. He thought they were like that Scooby Doo cartoon Eddie used to love; kids solving mysteries. If he’d known the true extent of the horror, he wouldn’t have let those kids go it alone. But he didn’t know then.

-

Still didn’t know the day he pretends to not know who Dustin Henderson is while swapping out Eddie’s missing poster. It’s easier than having to face someone who knows Eddie, someone who had been looking for him but failed to find him.

Until Dustin calls after him. Until Dustin speaks to him. Hands him Eddie’s necklace. Wayne can’t stand anymore, this breaks him. Dustin says he was with him, in the end. Calls Eddie a hero, said people would have loved him had they known him. It’s nothing Wayne doesn’t already know.

Eddie is his hero. He loves Eddie. And if he’d stepped in sooner, chased down these kids and asked just what the fuck was happening, maybe he could have changed the ending of this story.

-

Hawkins explodes into a hellscape days later and Wayne sets out to find Nancy Wheeler. If Eddie gave his life to protect these kids, then Wayne must strive to do no less.

Nancy’s got a good head on her shoulders, willing to accept any help offered. He can see how she’s survived this long. She gets in in touch with Hopper, who introduces him to Doctor Sam Owens and Lt Colonel Jack Sullivan.

-

He doesn’t think it’s fair that the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl.

-

It’s Dustin who tells him the whole story, the night before the end. Either Eleven will win tomorrow, or she won’t, but the outcome gets decided then.

“I’m s-so sorry, Mr. M-Munson. We just… just left him there!” Dustin breaks down crying and Wayne reaches out to him, an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. If Wayne sheds a few tears, too, well. Who can blame him?

“Doctor Owens, a word,” Wayne pulls the man aside after the kids have gone to bed. “Dustin said… my boy is just yards away from our trailer. He didn’t even get out of the park. I understand it’s an all hands on deck situation, but can anyone be spared? Can anyone bring my boy back? I’ll go myself if I have to.”

Doctor Owens, a genuinely kind man, Wayne can tell, has tears filling his eyes just at the request. “Mr. Munson, we will do everything in our power to bring your boy home.”

-

Doctor Owens pays for the headstone. Said it was the least he could do since his team failed. Wayne tries not to be bitter about it.

The graffiti starts up almost immediately. Wayne doesn’t understand why.

-

He thinks he’s caught someone in the act, grabs roughly at the perpetrator and yanks. The Harrington boy stumbles up and back, a little bit of fear in his eyes but no paint in hand. He’s holding a rag and small container of paint thinner. A quick look between Harrington and the grave, he can see the half-cleaned headstone.

He’s never spoken much with Harrington, but Dustin has nothing bad to say.

“You know my boy?” because he can’t bring himself to say ‘knew’ just yet.

Harrington looks just about as haunted as Wayne feels when he says, so quietly, “Not as well as I would have liked, sir.”

-

Wayne is observant, but even he can admit it takes longer than he thought to figure out Steve Harrington. That boy had put himself between those kids and danger again, and again, and again, and lived. Eddie did it once and… well, Wayne reckons Steve thinks it should have been him. He won’t say so out loud, but Wayne sees a lot of his younger self in Steve, knows him in much the same way he knows himself.

Steve lives with a guilt he shouldn’t; this was Eddie’s choice. His reckless, dangerous, courageous choice. And they’ve got to learn to live with it. Steve’s parents are absent, and Wayne’s nephew is gone. Without any conscious decision about it, they’ve adopted each other.

Steve wants to know everything about Eddie. Every little story Wayne can come up with. And he, well, he loves that someone wants to know. Wants to remember Eddie with him.

“Bad news. I regret not knowing him sooner,” Steve confesses to him one day as they scrub the headstone clean again.

“Good news. You know him now,” Wayne replies.

“Do I?”

Wayne can’t answer that. Not honestly one way or another. How well can you know someone from secondhand information? Steve spent a total of five days in his nephew’s company but he helps keep his memory alive. “I don’t know. What I do know is that Eddie Munson won’t be forgotten when I die. And that matters.”

-

He gets in an accident at the plant. He doesn’t remember what happened, not fully, but he knows that Steve never left his side. Demanded his come stay in his big empty house. Easier to move around in, with all the open space.

Wayne wasn’t really attached to his apartment anyway. If he was going to live the rest of his life in a home that had never known Eddie’s presence, it could at least be with someone who had known Eddie’s presence, however briefly.

-

Wayne wonders if he’s done the right thing sometimes. Indulging Steve’s need to know Eddie. At first, he thought it was fine, because learning about Eddie seemed to alleviate Steve’s guilt. But now.

He’s watching the boy fall in love with a ghost.

Helping it happen, even.

Robin and Steve aren’t nearly as quiet or subtle as they think, and Wayne’s observant. They seem to forget that Wayne’s just old, and not deaf and blind.

Or maybe, they’re comfortable enough that they don’t truly hide from him.

And it hurts his heart to think this (because he’s thinking it about his Eddie, wonderful, loving Eddie) but Steve deserves to love more than a ghost.

-

And then the kids graduate. Start to go to college. Steve acts fine, but he’s not. Wayne knows. It’s like he’s losing his purpose, but Wayne’s just as broken. Not strong enough to push Steve away. To make Steve go, too.

Honestly, he’s a little afraid that if he tried, then Steve would follow right after Eddie.

So, he doesn't. He decides he needs Steve, and perhaps even more so, Steve needs him.

-

Then, five years after Eddie’s death, the call happens. It’s about his piece of shit little brother, Wyatt. He’s gotta go, though. Because this is one last strand of Eddie. Eddie’s mother has been gone longer than Eddie, and fuck, Wyatt deserves to know. Wayne doesn’t claim to be a saint; if his brother wasn’t being released, he’d probably never tell him. He’d let him die in that prison believing his son is alive.

He doesn’t even know if Wyatt will care that Eddie’s gone. But he’s got to find out.

Steve drives him to the airport and no matter how many times Wayne says he’s coming back, Steve doesn’t seem to believe him.

-

But it’s not his shitty little brother waiting to greet him in Tennessee. It’s Eleven.

“Sorry for the lie, Mr. Munson,” she says. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I learned but Doctor Owens said that, this one time, we needed to be right before we could be honest.”

It’s Eddie. It’s Eddie Wyatt Munson, who looks at him shyly, almost as if afraid, from the apartment doorway Eleven takes him to. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

It’s five fucking years too late but he pulls Eddie in a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

-

Wayne learns.

They had found him, barely alive. It was better, they said, to take him away. Let the town cool down while Eddie healed, but he was catatonic for the better part of these last five years.

“Eddie woke up empty,” Eleven says softly, apropos nothing sitting next to Wayne as they watch Eddie discuss next steps with Owens. “He could be told to do things. Drink this. Eat that. His eyes never focused on anything. Doctor Owens called him a shell. I asked what that means. He said that Eddie’s body worked, but his mind did not because Eddie was not in his own mind anymore. But I knew he was in there. I had to get him back.” She reaches a hand out, waving in the general direction of Eddie’s head.

This surprises Wayne. “You brought him back?”

“Memory by memory,” Eleven says, picking at her pants leg. “Even the painful ones. Doctor Owens says every memory shapes who we are, even tough ones.”

Wayne looks at Eleven, a young woman of nineteen now, but remembers how scared and brave she’d been at fourteen.  “Words cannot express how thankful I am for you.”

“I did it for you. And maybe a little bit for me.”

Wayne makes a humming noise. Not truly questioning, but an acknowledgment of what she said. If she wants to share her reasons, he won’t stop her. He’s just not going to pry.

“I chose my friend. I chose Max.”

He knows. “You made the right choice.”

“I know. I am not guilty about it,” she frowns as she thinks about her words. “But Dustin is my friend, too, and I knew Eddie was his friend. But I cared more about Max. I had to do all I could to make it right. For you. For Dustin. For me.”

Wayne doesn’t have words, so he just pulls Eleven into a hug. It must convey all he needs because when she pulls back, she beams at him.

-

Wayne fills Eddie in on what has happened as best he can. It’s such a jarring difference, speaking to Eddie about Steve than it had been speaking to Steve about Eddie. Eddie just looks confused for most of it and doesn’t really ask followup questions, but Wayne understands. Eddie had known Steve for five days and he’s got time to really get to know Steve now. Steve thought all he’d ever have of Eddie is someone else’s memories.

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie breaths out, all wonder and awe and- Well, maybe Wayne isn’t as observant as he had always thought. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie stutters over his words, eyes wide and wild. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles and lies, as if he hadn’t just watched all the pieces slot together in this moment.

“So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington?” Eddie is blushing but he blows past Wayne’s question. “Will he… be okay with me being there?”

Steve’s been loving a ghost, is what Wayne thinks. Steve’s been in love with a ghost and this. This is a ghost story that can have a better ending. But he’s not going to make those declarations for Steve, so what he says is, “yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all.”

Eddie smiles to himself, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind.

If he hadn’t just figured it out two minutes ago, that would have been a dead giveaway that his boy might be a little bit in love with Steve.

-

He calls Steve. Tells him he’s coming home and bringing a guest. Steve says that’s fine, he’ll fix up Robin’s old room into a guest room.

-

“This isn’t the way to the Harrington house,” Eddie observes from the passenger seat of the rental car Doctor Owens had paid for, to get them from Indianapolis back to Hawkins.

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed.”

“The cemetery?”

Wayne shrugs, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once. Ah. See, there he is.” Wayne points and Eddie’s eyes follow.

Something akin to wonder passes over Eddie’s face and he all but falls out of the car before it’s even stopped.

Wayne thinks he’ll give them five or so minutes before following.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

After sandwiches, Nancy turns to El. “Could you look for Barb again?”

El sets her mouth and nods. She glances at Steve, who also nods and moves to set up the living room again.

Eddie follows him in and picks up the blindfold. Steve doesn’t try to hide his smirk. “You’ve got questions, I’m guessing?”

Eddie shrugs, leans against the couch. Watches the fabric as he pulls it through his fingers. Right hand, left hand. Right, left. “Mostly thinking I was wrong about you. Even more than I initially thought.”

Steve smiles. “We never got to have this conversation in the future, but I do know what your bandana means.” He stops for a second, watches Eddie’s hands. Right, left. “I’m offering… not an olive branch, per se, but…”

“An invitation?” Right, left.

“Exactly.” He shrugs. “If there’s anything you want to know…” he trails off, lets it hang in the air.

Eddie smiles. “Just one thing.” He holds it up in his left hand. “Who d’you use it on?”

Steve grins and turns away, looking for the remote. “Myself.” His smile falls. “Or- I did. You heard about the Russians, right?”

Eddie steps up beside him. Offers him the blindfold. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Steve shrugs. “I’d say if I could go back in time, but…” he gestures around with a grin, letting it widen when Eddie chuckles. “Turns out going back in time does nothing for the memories I already have.”

Eddie frowns. “Kinda fucked up, isn’t it? Your body reverted back to its sixteen-year-old self, but your brain is still twenty.”

“I mean, imagine me coming to school one day looking like this, and the next I come in with scars, looking half a decade older. People would talk.”

Eddie hums. “You’re probably right. Still, it can’t be easy, having those mental reminders with none of the physical.”

Steve grins at him. “Did you miss the part where I don’t have concussions?”

Eddie snorts. “Fair enough. Still, I bet the scars looked badass.”

“Very metal,” Steve agrees. “Y’know, if you’d survived? We woulda had matching scars.” He trails a hand down his side. “The bats ripped us both open. Woulda gotten me if you, Robin and Nance hadn’t gotten there when you did. You took on a bat with nothing but an oar from a rowboat.” He turns to look at Eddie. “You told me once, how you’re a coward. How you run.” He shakes his head, looks away. “You didn’t. Not when it mattered. And you won’t this time.”

“Maybe this time we’ll have matching not-scars,” Eddie says, then points at Steve. “And no concussions.”

“And no concussions,” Steve parrots, laughing. “If we have to deal with the Russians again, though? I’m definitely doing something different.”

“We,” Eddie murmurs, shrugging when Steve looks at him. “We’ll do something different. You think any of these kids are gonna leave you alone after this? You think Eleven will leave you alone?”

“I hope not,” Steve answers honestly. “And you? You’re staying?”

Eddie shrugs again. “You said I didn’t run when it mattered. Who’s to say this doesn’t matter just as much? I’m not running.”

Steve smiles softly at him. “You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie levels him with a look. “I sell weed, Steve.”

Steve snorts. “I’m well aware, dude, I’ve bought from you before. If all goes well, I’m planning on buying another.”

Eddie laughs. “Hell, man, if it all goes well, I’ll give it to you, free of charge.”

Steve winks. “I’ll hold you to it,” he says, then leaves Eddie to process while he goes to get El.

Of course wherever El goes, Mike’s not far behind, which means he, Dustin and Lucas follow, and of course Nancy follows, and since everyone else is already in there, Jonathan and Robin follow too, so they all end up crammed in the living room again, with bated breaths and tightly-held hands, as El settles in front of the TV and puts the blindfold on.

Finally, she speaks. “I see her. She is alive.”

Nancy slumps into the couch and lets out a breath.

Then El speaks again. “She does not have very long.”

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[queermania]

Ok so I have a real question not trying to start discourse or any thing. If Dean knew how he felt about Cas slash knew he liked men why was he always so weird about gay people. I can see a reading where Dean knew how he felt about Cas but not one where he knew he was bi

this is totally a fair question and i don't think there's any one True reading or interpretation of the show/characters so it really just depends on what version of events resonates the most with you. the way the picture makes the most sense to me is that dean is a guy who was raised in the 80s-90s in a hyper-masculine environment with zero stability. i think all of those puzzle pieces slotted into place in his brain in a way that said "sex with men is okay, feelings are not." a furtive hookup with a dude in a seedy bar bathroom is fine. going on a date with a guy is prohibited.

and the thing is that this is kind of true for dean when it comes to women as well. a one night stand is a-okay. falling in love and settling down is not. so, you take that sort of mentality and then apply all the homophobia of growing up in the eighties and the nineties and a life lived out of a car bouncing between truck stops and, well, you get a dean who is absolutely flabbergasted when confronted with the fact that not only are you allowed to want something romantic with a man, you're allowed to say it out loud to other people. you're allowed to have it.

dean wasn't weird about gay people, necessarily. he was weird about people who were able to just be themselves. he didn't know that was an option. also, i don't know about y'all but as a queer person who doesn't necessarily read as queer at a glance, i too get Very Awkward when confronted with another queer person in the wild and it's not because i'm homophobic. it's because oh! new friend! must send telepathic signals that me queer too! my behavior around other queer people in queer spaces does not match my behavior around other queer people in random public spaces. i'm embarrassing and i see that part of myself in dean lol.

and dean being weird about other people making comments about his perceived queerness, to me, is a very normal reaction for a closeted person (or even someone who is selectively and/or quietly out). you can be perfectly at peace with who you are and still not want to be clocked. like???? homophobia is not a thing of the past. dean grew up during the AIDS crisis. he was, what? nineteen years old when matthew sheppard was killed? his reactions to people insinuating he might be anything even close to queer make perfect sense for someone his age, living the life that he did.

also, like, here's the thing: i realized i was queer when i was about eleven and i freaked out about it for about a day and then promptly suppressed the whole thing because of a deeply traumatizing childhood. being queer was the least of my worries and there was never any time to unpack it and deal with it so i just didn't. and then when i was about nineteen i started to have queer sexual/romantic relationships but continued to suppress the fact that EYE was in fact queer because, again, i didn't really have the space to unpack it. it wasn't until i was about twenty-three and surrounded by other queer people (in a platonic way) that i finally felt safe to fully admit to myself and to other people that i was in fact queer. and then i never really did a whole coming out thing. i just... lived my life openly as a queer person and let other people figure it out.

my point in all this is that i feel like my general experience/trajectory lines up really well with how i view dean's. he had a very traumatic upbringing so while he knew he was attracted to men, he had no time or space to deal with it. that didn't stop him from having sex with men, but he never really unpacked what it actually meant. it wasn't until he was older and had openly queer friends that he felt safe enough to fully acknowledge that part of himself. and then.. that was it. he just lived his life as a queer man. like, i feel like we actually watched that happen over the course of the show???

most importantly, i cannot handle any reading where everyone else knows dean is queer but dean does not know himself. i especially loathe the idea that sam Knows and has to explain dean's own sexuality to himself. that is so ugly. dean is a very self-aware person. you could even argue he is perhaps too self-aware at times.

anyway, this is all obviously just a watsonian explanation of dean's relationship to his queerness. it doesn't even touch on the doylist stuff but that's a whole can of worms i'm not really interested in opening on tumblr dot edu right now.

so, yeah. that's my personal reading.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 23 You’re an Angel, I’m a dog

Chapter 23 of Sugar

A/N- WAIT WAIT— “I’ll never be a son.” And “I’ll never be his favorite son.” Fits Choso and mc to a tea especially in this chapter!!!

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, spoilers, NFSW? Not really though it’s light, talks of miscarriage, SLOW BURN, heavy pining, long chapter

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Takes place during- Chapters 145 & 146, and the beginning portion of 203 & 207, of the Manga

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

This is Tengen? This tall pale thing?

You always imagined they’d be more majestic looking considering how old they are and the responsibility they hold, but they look more like a pale four-eyed alien.

“Aren’t you gonna say hello to me Tengen?” Yuki remarks after she was left out of his sudden greeting.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve met Yuki Tsukumo.” They finally address her and they sound annoyed. “Why did you close off the tombs of the Star Corridor? I was afraid you might be in alignment with Kenjaku. After all, I cannot see into the human heart.”

Kenjaku? Who the hell is Kenjaku?

“Kenjaku?” You probe and slide your hands off Choso’s arms now that your fear has subsided.

“The sorcerer who was Noritoshi Kamo and is now inhabiting the body of Suguru Geto,” Tengen shares.

“That name suggests compassion and salvation. Gimme a break,” Yuki snaps.

“Master Tengen, why do you look like that?” Itadori suddenly interrupts, making your eyes widen with bewilderment.

“Itadori,” you scold.

“What?” He asks you over his shoulder as if that question isn’t obviously rude to ask someone.

“You can’t ask someone that,” you whisper sharply. “Even if they are centuries old. You can’t ask that.”

“I was just curious.”

“I may be immortal,” Tengen cuts in, making both Itadori and you look forward, but that was a mistake considering they tug on a creepy-looking smile. “But I'm not immune to aging. After 500 years, you’d look like this too.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust and mentally groan.

You’d rather die than look like that.

“Eleven years ago, after failing to merge with a Star Plasma Vessel.”

“Riko Amanai,” you cut in bitterly, making all eyes fall on you, including all four of Tengen’s—“considering she died trying to get to you, why don’t you have the decency to actually say her name.”

Tengen looks into your eyes, and no matter how intimidating they actually look, you don’t falter, you challenge them and stand by your ground.

“Riko Amanai,” they give in. “After I failed to merge with her my aging accelerated and my self-awareness as an individual diminished. The very world became myself.”

“And that’s why your “voice” doesn’t proliferate,” Yuki adds before Fushiguro raises his hand and politely interjects.

“Excuse me, but…”

“We came to ask about Kenjaku’s objectives,” Okkotsu continues for Fushiguro. “And how to open the prison realm. Will you tell us what you know?”

Your face drops the annoyed hardened expression and paints on a hopeful one as you wait for a solution to your brother's predicament.

“I wish I could simply say yes,” Tengen crushes your hopes. “But there is one condition. Yuta Okkotsu, Yuki Tsukumo, Y/N Gojo…”

Huh?

“…and the Death Painting Womb. Three of you must remain here to serve as my guards.”

You roll your eyes and press your hands on your hips as your annoyance returns.

For someone so mighty they still surely sound human.

And why do they need guards?

“Guards? Aren’t you immortal?” Okkotsu steals the words out of your mind.

“Are you worried about the seal?” Maki chimes in.

“No fair!” Yuki whines. “You haven’t even told us why or for how long we’d have to do it!”

“So then shall I speak of Kenjaku?” Tengen ignores Yuki and everyone else. “His objective is to force the evolution of all human beings throughout the land of Japan.

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, he yapped on about that,” you interject. “We want to know exactly what he intends. Why didn’t he use your barrier that time and turn everyone in Japan into sorcerers via Idle transfiguration?”

“He lacks the cursed energy to do that,” Tengen says. “Cursed energy that has been refined through Uzumaki cannot return to the sorcerer...”

Well, you knew that because of Suguru. You just thought Kenjaku would be different considering he’s old and he has the technique to jump into others’ bodies.

“…triggering an evolution in each individual with a cursed technique is incredibly inefficient. The method of evolution that Kenjaku has chosen is the merging of humankind and me.”

Is that…even possible?

“Is that even possible?” Itadori voices your same concern but in a much louder way.

“Isn’t that impossible for anyone but a Star Plasma vessel?” Fushiguro mutters his question.

“Yes,” Tengen nods. “The way I was before, but now that I have evolved for the past 11 years it would not be impossible for me to merge with someone other than a Star Plasma Vessel.”

Then they should have probably tried to protect Amanai more.

“But you’re only one person right?” Choso asks. “How could you merge with multiple people?”

“I am not what you see before you at the moment,” Tengen explains, making your eyebrows knot with confusion. “My evolved soul exists all around us. As I said, my self is now the world itself. A human who merges with me transforms into something greater than a sorcerer, as a new being that is both there and not there. I posses barrier techniques so I am able to maintain this form and self-control even after evolving. However,” they input. “If humankind evolves, and even if only one person rages out of control the world will end.”

You swallow thickly out of discomfort and shift your stance.

“Why?” Yuki inquiries.

“There would be no boundaries between individuals,” Tengen says. “So evil would spread instantaneously. The impurity of a hundred million people would flood the world. What just happened to Tokyo would happen to the entire world.”

“Why would Kenjaku do that?” You ask for the curious group.

Tengen shrugs stiffly. “I do not know. As I said, I cannot read the human heart.”

Hm.

“So why don’t you just refuse to merge?” Maki asks something that should be simple to solve. Tengen wouldn't be needing guards if it was that simple.

“That is the problem,” Tengen proves you right. “Now that I have evolved I am more cursed spirit than human being. That makes me a target for cursed spirit manipulation.”

You gasp in disbelief and your world then falls silent, and all you can think about is if Miguel was right.

“Considering Kenjaku’s ability as a sorcerer he might be able to seize me the moment we encounter each other,” Tengen continues. “That is why my main body is rejecting everything at the tombs of the star corridor.”

Was it your fault? All this? All because you couldn’t even look at his body after he died?

“And the reason you want guards, right?” Okkotsu asks, making Tengen nod in agreement.

“Yes. Kenjaku is the second-most powerful barrier user after me. I don’t know when he will undo the seal of the tombs.”

Tengen surely fails to answer a lot of questions.

“Why now?” You step forward to ask with growing concern. “Kenjaku prevented a merging with a Star Plasma Vessel and forced your evolution, and wants to consume and control you through cursed manipulation.”

“Apparently he was also involved with Sukuna,” Yuki bounces in. “So he’s been a sorcerer for at least 1,000 years, so why now?”

“I,” Tengen points at their chest. “The Star Plasma Vessel, and the Six Eyes, are all connected by fate.”

You blink and slowly your confusion is replaced by disbelief while realization slowly seeps through.

“In the past, Kenjaku has twice lost to sorcerers of the Six Eyes. The second time, he took no chances and killed the Star Plasma Vessel and Six Eyes less than one month after they were born. Nonetheless, on the day of merging, the Six Eyes and Star Plasma Vessel appeared.”

“Which is why he sealed my brother away, I assume,” you interject with your thoughts.

“Yes, after that Kenjaku switched to sealing instead of eradicating the Six Eyes and began searching for the Prison Realm,” Tengen shares nonchalantly. “Because two bearers of the Six Eyes cannot appear at the same time.”

Hm. Well, thank the stars for that.

“But then the unexpected happened 11 years ago when Toji Zen’in intervened. He was physically gifted through heavenly restriction and on top of that he was an anomaly who had escaped from cursed energy.”

You try not to but you steal a glance at the son of Toji Zen’in, whom doesn’t know thanks to your brother's lack of sharing. It explains his lack of reaction now too because of it.

It sucks! You need him to know already!

“As a human being who had escaped fate through the power of restriction, he destroyed our destinies,” Tengen goes on. “Then came along a boy with cursed manipulation.”

You drop your eyes and frown sadly at the ground.

“Suddenly all the pieces had come together except for the prison realm. Then even that fell into his hands six years ago.”

Almost like fate. Cruel fate.

“So why is the Culling Games happening?” Fushiguro asks, a bit distressed.

“It is like breaking the body prior to merging,” Tengen tells all of you. “It is not impossible to merge with someone other than a star plasma vessel but is highly unlikely and would be incomplete at present. The Culling Games uses the players’ cursed energy and the boundaries binding barriers in a ritual for conveying the human beings of the country to the other side. Through that custom, he will begin the merging with me. However, in order to perform such ritual, Kenjaku has undertaken certain binding vows.”

You know your answer to Tengen’s previous request now. It’s costly for you because you don’t want to be stuck and play a waiting game, but with Okkotsu here, now you can focus on getting Satoru out. So you drown out what they have to say about the Culling Games. If you have to somehow participate in them then you’ll ask for the rules and conditions then.

All that truly matters about them is that the games will continue until every player is dead or until they all refuse to play and die, and that killing Kenjaku won’t stop the games; so that plan is diminished.

You only bring your attention back when Tengen cuts Itadori off to get the answer out of who will stay

“I will stay,” Yuki, Choso, and you volunteer at the same time, making you happy that you don’t have to be stuck with Okkotsu, and that you’ll spend more time with Choso….and Yuki!

You shouldn’t be so enthusiastic, you have your protests after all, but your heart can’t help but jump.

“Yuji, you absolutely need Okkotsu’s or this woman’s cooperation,” Choso interjects seriously so Itadori can understand his brotherly concern. “Especially if Noritoshi Kamo—if Kenjaku comes for Tengen. Ending his life means salvation for my little brothers.”

“And rest for Suguru’s body,” you input your decision, gaining the attention of the room. “So I’ll stay here to help kill Kenjaku, and get the answer on how to get Satoru out.”

“And I’m not done talking to Tengen,” Yuki shares her reasoning for staying. “Is that all right, Okkotsu?”

Okkotsu nods and his eyes almost gleam with relief and joy. “Yeah! I don’t want to leave the others.”

You focus your eyes on Okkotsu and squint slightly before you interject in a menacing voice. “Okkotsu, you help Itadori, understand? Keep the promise you made to my brother.”

Okkotsu eyes quickly find you and his relief and excitement are quick to fall and be replaced by discomfort and nerves.

“Y-yes ma'am,” he quickly assures you, causing you to scoff and then look away to avoid looking at him more than you have to.

“Thank you,” Tengen once again speaks as they begin to reach in a black portal. “This…” they trail off and pull out a dull-looking box with a stitch on one side. “…is necessary for freeing Satoru Gojo.”

You perk up and slowly fill with hope and relief.

“It is the back of the Prison Realm.”

You blink and shift your gaze back to Tengen. “Back?” You question.

“I’ve never heard of that,” Yuki muses.

“You mean like a back gate?” Itadori is finally the first to understand something instead of being the first one to probe.

“Yes, that is right,” Tengen agrees as he keeps the back gate in their large hand. “Before Kenjaku found it, the prison realm was outside my barrier. I believe it was overseas. By sealing this rear gate, I was hiding the existence of the “front”, but it was no use. Satoru Gojo Is also sealed inside the rear gate.”

“Then if we open it can we—”

“No,” Tengen breaks Itadori’s hopes. “The authority to open the gate rests with Kenjaku as the bearer of the “front”.”

Which gives you more reason to stay!

“Breaking it open requires either the inverted spear of Heaven that nullifies cursed techniques or the black rope that disrupts and cancels cursed technique effects.”

The back rope? Miguel’s destroyed black rope?

“But Satoru Gojo sealed the inverted spear of heaven overseas 11 years ago…or destroyed it! Why’d you do that Gojo!” Itadori exclaims and Fushiguro follows to do the same.

“And last year Satoru Gojo got rid of all the black rope! Why’d that guy do that?!”

Okkotsu laughs nervously and you bring your hand up to bite the tip of your manicured nail since you can’t smoke inside.

“Miguel went to Africa in search of more black rope,” you share with the group. “But he found none…isn’t that right, Okkotsu?”

Okkotsu nods. “Yes, it was a fruitless effort.”

You groan and snap your gaze to Tengen. “But there is a way? Right?”

“Yes,” Tengen lets you sigh with relief. “Among the players participating in the Culling Games is a sorcerer from a thousand years ago who calls herself Angel. Her cursed technique can extinguish any cursed energy.”

“She can extinguish cursed techniques?” Fushiguro questions.

“Yes,” Tengen reinstates. “The Angel’s cursed technique can open the “back” of the prison realm.”

“Do you know where she is?” You ask.

“The colony in the east side of Tokyo,” Tengen surprises you by saying, it seems they tend to not know a lot of important answers. “The game barriers reject me, so I don’t have any more information,” he finishes as he puts the back gate back in their portal, leaving Satoru out of arm's reach.

Yeah, you can’t get him out without the sorcerer and her technique, but you were comforted by the fact that he was close, that you could see a part of his prison, but he’s gone again. And so your worry regrows.

Choso seems to notice your disappointment and very gently pats your shoulder.

His gesture surprises you considering you’re the only one who’s given physical touch, but you welcome his comforting touch and thank him with a small but sweet smile as Tengen starts to give more information on the Culling Games. Something you probably won’t participate in because you’ll be here, so you hardly listen.

You know that if you enter a certain colony you’ll be added as a player, players get points by killing other players, and if that player's points remain the same then they could lose their technique. That's all you really gather as your mind goes back to Suguru and your impossible choice.

Guilt begins to bloom where there wasn’t any, while Miguel’s words echo in your mind.

“And you were supposed to cremate Geto’s body,”

If you had picked his body off the ground before you left, all this could have been avoided. All these problems and these outcomes would have not existed if you had given him a proper funeral. But you got swept up in your emotions and left him there.

He would’ve taken your body, Miguel was right about that too, but you couldn’t do the same. Now this is all your fault…your parents…were right…you are a weak link.

“Y/N, Yuki, and Choso will remain here to guard Master Tengen,” Maki snaps your attention back to the room. “I will return to the Zen’in clan and collect cursed tools. Soon after Satoru Gojo was sealed the Kamo and Zen’in clans cleaned out Jujutsu High's cursed warehouse. But Megumi is now the Zen’in clan's leader.”

“What?!” Itadori exclaims.

“I’ll explain later,” Fushiguro mutters to his friend.

“Thanks to that, it’s possible to search the Zen’in warehouse at length, but first, Master Tengen?”

You look between the two completely lost on what’s going on.

“Understood,” Tengen interjects. “Juzo Kumiya’s workshop right?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with Itadori?” You ask Choso as the kids discuss their plans. “Yuki and I can handle your father.”

Choso looks over at you at his side and responds. “I have to be the one to kill my father for what he’s done to my brothers. It's the only way they can be at peace. You,” he redirects. “Your people don’t need you? You’ve been gone from home for a while. And your daughter, will she be okay?”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile as you hear his concern. “Yes, my people will be fine, I trust the people that are in charge, and Satori will be fine where she is,” you let him know. “We’ll just have to miss each other for a bit longer, but this is for the greater or good.” You sigh deeply.

“Hm, she’ll understand,” he tries to assure you.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I hope.” You swallow thickly.

“Yeah, you guys go to Kinji as planned,” you hear Maki direct at Fushiguro, making you drift your attention back to the group of kids.

“Kinji?” Itadori asks for a person he could’ve met but didn’t because he was in his room the entire day.

“Kinji Hakari, a suspended third year,” Okkotsu lets Itadori know.

“Anyway we’re short-handed,” Maki adds. “So we got to rope in whoever we can.”

“Is that guy tough?” Itadori returns to the conversation about Hakari even after Maki tried to end it.

“Well,” you give your opinion. “He’s moody.”

Itadori slowly churns his head and looks at you with wide curious eyes. “You know him too?” He asks.

Choso and you share a teasing look, and then you nod. “Yes, he went to the house on the first. Not that you would know...”

“You were locked in your room,” Choso finishes your sentence.

Itadori narrows his gaze and looks between Choso and you as if trying to figure out what the two of you are getting at with your in-sync conversation.

“When he’s worked up, he’s stronger than I am.” Okkotsu shares, but he’s quickly turned down by Maki’s sly comment.

“That’s not true.”

You’d tell Itadori and Fushiguro to tell Hakari and Kirara that you sent them, even if you didn’t, but that advice wouldn’t be much help. So you just keep that to yourself and instead share something else that can help. “Hakari and Kirara are in an abandoned multistory parking lot in the Tochigi prefecture. He’s making money by becoming a bookmaker for gambling matches.”

“Gambling matches?” Itadori cuts in confused.

You nod with a proud smirk tugging on your lips. “Fights between sorcerers.”

Itadori’s eyebrows only furrow deeper. “What? That’s crazy. How do you know?”

“I’m his and Kirara's mentor. And when it comes to the fights I helped them finance the club.”

“Hm, so you’re like the Godmother?” He says without need for explanation which makes you excited.

“Yes!”

Itadori’s jaw drops and he leans over. “Do you fight?”

You grin and show off. “I’m their jackpot, honey.”

You don’t fight often, you’ve only fought a couple of times, but when you do fight you use your family name so there's always an anticipating crowd and a lot of money.

“The spectators are…” Fushiguro trails off for you to finish.

“Basically non-sorcerers.”

Both he and Itadori look at you shocked.

“Doesn’t that severely infringe upon the Jujutsu rules article 8, which is to keep confidentiality?”

You scoff and quip, “so what?”

Fushiguro and Maki both look at you with annoyance and they both mutter, “she’s just like her brother.”

Ew.

You scrunch your nose in disgust at their comparison, but you don’t say anything, you just give Fushiguro and Itadori one warning. “Among the participants of the gambling matches are some curse users, so be careful.”

Itadori is quick to nod and assure you. “Got it!”

You smile at him and Fushiguro and say your goodbye. “Take care of each other, hm?”

Fushiguro spares you a glance and gives you a stiff nod before he turns to leave with the other two, whilst Itadori gives you a thumbs up and follows the others out.

Albeit he then turns and calls out, “Choso!”

You look at said man with excitement for him, and he rightfully looks surprised by the call of his name from his little brother, but he’s quick to interject sweetly and with a charming grin. “Don’t die, okay?”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Itadori says before he throws Choso a wave, causing the nonchalant man to cover his face with his hand right away and sniffle?

Is he crying?

You give him all your attention and confirm your suspicion right away when you see his shoulders shake, and a tear slip past his large palm.

Yuki sees the same thing but she looks confused, whereas you can’t help but smile in admiration.

“Are you crying?” Yuki probes.

Choso waves her off, and you giggle and pat his shoulder to share your pride for the development with his brother.

“Oh, you could die happy now couldn't you, Cho?” You tease him as you lean your head over his shoulder.

He sniffles. “Just about.”

You chuckle and give his shoulder a squeeze.

At the feeling of your touch, he pulls his hand off his face and looks back at you with a watery gaze. “Can you believe it?”

You flash him a grin and nod. “I saw it. I’m sorry I couldn’t take a picture or a video. But there’ll be more times.”

“You think so?” He shares his doubts.

You nod. “I know it.”

His lips tug on a small smile and he nods in comprehension as he feels comforted by your reassurance.

Silence fills the room after that and welcomes an awkward tension. Not between Choso and you, or Yuki, Choso, and you, but between the three of you and Tengen.

“So,” Yuki rolls out. “Now what?”

“Where are we going to stay?” You ask as you look around at the white nothingness. “And what are we going to eat?”

Tengen sighs as if they're already over Yuki and you. “I have everything you need here,” they mutter.

“Hm. Okay.”

Well, this should be an interesting time…

——

*A FEW YEARS BACK*

“Oh, oh,” you exclaim and snap your eyes open to sit up—or try, you really strain yourself to sit up. “What about Cursed manipulation?” You muse softly.

Suguru slowly blinks his eyes open and sighs before he lolls his head to the side to look at you through the darkness of your room. “No,” he gently turns you down.

You pout and press your hand on his toned bare chest to lean closer. “Why not? That way you won’t feel so lonely with your technique. That way you can teach our child about your technique,” you argue your point.

A touched smile tugs on his lips and his eyes fill with love. “Baby,” Suguru coos. “I don’t want our child to share that burden. Having me carry that technique with me is enough. You know that.”

You drop your eyes on the beauty mark on his chest and gently trace it with your finger. “I know,” you whisper. “But I know how much you dislike your technique, and maybe a part of it is because no one understands. Having our girl have your technique will give you someone to bond with, a reason for your technique not to be such a pest.” You try to make him see the bright side you’re trying to let in.

But all Suguru sees is a more threatening darkness, and he doesn’t want his child to be cast with such an isolating and draining burden.

“What about,” Suguru rolls out as he slides his big and soft hand over your smaller one. “If she has your technique? Your technique is fun. A lot easier.”

You laugh softly and rid of all the lurking shadows Suguru saw crawling in his corner with a simple look in your eyes.

“It would be fun,” you go along with him as he pulls your hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“Come here,” he reels you in so you can lay down on your side and rest your head on his chest so he can gently massage your head.

“If our baby girl has my technique she will be pursued by your family, you know that,” he adds a warning you’ve been trying to forget for your sake.

You swallow thickly and murmur, “Satoru wouldn’t let that happen.”

Or you hope so.

“Yeah,” Suguru doesn’t hesitate to agree, but he still continues with doubt laced in his voice. “But you know they’d find a way. My technique is the only reason they let us date when we were in high school.”

You manage a tender smile and nuzzle your head in his chest, but quickly find your position uncomfortable due to the baby growing inside you, so you flip to your back and wrap Suguru’s strong arm around your neck.

“So,” you change the subject so you don’t spiral in your anxiety that tends to poison you when you think of your parents taking your child. “Have you picked a name yet?”

Suguru leans his head on yours, letting you feel his throat vibrate on your head as he hums. “What about Satori?” He shares. “It means enlightenment.”

Just like Satoru’s name.

——

*NOW*

“And you were supposed to cremate Geto’s body,”

Those words keep ringing in your head like a bad and out-of-tune echo

You had made peace with the choice you made that day. You made his funeral with nobody to mourn and you were okay praying to his portrait in his shrine, but now your past plagues you and you can’t stop the guilt from consuming you.

All this death, this chaos is happening because of that one choice you didn’t make.

All the distress everyone’s living through is because of you?

“Y/N?”

You slowly twist your head towards the door and see an upside-down Yuki stopping under the doorframe.

“Are you done talking with Tengen or are you still glowering?” You remark teasingly.

Yuki scoffs and breaks away from her spot. Yet before she can join you on the bed, you quickly interject.

“Turn off the light. My head hurts.”

“Too much wine?” She quips with a snicker as she does as you ask before she moseys on over to jump on the bed.

“Yeah,” you groan and cover your eyes with your arm. “I was doing some work and was chugging that wine…”

“And now you have your head hanging off the bed,” Yuki finishes for you in a scolding voice. “I wonder why your head hurts.”

You slap your hand on your stomach and lose your gaze on the blue hue painted on your ceiling by the fake bright night sky Tengen made for all of you. Which is kind of neat and nice….you have to admit.

“You know,” you add as you get lost in thought. “It feels weird staying here. I mean we’re not above ground on school grounds, but we’re still here, and it’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Yuki muses. “Takes you back doesn’t it?”

“Hm—Oop I'm getting lightheaded now,” you mumble and throw your upper body up to drag yourself forward on the bed and then throw yourself down when you’re at Yuki’s side.

“I mean to have a cute guy fawning over you with their dreamy brown eyes is so weird,” she says in a mocking way you instantly recognize and try not to give into, but you can’t help it. You drag your eyes to your side and see she’s already passing you a teasing look.

“Har-har,” you feign a laugh and mistakenly prove her right, so she continues to push.

“Oh you could die happy couldn't you, Cho?” She changes her voice as she bats her eyelashes. “Now I’m going to bat my pretty white Gojo lashes at you, and speak in my very fancy voice which seeps with my lust for you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and shoot her a pointed glare. “I don’t talk like that,” you remark and avert your gaze.

“You do,” she yells. “You talk in a very old money, old movie star kind of way, which if someone wouldn't know you, they’d think you’re snobby, but I guess he likes that because he drools over you with whatever comes out of your mouth.”

Your heart swoons and begins to dance all giddily, causing a smile to start tugging on your lips, but one you try to fight back.

“It’s not even like that,” you mutter in a very shaky way because of how bad you are at hiding the excitement that she is making you feel. “Shut up,” you blurt and flip around to give her your back. “I’m 28 now, I don’t giggle,” you grumble.

“Oh,” Yuki snorts. “You giggled.”

You don’t comment and watch the stars twinkling in the distance with a smile winning its territory on your face.

“Do you,” you quietly give in to your feelings, this once, out of excitement. “Think it’s obvious?”

“Not to him.”

You nod softly and welcome more silence as you let your heart gush over Choso and this conversation.

However, then Yuki's impression of you crosses your mind and you can’t help but burst out laughing. And as if in tune with your thoughts Yuki joins, and you both just laugh your asses off until you’re both out of breath.

When you collect yourselves you don’t continue to laugh however, your smile falls and you lock your feelings away, forbidding your heart from them.

It’s cruel, but it’s for the best. It’s for his sake. And no matter how much your heart weeps and begs for you to show it some sympathy, you won’t give in, you can’t give him more thought, or else you will fall and you’ll give into a happiness you don’t deserve to feel.

You prove that to yourself now, in the silence that fills the room once again, while your mind sinks back in your guilt.

Guilt you need to express before you’re overwhelmed. “Yuki…do you think…all that’s happening is my fault?”

Yuki shifts and her big brown eyes bore in the back of your head. “What do you mean?” She questions.

You let out a deep breath and turn around to face her with a watery gaze full of pain and guilt. “All that’s happening,” you clarify. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I couldn’t burn his body when he died…” You trail off and feel your bottom lip tremble. “…he was my husband, I should've taken him with me and burned his body, but I left him there and Kenjaku got him because of it.”

Yuki looks into your eyes for a moment longer before she sighs and begins to share her thoughts. “You should’ve burned his body, that’s true…”

You gasp and feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.

“But,” she adds. “It wasn’t your fault. None of what’s happening is your fault. You should’ve burned his body because he was your partner, you should’ve given his body a resting place, but he was also the man you loved, y/n, losing him was hard. I understand why you couldn’t do it, but what happened because of that is not your fault. Kenjaku was probably already creeping around him, waiting for the right moment, it all would’ve happened eventually.”

Her answer doesn’t assure you, it doesn’t take away the agony you feel now.

“But—”

“No,” she cuts you off. “What ifs don’t exist. What happened, happened, but you are not to blame, do you understand?” She presses with a threatening narrowed glare. “This is not your guilt to carry. And you know damn well your brother and Suguru would never want you to beat yourself over it.”

Tears roll down your cheeks and you answer with a soft nod.

“It’s not your fault,” she insists as if she could see your reluctance to let your guilt go. “It’s not your fault, y/n.”

Her words strike against the guilt and work to stop it from spreading, but in order to get rid of it indefinitely you’ll just need time.

“Okay,” your voice quivers.

Yuki offers you a sweet smile and grabs your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze that makes you smile faintly in return.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Her smile turns to a smug grin. “Of course. I’m always here for you, y/n.”

You reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, letting the silence settle, and for a comfort to finally set in your heart.

Not only that but at least now you can sleep too without having to be attacked by all your thoughts, thanks to her. You really owe her a lot.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT. CHOSO P.O.V*

A knock raps on the door, pulling him from his slumber and putting him on instant alert. When he drifts his eyes to check the clock, the bright numbers read 2:06 am, so whoever it was must come with urgency.

Thus, he gets out of bed and walks over to open the door, and see that it’s you in your night attire.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He immediately asks with concern.

You assure him with a quiet response so as to not wake up Tsukumo. “Yeah, yeah, I just…” you trail off and glance at the ground. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Choso’s heart skips a beat and his mind completely falls blank at the sound of the vulnerability you were letting him see.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” you quickly add as he stays with his mouth ajar. “I can go.”

“No,” he quickly finds it in him to snap out of his stupor. “Come in.”

A relieved smile grows on your lips and when you walk inside he sees your shoulders lose the tension they held, meaning you felt comfortable being in his presence, which makes him happy to see. He doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable when you’re around him.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a more sweeter and apologetic tone. “I know it’s late.”

Choso shakes his head and quickly assures you. “No, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

You peer back and flash him a content smile before you turn and walk back toward the bed with a faint smirk. “Your hairs down,” you point out. “I like it. It looks nice.”

Once again his heart skips a beat in its rhythm, but this time a fluttering grows in his stomach that makes his face grow hot. Which is embarrassing to him, and it always happens when he’s with you.

“Thank you,” he mutters as he holds your gaze that lights his room in a way the fake night sky never did.

“Are you sure you're okay?” He makes sure to ask again.

You sit on the edge of his bed and nod. “Yes,” you smile. “I’m fine, Cho.”

The sound of that short nickname coming out of your lips sends shivers down his spine he never knew he could feel by the simplicity of a nickname.

“Okay then,” he says and glances at the bed and then at you. “You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the ground.”

You laugh softly and drag yourself back to one side and pat the other. “Come lay with me, we’ve spent enough time together already for it to be weird.”

His face grows hotter and his heart instead begins to pound in his chest.

In all the times you’ve spent alone you're always sitting across from each other, on a couch, or at a small distance side by side, you’ve never shared a bed. He almost wants to say no out of respect for you, but he doesn’t want to wound your feelings. Plus you did say you wanted company, so he slowly approaches the bed and climbs back on his side.

“If you're not comfortable then don’t listen to me,” you let him know so he doesn’t feel forced. “Please.”

Choso turns his head and meets your red-orange eyes mixed with worry, so he assures you right away. “I don’t mind. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You share a soft laugh and he can’t help but let his lips tug to a faint smile.

“Choso,” you whisper now in such a soft and vulnerable way once again.

“Hm?”

You let out a deep sigh and first roll to your side before you continue. “Will you help me? Keep me safe…please.”

You didn’t even need to ask, he already put himself in charge of that the moment he recognized you that night in Shibuya, but hearing you ask him this now just has a way to make the feelings he already has for you, intensify. He can’t even put into words how content he feels, and what other feelings are racing through his veins.

It’s like you set him on fire.

“Always,” he assures you right away.

Your lips tug to one of those sweet smiles he likes to admire on you, and suddenly, again, just like other times before, his eyes—no his whole being feels magnetized to your lips.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he reinforces his statement.

“You promise?” You ask for reassurance as you, yourself can’t raise your eyes off his lips.

“I do.”

Instead of smiling this time, you lean in and he gives into the force attracting him to you and parts his lips to give into his desire.

Yet, before he can know the feeling of your plush lips on his, everythings gone in a flash and his eyes snap open to see an empty room, and his hard member bulging through the blankets. Again.

It seems that he always feels a pressure within him that lit his veins with wildfire whenever he thought of your lips, your soft skin under his fingertips, your body under him or over him, your perfectly sculpted face so close to him that he could feel your breaths unfurl over his lips, and or whenever he dreamed of you…like now.

And his dreams always varied. Sometimes they were sweet like the one now, but other times he dreamed of you in ways he figured out shouldn't be had by friends and always woke up with the same throbbing pressure that ached for you because of it.

At first, he didn’t know what it was he felt, his body just set on fire, making his blood rush, and causing his member to rise and grow hard to the point it throbbed when you appeared in his mind. It wasn't until he was being nosy one time and found his answer in some pages in a book he peeked in after he saw you keep smiling at it as if it held some juicy secret.

He just wanted to know what was so interesting and why you read it so much in your free time. He won’t do it again, he knows that for sure.

Now, as to how he cooled himself down? He waited sometimes for it to pass, or he went to go get some water and fresh air, hoping not to run into you.

Like he will do now because recently waiting hasn’t helped, all he feels is the need to relieve himself to the thought of you. So he gets up and leaves his room and hopes you’re not out there.

——

*YOU*

The night is cold, especially because you’re underground.

But that’s what you get for being here as some bodyguard to an enlarged four-eyed thumb.

You just want to go back to your house and finally sleep in your own bed! You miss it all terribly.

And you miss having a warm body sleeping next to you. Sometimes you’d sleep at the furthest edge to avoid the contact, but in the back of your head, you always knew there was someone there to comfort you. Now all there is a cold and empty spot.

Maybe…no, that can’t be possible. You’re too much of a horrible monster to deserve anything good. He’s too good and his heart is too pure. You’ll just corrupt him.

But—no! No.

“Ugh,” you groan and flip around to groan some more into your pillow and keep your face buried.

Maybe this way his handsome nonchalant face and his precious eyes will leave your mind alone.

Nevertheless, the door of your room suddenly opens and when you turn to face the entrance there walks in the man you were trying to stop thinking about.

“Choso,” you call out in confusion.

He usually knocks and waits for you to open the door, or for you to invite him before walking in, this time he just barged in completely out of breath.

“Y/N,” he speaks in a deep silky voice that makes goosebumps grow on your arms.

“Choso, what’s wrong?” You ask as he keeps looking at you with his eyes darker than usual.

However, he doesn’t answer you, he just walks to you and stops when he’s at the edge of the bed, making you grow more confused, but also causing your heart to start racing out of what you can only describe as excitement over his proximity and boldness.

“I want to be with you.” Choso breaks his mysterious mask and takes no time to climb over you on the bed. “Always.”

You swallow thickly and let your eyes flicker between his eyes and his pink lips that radiate his warmth and tempt you to close the gap.

“I want you to be mine,” he murmurs against your lips, making your heart burst, sending your blood to race through your veins and catch your body on fire.

“Choso,” you whisper and keep your eyes on his lips, refusing to lose sight of them, as if you were some addict seeking their next high.

“Will you let me?” He asks as he grazes his lips on yours, making you gasp and feel a growing need in your core that begins to weep for him.

“Yes,” you give in so easily and see him smile before he presses himself closer to let you feel his hard member against your throbbing core.

“You’re so…beautiful,” he muses and finally gives in to your temptation by pressing a kiss on your lips.

Albeit you can’t describe the feeling of his lips. It’s like nothing pressed against you. But instead of questioning it, you fuel your need and wrap your arms around his neck to smash his lips against yours again.

“Y/N,” he groans against your lips.

You listen to your heart and deepen the kiss, feeling his hips roll against you.

“Choso,” you moan in his mouth.

He utters your name and pulls back, but presses a hand on your cheek to not lose contact. He parts his lips again to say more but suddenly you can't hear him, and everything around him and you slowly goes to black until suddenly you’re yanked back into a void that blinds you for a second before you suddenly open your eyes and see the ceiling.

There’s no Choso and no warmth, just the ceiling, and an empty bed, meaning it was a damn dream!

A sex dream no less that just leaves your heart lonely and disappointed, and your panties wet whilst your pussy throbbed over nothing.

Great. Great!

You should’ve not even accepted the mission! Choso is everywhere now that you don’t want to think about him or his pink and inviting lips you want to taste. His pretty sunkissed brown eyes you can get lost in. The veins on his hands you want to see when he grabs onto your thighs, his defined shoulders you want to cling onto, and his beautifully sculpted abs you want to press kisses on…

Maybe…

Just maybe you can just think about him until you satisfy your need with your fingers…

No! No! What are you thinking?!

Why? Why now?

You can’t think of him like that! You can’t just let your body ache for him, you told yourself you wouldn't, so sorry to your heart, but no!

And if you stay on your bed you will fall into temptation, so you get out and march out of your room.

Alas, when you walk out you let out a sharp gasp when you run into Choso!

“Sorry,” he immediately throws out as he steps back and turns away from you. “I-I didn't mean to scare you.”

You clutch onto your heart for a different reason and quickly assure him. “No, it’s okay. It’s fine,” you murmur and make the mistake of meeting his gaze, but you can’t hold it so you yank your eyes away because of the dirty thoughts you just had of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks and that only works to reignite your desire.

“Yeah.” You nod and bring your eyes back to his gaze, and realize that he never looked away. He keeps looking with a deep intensity that you can’t look away from now and works to restart the pulse in your core.

“I just need…water,” you lie, making his jaw go slightly ajar.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Me too.”

Great…

“Now I won’t be alone,” you play it off and lead the way to the kitchen in a loud silence in which all you can do is dart your eyes from his hands, the hall, his lips, ahead, his baggy shirt hiding his defined torso, and the approaching kitchen.

When you’re going to reach for a cup he beats you to it and reaches for two, causing you to watch how the veins form on his hands as he grasps onto the cups.

Before he can hand your cup though, to avoid letting him catch you staring, you walk over and take the water jar out of the fridge to pour some into the cups he puts on the counter for you. Once you fill his cup you pick it up and hand it to him, realizing when your eyes land on him that he’s been watching you.

“You know,” you fill the silence and turn away from him to lean back on the counter. “We might as well be drinking air, considering earlier today we walked into a white canvas, and moments after that a house appeared out of thin air.”

Choso shares a small laugh, making your smile widen.

“Well,” he says. “At least we'll go insane together.”

You chuckle with him and then say, “yeah, lucky us,” before you trail off softly and bring your cup to your lips to drink, missing the way Choso couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

When you bring your cup down you look over at him and he looks away and drinks. “Your hair’s down, it looks nice,” you tell him, making him gulp, and for his eyes to widen.

You think it's just him getting flustered so you don’t probe and instead continue and let your heart lead the way. “You know when we fought I saw you kind of lacked in hand-to-hand combat. I could help you if you want.”

Choso lowers his cup and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to burden you,” he doesn’t try to turn you down, he just doesn’t want to bother you.

“I don’t mind,” you quickly assure him. “I think it’ll be fun actually.”

Your eyes find each other and he unfurls a deep breath before he lets himself give in. “All right. Thank you.”

You walk to the sink and dump the water from your cup because it’s not water you needed, you needed air to keep your mind off him, but well…

“Good, we start at 8 am,” you let him know and leave the cup to turn on your heels. “Don’t be late.”

“Well,” he says lightheartedly. “There’s nowhere else to go, so. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

You laugh just like he wanted.

“Good night, Cho,” you tell him for a second time tonight.

He watches you walk away and speaks softly as if out of breath, “Goodnight y/n,”

You offer him one last smile over your shoulder before you leave the room.

Instead of returning to your bedroom though, you end up outside to finally catch some fresh air and lose your gaze on the beautiful wave of colors that rocked over the ground as if they were ocean waves, and slowly feel all your concerns and desires slip away like they would when you admire the lake by your house, or the oceans you like to travel to.

Even if you’re stuck underground, in a place that can weaken you, you don’t feel distressed, you feel…bliss in the peaceful silence.

And that is something you haven’t felt since October 31st. So you relish in it while you can before you’re faced with more disaster.

You could actually sleep out here, but in the back of your head, you do worry that something will come out of the walls, or from the surface and drag you to some depths of hell or something so you just sit back and watch the aurora borealis accompany the starry sky.

For a while longer at least because then you hear something creak behind you and you have to look out of fear it’s some kind of demon.

Luckily though it’s just your tempting desire that plagues your mind often; Choso.

“Are you spying on me?” You tease him with a playful glare.

“I,” he stammers as his cheeks grow pink. “No. I saw someone out here. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t unwanted company.”

You ease the teasing glare and offer him an assuring look. “I was just messing with you,” you let him know. “Now.” You pat the spot beside you. “Why don’t you forget we said goodnight to each other and sit with me.”

Choso steps away from the back door and shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Pft,” you brush him off with a flick of your wrist. “It’s our thing you know? Us being up late and keeping each other company. I’ve grown to really look forward to it, so come if you want I don't mind.”

You should mind. You really definitely should.

“Well,” Choso breathes out and hides his reddening cheeks by looking at the ground. “Only if it’s alright with you.”

“It is,” you reassure him.

Choso’s eyes flicker to you and he sees that you hold no ill will so he takes you up on your offer.

“You know,” you muse when he takes his seat. “That the brightest star, The North Star, is right there,” you share and point to the bright speck on the sky just above your heads. “And if you find it you’ll always find home.”

Choso’s gaze lingers on your smug little smile before he follows your finger to the biggest star in the sky.

“Or at least,” you scoff. “That’s all that stuck from what Kira told me.” You laugh softly. “They told me about all these cosmos and nothing really stuck, but that. So if you’re ever lost just find the star.”

Choso blinks and mutters, “what if I’m lost in the day?”

You snort and look at him with amusement. “Then you’re shit out of luck.”

Choso laughs and you laugh with him for a long moment before you clap and interject excitedly. “OR OR, you can always tell yourself this, Never,” you point ahead. “Eat.” You point east. “Soggy.” You point south. “Waffles.” You lastly point West and grin over the fact you remember that catchy phrase.

However, Choso doesn’t understand so he just looks at you with his thick eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“North, East, South, and West,” you clarify. “Belinda taught me.”

Choso nods in comprehension and nods slowly, but you can still see from his slightly scrunched-up nose that he’s still confused.

And you are too.

“But I guess it wouldn't make sense if you don’t know where North is…so,”

“We’re both lost?” He finishes for you as he meets your gaze with his lips picked up into a faint smile.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “We’re both lost, so it’s a good thing we have our mobile devices,” you mock him, and he catches that right away and shoots you a pointed look that only lasts for a second before he turns his head away as he can’t help but smile.

“No, but really, home is not far from here. Home is surrounded by trees to keep the community kind of hidden, it’s big for obvious reasons,” you say with a smile. “And, I actually thought of a perfect home for you and your brothers to stay at.”

Choso’s eyes snap to you admiring the colors in the sky turning from blue to red, and his jaw slightly drops. As if this is the first time he’s heard of this plan you told him hundreds of times already.

“It’s just above the lake, so close to me but not too close either,” you continue to say, letting him watch how the red hue consumes your face in such a majestic way—“it’s the house surrounded by the most trees so you get more privacy. And it’s not big enough to fit all of you, but you can build onto it. I think that’d be fun.” You look away from the sky and immediately find his softened gaze. “Don’t you think?”

Choso blinks repeatedly to break from the trance you casted on him, and shakes his head. “We’ll be fine,” he tries not to concern you, but you argue back right away.

“No, you’ll need your own space. You all will. Trust me,” you laugh dryly. “I know, because one, brothers date your best friends and break up with them, causing said friend to drop you because you remind them of your brother and they can’t handle that,” you ramble about your own past instead of actually advising him. “Two, they steal your hair products and always forget to buy you more after they finished them. They tease you until you cry and play cruel pranks in front of their friends to act cool. And lastly, they buy your child a pony without asking you first.”

Choso scoffs in a judgy way and queries the same without shame. “Your brother does that?”

You roll your head forward to watch the red hue become fiercer in color, and sigh deeply. “Yes. But you can’t blame him, we’re barely a year apart, so our dynamic shows that,” you defend your brother.

“Our parents got excited after they had their boy,” you share. “So they chose to try for another in hopes it would be another strapping boy, but I came out, cockless and became their headache.” You snicker.

There was so much Choso wanted to say to contradict you and comfort you after you just brushed off your parents disdain since he knows that feeling of saying you don’t care but deep inside it hurts. Yet he can’t form the words to say it the way he wanted, the way you would’ve comforted him, he instead tries to relate to you so you could know that there are similarities between the two of you.

“Sometimes I don’t think it matters what gender you are. I turned out to be a man along with the rest of my brothers, and Kenjaku didn’t care, he still left us like trash.”

Your heart sinks and your smile turns to a frown.

“Parents are like that if you don’t fit their perfect ideals,” he mutters.

You lay back on the grass and keep your eyes on the stars behind the red hue while your mind sadly agrees with what he said.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “They are, aren’t they? Do you…” you hesitate and let out a deep breath to let out some of that tightness in your chest that had begun to grab ahold of you. “Ever think what it would be like if you were ideal in their eyes? I think I would be less afraid, and I wouldn't have pushed myself so much.”

Choso stays quiet as he tries to come up with something he’s often thought about in his time in the void.

“I…would’ve been out 150 years ago,” he says softly but in a voice laced with spite and anger. “And I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now. I honed my technique because he left us.”

You look at aurora borealis slowly shifting to yellow above your heads and whisper, “I’m sorry.” Causing him to lay back to show his confusion better—“I must sound ungrateful and bratty compared to what you went through. That was real pain. I’m sorry.”

Choso’s eyes narrow to express his remorse before he interjects in the best way he can. “No, you don’t. Not to me.”

Tears fill your eyes and you can’t help but share a soft smile as you finally feel understood. Suguru tried to relate to you saying his parents never understood him and that they became distant, but that was just a teenage phase for him, he never really understood you. Not in the way Choso can.

It’s why it makes indulging into this dark topic a lot easier.

“Can I ask how it felt being stuck there?” You bring up timidly hoping it doesn’t upset him.

Choso lets out a deep breath through his nose and narrows his gaze on the sky, looking almost like he wanted to damn the sky because of the past that flashed through his mind.

“I’m so—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off before you can finish your apology, and clears his throat. “It was…dark. Like when you close your eyes and see nothing but pitch darkness. I felt my brothers, their presence, but I was still alone because we couldn’t talk, or exist, we just felt each other nearby. And the years for me didn’t pass quickly like it would for them, I felt every year pass by,” his voice quivers, and you see tears rush down his cheeks, making that ache you had already begun to feel only hurt deeper for him.

Even if you can’t know his pain, you still feel for him, especially as you see him cry.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you murmur and wipe away the tears that broke out of your eyes to scoot closer to him and grab his hand, going unaware of his shiver the moment your warm hand touched his cold one.

“You’re here now though,” you try to comfort him. “You’re out, under the sky and with a beating heart, working every day to give your brothers peace.”

More tears run down his cheeks and you’re tempted to wipe them away, but that might be too intimate for you trying to avoid developing your feelings, so you just let your heart yearn and let him wipe away his own tears.

“Thank you, y/n,” he whispers in a sweet way that makes your heart start to race. “You’re sweet. You always have been to me. Thank you for that.”

“You deserve it, Cho.”

The corner of his lips twitch to a timid smile, and you hold each other's gaze for a lingering moment as all your hearts do is yell to give in to what you both so desperately want.

Alas, you both don’t listen to your yearning. You let go of his hand, and look back at the sky while you slowly grow somber as you grow the confidence to share something personal now that you’re being vulnerable with each other.

“Can I share something with you that only my best friend Kento knew?” You ask first.

Without hesitation, he answers. “Of course.”

You let out a shaky sigh and clasp your hands together over your chest to fiddle with your nails. “Last year a month before Suguru died, we found out we were expecting,” your voice grows softer and shakier as you fight your tears. “And then he died and…the baby went with him.

No matter how hard you hold back from crying, tears cloud your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

“No one knew,” you add. “It was too soon to tell anyone, so we kept it a secret we would have shared later on. It never happened of course…” you trail off.

“I’m so sorry,” Choso says right away.

You wipe away your tears and meet his worried gaze. “It’s okay, I've made my peace with it,” you say.

Choso’s hand twitches out of a need to cup your hand the way you comforted him, but you kept your hand on your chest and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by reaching over your chest, so all he offered you was assuring words even if his face expressed pity and agony because of the pain he saw in your eyes. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You could say otherwise, you could bring up multiple pieces of evidence, but you don’t want to argue so you answer with silence.

“But why,” Choso interjects, catching your attention. “Why did you share something personal with me? Me out of all people, I’m—”

“My friend,” you cut him off before he can talk bad about himself. “And I shared this with you because I find it easy talking with you. Because you’re someone I can confide in.”

Choso swallows thickly and leaves a longer silence than he intended because of his disbelief over your words which only heightens his burn for you.

“Is that okay?” You check in.

He blinks and nods softly. “Yes. It is. I find it easy talking with you too.”

You can’t help but smile and reach over to grab his hand. “Promise me something, Choso.”

Said man is left speechless so he nods.

You then proceed to fold his arm over his chest to press his hand on his heart.

“You have a good heart,” you tell him something you know he doubts. “Promise me you’ll never lose it. Hard times will come, but you’re strong, keep your heart. Promise me.”

Choso’s bottom lip trembles and his eyes glisten, only letting a couple of tears fall before he nods even if he's still hesitant to believe your kind words that have never changed.

“Good,” you whisper and let his hand go to rest yours back on your chest.

You did such a terrible job at keeping him out of your mind. You suck.

“We have to get up early today,” Choso reminds you after a few minutes of peaceful silence.

“Yeah,” you make no attempts to leave, and neither does he. “We’ll pay for it in the afternoon.”

“Hm.”

——

*LATER THAT MORNING*

His fists are too tightly clenched and he has his feet too dug in the ground. He’s too tensed up.

Which isn’t strange to see, when he uses his cursed technique he’s always fighting fiercely. But when he’s fighting hand to hand he needs to loosen his body up more to move swiftly when the need calls or else he’ll be an easy opponent. Like now.

Instead of advising him right away though, you charge forward. When you get close you spring forward and throw your knee at his face, but he manages to barely swerve and causes you to land with your back to him.

You quickly spin around and in that moment catch him trying to swing his leg at your head, but you manage to trap his leg on your shoulder and throw your leg forward to kick his crotch, causing him to grunt and pull his leg off to stumble back.

You don’t wait for him to get better, you lunge forward and kick him to the ground before you drop down and straddle his waist to swing your arm over his face. But stop just before you can actually hit him.

“Dead,” you exclaim with a proud smirk. “Again.”

“Tsk,” he complains.

You get off him and grab his arm right away to help him back to his feet and finally share your advice. “You need to loosen up. You're too tense.”

Choso reaches for your elbow, but doesn’t make contact, he lets his hand hover under your elbow as he listens.

“You’re an easier target that way,” you continue. “You make yourself harder to move.”

“Sorry,” he says as if he was in trouble.

“Don’t apologize, it’s training,” you assure him and let his arm go to pat his shoulder and walk back to your spot to continue. “Let’s go another time and then we can take a break so you can watch Yuki and me next.”

He sighs with disappointment at his failure, so you rebuttal.

“Cho,” you press and turn to face him across the circle. “It's okay, you'll get better, that’s why we’re training.”

Choso rolls his shoulders back and lifts his fists, whilst you bend your knees a bit and clench your fists.

“Lighter on the feet,” you remind him before you run at him and hop again to bring down the strongest part of your arm on him, your elbow.

However, Choso crosses his arms and blocks the impact, making you smirk and pull your other arm back to throw him a left hook that he blocks again.

“Good,” you compliment, and then use your knee to jab his stomach and push him away from you.

This time though he doesn’t give in to the dull pain. He counters by coming at you by swinging his arm, making you dodge, just like he wanted, and quickly follows up by overwhelming you and throwing his other fist, and actually managing to nick you on the jaw before you could dodge.

“Good,” you mutter with a menacing chuckle before you shoot him a pointed glare.

Choso mirrors your glare and gets ready for your attack. Albeit instead of meeting him with a blow, you actually wrap your arms around his waist and then swing your foot back to smack your heel on his face.

Choso groans from the pain in his nose, and you try to swing around him to hug him from behind, but he wraps his arm around your neck to keep you in a headlock.

You try to squirm away, but he squeezes tighter, making you groan and dig your nails in his skin.

Choso doesn’t react to that though, instead, he brings his knee up to your stomach twice. But, he doesn’t demonstrate a finishing move, so you swing your legs around his waist and rock up with all your weight, resulting in you on the ground and him on top of you in a very uncomfortable position only because of the way his arm is still clung around your neck.

Not like it mattered to your racing heart and your need for him though; a heat still unfurls within you. While he falters.

Yet neither of you give into your desires, you ignore them and use your strength to roll back on the ground and throw him over you.

The both of you then quickly get up to face each other again, deciding not to waste a second and charging at each other.

The moment you’re close you swing your left fist, but he claps his hand together and throws his arms up to block your attempt.

“Nice,” you say between pants and get a smirk from him.

Nonetheless, you proceed to shift to the side to smack your hand on the back of his neck and push him down before you wrap your arm around his throat and throw your knee up.

Choso however, manages to block you and smacks his hands on your hips to swing you around as he turns so you can let go.

And you do but you then show off how flexible you can be after years of training, and wrap your legs around him with your back still pressed against his chest, and flip you both to the ground.

“Nice, that was quick thinking,” he compliments you between his own heavy breaths.

You snicker and don’t let get him off easy, you throw a jab over his face and swing over him to throw another hit, but he snaps his head to the side and makes your fist slam into the ground.

“Damn,” you hiss in pain and get off him to stay on your knees. “Damn.” You complain again and shake your hand.

Choso pays you no mercy, which is good, he shouldn’t because this is training and the second complaint was fake in hopes he’d worry. So you’re proud that he swings his leg. But since you were faking it the second time, you throw your upper body back to dodge and plant your hands on the ground behind your head to swiftly hurl yourself back to your feet using just the strength in your arms.

Now instead of giving Choso time to counter, or even attempt to move, you swing your leg. Choso catches your action and puts his hands out and claps them together out of instinct to use his technique, leaving you with the great opportunity to kick his face and send him to his knees the moment of impact, just out of the pure strength behind your swing.

And just to finish this round you walk around him and point your fist at his face. “And that’s dead.”

You drop your arm and offer him your hand.

Choso meets your gaze with no ill feeling and takes your offer, letting you pull him to his feet.

“Did that hurt?” You worry about him now that the session is over. “I’m sorry, Choso.”

Said man holds his cheek and covers how red it’s getting. “It’s nothing that won’t heal. You were great, y/n.”

You give your gratitude with a sweet smile before you grab his wrist and yank it down to pull him over to the bench. “You won’t heal right away like I can due to my RCT, which means it stings. Trust me I know. So let’s just put some ice on it.”

Choso parts his lips to argue since he will heal, but he can’t turn you down so he lets you sit him down, and just watches you wrap a towel around cubes of ice before you very gently press the cool towel against his cheek.

“Those were some nice moves,” you fill the silence so you can avoid getting lost on his handsome face and his pink lips just inches away from yours. “I like how you grabbed my hips and swung me around. That was quick thinking.”

Choso sits up straight and huffs. “On that last move, before you hit me, I pointed my hands out—”

“I saw that!” You exclaim and jump out of excitement. “You were totally going for a piercing blood!”

Choso chuckles softly. “I was an idiot. I could’ve dodged.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah especially because I kind of fumbled my footing there.”

“Really?” He asks and raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t see.”

“No.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Because you were going to shoot piercing blood.”

Choso snorts and snickers, making your heart skip a beat, and your smile to turn to a beaming grin.

“I…I did see a difference when I changed my stance and lifted some weight off my feet,” Choso let you know.

“Really?” You probe curiously. “You liked it? I know some people prefer the additional weight. It makes their swings harder.”

“Well, if I add the weight when I hit instead, I find it smoother,” he says and you nod.

“Yeah, I do that too, that way I can move fast without being too tense, but making my impacts harder when I use that weight with my swings instead,” you share.

“Hm.” He hums.

You laugh softly down at the bench. “I was trying to trick you after I smacked my fist in the ground,” you let him know.

Choso’s eyebrows quirk up and he shoots you a puzzled look.

“I faked that second damn to try and distract,” you explain.

“I knew that,” he now claims, making you chuckle and roll your eyes.

“You didn't know shit!” You argue and playfully push him away.

A teasing smile tugs on his lips and he just continues to say a bunch of shit out of the high of the moment you’re both stuck in. “I knew not to check on you.”

You shake your head as you laugh, and he furrows his eyebrows and brings up a question. “Does that usually work?”

You shrug. “Sometimes, depends on who I’m fighting. But it’s not to check on me, more so my opponent let their guard down because they think I got weaker.”

“Hm. Well, it’s smart then,” he tells you softly.

You mutter, “thanks,” sweetly, and then your phone suddenly starts to ring, so pull away and grab your phone from your sweater draped over the bench.

When you check who it is you smile when you see that it’s Belinda.

“I’ll go,” Choso tries to be respectful and give you space, but you grab his wrist to assure him it’s okay before you answer the phone.

“Hello?” You greet in a sing-song voice as all you see is a wood ceiling. “Who am I talking to?”

A few seconds of silence pass before you hear your daughter's sweet voice. “Mommy!”

You grin. “Chipmunk,” you greet. “What are you doing? Why am I looking at a ceiling?”

“Oh, right,” she mumbles before she picks up the phone and finally shows her face to the camera. “Hi,” she greets again with a wave this time.

“Hi,” you don’t fail to return. “What are you doing?”

Satori flashes you a grin and points the camera at some long strings of dough. “I’m making pasta noodles,” she reveals. “Belinda's mom said that it’s important I know because I’m a girl.”

Of course, that lady would say that. Tsk.

“Oh,” you feign a laugh. “That’s…cool. You having fun?”

“What are you doing?” She cuts you off and stares hard at her screen to try and figure out the answer to her question.

“I’m training,” you let her know, making her pull back and smile again. “Actually,” you add with a growing grin. “I’m here with my friend, Choso.”

You proceed to shift so you can show him off to your daughter.

“Choso this is Satori,” you introduce him to the most important person in your life. “Satori this is Choso.”

Choso glances at you nervously as if trying to make sure it’s okay before he looks at the camera and offers your daughter a small smile. “Hello,” he greets nervously.

Satori's dark eyes narrow as she studies his face for a moment before her face eases and she smiles sweetly. “Hello,” she manages to greet without shying away since she’s behind a screen. “Uh, my mommy talks about you a lot.”

Your eyes widen and you quickly turn away. “Satori,” you quietly scold her.

“What?” She asks without understanding why you’re acting the way you are. “You and daddy always said to tell the truth. I did.”

You sigh deeply knowing you can’t say anything about it now so you just bite your tongue and wait to correct her tomorrow.

“Anyway,” you change the subject. “Satori how was your trip to—”

“Oh, Mom I have to go, I'll call you before bedtime, bye.” And just like that she ends the call and leaves you hanging.

“Well,” you clear your throat and don’t touch on what she blurted to him. “You met my daughter,” you say and shift to face Choso and press the ice back on his cheek that isn't as red as it was moments ago, but it still is swollen.

“She looks like him doesn't she?” You ask.

Choso swallows thickly and drifts his gaze away to nod before he looks back at you with a timid but soft look. “She has your smile though,” he says.

You’re caught off guard and feel your breath hitch softly before you show your flustered smile to the bench. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Hm.”

You let out a small breath and then look back at him. “Does it hurt less?” You ask with concern.

Choso nods. “Yes, thank you. You’re sweet even though I will heal, I told you.”

“Pft,” you blow out. “Then heal right now.” You urge him to prove you wrong.

Choso narrows his gaze. “Well, it’s not how it works.” He argues.

You scoff and smirk. “Well until then I’ll worry if I want to.”

Choso’s chest rises and you know what he’s going to respond with so you beat him to it.

“Hm.”

Choso shoots you a pointed look, making you snicker as you hold his gaze.

And since he wasn’t really upset, he can’t hold back from sharing a soft smile while he gets lost in your eyes, building the tension that had already made itself a home between the two of you and urged you to just break it with an act of a kiss, or a confession.

But neither of you do, you just torture yourselves and sit in silence where only the two of you existed before suddenly Yuki’s excited shout breaks you away. “Who's ready?!”

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Sorry I’m late,” you make your presence known as you slide the door open to the parlor room where you’re supposed to brainstorm a battle plan.

“We haven’t started…” Yuki trails off to scoff, making you pick your eyes off the ground to watch her stuffing her face with crackers. “You’re wearing a kimono?” She says teasingly.

You flick your wrist. “Don’t make a big deal,” you brush her off and sit beside her and across from Choso.

“I hardly see you wearing them,” Yuki ignores you as she props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand to lean towards you. “What’s the occasion?” She asks with a smirk.

You shoot her a pointed gaze knowing this was only about one man. “I wear kimonos often, they’re comfortable, especially when I’m on my period, like now.” you don’t give in to her taunting. “Do you wear them?” You raise a brow.

“Sometimes,” she shrugs you off.

“Well,” Choso interjects, stealing your attention away from your mentor and notice that a soft blush painted his cheeks. “I think you look very nice, Y/N.”

You can’t help but smile as you smooth out the red robe that didn’t hang tightly around your body, it fit comfortably since you were just staying indoors today.

“Thank you, Choso,” you redirect softly.

Said man swallows thickly and offers you a soft nod as you continue to hold his gaze until you feel Yuki nudge your knee.

You pinch her back under the table, making her snicker before she pinches back a bit too hard.

“Ow,” you whine and smack her hand. “Some master you are.”

Yuki chuckles and takes a sip from her tea, whilst Choso just ignores your and Yuki’s doings, and instead directs his question to you. “Would you like some tea, y/n?”

You perk up and nod. “Yeah, thanks.”

Choso grabs your empty cup and gets up to walk to the kettle, causing Yuki to mock him speechlessly.

“Mature,” you mouth and just ignore her as you fold your arms over the table to rest your head on your arms. “You know I was supposed to go to a gala today,” you murmur sadly. “I was going to wear a beautiful and expensive gown, and get all dolled up.”

“Oh, really?” Yuki probes. “Were you going with anyone?”

You smile. “Nanami to introduce him to a model slash sorcerer friend, and Shoko to get her out of work for a while. And Satoru had invited himself along, so he was going to go too.”

“Ah the media would've eaten you and your brother up,” Yuki points out. “I can read the headlines now, the ever so mysterious model, y/n, finally showing off a bit of her life tonight at blah, blah gala.”

You snicker. “Yeah, and he would’ve gotten carried away.” You can’t help but share with a bit of actual sadness that you couldn't actually see this day through like it was planned. It would've been so much fun.

“Here,” Choso interjects as he falls beside you to hand you your tea.

“Oh, thank you, Cho.” You thank him while you reach for your cup, and accidently brush your fingers over his as you take it from his grasp.

Choso offers you a nod before he retakes his seat at the same time the door opens and Tengen finally walks in.

“About time,” Yuki remarks as she sits up and folds her arms over her chest.

“Sorry, there’s much to do,” they excuse themselves while they take their seat. “Since I am late, why don’t we save casual mingling for later.”

You scoff and bring the hot cup to your lips. “We weren’t going to mingle with you,” you say bluntly and take a careful drink, realizing at that moment that the hot tea that seeped into your taste buds is prepared exactly as you like it. It’s exactly how you prepare it…

Did Choso know this from just watching you prepare your tea during those nine days?

“Gojo,” Tengen speaks in such a booming and yet elegant voice. “I know what Cursed manipulation consists of, but some of your peers aren’t aware, why don’t you share what you know since you lived with Suguru Geto.”

You swallow your drink and put the cup down. “Well,” you sigh. “There’s no limit to how many cursed spirits he can hold, but last year in the fight people call The Night Parade, he unleashed a majority of his curses. Meaning,” you add hopefully. “Kenjaku shouldn’t have many, I mean Suguru spent his lifetime collecting them, so it’s doubtful Kenjaku could’ve restored Suguru’s stock in a year.”

“What about the religious facilities?” Yuki asks. “He got curses from the non-sorcerers that worshiped him.”

You drop your gaze to your cup and shake your head. “No, I closed them all down, there was no need for them after he died.”

“Then why does Kenjaku still dress like a monk?” Choso spats.

You look at him across from you and bounce off him. “That’s what I'd like to know. I mean sure before he revealed himself it was to keep up appearances, but now? Who knows.”

“Kenjaku is tactical,” Tengen interjects and ignores the conversation between Choso and you. “He’ll find a way to work with the curses he gathered and what he had left.”

“Then let me go first,” Choso cuts in, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion, while your stomach knots together out of worry.

“You’ll die if you do,” you blurt without thinking.

Choso doesn’t notice the concern laced in your voice or the perplexity behind your eyes. “Then would you and Tsukumo fight against Noritoshi Kamo, three against one with me?”

You and Yuki share a look, but rather than expressing nonchalance like her, you share your growing concern.

“I’d be in the way right?” Choso continues to share. “So I’ll go first, draw out his cursed spirits, and get him to reveal information. If I can get him to open his domain…”

Then he’ll die. Does he not want to see that? Does his life mean so little to him?

“Then Kenjaku will have difficulty using cursed techniques,” Yuki adds in for him. “That’s when Y/N and I strike.”

“Exactly,” Choso agrees.

“I’ll say it again then,” Yuki repeats. “You’ll die.”

Choso doesn't look bothered or upset by the warning, he’s fucking nonchalant and it starts to upset you. You can’t even try to fight it for the restriction you put against yourself. The concern you felt twisting your insides, developed into anger that seeped through your veins and slowly spread out.

“I don’t care as long as we kill him,” Choso argues nonchalantly, making that anger pulse and pump faster throughout your body—“For me, my brothers, and the sake of my mother's curse, which makes up half of me and my brothers. For Yuji’s future as well.”

That anger now makes your heart pound and your jaw clench.

How dare he bring up his brother's future if he doesn’t even plan to be in it? Does he not want to stay with him, spend time with him, and fight for his survival? Why does he want to throw his life away like it meant nothing? Like it doesn’t matter?

You should be asking yourself why it upset you so much. With him gone at least your desire will fizzle out and you’ll stop thinking about him and a future you lost sight of when Suguru died. But your anger reached your mind, and clouded your reasoning, judgment, and critical thinking altogether.

All there is is pulsing anger mixing with your concern, so you can’t keep your mouth shut anymore, you interject to express emotions. “So what? You’re just going to leave Itadori here? Alone? Without you? After you just found each other.”

Choso blinks and slowly sits up, whilst his face shows his perplexity over your emotions.

“Y/N,” Yuki tries to stop you.

“No,” you spat and pierce a glare into Choso. “Why should I sit here and listen to him planning to kill himself? There’s other ways. I can help you, you don’t have to throw your life away.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ve lost so many people I care about,” you cut Yuki off with your voice shaking with anger and…fear. That’s what you felt too. That’s what you recognize coursing through you too.

“All in a span of a year,” you continue, leaving poor Choso just more confused and baffled—“why should I let someone else I care about die?”

“Because,” Yuki argues, but you keep looking deeply into Choso’s eyes. “It comes with our lifestyle. You know that more than anyone. Sure, you had a privileged upbringing, but you also grew up in this world, it comes with sacrifices. If you don’t like that then you can leave, I told you that already. Do you want to leave?”

You hold Choso’s gaze for a moment longer, and he parts his lips and looks at you with just soft disbelief now. It seems he wants to add something, but you drop your eyes and don’t let him interject. “No, Master,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yuki sighs. “Now you two listen to our plan.”

You tighten your grip around your cup and pierce your glare in the light brown tea as Yuki shares a plan she came up with Tengen. You have no protests, you’re okay with what she planned for you to do, so you never interject, nor does Choso. He just chimes in after she’s done explaining.

“Hmm, dismantling the domain huh?”

“You come after that,” Yuki clarifies.

“No, I should go first,” Choso insists, making you roll your eyes but stay quiet now.

“Domains are powerful but burnt-out cursed techniques afterward,” Choso continues. “So there’s a risk that your cursed techniques will be hard to use after a while. I know you and Tengen want to exploit that, but he won’t open his domain if he expects me to leap in. Even if beats me once it’ll convince him that the fight is only against you, Tsukumo, and y/n.”

“Alright fine,” Yuki finally gives in. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you mumble and take a sip of tea.

“And Y/N can’t use her fire-snake technique,” Choso protests. “Noritoshi has the advantage of knowing her every move thanks to who he’s inhabiting, he’ll see it coming and kill her.”

You almost choke on your tea, but you manage to navigate down the right pipe before you finally break your silence. “He’ll try to kill me either way because of it, I won’t be safe regardless.”

“Then let me help you,” he volunteers without hesitation. “I’ll fight what he tries to throw at you.”

The words you were going to share right away get stuck in your throat as you breathe in sharply. And that anger you held for him is forgotten for a moment as you’re now shocked.

“No,” Yuki argues for you, snapping you out of your stupor. “We stick to our plan. Y/N can handle herself. You can help when it’s your time to come out if you want to so badly.”

“Right.” You clear your throat and let your anger rush back. “I have my supreme art technique that I never showed Suguru. Trapping Noritoshi in my domain won’t work, he’ll probably overpower me, so I’ll use my supreme art technique to tire him out for Yuki.”

Choso narrows his eyes and probes with concern laced in his voice. “And you’ll have enough energy to fight after?”

You nod as you swirl the tea in your cup. “Yes, I will,” you assure him. “I’ll be okay.”

Choso looks unsure about your reassurance out of concern, but he also trusts you and believes in you, so he doesn’t argue.

“Great!” Yuki exclaims. “So we all know what we’re going to do? No protests?”

Yes, one, Choso’s willingness to sacrifice his life. It still pisses you off and makes you want to cry and fight him, but you’ve been told off already. And he doesn’t seem to want to listen, so you bite your tongue and let the plan be. Even if your heart…begins to ache.

.

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.

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A/N- If you think about Choso and mc have not spent a day apart since Shibuya

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest

[sitp-recs]

Hello! I saw that you have a lot of drarry enemies to lovers recs, but I wondered if you had any specifically heavy on the mending and gaining trust aspects. Angst with a happy ending where they have a lot of growth to do. Where it’s not easy for them to come together because they can’t forget what’s happened. Something hard won. I love when it’s easy, but right now I want to read it when it’s hard. I so appreciate you, and the work you put in to put these together and the ask is, as always, utterly optional. ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you for this lovely ask! I do love myself a long and cathartic fic exploring the hardship of becoming friends after everything they’ve been through. There’s so much room to explore that aspect with Drarry, which is probably one of my favourite things about this ship. The one fic - a personal all-time favourite - that immediately jumps to mind is Lettered’s By the Grace. That one represents the ultimate Drarry redemption/forgiveness journey to me. Here are some other recs for you!

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by punk_rock_yuppie (T, 16k)

Draco and Harry and how their relationship—and themselves—change over the course of eleven years.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Wild, orphaned (E, 93k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

Changing Tides by carpemermaid (E, 109k)

Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Eclipse by Mijan (T, 287k)

Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

[emilymk20]

TW: $u!c!d3 $h 4n4

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…

This is my note that I’ve had written out for a while 🙃 Fair warning, it is really long. I don’t know, maybe it could help somebody, whether it helps them keep going or just helps them relate. Much love 🫶🏻🖤

This is so cliche, but I feel obligated to leave some kind of explanation. I am absolutely positive there has always been something wrong with me. Normal people don’t want to die at eleven years old. One thing I was always good at was covering it up; I almost wish my struggle was more visible, but I know that people always just want to help and truthfully help is the last thing I want. More reason why there’s probably something wrong because who thinks like that? The one thing that I am losing is empathy. It was always empathy that made me “better.” I didn’t want to make anyone waste their time worrying and I didn’t want to be seen for what I am so I started eating more, I stopped cutting myself, I didn’t take the pills, I didn’t cry, I didn’t let myself feel anything. In a way that made me hold on; the idea that I didn’t want anyone to have to find my body, I didn’t want anybody to mourn me, I didn’t want anyone to think that they could have helped me, and I definitely didn’t want anyone to think that the decision I made was their fault. I don’t expect anyone to understand it, but nothing happened to make me feel this way. Some awful things have happened in the midst of it, but there’s no root cause or trigger; I apply blame to nothing and nobody except myself and the operations of my own brain.

I’m tired. It’s so difficult to explain, but I think I’ve felt so deeply for so long, I have nothing left to feel. I feel like a shell of a person. I’ve noticed a recent trend in the past three years that I’ve never experienced before in the impulsively of my emotional rollercoaster. I’ll spend days, weeks, sometimes months feeling so proud of myself and hopeful, motivated more than ever before to better myself, happy where I am, and then in a matter of minutes it all slips away from me. I push everyone away and I can’t help but stop trying. I won’t eat or I’ll eat until I’m sick from it, I’ll cut myself because that’s the only thing that can make me feel, I won’t sleep at all or I’ll sleep all day, I won’t clean, I won’t shower, I won’t even get up to use the restroom. It’s as if I go completely brain dead, but my thoughts still won’t stop racing. Then, once I can come to terms with it all and maybe find a solution, the mania hits again and it all doesn’t matter anymore because I feel like I’m on top of the world. I don’t eat because it feels good to be hungry or I’ll eat a lot because “I deserve it,” I don’t sleep because that seems like so much valuable time going to waste, or I’ll sleep a lot because it’s a form of self care and if my body is that tired I should let it, and I’ll cut myself still because it’s empowering and I find it almost pretty. Nothing tangible ever changes, just the unbearable fluctuation of my head. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for me to hide it, because to everyone on the outside, that is my normal.

I constantly feel like I’m watching myself glued to a tightrope. I can pull myself down to my lowest, feeling all that tension, and then suddenly skyrocket to my full potential. Well, I have to fall back down at some point, and I always do. The only thing is that I’m stuck. I’m stuck in my head in that cycle and the only way out is to fall off. Sure, there’s ways to get make it bearable, I mean there has to be some diagnosis for all this to explain it, but would I really want to spend my life maintaining symptoms? Would I really want to spend my whole life fighting? No. I don’t even want to spend the present fighting. I know from the outsider’s perspective I just seem lazy, and trust me, I feel that way too.

I can’t even begin to describe how exhausting it is. What I think about often is how humans are awake during the day, but you can always take a break when nighttime comes to sleep. I’m hyper aware of everything that takes my energy that I don’t have control over. My brain never stops thinking, my blood never stops pumping, my body never stops breathing…I know these are things that regular people don’t think about, but with every breath I take it feels like a loss. I just want nothing more than real rest and peace of mind. I don’t understand why things bother me when everyone else wouldn’t even have these thoughts pass their mind. Why am I so introspective and aware? Ignorance truly is bliss.

It seems really crazy, maybe because I am crazy, but the higher points of my life are more painful than the lows have been. There’s something so comforting about losing my drive, letting myself slow down, watching myself rot away and fall further from reality; it’s almost my ideal, but not quite. I just want true rest. I really wish I had the option to completely start over. I romanticize my childhood so much; bittersweet nostalgia is my biggest downfall. I was so clueless then; so full of joy. I wish that I could put my finger on what happened and when it all went wrong. I don’t know why I long for that life so much now; I love being independent and having the freedom to make my own decisions as an adult, but maybe it’s the immanence of responsibility always pushing me down. I miss the days before it started looming over me. I don’t feel as though I was ready to be on my own, I don’t think I ever learned how to handle that freedom because all I’ve done is abuse it. There are irreparable decisions that I’ve made for the specific purpose of digging myself deeper in a hole because I feel like that’s what I deserve. You can say that’s not true all you want, but it’s a little too late to still be invalidating my feelings so allow me.

My self hatred is so deep rooted, I can feel it in every nerve of my body. I’m embarrassed by myself. Truly, if I was somebody else, I wouldn’t even speak to me. I am undesirable in every aspect; I harbor so much jealousy, I’m a deadbeat, it’s probably been a decade since I’ve made a “good decision,” I’m annoying, I talk way too much, I have a huge ego (which is interesting because obviously I don’t like myself all that much), I have too much baggage, I’m ugly, I’m insecure, I have no room to consider anyone else in life, and I don’t care. To my core, I wish I could be anyone but me. I don’t know how to describe the gravity of me wishing I was dead. It doesn’t even seem like that big of a deal to me anymore because in all honesty I feel like I’ve been slowly slipping away anyways. Death is not a stranger to me; I feel like I’ve been hanging out on the front porch of the end for far too long, and I just can’t wait to step through that door. When I was little, it was always, “I want to die, but I guess I can wait until after _______…” There was still some hope back then. Now it seems that my hope has run out for me and I just don’t care anymore. I am sorry, but I have exhausted every option for me, and I believe that it’s time for me to regain control at least for a final moment.

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: "Welcome home(?) Chris Kent!"

Chris sighed. “...So yeah, I don’t really remember being an adult. Just bits and pieces. I remember Thara, and the Nightwing. Um. That’s about it on details.”

B+ nodded and rubbed his chin. Chris was intentionally leaving things out, that’s what his spot analysis of his body-language, mannerisms and tone told him. Perhaps he’d be willing to share more later when they were friends…if B+ didn’t manage to mess it up.  “Fascinating series of events for a twelve-year-old. Disturbing, in many ways.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “I’m not really twelve, I’m actually an adult, I just look like--”

B+ shook his head and looked down at the datapad that was monitoring Chris' vitals. “No. No, I'm pained to inform you that you’ve misunderstood the flow of your life.”

Chris frowned. “...What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, from what I can tell, you didn’t live an accelerated life in that you lived at a normal pace in a pocket of reality that moved faster along the timeline than the one you originated from. Rather, your body aged more quickly than it should have on a purely physical level. Sure, that meant your brain reached a certain stage of development sooner, but you didn’t gain the experience you would have had from living into adulthood naturally, so experientially you didn’t really age at all. Legally, and ethically you were always a child. And that would be true even if you did remember everything. 

“So really I could still say you were six or seven, but with the accumulated experience you lived through and do remember...and though you were incorporeal when you were in the phantom zone the second time, and I have no concrete way of knowing how long you were there for…I do know that Kon-El is also from your timeline and only remembers a year passing between when he was lost and when Impulse found him. That was five or six years ago now, and you were conscious for that period of time. Meaning: I think eleven or twelve is probably fair. I can go with twelve if that makes you feel any better. Luckily, that’s about where your body ended up as well.”

Chris stared at him with wide eyes. Then his lips twisted and he sat back down on the floor of his containment chamber. “...Oh. I…I guess that makes sense.”

B+ nodded without looking up from the data he was reading. “It does, but I still think it’s kind of messed up, actually. The adults sent me to talk to you because they’re all upset and didn’t want you to pick up on it. Subconsciously they seem to think that I don’t process emotion still and as such wouldn’t bother you by being agitated. Bias from experience with my predecessor. I am not hurt by it, but…I do hope to at some point convince them that I am truly a separate being.” His third eye flicked up and over to look at Chris and caught the alarmed recognition in his eyes in the second before he was able to hide it. “...Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about myself. I was going to say that I am also upset: You shouldn’t have had an adult girlfriend when you were cognitively six or seven. Very weird for both human and Kryptonian standards. Bird gods be damned.”

Chris hugged himself. “I mean…I mean from what I remember, she was nice.”

B+ desperately wanted to break down the reasons why that didn’t matter, but it wasn’t the right moment, and he felt it would be better coming from someone like Ms. Lane. So he smoothed it over. 

...Well, he tried to. “She could have been, I’m not implying that it was…”He paused. “...Well maybe I am implying that it was somewhat predatory, but I doubt she really considered the implications enough for me to judge her as anything more than shortsighted. Perhaps neither of you were completely acting on your own volition even, because again, bird gods. I’m…not trying to make you feel bad, am I making you feel bad?”

Chris looked away. “...A little.”

B+ winced and looked directly at him with all three eyes. He even devoted half of his processes to the conversation, which was dramatic overkill really, but he felt bad.

 “I apologize. Sometimes I talk through thoughts that I should probably process silently. Um…wait, hold on.” He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them again. “Okay, the likelihood that they’ll bother us in the next half hour is low, they’re tending to a minor disaster.” 

Chris’ mask dropped and B+ could see how nervous he was.

“...Why…what are you going to do to me?”

B+ had been reaching towards the containment field, but when Chris asked that fearful question, he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Nothing! I wouldn’t--I don’t…” His lips wobbled as he tried to not get upset. It was frustrating sometimes, being so young and knowing so many things. On the one hand he wanted to be taken seriously, to be seen as competent…but on the other, he was still chronologically two, developmentally nine, and that meant that it was hard to mitigate his feelings sometimes. Conrad had reassured him that it was normal, but he knew that already. Normal or not, it was still embarrassing. He sighed. “...I was just going to sit next to you. I thought…I thought it might make you feel better after I upset you by being callous. I don’t have to, I can just--”

Chris’ expression softened considerably. “Wait, what? Wouldn’t the Phantom Zone energy be bad for you?”

“No, I can handle it fine.” It was a lie, it was going to be incredibly uncomfortable, but not so much that he couldn’t hide it from Chris, so it was acceptable.

Chris stood up. “Well…I mean yeah, then that would be okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out, just--”

“You’ve been treated as an experiment and tool before…and in a sense I am…Brainiac. That was…that was the kind of thing he did, so it is not inappropriate to be...vigilant.” B+ was thankful at that moment that he’d decided not to install synthetic tear ducts into his current iteration. “Um. Step back just a little? Please?”

Chris pressed lips together in concern, but took a step back. B+ reached out again and touched the containment field, and his skin shifted color just slightly from its bright turquoise to something closer to matching the shade of the barrier, before he walked through said barrier like it wasn’t there. Chris looked him over cautiously. “...You sure you’re okay?”

B+ nodded. “I am sure.” He stretched a bit to try to look casual about the fact that the way the zone energy interfered with his connection to turquoise light made his synthetic muscles burn. It was fine. He wasn’t a baby. He took a seat on the floor, and Chris sat next to him.

“If you would like to ask me questions, you may, I think that’s fair. You aren’t my experiment, friends share information reciprocally, and I’d…I’d like to be…that.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Metron’s countenance, I am awkward.”

Chris giggled. “No, you’re fine. This is all kinda awkward I think. For most people it’d be worse. You use a bunch of words I don’t know, though.”

“Sorry.”

Chris offered him a warm smile and patted him on the shoulder, and B+ had to stop himself from wincing at the pain. This was a good sign, a positive interaction that suggested Chris had not decided to fear him. The discomfort had purpose.

“So,” Chris went on, “How old are you? Cause I dunno what your deal is, but you seem to have a lot going on.”

B+ snorted. “Yes that…yes. Um. Technically I…emotionally I am about nine or ten, experientially…is complicated, because I have the knowledge of…quite a few civilizations stored in my mind, so I know and understand quite a bit. Chronologically my body is roughly…two years old at this point?” B+ knew that he was exactly eighteen months, three-hundred hours, thirty-two minutes and fifteen seconds old--but he thought rounding it up sounded better. 

Chris slowly turned to him and smirked. “So I just got a lecture about how my girlfriend was inappropriate from a toddler?”

B+ rolled all three of his eyes. “I’m not a toddler!”

“Awww look at the little guy!” Chris teased and poked B+ in the side.

…Which was not something B+ expected him to do, and so he wasn’t prepared to stop his automatic reaction. It tickled as intended, but it also hurt because at that point everything hurt, and he made a sound that was something between an embarrassed giggle and a pained groan. You could probably call it a whimper. 

Chris pulled his hand back. “Wh--did I hurt you? I thought I didn’t have my powers, I’m sorry--”

“No!” B+ waved him off and then winced at how much that action hurt. “It’s fine, you did nothing wrong, my chassis is strong enough that I wouldn’t be concerned if you did have your powers, it’s just--”

“You lied to me about the zone being fine?”

B+ sighed. Why couldn’t he have been somewhat dense like the other Lor-Zod?

 “...Yes. I thought it wouldn’t be this bad and wanted you to feel better--ahh!”

B+ yelped in surprise (and pain) as Chris gently picked him up and brought him back to the edge of containment. “Out! Go! Before you hurt yourself any more.”

“But--”

“It’s fine! We can hug later or whatever!”

B+’ cheeks warmed, which was confusing for him because he didn’t really have blood, but he stepped back through the barrier like he was told to. Instantly he felt his connection return, and the pain was replaced by the strength he hadn’t realized he’d lost. He turned back to Chris. “Sorry--”

“Please don’t do that again.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on--”

“I mean hurting yourself so I don’t think you’re bad. Don’t do that.”

B+ was somewhat disturbed that Chris had picked up on that. “I…what?”

Chris looked directly into B+’ two primary eyes. His expression read as genuine concern and compassion. It made B+ nervous. “I don’t think you’re Brainiac, and I don’t think you wanna hurt me, okay? We’re good. I like you. You’re kind of funny in like an alien way. Which, as an alien, works for me.”

B+ rolled his eyes and snorted. “...Alright. I appreciate that.”

“Plus, I’m not gonna be scared of a two-year old.” Chris smiled.

“I’m not--” B+ shook his head. He had to claw some of his dignity back somehow. “I’m going to get you out of that tube before the day is out.”

Chris balked. “...What? But...but Kal-El and Batman and Mr. Terrific said it could take--”

“RIP to them, but I’m built different. Literally. Besides, I understand your biology better than any existing being. If I can’t figure this out in the next six hours, I might as well retire and go live on a farm. Ew.”

“Farms are cool!”

“Farms are outdated, just synthesize the food with an atomic reconstructor, they’re not hard to--you know what, I’m actually going to focus all my processes on you, which means I really like you, because I was watching ‘The Great British Bake Off' for most of this conversation. I love that show. But…I still think the British owe this planet more reparations. Anyway, give me seventeen minutes.”

Chris was about to ask another question, but B+’ face went blank and his eyes all started glowing bright turquoise at once, so it was clear that the conversation was over. Or at least…paused.

[paranorahjones]

Ok so, for reverse unpopular opinion, MAWS and Stranger Things :).

I genuinely laughed out loud when I saw the second thing in this ask. Evil evil evil 🤣

BUT FIRST WE START WITH MAWS

@dangerously-human BLESS YOU for also asking me about MAwS, I'm gonna do a two-for-one here and tag you in this one (and then answer your other one afterwards)

I'm gonna try to keep my thoughts brief because I'm gonna make an incredibly long post about it later but main points:

I absolutely adore the way MAwS portrays physical and emotional attraction between two adults while balancing both of those aspects of romantic attraction in a way that never makes the viewer feel it's unrealistic or uncomfortable, or like either party is objectifying the other. This is what my long post will largely be about because the way it's done in MAwS feels incredibly rare and valuable.

This has been said by so many other people but I also just adore Clark Kent's character in MAwS. Until now I have never once found myself significantly compelled by any mainstream superhero media besides Megamind. I tried with Marvel and it didn't take. I saw less of DC and didn't really see anything that drew me in, though to be fair I didn't really look. I didn't grow up reading comics and only knew the characters by their stereotypes or their gritty, subversive adaptations that no one likes.

And then I watched MAwS and it changed everything. XD I care about all of it now. I want to know so much more.

I also really really love this adaptation of Lois Lane. I'm really not familiar with the others, but she's such a fun and real-feeling character. She's larger than life and also so down-to-earth when she needs to be. She makes mistakes a lot and does her best to right them, and it's so comforting that she really feels like exactly what she is: a 23-year-old intern with the energy of a caged comet, trying her best to live up to extremely high expectations and her own aspirations. Sometimes that energy goes in the wrong direction, but she is well-intentioned and genuine and really a sweetheart. I love her to death.

I just. ugh. I love them so much. 😭

Okay. Now for part two.

Stranger Things. Can I talk specifically about the first and second seasons? Because those two seasons, for the most part, felt like such a beautiful embodiment of the "love conquers all" trope that we both love. The boys protecting Eleven at the start and doing everything they could to help her, Mike especially doing his best to communicate with her and be a source of safety and comfort for her, and at the end of the first season, her sacrifice to protect all of them. Good gosh. I still can't watch that scene without crying. AND THEN IN THE SECOND SEASON us finding out that Mike tried to reach out into the void for Eleven every single day for 353 days straight?? Destroys me. Utterly. I love Mike so much. (also fun fact, if you add up the digits in 353 it equals 11. i remember binging the second season on the night it came out and screaming to myself about that when it came up.)

I'm gonna throw this link in here because it's one of the best fan edits I've ever seen in my entire life and it encapsulates all of my feelings about Mike and Eleven in season one. I remember watching it over and over again seven years ago and it still brings back all of those emotions. It's so good.

Additional things I love about Stranger Things:

The music. Oh my gosh, the music. The soundtrack from season one is often on repeat in my car. It's freaking beautiful.

Steve. Best freaking redemptive character arc I've ever seen in anything ever. He goes from being perfectly hate-able to someone I would die for in the span of two seasons, and just continues to get better.

Steve's hair. It's great.

It being the reason that we have the infamous "category five woman moment" post about Joyce Byers. I think about it all the time. One of my top five favorite phrases ever.

There are more things but I think I've talked about Stranger Things more than I talked about MAwS at this point, ironically. XD

Thank you both so much for the asks!! These were so fun!! :DDD 💙

[thelampisaflashlight]

Facts about me, that explain a bit why I'm the odd duck you all know today. Let's go.

-I saw the movie Junior on TV when I was in my second year of elementary school. I'd seen a commercial for it, and was like, "Oh, okay, sure, why not?" and I remember a girl in my class asking what I was doing after school and I was like, "I'm gonna watch this movie about a guy who has a baby." and she proclaimed she would do the same, to which I replied, "Okay??"

I had a CRTV in my room -the kind with the built in VHS player- and managed to watch the entire movie without anyone coming in and asking what I was up to.

And that's how I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger pregnant at age eight.

In addition to this, I also saw the movie Serial Mom on TV as a wee child as well.

-Some of the most rewatched movies in my house as a kid were Chicken Run, Robots (the 2005 animated film), and The Lord of The Rings trilogy.

I also routinely woke up at midnight to watch South Park, and I remember waking up and King of Queens still being on and being like, "Ugh."

-I still have a scar on my leg from when I was about nine or so years old and I fell off of a log, it runs from my knee up to my thigh, and while it's mostly faded now, when I get tan from working outside, it becomes a lot more obvious.

I don't remember the pain from it, so much as thinking, "Aw, I'm gonna get blood on my jeans."

-I had to be in reading classes up until around the second grade, but not because I couldn't read; I kept elaborating and describing the pictures instead of just reading the lines on the page, so they thought I couldn't read.

When I did finally prove I could read by actually doing what I was told, I never had to do reading classes again.

-For about two years, I slept in my closet. I'd stick my sleeping bag in there and I'd slide the door shut and watch movies or just listen to music in the dark.

I didn't have a bed at the time -I slept on the floor from around the age of eleven until I graduated high school-, so I guess it just felt cozy/comfortable.

And lastly;

-I used to get sick fairly often, I wouldn't say I was a sickly kid, but my health wasn't the best, and I would routinely have to leave after homeroom/first period in middle and high school.

As a result, I spent a lot of time alone, because my dad would have to go back to work and I'd basically be on my own until my brother came home from school.

I'm not at all used to people checking in on me when I'm sick, and for the most part, I prefer not to be noticed when I'm not feeling well, but I have found a fair bit of comfort in sickfics where a character is taken care of/has people around them that check in on them.

It's my sort of cathartic media lol

For what it's worth, I'm not sick nearly as often as I used to be -knock on wood- and I owe that in no small part to my friends for pushing me to take care of myself and be my own advocate.

I've still got problems, obviously, but I'm a lot more open/honest about what I'm going through.

[tulipe-rose]

My dad was having those little post lunch chats with my siblings (I got up to do the dishes by then), and the topic of con artists came up. My dad spoke about watching a snippet from a movie where the fox was a con artist, and used to sell ice pops. I didn't even let him finish, I heard enough. I invited myself into the conversation, and had a ten minute long detailed rant about Zootopia's plot; this was the opportunity of a lifetime, I had this rant ready since I was ten. The last time I did something like this was when I read the first harry potter book as an eleven year old, it took me a two hour long car ride to give a very detailed rundown with all the small details to my dad. My siblings kept begging me to shut up because this was giving them second hand embarrassment, but Tumblr taught me that cringe culture was dead, and I seriously needed to let my dad know that however unjustified the villain's actions were, her anger was very fair. Girl was treated like crap by everyone, ignored, underestimated, overworked, and underappreciated, so her pent up hatred was on sight; she seemed like a genuinely nice person, and as they say, no one is born evil. I actually kinda believed that Judy was lucky that the assistant mayor did this, or else she would've suffered similarly until she was either fired for her behaviour or quite of her own accord.

I kept talking until my dad had to get up, because he had some work to attend to. He smiled at me, and gave me a hug, he always tells me he misses me telling him about my interests, so I might consider ranting about no longer human to my dad once I finish it. I want more hugs don't judge me.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Trey: *Trying to explain Riddle is that way because of his mom*

Me: Give me a minute as I pull up my ‘Trauma Doesn’t Excuse Sh*t Behavior’ PowerPoint.

Say it with me, everyone: an explanation is not an excuse 😊

You know, the other day I was watching one of Ryan George's Pitch Meetings and when Producer Guy asked Writer Guy how the audience would root for the villain of the franchise and the response was "he's handsome" which basically explains most people's reactions to fictional men.

Prepare for incoming rant that has little to do with the ask

This probably might come as a shock because one of the main appeal of twst would be the whole villainous aspect/Disney Villain fanbase but I don't really like villains that much, at least, not romantically. Like don't get me wrong, I think that they're incredible characters and it would be so fun to sit down with one and have a conversation with one. Villain songs are so fun (I was literally singing ‘This Day Aria’ to myself the other day I haven’t heard that song in like a decade) and you can tell that that characters like Scar or Hades or Shere Khan or Jafar or Maleficent are having so much fun being deliciously evil and even the more serious, complex ones like Loki or Frollo are fun to pick apart so yeah I understand the hype. I just always rooted for the heroes and I guess heroic characters have always been more my type.

My mother absolutely loves Erik Destler and is forever salty that Christine chose Raoul (despite my many many attempts at arguing why Raoulstine is the superior couple - smol primary school me could not understand why my mum liked the chandelier dropper and was deeply concerned), my best friend has been in love with Heathcliffe since we were eleven, and my little sister has literally told me that her type of fictional men are the toxic red flags (not exactly word for word but she did explain why she likes bad boys over good boys when I was complaining about how my type (wholesome soft boys) always get sidelined for the arrogant, snarky bad boys - we're also very diametrically opposed on our views of friends to lovers (my s++ tier all time favourite and her loathing) vs enemies to lovers (I can't really stand it - Pride and Prejudice is the only exception - and that's literally all she consumes) so that might also be a reason).

Like, I understand the appeal of a Byronic hero (Mr Darcy has far too much power) - a closed off, broody man that hates everything but you? And will burn down the world to keep you warm? I can respect that there are people who dig that. But their not really for me.

The mild bout of insanity thirteen year old me had where I spent two months attracted to Edward Rochester is an outlier and should not have been counted (though that was during my wattpad phase so...)

But I can admit that I have yet to shake off my feelings for Dr Henry Jekyll, Victor Frankenstein and Dorian Gray (though to be fair, Mr Gabriel John Utterson the lawyer and cinnamon roll artist boy Basil Hallward do own my heart). And yes, Jeremy Jordan did make me question my morality as he did make my feelings for Light Yagami be too positive to be sane for a brief moment (Touta Matsuda is still my man, don't worry). But apart from them, literally all of my faves are what you'd call your traditional, morally upright heroes.

Basically what I'm saying is that my perception might be skewed because I've never had the whole 'villains are cooler' mindset when it came to stories. Yes, I love the villains as characters but I always liked their heroic foils more (goodness is just so attractive to me). You get lots of amazing heroic protagonists that have horribly tragic backstories and they're the ones I always fall for because the idea of being a kind sweetheart despite the world being anything but is just *chef's kiss* that's a kind of strength that's so swoon-worthy.

I guess that's why it's harder for me to look past the characters' actions in twst is because, well, they chose to do everything they did. They made a conscious choice to be terrible, despite understanding the consequences. Riddle may have been brainwashed into becoming a tyrant by his mother but he still admitted that he knew he was being horrible - he understands the concept of morality, of good and bad, and he willingly and deliberately did everything he did.

I suppose this text post I found on Pinterest would explain my point better:

[aprismaticodyssey]

Hello; please read this, if you don't mind.

This isn't any sort of update. This isn't an announcement. I know I haven't been posting and I haven't been active, so I'm sure to a lot of you, I'm all but gone. For all my talk of "I'm writing this!" and "That's being edited!" I haven't shown you guys anything. I will get to that later. This post is to tell you about my dog and his situation.

That's right! I have a dog! A yorkie. I should have spammed you all with pictures of him. We had gotten him (my mother's idea) to help me through depression. He absolutely loves people, adores meeting new dogs (even if the bigger breeds scare him), and especially kids. He's a people person. He'd sooner lick you to death than ever cause anyone genuine harm. My dog's name is Monty. Monty the Monster. And he's certainly grown into his name when he would play!

Unfortunately, at eleven years old, I guess his time is... running out. You see, last month, we took him to be groomed at a pet store we frequent. When we came home, a couple days later, he would eat less. He wasn't quite as playful, but he was still more or less himself. After stressing about his lack of interest in food, we went to the vet. There, we were told he has a heart murmur, a 3 out of 6 on the scale, I believe. We were recommended to take Monty to a cardiologist and our vet personally recommended one that she had gone to.

The problem is... everything was booked up. Some places we simply couldn't trust with something so delicate. Others were full until next February or March. Last night, my mother had me call one more place and after the call, we were told to come in on emergency. Not ideal but everything was full and we had to get him looked at. His breathing is hard and fast, uncomfortable. Wheezing. A few coughs. Distress in his eyes.

So we left. The place was nice. The people were nice. The problem was what they found: metastatic cancer in the lungs. I appreciated that we were told matter-of-factly. Very straightforward. But I still cried nonetheless. And when we were left alone, I broke down. Our options were this: we give him a few days of medication and see if it helps him. If it improves his quality of living adequately, we could get more medicine. Or... after those few days... we come back and have him euthanized. My mother has looked into other avenues already. Further treatments. Tests.

But I've already made up my mind. It isn't fair for me to put him through all of that just to delay the inevitable. I feel like a horrible owner for thinking that. For saying it. Like I should be moving mountains to give him another week. A month. A year. But I can't. I just can't. I couldn't handle seeing my dog knowing that all I've done is bought him time, time his health has decided he doesn't necessarily have. I struggled going to sleep last night even after crying. I told him over and over that I loved him. That he's my best friend and how much he helped me. These eleven years are too short. Too soon.

So... the reason I'm posting this, the reason I'm saying all of this, is just because I would like you, any of you, to say a prayer or two for Monty. To wish him smooth passage into the afterlife and that he's able to eat all the things he never could. Like chocolate! God, he'd love it if he could have it now.

If there's anything I want left behind, it's this post. I love you, Monty. More than I'll ever love myself or anyone on this earth. You helped me more than medicine or therapy ever could. I love you. I love you. I love you. I hope you get to travel the stars. I hope you make friends. I hope you find grandpa somewhere out there and join him on his adventures.

And to those of you who read this... Thank you. I'm sorry for my silence. I'm sorry for not posting more. I'm sorry for not being here. I'll be here more and more soon. Eventually. Just... not yet.

[can-of-w0rmz]

Why do you hate Oscar Wilde?

HAHAHAHAHahhAh I’m sorry I despise that man and I’m going to take any opportunity I can to rant about it so absolutely NO harm to anyone who likes his books or his work in general, if you do, completely fair enough and by absolutely all means enjoy reading them

The AUTHOR though, so, yes, the obvious first, the man’s just a nonce through and through. I have done a lot of research into his trial, (sources being The Trial of Oscar Wilde: From the Shorthand Reports (1906), and famous-trials.com, compiled by Professor Douglas O’Linder from UMKC School of Law, mostly aligning with the shorthand translations of the testimonies from the prior source referenced, yet with a few details not included in the 1906 publication to my knowledge.) and no, the guy wasn’t just thrown in prison for being a “homosexual didn’t you know old chap?✨” but because he slept with a very large amount of young boys while he was in his 30s, some as young as sixteen or eighteen. Noncery! Who knew thatd get you thrown into prison for two years!

20 year age gap not convincing enough? Have some quotes directly from Mr. Wilde himself!

C—A man never corrupts a youth?

Wilde—I think not.

C—Nothing could corrupt him?

Wilde—If you are talking of separate ages.

C—No, sir, I am talking common sense.

W—I do not think one person influences another.

C—You don't think that flattering a young man, making love to him, in fact, would be likely to corrupt him?

W—No.

WILDE.

"I think the writer's meaning is quite unambiguous. The love he alluded to was that between an elder and younger man, as between David and Jonathan; such love as Plato made the basis of his philosophy; such as was sung in the sonnets of Shakespeare and Michael Angelo; that deep spiritual affection that was as pure as it was perfect. It pervaded great works of art like those of Michael Angelo and Shakespeare. Such as "passeth the love of woman.' It was beautiful, it was pure, it was noble, it was intellectual-this love of an elder man with his experience of life, and the younger with all the joy and hope of life before him.'

Ah, Ancient Greek comparisons. We all know how non-noncey the Ancient Greeks were.

Wilde—Yes. I would become friendly with any human being I liked.

C—How old was he?

Wilde—Really, I do not keep a census.

C—Never mind about a census. Tell me how old he was?

W—I should say he was about twenty. He was young, and that was one of his attractions.

There’s more where that came from, but feel free to do more research into the sources I referenced if you want to read more. And if hearing from Wilde himself wasn’t enough, let’s hear from some of the hotel staff from when he was staying over.

“I found it necessary to call the attention of the housekeeper to the condition of Mr. Wilde's bed. The sheets were stained in a peculiar way. On the third morning of his stay, about eleven o'clock, Mr. Wilde rang the bell for the housemaid. On answering the bell I met Mr. Wilde in the doorway of No. 361, and he told me he wanted a fire in his own room, No. 362. There I saw a boy of eighteen or nineteen years of age with dark close-cropped hair and a sallow complexion.”

“One morning on going into the room-| entered after knocking-| saw someone in bed. At first I thought it was a young lady, as I saw only the head, but afterwards I saw that it was a young man. It was someone about sixteen to eighteen years of age. Mr. Wilde was in the same room dressing himself. He told me he felt so much better that morning and that, as he was very busy, he could not stay to have the treatment. I never attended Mr. Wilde again.”

And quickly, a testimony of one of the witnesses, Edward Shelley:

Mr. Wilde's conversation was principally about books and myself. Mr. Wilde said, "Will you come into my bedroom?" I did not know what he meant. As I went into the room Mr. Wilde kissed me. He also put his arms round me. I had been taking a lot of wine. I felt insulted, degraded, and objected vigorously. Mr. Wilde said he was sorry and that he had drunk too much wine. I stayed the night and shared his bed. Mr. Wilde saw me next day and again kissed me and there was a repetition of the previous night's performance. Mr. Wilde said he could get me on, and he invited me to go with him to Brighton, Cromer and Paris, but I did not go.

As well as all that, I generally find him to be an insufferable prick who is completely submerged in his own self righteousness that every odd quote I hear from him is another case of him proclaiming his own wit and genius, and every bloody character he writes is just an excuse to project his ideas in the most up-his-own-ass way he possibly can. He’s a narcissist and a prick who uses a veil of moral superiority to get away with ranting about his own beliefs through the eyes of the antagonist. He said something alone the lines of “I wrote Lord Henry to be who the world thinks I am ;)” No, Lord Henry is WHO you are, because when you were in that bloody courtroom YOU were the one ranting about the beauty of youth in young boys and the non-existence of immorality. Painting him as the antagonist was only a half assed attempt to throw the reader off or, frankly, probably even just for shits and giggles or so he could lean back in his smoking jacket, opium-tainted cigar in hand and think about how clever he is.

So yeah, I fucking despise Oscar Wilde. Narcissistic, self righteous dickhead and nonce. And apparently anti-Semitic, although I haven’t looked into that one to confirm if it’s true, but I wouldn’t be remotely surprised. And the nerve the Irish government has to pardon him for his crimes a hundred years later 💀 “oh his pardon stood for all gay men persecuted in that time and for how far we’ve come in progress today!” Then pardon an innocent gay man who wasn’t a fucking self centred nonce, my bisexual ass was raised in a very homophobic household and I’d rather go back to listening to a hundred “homosexuality is a vile distortion of purity and virtue in the eyes of God” rants than be associated with a man like Oscar Wilde as my symbol of fucking “progress”. Frankly, I’m glad he’s dead and I hope he rots

[fakesurprise]

Of Christmas bones and jaysome wishes

The morning Christmas songs on the radio sound slightly strained, which would be silly if the world didn’t contain warnings if you pay even a small amount of attention. This close to the holidays, the tension in the world could be cut as easily as fruit cake. And taste almost as foul.

I pour myself a coffee. The wandering magician is already wandering the town, doing small magics to help places and people before the season made it too difficult. There are no texts from him yet about needing anything, so I’m considering options and what gifts to snag for him when Jay bounces into the kitchen of the hotel suite from his room.

“Oh! I’m totally going to be busy today Charlie just so you know!”

I pause, mid-sip of coffee. When an eleven year old from Outside the universe tells you he’s going to be busy, there are several responses. The sane one would be asking when and where and being as far away from the resulting adventure as possible. Adventures are one thing; busy adventures are very much something Else.

“Busy doing what?”

“I’m helping Rudolph,” Jay says proudly.

I set my coffee down. “And Rudolph is –?” I ask, because last week Jay was making friends with a virus he said was named Dave.

“The reindeer, Charlie. Because because because! Santa knows if you’ve been good or bad, so Santa knew the other reindeer were mean! And they shouldn’t be like that, so I’m going to help Rudolph have an extra jaysome time!”

Jay vanishes with a huge grin.

I finish my coffee and text the magician a warning before leaving the hotel.

The staff are polite and wary-friendly, which means rumours about Jay have spread. Most hotels have jaysome insurance, which Jay is convinced is a hug and a very good thing. I’m just glad this hotel doesn’t have memory foam mattresses.

It isn’t snowing yet but the air is a pleasant chill as I walk outside. Most of the shops are opening up, their gods working the morning shifts. Chain stores seldom have a god, but local places tend to even if no one realises that. Some nod when they see me. A few try to hide as the created gods hide as normal employees. I let the latter think they succeed, as I’m not remotely here to deal with anything weird that I know of.

I get a few nice shirts for the magician, a couple of pieces of clothing I’m certain Jay will enjoy wearing and the day seems almost sane before I catch movement in an alley and a skeleton girl walks up to me. She is wearing a redsatin coat over bones and her eyes contain bright stars that dance and play together.

No one else is noticing her, but people tend not to notice things they know can’t be real.

I don’t have that luck or luxury these days.

“I think we might have met before?”

The skeleton girl considers that, her head cocked to the side. She nods once.

“If you’re looking for Jay, he’s busy helping a reindeer.”

She smiles, and I know that in the same way I know that Jay is eleven. The god inside me stirs protectively.

I let out a breath. “You came to me for help instead of Jay?”

She crosses her arms and nods, and this time her silence speaks volumes.

“Fair enough.” I can do more than eat troublesome gods. Thanks to knowing a magician, a lot more than other god eaters. Thanks to being friends with Jay, sometimes far more than that.

I reach, opening a direction I have no name for. The moment stretches, my ears pop, and another skeleton is simply here. The snow keeps falling, and shoppers move around us as if unaware we are here. This one is taller, somewhat like a tree except not being a tree at all.

“You’re cruxymox’s skeleton?” I ask, the knowing a slow dawning realisation. The new skeleton nods and smiles almost shyly.

I have questions, and even more worries, but the skeletons touch hands, bone flowing into bone in a gentle fractal pattern.

They walk away, talking in a way that hums through bones and is not words at all. A sharing. An understanding. Making a story as wind whistles like music through their bodies.

I don’t listen in. Knowing things is one matter; knowing what not to learn is even more important sometimes.

I head back to the hotel, wondering about the bones of trees and garland but not enough to be foolish about it. The wandering magician is in the hotel suite, his eyes dark shadows. This is a rough time of year for magic, needs and desires acting as demands more than gifts.

I offer a light hug, which he accepts with a soft laugh.

“This is part of your holiday gift -.” I begin.

Jay appears. His eyes are wide and worry radiates from him.

“Kiddo?” the wandering magician asks.

“Uhms! I think an oops happened cuz Rudolph said something about Santa being the CEO of Christmas and got all kinds of mad-face before eating Santa!”

I exchange glances with the magician. Gifts can wait. A worried Jay cannot.

“Let’s go,” the magician says, and we vanish into an adventure that is probably Jay’s secret gift to us.

Sometimes even jaysome works in mysterious ways.

[sitp-recs]

Hi, how have you been?

I've been going through a lot lately myself and I was wondering if you had recs of being lost after school and taking years into finding a path, about feeling so god-damned old in your twenties and your peers leaving you behind?

Hi anon! I’m sorry it’s been rough for you lately 🫂 I hope this reclist helps a bit, I really love how healing and relatable these post-war stories feel. Take care and stay safe ♥️

Five Years by @shiftylinguini (M, 4.6k)

For Draco, December means finding somewhere he can lose himself in the thrum of a crowd and the throb of music ― and Potter. It always means Potter now, too.

The Years That Walk Between by Femme (E, 15k) - past Draco/Snape

Draco finds his way after the war.

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 16k)

Draco and Harry and how their relationship—and themselves—change over the course of eleven years.

Us, in Lieu by @tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

Open For Repairs by @drarrytrash (M, 35k)

After the war, Draco works at a tv repair shop and Harry breaks things. feat. sad boys in jumpers and more ABBA than is probably necessary.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (E, 36k)

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Save the Date by @mallstars (E, 123k)

In the twelve years after the war, Harry attends sixteen weddings. As friends and acquaintances vow their lives to one another, he watches quietly from the sidelines. Step by step, Harry pieces himself back together, builds a life from the wreckage of his past and falls, slowly and thoroughly, for Draco Malfoy.

[noughticalcrossings]

Nine People I Want to Get to Know Better

Tagged by @saints-who-never-existed thank you!

LAST SONG? - Parsifal, Act 1: Weh! …Hoho! …Auf! Wer ist der Frevler? Du konntest Morden, hier, im heil’gen Walder

Recommended by a friend, and it’s very dramatic but the titles are sending me. The latter part is Who is the wicked? You could commit murder, here, in the holy forest. But the former? Yeah I had to stop I was laughing and waking the household

FAVOURITE COLOUR? - my answer is nebulous, but I am very fond of extremely rich teals, like think jungle green and then edge it into blue. I have part of my wall painted in a version called Palm Springs and eleven-year-old me was entirely correct to do so

CURRENTLY WATCHING? - rewatching Game of Thrones with my dad and watching him struggle to remember character names. We’re only on season one. He is doomed.

LAST MOVIE? - Crimson Peak. Last time I watched it I was holding my roommate’s hand and I should have repeated that. I was clutching my chest like a cat trying to claw its way out of a bathtub. Beautiful movie tho, I have since bought it so I can traumatise my parents

SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY? - if I can have both sweet and spicy I am thriving. Sweet chilli is one of my favourite flavours of all time but anything from Bombay mix to paprika crisps is peak. Salted sweet things like bacon and maple syrup pancakes are a close second

RELATIONSHIP STATUS? - single and likely to remain so until the economy allows me to live an independent life

CURRENT OBSESSIONS? - I have been scouring the pdfs provided by @queer-ragnelle for their Palomides content. He is my absolute favourite and I’ve somehow found myself writing self-indulgent time-loop fic where Brangaine tries to unravel the mess that is the Tristan/Iseult romance

LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? - the Morholt, brother to Queen Iseult of Ireland and uncle to Iseult the Fair. In the Italian La Tavola Ritonda the Morholt (here Amoroldo) leaves behind a young son called Amoroldo Novello which is very cute and very sad. Also when Queen Iseult finds out Tristan killed her brother she tries to murder him in the bathtub with his own sword which I think is very sexy of her

My nine tags: a selection of cool people @revolutionarygold @lieutdreadhands @odyhat @nikoisme @laninlurks @keldabekush @rochenn @jh-newman-opn and you, yes you who’s handle I can’t spell