#truly the worst thing i’ve drawn i think

[seoafin]

dog days are over | chapter eight

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): gojo word count: ~9.6k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“No need to look so nervous! Loosen up!”

You try your best to smile, despite the nerves bundled in your stomach. “Thank you for inviting me out, Ikeda-san.”

She beams at you, opening the menu in front of her. You stare at her glossy, perfectly shaped nails and the smooth skin of her hands. You remember the softness of them. Still, there is no ring on her finger.

“Please, call me Meiko. And of course! Don’t tell Gojo and Geto, but I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

Surprised, you say, “Me?”

“The mysterious fourth classmate of Jujutsu High’s 2008 graduating class. I was always so curious about you.” She smiles, and you are drawn to the cherry red of her lipstick. “Especially since those two are notoriously tightlipped about you.”

You’re sure it’s because there’s nothing to talk about when it comes to you. 

“I’m not that interesting,” you say politely, because in your opinion, you really aren’t. “I’m sure you weren’t missing much.”

“Is that really what you think?” She leans forward, placing her chin on top of her threaded fingers. “I think you’re plenty interesting.”

Your face warms. Nobody’s ever called you interesting before. You meet her gaze. “Is there something you need, Ike—Meiko-san?”

She laughs. “Please, you’re so formal! No need for the honorific, you’ll make me self conscious. We’re nearly the same age! If I’m being honest, I just wanted to get to know you.”

“Because we have…” you consider her carefully, “a lot in common?”

Once again, she bursts into laughter. It’s not mocking, but amused. “I thought maybe you’d feel a little more comfortable if we had…common ground.”

The common ground being…

Your face flushes with heat. “Is it…” you stare at the plate laid flat in front of you, stomach churning in distress, “obvious?”

You think back to every single semi public interaction with Suguru and Satoru. Maybe someone had caught a glimpse of Suguru’s knuckles brushing against yours, walking a little too close to you to be considered casual acquaintances. Maybe someone had seen Satoru draw you close to him. It hadn’t been discreet. Satoru’s never been discreet. Not enough. And now you’re paying the consequences.

Your palms go sweaty.

“Oh, it seems I’ve worried you,” Meiko looks concerned. “It was just a guess,” she murmurs gently, reaching out for your hand. Your heart starts with a jerk when her hand closes around you. “An inkling if you will. Woman’s intuition?”

They are soft. They smell like peach flavored hand lotion. Relief sweeps through you like a cool balm. “Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Thank god.” It slips out before you can help it.

“It’s rare to see Geto and Gojo so ruffled,” she chuckles. “Geto especially. I can never tell what he’s thinking with that smile of his…I just wanted to tease them a little, you know? Make them sweat.” She studies you, face sobering. “They hold you in the highest regard.”

The she winks, and calls over a server.

She must be a regular here because she easily strikes up a conversation with your server about the new seasonal specials. You then watch in slight awe as she proceeds to order one of every single thing on the menu.  

At your expression, she grins. “Instead of deliberating, isn’t it easier to just order the entire menu? That way we can try a little of everything. Besides, my palate gets a little bored with one plate.”

You blink. It strikes you as something Satoru would do. Order every single sweet on a menu to have his pick. The world of jujutsu elites and their bottomless bank accounts is truly something beyond your understanding.

“When Ieiri-san said you were coming to my reception as her plus one, I was surprised,” Meiko says. “I asked Gojo for your availability, and he said you were busy. Honestly,” she huffs, “selfish men are the worst!”

Satoru said you were busy? You wonder if he thought you’d somehow embarrass him and Suguru. Somehow, you can’t fault him. People just don’t seem to like you, and it’s probably your fault. “You wanted me to come?” 

“Of course I did.” She makes a face. “Instead I had to deal with that Kumiko. The nerve of her to seat herself at my table! In your seat!”

She scans you, as if to gauge the measure of your outrage. You simply only look at her, unblinking as your mind runs wild with all the possible ways to navigate the rest of this conversation without stepping on any landmines. You're not good at this. 

“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

Meiko’s smile turns tight. “We were briefly homeschooled together. Flower arranging class.” She spits out.

Her face clouds darkly.

You quickly change the subject. “I wonder when the food—”

Meiko’s eyes narrow. “ Wait. Are you acquainted with her?”

“J-Just briefly…”

“That snake,” her fingers fist tightly. “Of course she’d worm her way into your life!” She slams a fist onto the table. You wince. “It’s Geto isn’t it?” She scoffs. “I heard she got stood up by Gojo, but to think she was that shameless—”

“She likes him,” you say, a little more firmly than you intended. A look of surprise paints her face at your sudden boldness. You settle down, embarrassed. “I think…her feelings are genuine,” and it’s wrong to undermine them. The fondness in her eyes is real. You of all people understand her feelings. You love Suguru too.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize weakly.

Meiko exhales deeply. “No, I am. I always get carried away when it comes to her. We’ve always had bad blood between us. I suppose we’ve just never seen the world the same way. It’s always been her dream to be married to an influential man,” her voice turns bitter. “To be a perfect wife. To bear sons with cursed techniques. You could say we were bred for it. Disgusting pigs like that Zenin Naoya are a dime a dozen in jujutsu society. But unlike me, Kumiko was actually born with a powerful cursed technique.” There’s a bitter note to her voice. “What a waste.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You’ve never been good at knowing what to say at the right time. Not like Suguru.

But Meiko continues, “I suppose that’s why it’s a surprise to everyone she’s still not married. A lot of people think it’s because her clan elders are holding out for Gojo.” She snorts. “I guess everyone is expecting him to get married soon too, and have children. Lots of children.” She pauses, “Though I suppose they don’t mind the unmarried part as much as the not-impregnating-women part.” She raises an eyebrow. “They do make quite the pair, don’t they?”

You get the strongest feeling of deja-vu. 

Your face warms, looking at anything but Meiko. “I…”

“They work even better together too,” she remarks with a sigh. “Unfortunately, good looks can’t save them from their lousy personalities.” She shoots you a sympathetic look. 

L-Lousy personalities…

Clearing her throat, she says, “The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. To secure the Gojo line.”

You stare at her.

Meiko’s expression gives away to surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“Nobody mentioned it,” you answer truthfully. It clears up a lot of the happenings at the school. Perhaps they had come to Tokyo because Satoru refused to come to them. You knew Satoru’s less than enthusiastic feelings towards the burdens pushed on him by clan politics, such as marriage. A part of you can’t help but wonder if that had spurred Satoru and Suguru’s actions towards you. That and pity you suppose. In your first year, Satoru often used to remark that you seemed like you’d be the type to die alone. He wasn’t wrong. 

“The Zenin and Kamo’s want him to take a bride from their own families, but the Gojo clan’s own preference is someone like Sasaki. Someone from a distinguished lineage and a clan that’s not as powerful as one of the big three. They don’t want a strong clan interfering in interfamily politics. It’s all terribly political.” She makes a face. “They want him to consider mistresses from other families too. He’s not the only one. Geto’s been fielding all kind of offers too. His cursed technique is too valuable, and the Zenin’s have always been greedy.”

Of course the Gojo clan would want someone as delicate and refined as Sasaki. She’s beautiful, talented, and holds a revered cursed technique. It would be easy to fall in love with her, if the way Suguru talks highly of her means anything. 

You try to process the rest of the information, but all you can think of is marriage, marriage, marriage. Your head is spinning. Had your parents’ marriage been rife with such difficulties? This can’t be normal. You are confronted by the realization that the day Satoru and Suguru get married might be closer than you think. It throws your thoughts into disarray. All this time you’ve been unaware of the specifics and complexities of jujutsu society as it pertains to someone of Satoru and Suguru’s positions. They’ve never confided in you, and you think it’s for good reason. You’ve been so caught up in your own head that it never occurred to you that they might be troubled too. What a friend you’ve been lately. 

Spirits dampening, you lower your gaze. “Is…that right…”

Luckily, you’re saved from a more coherent answer because the food comes. A line of waiters approach your table. Twelve plates, large and small, are set down in quick succession. You stare at the colorful array of dishes. Another waiter makes an appearance with a bottle of expensive looking wine, pouring the two of you a glass. 

Meiko loads food onto your plate. “Eat up! You seem like you could use a good meal.”

“Thank you…” Eating saves you the trouble of having to speak when you don’t have the words. It’s easy. The food is delicious.”

“This is the restaurant that catered my food during the reception,” Meiko says, taking a bite of her ricotta peach salad. “I hope you enjoyed the food, then and now.”

“It’s delicious,” you admit with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me.”

A wide smile hangs on her face. “Of course! It was a terrible night, but it might have been a little better if you had been there.”

A warm flush creeps into your face. “I would’ve liked to have met you too,” you say shyly, hesitantly. You like Meiko, you think. It’s easy to like her, with her bold personality. There's a frankness to her that reminds you of Shoko. A familiarity. You wonder what she sees in you. You wonder if your night would’ve been different had you met her instead of Hideo.

You’re thoughtful. “You didn’t seem very happy at your wedding.” The words come out before you can stop it.

Meiko goes quiet. You quickly move to retract your statement, realizing it was insensitive of you to say something. “I’m so—”

Meiko lifts her wine to her lips and slams it down, emptied. “I didn’t want to get married. Not then, not ever. I thought my father had given up on it, after I scared the fifth suitor away.” She takes the bottle and nearly fills her glass to the brim. “Only to find out my father had given away my hand without my knowledge when I came back from visiting my mother in Hokkaido.” She takes a long drink. “To a politician of all people! It was horrible. I threw a fit, hoping to convince my father. You can imagine how well that went.”

You can’t imagine being unknowingly married, bound to spending the rest of your life with a stranger. It feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. Meiko’s sour expression throughout the entire reception. Shoko’s comment about the unwilling bride. You can’t do anything but commiserate with her in silence.

“My father said he’d be willing to break off talks if…” she trails off, looking vaguely uncomfortable for the first time since the evening started. “At the time, I hadn’t realized those two were into women.”

You nearly choke with laughter.

It’s an understandable mistake. The nature of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship have always raised eyebrows. They’ve never hidden it. It’s a truth, never presumed, never spoken, lest it be true. Or spreads. Satoru and Suguru have always enjoyed making people uncomfortable to an almost sadistic extent. You’ve seen people squirm in their seats beneath Suguru’s pleasant smile, Satoru’s creeping menacing grin.

Meiko looks amused now, eyeing you with an understanding you don’t quite get. “My mistake.”

You sober. “The reception…”

“He spent the entire time with Gojo and Geto, trying to worm his way into their good graces. He has ambitions, you see.” A mirthless smile. “He wants to be prime minister of Japan one day, and everyone knows it’s Gojo’s vote that matters the most when it comes to selecting the political face of Japan, and my father already has very strong ties to the current Kamo head.”

Oh you knew that. Upon watching a political debate with Shoko in the common lounge your first year of jujutsu tech, Satoru had taken up all the space on the couch with wide legs, eaten all your popcorn, and watching the current prime minister’s effective response to the burgeoning inflation, had commented that it was an aggressive policy for the mild and meek man who had cowered in the face of him and the Zenin and Kamo heads.

Shoko and Suguru had simply looked at him until Satoru shrugged and said that between the current prime minister and his former opponent, personally, he had flipped a coin before casting his vote. Suguru gawked at him, and had spent the rest of the week questioning the legitimacy of the political institutions in Japan.

To this day, you’re unsure of whether or not Satoru was joking.

Sometimes, the thought that the fate of your nation rests in Satoru’s hands makes you a little uneasy.

You try not to think about it often.

She snorts. “It wasn’t as bad as our first night.” 

You straighten immediately.

“He didn’t touch me,” she clears up quickly. “Or force me, if that’s what you think. He slept on the couch actually.” Her face goes thoughtful. “It’s more than you can say of a lot of men in jujutsu society,” she completes darkly.

Relief shoots through you. “If you ever need help…” This time, it’s your turn to squeeze her hands reassuringly. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Meiko looks touched. “You’d help me?”

“I’m not all that impressive,” you respond truthfully, a little embarrassed at your bold proclamation with nothing but intent to back it up. You aren’t in a position of any strength to be promising easy help. But you’d do anything you could. “But I’m sure I could ask Satoru and Suguru to help if necessary too.” And if whatever you could meant pleading to Satoru and Suguru on the behalf of someone else, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

“Satoru and Suguru are good people,” despite the opinions of others. Despite…what Meiko may think. They are, you know it. You’re sure they’d intervene if needed, not because you asked.

She sniffs. You look at her in alarm. Then you realize the bottle of wine is empty.

“I’m sure…” she swallows, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to piece together her sentence. “I’m sure they’d do anything, if you asked them.”

You’re sure she’s just flattering you, so you smile, and motion for the waitress before Meiko can order another bottle. You hope she doesn’t cry. A pretty, crying woman would have you flying into a panic. You prepare yourself to call Shoko for advice just in case, although for crying women matters Suguru would probably be your first choice.

The bill is placed. You figure you should pay since she took the liberty of inviting you out in the first place, but there’s a black card in her hand before you can even blink. The waitress smoothly takes it, just as Meiko’s fist slams down onto the table.

“They don’t deserve you!” She exclaims, drawing stares from other tables. “You’re too good for them!”

The server hurriedly rushes away, presumably to quickly check you two out.

Your server returns with Meiko’s card and helps you collect her. Luckily, she’s not drunk enough to be immobile, but she tilts precariously as you two walk her outside. The weight of her body leaning on yours is almost pleasant. She must be a lightweight. Like Satoru. You don’t mind it. It reminds you of the time you had had to drag Satoru to his room after he mistook Shoko’s flask of alcohol for apple juice. Outside, a sleek black car awaits.

“Meiko,” you say, “would you like to stay at my apartment tonight?”

Her voice is small as she hides her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart nervously starts in your chest. “...Do you mind?”

You manage a smile. “Not at all.”

The driver (the same driver from before you recognize), a kind looking middle aged man, takes Meiko as you thank the waitress. When the two of you are seated, Meiko slurs to him that she’ll be following you home tonight. You tell him your address.

When you arrive, the driver does a double take at your apartment building. Meiko sobers up enough to be able to walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment by herself so she shoos the driver away as you promise to take care of her.

“Go,” you call as you open the door. “I’m home.”

Go is seated in front of the door, above the platform of the genkan, as if he’s been waiting for you, tail excitedly flicking from side to side on the floor as he regards you.

“Wow,” Meiko says. “That’s a beautiful cat.”

Pride blooms in your chest at her words. Go’s grown big enough to nearly encompass the length of your arms. You wonder if he’ll ever stop growing, but you don’t mind. More of him to hug and pet. You love him regardless. 

After taking off her heels, Meiko clambers to her knees and immediately starts petting Go. You can hear Go’s pleased purr as Meiko showers him with bellyrubs. 

When she finally pulls away, you lead her through the living room and then into your room, Go following beside your ankles. 

“You can take my bed.” Meiko opens her mouth to argue. “I insist.” You’re no stranger to sleeping on the couch anyway. And having Go next to you made things substantially better. You leave to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

Clutching a tall glass of water, you return to your room to see the top dresser of your drawer opened, and a white envelope in Meiko’s hand.

“O-oh,” you say quickly, placing the glass of water down on your desk. “That’s…”

“Did you write all of these?” Meiko places the envelope back down at the top of the stack in your drawer. You had momentarily moved the letters there until you could finish Satoru’s latest one to ensure all the postage was up to date. His birthday was coming soon after all. But you couldn’t risk the letters being seen by any of the recipients. Your letters weren’t meant for them—not as long as you were alive.

With Satoru's tendency to snoop through your things, their usual home was in a shoebox inside a bigger storage container underneath your bed, covered with spare blankets. You hadn’t been expecting visitors.

Meiko gestures to three stacks of letters, each stack addressed to a different person.

“Three every year,” you reply, with a small smile, closing the drawer. She must have seen Satoru’s name written on the envelope. You’re relieved when she doesn’t say anything else, only gazing at the picture frames on top of your dresser. 

“Your apartment,” her voice is quiet, “is very empty.”

“I’m not good at decorating. I’ve never had a lot of things.”

“The unsentimental type, huh.”

Meiko raises her hand, as if to examine the picture of Shoko on your desk, but then drops it. You open the covers for her. It’s easy to see how tired she is, the darkness of the night casting shadows on her face that make her expression muted. You should let her get rest.

Slowly, she gets into your bed.

“I wanted to enroll into jujustu high,” her voice is barely a whisper, covers pulled to her chin. “My father said my cursed technique wouldn’t amount to much as a jujutsu sorcerer. That I’d be killed on my first mission. I wanted—” her voice warbles, and you worry she might cry. “I could’ve been an auxiliary manager.”

Hesitantly, you reach out and pat her hair. You like it when Shoko pats your hair.

She blinks slowly, before her eyes close. A few seconds later, Meiko is peacefully sleeping in your bed. You exhale, relieved that sleep had come to her easily.

Freedom. It’s easy to take it for granted. Despite everything in your life, at least you had that. You could quit being a jujutsu sorcerer, move to the mountains unaccounted for, and live the rest of your life surrounded by rocks. There would be no great impact on jujutsu society. You’d be a fading memory at best.

You’re still thinking about it when, settled on the couch, with Go in your lap as you brush his fur, someone knocks on your door.

At this hour?

You set Go and the brush down, walking over to the genkan. You open the door.

A tall, slightly disheveled man greets you. From what you can make out in the sparse light coming from the small lamp of your living room, he’s nicely dressed, in an expensive looking suit, but his tie is loose around his neck in a way that reminds you of drunk businessmen splayed out in the streets awaiting the trains to open.

“Is Ikeda-san inside?” He asks sharply. You try to make out his face, but the darkness encroaches on his face, creating shadows. Your eyesight is going bad. Too many late nights in the archives. 

“She’s sleeping—”

You immediately move to block him from coming in when he takes a step forward. Go hisses from in between your ankles.

“I’m her husband,” he says, in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “I’m here to retrieve my wife.” After a slight pause, as if remembering to be courteous, he dips his head. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course.” You meet his gaze. “Though I don’t think it’s wise to move her now. Like I said before, she’s sleeping.” You don’t share that she had been drinking.

You think you imagine the flicker of displeasure on his face, but then his face is smoothly dispassionate. “It’s only proper that she should rest at home.”

You don’t move.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t feel comfortable letting her go home with you.” Not in her current condition.

“Forgive me,” he says. “But my relationship with Ikeda-san doesn’t pertain to you. It’s a separate matter altogether. I simply want her to rest at home.” In other words: it’s none of your business.

A politician through and through, you think. Despite the fact that this straitlaced man seems to be the very opposite of smiles and fake goodwill. 

It’s not. Your business. But you don’t think you can let her go home, not in good conscience. You wonder if this means making enemies with the future prime minister of Japan. Well, there wasn’t much he could do even if he wanted to retaliate.

“I’m sorry,” you say firmly. “I’ll take care of Ikeda-san until the morning. I may not look like it but I’m also a jujutsu sorcerer. A Grade One. I’m more than capable of watching over her.”

You leave out the part where your own missions have been on the backburner as of late. You’re sure Yaga-sensei is being considerate after what happened in Nagoya. You mentally thank Satoru and Suguru for all their hard work. 

Surprise on his face. “You’re a jujutsu sorcerer?”

Y-yes… “I am.” 

His fingers curl, unhappy. You can tell he’s hesitant. You understand it, but you already decided you wouldn’t let Meiko go home. It’s not something you’ll budge on. You’ll stand your ground.

“Then I leave her in your care,” he says curtly, straightening. He bows his head and you bow back. Then he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the entire interaction. You stare at your empty doorway until Go meows.

You close the door and sigh, sitting down on the elevated floor connected to the genkan as you scratch Go’s ear.

“Do you think the future prime minister of Japan hates me?”

He bumps his head into your thigh. You sigh again, picking him up as you stand. Like he said, it’s beyond you to assume their relationship, a nobody like you. Go immediately rolls onto his back in your arms, paws kicking up, nuzzling into you.

At least Go would never hate you.

You tread back to the couch, and put on a documentary about African meerkats. Go doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, entranced by the slim animals and their dietary habits. You eventually doze off.

—

You wake up to the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of breakfast. You blink, cold winter sunlight streaming in through the window. You sit up.

“Good morning,” Meiko says. “I’m making breakfast.”

You look at her.

She snorts. “What, did you think a rich girl like me couldn’t cook? I lived by myself in college, you know. No servants at all.” Meiko must mistake your blank eyed stare for something more because she hastily says, “O-on the weekdays anyway.”

You didn’t know you had food in your fridge.

“I went to the grocery store around the block,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “What do you live on? All you had was cat food in the fridge!” She opens a cabinet and points. “And this huge jar of sugar!”

“Satoru’s,” you answer. Meiko looks even more confused.

You yawn. Go is already awake on your lap, awaiting his breakfast no doubt. “There were some eggs…” Leftovers from the groceries Shoko had bought you a week prior. 

“I can’t believe you…” She shakes her head, muttering something along the lines of ‘hopeless,’ before shooing you into the bathroom to wash.

After a quick stop to the bathroom, you feed Go and take a seat. Meiko puts a plate of eggs, bacon and sausage, and buttered toast in front of you.

“You didn’t have to.” You stare at the food. When was the last time you had breakfast in your apartment out of ingredients that had been bought? 

“It’s the least I could do,” she sounds exasperated. “I can’t believe you let me take your bed!”

You feed Go a leftover piece of raw bacon which he gratefully accepts, nudging into your hand. “As long as you were comfortable.”

She huffs, and you thank her for the meal. The two of you eat in brief silence.

“Have you ever wondered what you’d be if you weren't a jujutsu sorcerer?” Meiko asks suddenly, spearing a sausage with her fork. “Like if you had never known curses existed.”

You wonder where this is coming from.

“Not really,” you admit slowly, staring at your plate of food. “It’s not like it would have ever made a difference. It was also highly probable I’d be killed during a mission anyway.” No need to think about the possibilities, no point in contemplating the path of your life unless you were debating the merits of suicide.

“Oh. That’s morbid.” Then she says, “Do you still think that?”

You think about your last missions, and the last time you had a close call with death. It could be tomorrow, it could be next year. You suppose that’s always been the inevitable reality for you. Who would you be if not a jujutsu sorcerer? You had little to no experience of life outside the world of jujustu sorcery. No other friends. No family. “I do. I don’t even know if I’ll survive to the next year,” you say plainly.

“What if you do survive?” She presses. “What if you don’t die? Next year, the year after the next…What would retirement look like for you?”

You consider it. It’s a difficult question. It must show on your face because Meiko laughs as if she’s torn whether to be amused or sympathetic. “Is it really that hard?”

“I would move somewhere peaceful,” you say slowly. “The countryside. Maybe somewhere along the coast, near the beach.” You’d like that. Somewhere aligned with nature. Somewhere where you could watch the sunrise and the sunset. Somewhere, where the stars are visible.

“By yourself?”

“By myself.” You would live in solitude, once again, content knowing Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko were living happily. Nobody would ever hurt you again. Go headbutts your ankle. Your lips curl, leaning down to pet him. “With Go,” you correct. No, you wouldn’t be entirely alone.

“And then?”

“Die.”

Meiko makes a face.

It wouldn’t be bad, you think. It’s all you can ask for out of life, if any higher existence is merciful enough to grant it. A peaceful death. 

Meiko gawks at you. When she finally regains her words, she says, “Either you live as a jujutsu sorcerer or you die?”

You nod.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. She sighs. “You’re so morbid.”

–

There are flowers on your desk. They’re lovely, a bouquet of a colorful array of flowers, some of which you recognize as japanese iris’, peonies, and wisteria. 

You examine them, fingering their delicate petals, running your hands through them to try to find a card. You think it had accidentally been delivered to the library by mistake. You don’t know who would send you flowers. 

There’s no identifying information on them, so you gingerly pick up the bouquet and walk out the library, all the way to Shoko’s office on the third floor of jujutsu high’s main building.

She raises an eye at the bundle in your arms when you knock and open the door.

“I’m glad I caught you before you went on break,” you say. “I found these flowers in the library, and I thought they’d brighten up your office.” You wrap your hands around the stems of the carefully trimmed flowers, and feel the thrum of your cursed energy imbue the flowers.

You place the bouquet down on the closest cabinet to you. As long as nobody intentionally destroyed them, they’d stay beautiful forever. “I’ll find you a vase.”

She swivels in her chair to face you, scrutinizing the flowers. “Are you sure? Those look like serious money.”

You play with a petal. “I think they were delivered to the library by mistake, but I can’t find a card.”

A knowing smile plays on her lips. “Men give women flowers when they want to apologize. Any groveling men in mind?”

You look at her. “No.”

She huffs a breath of laughter. “I’ll take them,” she says airily. She stands. “Are you going to join me on my break?”

You give her an apologetic look. “Paperwork.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, fine, but you owe me some of your time this weekend. It’s been a while since we went shopping.”

Shopping with Shoko always meant a good time. You’re looking forward to the weekend already. You wave her off, and back to the library you go. Just as you step into the gardens leading to the library, you hear a voice call your name.

“How’s your cat?” Hideo asks in greeting, jogging up to your side. “Have you named him?”

“Hello.” You smile. “His name is Go, and he’s very big.”

“Go…” Hideo’s eyebrows momentarily draw together, understanding dawning on his face. “I’m guessing it’s not because five is your lucky number, huh.”

You laugh. “He looks just like Satoru.” You adore him. 

The two of you continue to the library. 

“Has Go met his namesake yet?”

“Not...” Your smile slips, thinking of your last encounter with Satoru and Suguru. “Yet.”

“Well, all in good time, I suppose,” Hideo says easily, after a beat of contemplative silence. 

You think about the flowers in Shoko’s office, and what type of vase they would look best in. Maybe Meiko would know. “There were flowers in the library.”

Hideo grins, amused. “A secret admirer?”

You blink. “I don’t think so.” A secret admirer? You? “I’m sure it was a mistake. I gave them to Shoko to brighten up her office.”

A wince crosses his face. It melts into a chuckle. You look at him curiously.

“You’re just a normal girl, huh?”

He grins, eyes bright, fond with a familiarity you still aren’t used to, but for some reason the comment makes your chest ache. 

Normal. 

You must be making a face because he straightens, mostly sobering. “Ah…how do I put this,” he scratches the underside of his chin. “When we were younger you always seemed…older. Somehow. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s normal in this world. I guess talking about love and secret admirers just reminded me…”

You tilt your head. 

He clears his throat. “I prefer the person you are right now though,” he says easily. “You smile now” —like a normal girl— “and get sent flowers from a secret admirer” —like a normal girl—

You stare at him. Then lower your gaze to your feet. “Is that…bad?” You wonder if he’s making fun of you. You don’t think those flowers were intended for you.

Nobody has ever called you normal. If anything, you were abnormal. If you were a normal girl, maybe you’d be married like that woman you saw months ago. If you were a normal girl, maybe everything would be better.

If you were a normal girl would you be happier? Would things make more sense? You can’t imagine it. First Meiko asks you about a hypothetical future, and now Hideo seems to be under the mistaken impression that you are a normal girl.

It…

You don’t hate it. The thought peeves you more than you thought it would.

Hideo blinks rapidly. “No, of course not!” He frantically waves his hands. “Ignore me! I have a bad habit of running my mouth occasionally!” His gaze turns worried. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you respond, meaning it. You smile. “I don’t mind.”

Normal, normal, normal.

Hideo walks you inside the library. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his neck crane to look at the domed skylight in the center of the library, the interest clear on his face. The building is in a unique shape: a heptagon, walls lined with bookshelves that fit the shape of the building. “I didn’t know this building was a library. Cozy.”

“I think they converted it,” you say. You’ve always liked this library, away from the bustle of the campus. Not many people knew about it. You discovered this building your second year of high school, and found a thin layer of dust on all the books and scrolls. It was clear it hadn’t been occupied in a while. It wasn’t until you had stayed inside for a day or two, unaccounted for, reading whatever you could salvage, that Shoko had found you, Satoru and Suguru not too far behind. Yaga thought you had never come back from a previous mission.

Shoko helped you clear the library. Satoru and Suguru carried a desk and chair into the center, right beneath the skylight, and suddenly, it was a study. Yours.

“I like it here,” you say quietly. “It’s peaceful.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you hear the large wooden double doors open and slam shut as Satoru strides in. You flinch at the noise.

“...?”

Satoru folds his arms as he rests his weight against one of the bookshelves. He doesn’t need to take off his glasses for you to know he’s keenly unhappy in a way that fills up the entire room.

“...”

“...”

“...”

Satoru’s jaw ticks.

You move your gaze to the floor, sensing Hideo looking from you to Satoru curiously. Greater men have scurried away from the palpable tension Satoru has injected into the room, but Hideo seems oblivious to it.

“Guess I should leave the two of you to it,” Hideo finally says. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

You startle, looking up, mouth opening to deny his statement, but Satoru’s flat expression snaps your mouth back shut.

“T-Then I’ll see you…” you say quietly, wanting him to stay, to buffer conversation between you and Satoru anyway. But that would be unfair to Hideo. Satoru and Suguru have vocalized their dislike of him, for what you aren’t sure. You think Hideo is similar to Haibara in temperament, with his winning personality and easy going conversational air, and the two of them seem to get along with Haibara just fine.

He stops. Then turns back. “Next week, right?”

You blink. Next…week…? “Yes…?”

Hideo smiles, as a crease forms between Satoru’s eyebrows. Hideo slightly bows in Satoru’s direction before taking his leave. You hold your breath as the doors close once more, leaving you alone with…

Satoru is in front of you before you can blink, pushing you back into your desk. Your knees slightly buckle. 

“You didn’t want him to leave,” Satoru says, accusatory, pulling his glasses off his face. “You wanted that third rate sorcerer to stay!”

You frown. “That’s rude.”

He ignores you. “Where’s your phone?”

You look at him curiously. Where had you left it again? Satoru opens his mouth, then closes it so quickly you hear the click of his teeth.

“Is…” you sigh. “Is something wrong?” You would rather he just get it over with. Telling you your outburst that day was unwarranted, and that you had been a terrible person and friend and human being in general. He wouldn’t be wrong.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nothing is wrong.”

Something, you think, is clearly wrong.

Silence.

All you can think of are Meiko’s words. The Gojo elders who traveled from Fukuouka just to convince Satoru to get married, preferably, to Sasaski. They want him to wed a woman of standing and lineage. They want him to have children. Then take a few mistresses, and impregnate them for backup heirs. 

Freedom, you once again think, is immeasurable. You’re sad for Satoru. You want him to be happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted for him and Suguru and Shoko. It makes you relieved and happy to know Suguru would always be by his side. Any sorrows or joys, would be shared together. 

Satoru exhales roughly. In seconds he goes from bearing down at you, gaze alight, to sinking down to his knees in front of you.

You stare at him, confused.

There’s a loud slap of noise that has your eyes going wide.

When Satoru looks back up at you, his cheeks are stinging red, and handprinted. You reach out immediately, fingertips brushing over the heat of his sculpted face, wondering why he had slapped himself.

“Sato—”

“You know, Suguru and I were idiots.”

Oh. “No,” It wasn’t their fault. It was yours. “I shouldn’t have—”

You’re fully backed into the desk, taking a small seat (there’s nowhere else to move) as Satoru rises, hand closing around your nape. He brings you close and kisses you greedily, a moment’s indulgence, until he draws away, letting you breathe as you wonder what just happened.

“There’s nothing I love more than seeing you think,” he murmurs against your lips, piercing blue gaze never leaving yours for a second, “but right now I need you to stop thinking and listen.”

He sinks back down, expression almost smug when you close your mouth. He takes your hands, thumbs rubbing and pressing down on your knuckles soothingly, if not in an almost agitated manner. You’ve seen him do the same thing to Suguru. You don’t think he’s aware of it.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admits, expression unusually forlorn. “I forgot…” he hesitates, dropping that line of thinking altogether. “Suguru and I get carried away when it comes to you.” There’s not a hint of amusement on his face as he squeezes your hands. “We don’t like seeing you cry.”

He says it with such a truthful earnestness that your throat goes tight. He’s still him, you think. That very same long limbed mischievous boy who laughed loudly and smiled broadly and clung a little too hard to your side, as if unaware of his own strength. His arm perpetually slung over Suguru’s shoulder like he was always meant to be there. No matter how far you think Satoru and Suguru are, those are the memories you’ll carry in your heart. Those sun slicked, sepia tinged memories, echoing of laughter. 

Maybe the only person who had changed was you. 

You look down at your entwined fingers.

You, you, you. It’s all you.

You’re a bit embarrassed. You don’t think you cried. Not in front of them at least. You had gone home and locked your door first. I’m sorry too, you want to say, but somehow with Satoru gazing up at you, the words are lodged in your throat. He looks devastatingly sincere. You don’t doubt his words.

“You should forgive us,” Satoru says lightly, almost innocently. Too innocently. That should’ve been more than enough for alarm bells to sound, but you had been preoccupied by Satoru’s show of sincerity.

You blink when his fingers easily wrap around the length of your right ankle. And when he firmly presses your foot to his shoulder, you stare.

You try to drop your foot, move it away, but Satoru’s grip is iron clad. A smile is slowly sneaking onto the corners of Satoru’s lips, making him look more incriminating than anything. You don’t like that look. Not at all.

“Satoru—”

“Would it make you feel better to push me around a little?” He asks breathily, eyes glinting mischievously. “You can kick me if you want, I don’t mind.” His voice lowers. “ Anywhere , really.”

You sweat. Trying to pull your ankle out of his grip isn’t working. 

“I’m sorry too,” you blurt out, unable to comprehend how you ended up with your foot on Satoru’s shoulder while he gives you his consent to kick him. “I forgive you, I forgive you—”

“No needa be shy!” He moves your foot to his chest, pressing it down. “Just give me one good kick—”

You give him a flinty, dead eyed stare. “That’s not funny.”

He returns it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not laughing.”

“Satoru,” you say weakly.

Finally, he releases your foot, and you are allowed to jerk your leg down. You’re instantly relieved, planting both feet firmly on the ground as you dust away the dirt on his shoulder and chest. He sighs, disappointed in a way that perturbs you.

“You’re so difficult sometimes,” you murmur, considerably warming up to his presence.

“That’s right,” he hums, idly trailing a finger down your clothed leg. “You and Suguru have your hands full, I’m sure.” He peers up at you daringly, looking every bit the petulant boy the Gojo clan had spoiled rotten in their adoration of the first six eyes user in centuries. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Sometimes, I wonder that,” you say, (and mean) seriously.

“I didn’t hear that,” he says pleasantly. 

“...If you say so…”

You think you imagined the twitch of his eyebrow. 

You can’t help but smile. This is how things should be, you think. Now, if you could talk to Suguru, you’re sure you could draw this entire incident to a close. You wouldn’t have to skirt around the two of them with feelings of impending doom clouding your mind. 

“Well,” Satoru says casually. “Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, apologies and all,” he promptly gets to his feet, so quickly you blink, gaze following him up. His face transforms into a full blown pout. “You’re a true sadist!”

You gawk at him. So soon after reconciliation!?

Satoru scowls. “Throwing Suguru and I away so quickly?”

“???????”

“Who said you were allowed to see and talk to other men!” He frowns even more vigorously at the confusion on your face. “Don’t act so surprised! Suguru’s been sulking every single day! He’s been downright distressed. The girls think he’s depressed! Again!”

You wince, recognizing the tell tale signs of another common Satoru overblown overreaction. Very high school reminiscent you think.

“S-Satoru…”

Satoru sighs dramatically, glaring at you. “Any day now, he might do something drastic.”

You stare at him.

“That’s why you should never get mad at us ever again,” he finishes succinctly, looking at you expectantly.

You stare at him. 

When it’s clear you have no response, Satoru brushes off the silence so easily you think this is how others can get tripped up at the pace in which he leads. If you weren’t so used to it, you’d be one of them.

Satoru scans the small room. “Where are our flowers?”

“Oh, they were yours?”

Satoru levels you with a flinty gaze that would send others running to the hills. It elicits no strong response from you. His tone is chilly, displeased. “There’s another man sending you flowers?”

You give him an unimpressed look so withering that he clears his throat, almost meekly.

“Suguru’s idea. I picked them.”

“Well, they’re lovely,” a small smile on your lips. “They’re in Shoko’s office.”

“Of course they are,” he sighs, resigned. He regards you silently for a minute. “Did you like them?”

“I did.” You’re unsure where this line of questioning is headed. You slightly tilt your head to the side in a question.

“They were for you,” Satoru says. “I picked them for you.” He takes a step forward until your legs touch. “I wanted you to have them, so why’d ya have to give them away?”

You blink at the hint of roughness that bleeds through Satoru’s fixed (Suguru’s work) pronunciation. In hindsight, if the flowers were for you…it was awfully rude of you to have given them away wasn’t it?

“I…understand. I’m…sorry for giving your flowers away.”

Now he looks peeved. “They weren’t mi…” he groans, looking at you with an exasperated warmth. Then his eyes narrow. “You’re sorry, huh?” 

You don’t…like that look in his eyes.

You don’t have time to respond, because Satoru’s finger comes to rest on the button fastened right below your neck. Uh oh. A sensation familiar to deja-vu suddenly envelopes you. 

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. 

Your face warms as Satoru’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, playfully. The button comes undone easily. His voice is playful, but his gaze burns. “You can get on your knees—” your shirt is half undone, your black bra peeking out “—or I can get on mine.”

You don’t think he’s intending to give you a choice, because he’s so quickly down on his knees and spreading your legs apart, you’re blinking from the whiplash.

“Wait—!” You put your hands on his shoulders, thanking whatever deity was looking down on you today that you had put on pants instead of whatever easy skirt and sweater outfit you usually chose when sleep riddled in the morning. 

Satoru smiles pleasantly. Too suspiciously well mannered when his fingers are on the zipper of your pants. “Yes?”

“H-how about a kiss instead…?”

You figure it would be easier to untangle yourself from him then…

Satoru’s fingers curl into your thighs, pinning you to the table. You’re surprised to see him seriously consider it. And relieved. His gaze is weighted with all the seriousness of negotiating a crucial deal. “How long?”

Your eyebrows furrow. You’re not sure how long a kiss should be. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup his face and lower your head to gently meet his lips. He’s as still as a statue, except for the sound of his breathing; deep slow breaths that overtake the rise and fall of his chest. His lips are immeasurably soft. A fact that you can only appreciate as time slows.

You take a moment to look at him. In the silence, you can admire the fine lines of his sculpted face and the inviting curve of his lips all within the grasp of your hands. He looks softer like this, happy. It makes you happy. 

Satoru’s eyelashes flicker open, long white lashes framing the blues of the sky trapped in his gaze. You offer him a smile, a small quirk of your lips as you turn a hand over and lightly brush his cheek. You blink, taken aback when Satoru lightly takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle. 

His eyes flash, engulfed by a dark hunger.

You’re flat on your back against the desk, and there’s no time to think before Satoru presses forward, claiming your lips in an open mouthed kiss that steals your breath away. He’s trapped you into the desk, the weight of his body pushing you down. His fingers wind through your hair, cradling the back of your head. 

You can feel his need between your legs, throbbing against you, all harsh panting and heat.

“Satoru,” you mumble the best you can with his lips still eager to meet yours. “We should—”

Your words are smothered when Satoru’s tongue licks into your mouth purposefully. You can tell he’s unhappy to be separated by layers of fabric. Your panties stick to your core, damp, as Satoru begins to lightly rock into you, straining against the material covering your heat. 

“Satoru—”

He moans into your mouth, “Just like that.” 

You snap your mouth shut, but Satoru doesn’t seem to notice as his lips trail across your neck with a single minded purpose. You feel his lips on your shoulder, as they glide across your chest.

Satoru’s lips are on yours again before you can even blink in an open mouthed kiss, tongue thoroughly exploring your mouth. His hands are tight, pressing into your waist, body flush against yours. 

You mentally apologize. Then, you bite him.

Your teeth close over Satoru’s bottom lip. Hard. You almost wince yourself. 

To your horror, Satoru does not release you like you thought he would.

You feel his body shudder to a near tremble, and the sharp exhale-like moan that leaves his lips. His eyes look delighted in their frenzied state. He presses closer to you, erection prominent and twitching, holding you even tighter. Your heart races in your chest as Satoru buries himself into your neck, hips grinding into yours. 

You force your hands out against his chest. “Satoru,” you say tightly. “Someone could come in.”

That gives him pause. He rises, just slightly, enough to look down on you. You must look like a mess. His tongue swipes over the blood on his lips, and then he smiles.

“Oh?”

This is bad.

“I should talk to Suguru first,” you say quickly, avoiding his gaze. “You know…”

There's a brief pause.

“Hm.” He begrudgingly acquiesces, allowing you enough space to rise up. He briefly cups your face, before a hand falls to your neck. A dull ache flares when Satoru’s thumb presses down. You swallow, trying to calm your beating heart, all despite the fact that his hardness is within plain view.

You try not to stare at it as you busy yourself with buttoning your shirt. You can feel him grinning at you.

“And Suguru says I’m the one with no restraint.” Crossing his arms, he bears down at you expectantly. HIs foot taps up and down.

Your nerves are still frayed, electric, but you feel…almost better. Lighter. Despite the unexpected turn your meeting had taken, you’re happy. 

“I love you Satoru,” you say, finishing up your top button. You really do. If he and Suguru and Shoko could be guaranteed happiness for the rest of their lives, you truly would have no problem dying in the next hour.

After straightening out your shirt, you finally look up. Satoru blinks at you, but there’s a flush to his neck, lips warbling.

You haven’t seen Satoru this flustered in ages. You should enjoy it now while it lasts. 

“Where’d that come from?” He manages with a croak. He regains himself, straightening, but there's a pleased glint to his eye. Like a preening cat.

“I just wanted to,” you say happily. “Because I love you.”

You stand, rising on your toes to pat his head. Go likes it when you pet him. Meiko had liked it too.  

Satoru stares at you, but he doesn’t push your hand away. He closes his eyes with an exhale.

“Are we…good?” you drop your hand, much to the disappointment that overtakes Satoru’s face.

“Always,” he confirms, and a part of you thinks he means it.

You smile. Everything’s going to be alright. As long as Satoru can smile at you like that, then things can’t possibly be as bad as you may have envisioned. You hear Meiko’s words once more: The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. They want him to have children.

It's odd. That such an important thing hadn't reached your ears. According to Meiko, those elders never left Fukuouka. A matter of the upmost importance. Nobody told you about it. Not even Shoko. It's none of your business. That's what you've been telling yourself, despite the disappointment swirling in your gut. You wish they could have confided in you.  

“Do you want children?”

The look of interest on his face quickly fades as his gaze turns discerning. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, intuitively deciding that telling Satoru of your excursion with Meiko would be disastrous right now. “Just curious I guess…”

“About how babies are made?” His eyebrows waggle.

“No. I know about that.” Speaking of which. You’d need condoms.

Though you aren’t quite sure how well Satoru would react to you asking him what their to-go brand of condoms are. Maybe you’d ask Suguru instead.

“You weren’t at your place last Sunday,” Satoru says casually.

You blink, caught up in your worries about selecting the wrong condoms. Sunday…that had been…dinner with Meiko. 

“Oh, I was out.”

“Out,” Satoru repeats. “Where?”

“With a…” you mentally apologize for being presumptuous, “friend…”

Satoru frowns. “You don’t have friends.”

Other than me, Suguru, and Shoko.

The unspoken words are pointed. You smile nervously.

You aren’t as popular as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. That’s a given. Shoko gets invited to for drinks with the auxiliary managers every other day. Visiting jujutsu sorcerers have been known to ask her out for coffee. You’re sure it’s tripled for Satoru and Suguru.

“There are some…” you clear your throat. “I have friends other than you and Shoko and Suguru.”

Ijichi. Utahime….Hideo. Maybe Meiko.

But to be a friend…they’d have to consider you a friend right? It has to go both ways. You’ve never received verbal confirmation or anything. You shouldn’t have automatically assumed…but Meiko had invited you out hadn’t she? She wanted to see you. To talk to you. There were no ulterior motives. She wanted to get to know you. Isn’t that how friendships start? You don’t even remember how Satoru and you became friends. One day he hated you, and then he didn’t. It’s not that much of a surprise. He’s always been a little capricious at heart like that. Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko had seamlessly blended into your life, like they had always been there. 

Satoru disregards your words. “You don’t need them.”

He doesn’t believe you. Your face warms in embarrassment. Of course he’d think that. You stay silent awkwardly.

Satoru hums. “So Megumi, huh.” He looks amused. “You should’ve just come over to the apartment.”

“R-right…” Sometimes, you truly believed it was easier to let Satoru think what he wanted. It was harmless anyway. So you’d let him.

He gently pulls you up to your feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But Suguru…”

“In Yokohama." He picks at something at your shoulder, but his knuckles brush your neck. "He won’t be back until tomorrow. So eager to see him?”

“Yes,” you admit. “I want to see him and I want…to talk to him.” If these past months have taught you anything, it’s that one of the things you miss most of all is talking to Suguru. Suguru is more than an excellent conversationalist, he’s attentive in a way others aren’t. Satoru and Suguru both. They make you feel seen. Satoru, when he looks at you. Suguru, when he listens.

You cherish it. You’ll miss it.

At your response, Satoru groans, falling to his knees once more. You blink at him, wondering what caused the sudden dramatics.

His fingers grip your pants, like a child hiding behind his mother’s dress. 

He looks up at you. You suddenly get the image of a withered man in the desert, dying of thirst, and you already know what he’s going to ask. You step back. His hand falls loosely back to his side.

“No,” you say sternly, in the same manner you tell Go he can’t knock over your vases. 

Then you walk outside.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Catching up! So today we’re mostly having replies related to all the stuff we posted recently.

Starting with the most important question.

Anonymous asked:

Wait, Idia got called a brocon? When?

He did! Grim called him a brocon in 5-13 right after we saw Ortho for the first time :3 (timestamp on 5:42 just in case)

Anonymous asked:

How does that smoke beer donut taste?

(this is about this drawing)

Very smoky! And like something Gidel isn’t supposed to eat…

Anonymous asked:

I wanna see some of your traditional art

Actually, Anon, you’re looking at it…

The majority of things that we post daily was originally drawn traditionally, and then coloured digitally. I really want to do more art that is 100% traditional, but never get a chance to for a bunch of reasons :(

Anonymous asked:

I love your analysis holy cow! see its because of Book 5 that i cant stop seeing Vil and Rook as mom and dad. i love this ship mind you, (they are my comfort ship and it gives me life whenever you draw them you beautiful soul) but even if some didnt see them as a romantic couple--in my opinion they still have that VIBE you know? Like whenever they're there you just cant help but feel like BRO THEY WOULD BEAT UP YOUR BULLIES AND THEN GROUND YOU AND SEND YOU TO YOUR ROOM FOR FIGHTING IN THE FIRST PLACE LOL is it just a me feeling?

(this is related to this post)

Thank you for your kind words, Anon! I am very happy you enjoyed the analysis and that you like my RookVil art <3

Yeah, I think these two being very parental is pretty obvious and pretty intentional! All jokes aside, Pomefiore trio really feels like it was written in a way that they would read as a family. We don’t usually like this trope because characters playing house could get pretty boring, and a lot of family-related tropes don’t resonate with us at all. So I am surprised to this day that we love Pomefiore’s vibes so much. I’m guessing that it’s because of how unusual of a family they are, how Epel actually fights with Vil a lot, and how he grows from being a little brat to being a little brat that is eager to grow and excited to show his senpais his new cool magic tricks, while they tease him but still are very proud and excited for him. Like, they’re strict and would smack him (well, Vil would) but they also want him to grow. Woah, that sounds way too wholesome ew lol

Anyways! Even if we exclude Epel, and this is another thing I’ve talked about a lot, I genuinely feel like Rook and Vil were intentionally written as a couple that has been together for quite some time, at least coding-wise. There are just too many tropes and situations that they have that are usually used for couples… Alright I’ll stop myself or I’ll rant about them again even though I just did a couple of weeks ago.

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

I just love baby Vil so much, makes me wonder what happened

(this is about this drawing)

Adults with shitty opinions + kids that can’t separate reality from fiction happened… truly, two of the worst things that could happen to a possible friendship between actors.

A couple of asks about this drawing:

Anonymous asked:

Oh oh! I saw! Che'nya art! We (smiley kitty fans) are starving! Thank you for the food! It is delicious! May we have another plate, please?

Poor smiley kitty fans! :( I am so sorry you’re starving! Please enjoy your food.

Unfortunately I don’t have any more smiley catfood for you…….. yet.

Anonymous asked:

*see Chenya *

*starts biting at the bars of my containment*

Better question for him..... What that tongue do??? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

What that tongue doesn’t do, Anon? Wink

Anonymous asked:

Question. How much of Riddle's body do you think Che'nya would lick to clean him?

In theory, he’d probably get bored pretty quickly, but I kind of want him to just keep licking… Riddle thought it would be over 15 minutes ago, but Che’nya’s still licking… The moment he would be done with his face, ears and head (cat saliva in Riddle’s hair…), Riddle would realise that Che’nya is determined to lick him all over. Time to call Trey…

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

Riddle gets licked my Chenya often in my lil delulu ass world

Sometimes Che’nya randomly appears, licks his cheek and disappears again.

Anonymous asked:

Bro I gotta know, what do the tweel's dick(s) look like on their merform? I was scrolling on ur bluesky and saw this one with jade and idia and something between idia's legs and I was like "is that his dick?" If so DAYUM! May that bussy rest in peace

Love your art and speedpaints btw💗

Thank you for enjoying my art and especially my speedpaints! I am very happy to hear that <3

Hehe I’m glad you liked that one! I had a lot of fun with that piece.

I feel like I draw merpeen differently every single time lol but I love the design we came up with for that Jade/Idia drawing, and in fact I do have a post in which I talk about how it probably works! There aren’t any pictures there, but there are some interesting thoughts…

[starrysamu]

✦ you and nanami have been working side by side for three years now. when nanami brings his son to work with him one day, it changes the entire trajectory of your relationship in only 24 hours.

✦ nanami kento x f!reader

✦ word count: 1.9k

✦ warnings: none.

contents. | 3. | 4. | 5.

previously.

“he really likes exercise equipment, but he’s too small to use them, especially the elliptical that we have at home. i’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. instead, we go to the park when we can so he can play. he likes spending time with his friends there. he likes it when i cook dinners for him, which is most nights. he hates vegetables, and i’ve heard it’s common for kids his age but it’s been really tough to get them in him. sometimes - ”

he stops abruptly and blinks at you. you blink back. 

“sometimes?” you urge quietly. your hands are folded on your lap and your chest is pressed against the edge of the table. 

he clears his throat. “ah, i lost my train of thought.” 

you smile, knowing full well there’s no way a man like him just “lost his train of thought.” 

you’ll give it time, though, because this time it’s different. this time, you’re willing to wait.

chapter 4

“another friday, another yuto, hm?” 

“another?” yuto yells disbelievingly. “there’s another yuto?” 

nanami shushes him. truly, it was just another day of figuring out how to phrase things to a small child.

“no, no, that’s not what i meant - i’d like to call a lifeline to help explain to yuto that he’s the only yuto for me, and i simply meant that - ”

“another friday, another nanny not available,” nanami mumbles monotonously. his voice - low and deep and rich like velvet - incites a completely inappropriate response from you. 

you frown, masking the tugging in your stomach with unamusement. “you’re the worst lifeline.” 

nanami turns to look at you point-blank, hands folding over his abdomen. 

your frown deepens when he doesn’t say anything. 

“what?” 

he draws in a deep sigh before turning back to yuto. “you know the drill. i’ll get you that mango custard today.” 

nanami probably broke his back trying to find someone to look after yuto. the sharpness of his eyes have softened, already weathered down from the morning. 

“mango custard?” you wiggle your eyebrows, leaning back to get a good look at yuto. “the dessert game keeps getting upped.” 

“i lo-ove mango,” yuto declares with his entire chest. “but i think dad likes it more. we also like strawberry. we like cake. cake is so good, like especially the cake with the little strawberry pieces in the middle of the slice -” 

“yuto, i think she knows what cake is.” 

nanami grunts as he leans over to pull yuto’s jacket around him, zipping it up to the very top. you grin at the sight: a sky blue marshmallow. 

“very flattering,” you gush. you feel like one of those aunties that’ll come up to him in 10 years and ask, ‘do you remember me?’ when there’s no way in hell he would remember you from such a young age. 

“look at all that extra padding. i think you’re ready for your first sports game.” this time, you wiggle your brows at nanami. 

yuto is not paying attention to you. yuto is actually quite upset that he’s got this suffocating jacket on him. he hangs his head back exasperatedly, letting out a long groan. 

“don’t make that face,” nanami murmurs. “it’s cold in the office today.” 

yuto starts to flop his arms and legs around like a fish. the chair wobbles, swiveling to the side pitifully. nanami reaches for the armrest to stop it from spinning and you watch, partly in awe with how the office chair practically consumes yuto whole. once he’s sure yuto’s giving up the resistance, nanami turns back to his computer. 

you try not to stare at nanami. you’ve always been drawn to his sharp features, but you think something else tugs at you now - pity, maybe? just thinking it fills you with dread. you hope it airs along the lines of longing, sympathy, even. 

he’s working with pinched eyebrows and the softest, most exasperated sighs - a large contrast from stoicism and silence. your chest tightens. 

you cross one leg over the other and swallow. “is there anything i can help you with today?” 

you can’t recall the last time you asked him that. you remember asking religiously during the first two quarters of working at the company, back when you were fresh-faced and impossibly ambitious - and back when he was simply polite and efficient enough to always say ‘no thank you.’ 

out of the corner of your eye, you catch yuto slouching defeatedly in his chair. 

would you have acted differently had you known? should you have tried harder to extend yourself? 

does this … does yuto change things? 

it shouldn’t. you don’t think it does, at least. 

you frown to yourself. you’re still contemplating it when he murmurs, “i think we just need to finish making the presentation for tomorrow.” 

your lips almost part. almost. 

“i might need some help with yuto,” he admits, eyes trained on the file on his computer. “he was a little … apprehensive about coming with me today.” 

this might be the longest response you’ve ever gotten to that question, much less to any of your other questions. 

“yeah, sure, anything,” you nod quickly, smiling at yuto. “really? who would’ve guessed he hates coming here? i thought this was the funnest place on the planet.” 

yuto scrunches his nose. “dad said funnest isn’t a word.” 

“he’s right, kiddo.” 

“then why’d you say it?” 

“for fun.” 

you lean over and drag his chair to sit in the middle of you and nanami. 

nanami looks at you before looking at yuto. when he looks at you once again, you tilt your head to the side. what? 

he shakes his head and turns back to his computer. 

it’s almost embarrassing how your back pops when you reach your hands up to the ceiling and wiggle your fingers. you sigh out in relief and slump forward. 

it’s friday. it’s friday. it’s friday, it’s friday, it’s friday. 

“do you have the excel sheet from the sukuna account?” 

you’re sensing a foreign invader. your eyes narrow. you’re like a white blood cell, and gojo satoru is a pathogen - a threat to your peace and serenity in the workplace. 

“ah, hello, dear, sweet gojo. the bane of my existence.” 

“how charming.” gojo grins. “happy to be of service.” 

“shut up,” a new voice says. “stop bothering her. i need to bother her. and him. both of them.” 

you smile tersely. “ah, hello, dear, sweet utahime. currently the other bane of my existence.” 

“i’m happy to take over the role from gojo,” she says curtly, passing a file to you. “i need you to look through this before i submit it for approval.” 

“must i?” you ask, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and tilting back dramatically.  

while you’re busy brooding over extra work, gojo comes around to pick yuto up. 

yuto giggles when gojo holds him up like simba. he circles around in his spot, yuto still suspended in air. “everyone praise king yuto. king yuto, we thank you for gracing our presence today - ”

nanami doesn’t shift, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t budge a single muscle. he doesn’t watch gojo swing his child around, he doesn’t ask gojo to put him back down. 

full, unadulterated trust. 

doubt creeps in. you remind yourself you haven’t known him for that long, you suppose. what’s it going to take to get there, though?   

you watch quietly, gnawing on your lip. 

“stop bothering everyone,” utahime hisses, tugging on gojo’s collar. “hi, yuto,” she coos, taking him from gojo. “you’ve gotten so big. do you remember aunty utahime? i haven’t seen you in so long. how’s work going today?” 

yuto sighs dramatically. it’s obvious he doesn’t remember her, but he’s itching to complain. “work is so bo-oring. i think dad and i should go to the park every day instead.” 

gojo ruffles his hair. “sorry kid, this is what life’s all about. luckily, you got a rich dad and … ” he looks to you, “an entertaining friend over here, so you’re basically set for life.” 

“entertaining?” you parrot, scrunching your nose. it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“derogatory,” gojo clarifies. 

“how sweet.”

utahime sets yuto back down in his seat. “anyways, just look over that when you can,” she says to you and nanami. 

“yeah, and the sukuna account,” gojo tacks on. “you guys are the best. just awesome. amazing people. great coworkers. keep up the great work.” 

you press your palms to your eyes and lean back in your seat. “i think i’m gonna have to go into overtime,” you groan, once gojo and utahime are out of earshot. 

“we can finish,” nanami mutters under his breath. “it’s fine, we’ll finish in time.” 

you’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself. 

you’re fighting for your life. you’re fighting the urge to scream and rip your hair out and do literally anything and everything the main character in a romantic comedy would do when nothing is going their way. 

you glance out the window. the sun has been gone for several hours now. you’re left to fend for yourself in this dusty, dark office - which, you figure you might be able to see better if you just got up to turn the lights.

lights are for the weak. it’s time to rely on your hunter-gatherer instincts. 

(you doubt hunter-gatherers were as lazy as you are, but that’s another discussion). 

you sigh and lean back in your seat. 

“why’re you sitting in the dark?” 

the lights click on and you jump in your seat. 

your heart is racing a million miles when you rub your eyes to adjust. footsteps approach you. what do you do? what would the hunter-gatherers have done?

you open your eyes. nanami towers over you, yuto attached to his hip and a grocery bag in his free hand. 

“we thought you might still be here.” 

you don’t know if you should be nervous. did something happen? 

“what’re you guys doing here?” 

he looks at you a little sheepishly. “yuto’s idea.” 

oh dear. what’re you to do now? what’re you to do now that you've seen this side of him? what’re you - a woman of nature, one with the trees and the wilderness - to do with a man like this? 

he’s shot you straight in the heart with a bow and arrow. 

“we got you a mango custard,” yuto grins. “you have to try it. it’s so much better than the strawberry cake.” 

“also got you some noodles if you’re hungry.” 

as if on cue, your stomach growls. 

you are no longer one with the wilderness. if you really think about it, this is the  modern version of gathering. 

nanami sets the bag down on your desk with the slightest curve of his lips. he grunts as he sits in his seat, yuto clinging to his front like a koala. 

“eat,” he murmurs, reaching for your mouse. 

he leans forward and you feel the warmth in waves, rolling off of his stiff suit. you still in your spot when he casually hands yuto over to you. now you’ve got a whole child hanging off of your right arm and a bowl of noodles in your other hand, with nanami brushing over you everytime he moves to type something on your computer. 

your heart blooms, flowers uprooting from your arteries. you’ve been watered after a long, dry day.  

“eat the custard.” yuto is whispering in your ear, but every time he speaks, he gets louder. “eat the custard. eat the custard, eat the - ”

“yuto.” 

yuto brings his voice back to a whisper. “eat the custard.” 

you giggle, holding up the box. “i gotta have these noodles first, right?” 

“no you don’t,” yuto shrugs. it must be nice to be a three-year old, considering how easily he made that decision for you. he shifts so he’s sitting on your lap, digging through the grocery bag to find the custard. “i think you should have the custard first.” 

“let her eat.” 

you let your eyes rest on nanami for a moment. his brows are slightly furrowed, with the same pinch from this morning. it feels that just as much as he hates overtime for himself, he hates it for you too. 

it makes you feel warm. 

“thank you,” you whisper. 

if he hears you, he doesn’t say anything. he makes sure your computer is shut down by 8:00.

contents. | 3. | 4. | 5.

[thesiltverses]

Hi there! I just finished a relisten of the silt verses and oh my GOD the writing is just incredible. I’ve always been blown away by the world building but on this listen I realized just how enamored I am with the way you write complex character relationships. Of course the major relationships develop naturally and beautifully but I have so much appreciation for the less central relationships (Paige and Faulkner’s dads come to mind as characters only on the show for a little while but who absolutely blew me away.)

It’s been said a million times but it’s so refreshing to follow a cast of people who are all terrible (or complicit in terrible things) in different ways. It’s such a natural extension of the worldbuilding—of course it’s near impossible to be a “good person” in a world ravaged by consumerism. I admire how it’s such a fantastical world yet even the worst of the villains feel wholly human.

Anyways I haven’t had the energy to draw for over a month now but I was so inspired by this relisten that I’ve now finished a whole art piece and I have several new ideas to work on! The imagery in tsv is so rich it’s like it wants to be drawn.

Tldr; the silt verses is my fav podcast of all time. I truly hope you feel incredibly proud of your creation. Thank you for putting something so amazing out into the world

Hey! Thank you so, so much - it's comments like these that really just make your day and make all of it feel worthwhile.

On your point about relatively minor roles, I completely agree - of course Steve Shell nails his performance as Faulkner's dad, but I also think Graham Rowat deserves a ton of praise and recognition for what he does with Dennis, and maybe he tends to get forgotten a bit because of the nature of the character.

I see a lot of people raving about the start of his character arc (hating his guts) and the end (feeling moved by him) in completely opposed ways, and I think that really speaks to Graham's brilliant range.

(Also, I think I saw your art piece of Paige and it was absolutely gorgeous! Really thrilled that the show gave you a bit of extra inspiration and thank you in turn for putting something so fantastic out into the world.)

[morganas-pendragons]

The Only Exception | Joel Miller

Part two to Haven’t We Given Enough? 

Requests for Joel as of 01/29/23 are OPEN.

Inspired Song: The Only Exception - Paramore 

Tag: @ironmandeficiency​ @kirsteng42​ @kayleezra​ @duskwo0d​

Synopsis: Following the events of Haven’t We Given Enough, you take the leap to approach Joel after waking up in the Firefly Hospital, when only hours earlier your life had flashed before your eyes as you very firmly believed the three of you were going to drown. 

You didn’t. 

This is what happened after. 

*** 

Every molecule of your body hurts. 

Coming back to the light is hard. The last thing you can remember is screaming for Joel before the water pulled, pulled, pulled and the life you’ve only dreamt of having since your son died flashes before your eyes. 

Every molecule of your body hurts, but you will your eyes open anyway.

For Joel.

***

The mirror is grimy. It’s clear that it hasn’t been cleaned in the last twenty years, and between the grime and the dirt that’s accumulated, Joel’s form is nearly unrecognizable. 

He’s grateful for it. 

He’s not sure he could look himself in the eye. 

  “Joel?” You call, grimacing as you slowly ease yourself from the hospital bed that had been beside his own. Joel had been pulled under at the same time you had been. Going by the motley of bruises on his skin - tanned skin, so much skin that your eyes are naturally drawn toward it - you think it’s safe to assume he’s just as rattled as you are. “Are you okay? Do I need to go find-” 

You wince and cradle your temple as he shakes his head. “No, sunshine,” He calls. “I’m more worried about you. C’mere.” 

It’s not the dirt or the fact there’s running water you can clearly hear, it’s the fact that he’s shirtless from the waist up and doubled over against the sink. Bloodied knuckles are wound so tightly around the edge of the sink that they’ve begun to turn white. 

Your fingers tremble as you lift them to only put them back down again. 

It’s not the bruises either. It’s the scars. 

You should’ve been aware that a man as old as Joel had his fair share of scars. So did you. What you weren’t expecting was the magnitude of them. Your eyes are naturally drawn to the larger ones, two that are whiter than the others and stretch diagonally across his shoulder blades. 

There’s more. Littler ones scattered across his shoulders and down his back, but there’s two by either hip that are hidden in the midst of freckles there. 

You find yourself wondering what those taste like. 

  “I am fine,” You assure as you pad into the bathroom and come to a stop right behind him. This is probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in the time you’ve known one another. Being able to see each other in such a vulnerable state has your heart racing far faster than it should be able to. “Just banged up. My ribs took the worst of it.” 

His voice is quiet as Joel lifts his head to look at you through what little mirror is visible. 

  “Let me see.” 

Your hands work faster than your brain does. Before you can comprehend what you’re truly doing, you’re stepping into the bathroom and shutting the curtain on the door as much as you can before slipping off your shirt. 

His entire aspect shifts into something softer, something gentler and with more regret for letting this happen to begin with, as Joel presses further until there’s almost no space between you. 

Everything comes to a halt the moment his hands hover over your body. Your body, the body that bore a child, that had its own scars. 

  “Joel,” You whisper. “You are allowed to touch.” 

Joel shakes his head. “I told you,” He snarls quietly, like a wounded animal who’s been backed into a corner and believes there’s no way out of this but anger, by that sharp bit that scared everyone away except you and Tommy. “You don’t want this,” 

  “I don’t think you get to determine what I want,” You murmur. “I’ve wanted you for months and have chosen not to act upon how I feel because I didn't want to scare you.” He had told you that he was afraid to run after you because you were real. You were real, and real meant possibility and something after, and Joel had spent so long existing - born of his own anger, his grief, his heartbreak born from the loss of his daughter and the end of everything he’d ever known - that he’d forgotten what it was like to live. “And what I want is to love you. For as long as you intend to let me.” 

That confession is enough to kick his mind into gear as he grips your hips, careful not to aggravate your injuries, and slowly turned your body to lead you into the shower. 

The warm spray was a welcome balm to the ache in your body. 

Smoothing wet hair over the top of your head to move it away from your eyes, you purse your lips and peer up at him. He’s so real. He’s human. He’s learned, and lived, and fought, and his body is the canvas in which his story is written upon. 

For those first few minutes, Joel doesn’t say a word. He’s afraid that even attempting to speak will only end in cracked voices and tears he’s too tired to shed. 

You spend those minutes of quiet running your fingers across the scars on his front, gripping his hip in your hand before turning him around to press your chest to his back. 

Joel shivers as your hand dances down his chest, lips cresting across the larger scars on his back as you travel downward to rest on his stomach. 

All of you who have lived through the Outbreak have developed muscle. Given the amount of supplies everyone who isn't in an established community has to carry, it comes as no surprise that the years worth of carrying everything you own develops muscle that wasn’t defined before. 

He has that. So do you. Both of you have it on your arms. But while so much of Joel’s outer exterior he shows other people is hard, you can feel parts of him that are soft. 

That’s the same day you discover your favorite parts of him - in which you’ll come to love more later, because then you’ll get to spend the rest of your life loving those softer parts of him - and it’s his stomach. 

It’s soft. Soft under your fingers and smattered with hair. 

  “Sunshine,” Joel murmurs. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve only ever been with Sarah’s mother, and she...” 

  “I haven’t either. Sam’s father was the only one,” You reply. “But I’m willing to learn with you.. If you’ll have me.” 

I’m not letting you go even if you won’t. 

Joel turns around and reaches for the soap on the shelf. You’re really not being smart wasting water, but this might be the only shower you have until you go back to Jackson. “I can’t fathom why you’d want an old, battered and broken shell of a man like me, but if you want like I want...” He runs the soap slowly down your arm before bowing his head to kiss the skin of your collarbone, lifting your arm to rinse it and following thereafter with a trail of kisses that end at your fingertips. “Then I will give it.” 

Because the day I lost her, I promised I wouldn’t sing of love if it didn’t exist. 

But you are.. the only exception... 

The ache between your legs only intensifies when he kisses you. The water is warm, but his hands burn as they wrap around your hips and pull you close enough that all you can feel is Joel. 

Real, human, breathing Joel who wants you as badly as you want him. 

You are so deep in your thoughts as the pair of you finish your shower that you don’t realize he’s singing. 

  “If I ever were to lose you... I would surely lose myself...” 

*** 

Less than an hour later, the two of you are sitting side by side on the bed while Marlene explains what’s being done to your sister. Marlene keeps insisting that neither of you have to worry about Ellie anymore like she isn’t all that’s left of your blood. 

She’s being prepped for surgery because the cordyceps has mutated. They’re trying to take it out. They’re trying to take out where it grows all over the brain and that means it’ll kill her.

You can feel your stomach trying to twist and knot so you’ll release what little contents you do have remaining in your stomach. 

Joel’s horror is apparent. You’re just trying hard to not jump across the room and gouge Marlene’s eyes out. 

And to think.. you trusted her. 

  “Whatever you two think it is you’re going through is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I’ve known her since she was born. I promised her mother I’d look after her.” 

The soldier who’d hit you in the face with the butt of his gun looks rather smug as you raise yourself to all fours beside Joel and flash a smile full of bloody teeth. “Funny,” You spat. “I remember making a promise to do the exact same thing. And I’m the one who’s actually related to her.” 

  “I know Sunshine wouldn’t willingly let this happen, so why would you!?” Joel exclaims. 

  “Because this isn’t about me, or even her! There’s no other choice here.” 

  “Yeah... you keep telling yourself that.” 

You know Marlene. You know how she works, how the Fireflies think. You know she won’t regret a single moment of what’s about to occur, but you will. Letting Ellie die in this hospital is far too similar to the way Sam had died. 

You try not to think about it. You could’ve prevented losing your son. 

You will not make the same mistake again. 

  “March them out of here. If either one tries anything, shoot them.” 

You’re both on a mission by the time you reach the hallway: Get your stuff, and get upstairs to rescue your sister from meeting Death face to face for a second time in her fourteen years of life. 

She’s still got so much to live for. 

And you refuse to fail your mother’s dying wish. 

*** 

You’re the one to kill the doctors, in the end. The two on either side of the room are your victims while Joel approaches the one holding the scalpel. 

It doesn’t matter. 

In the end, they lose anyway. 

*** 

You make a pact sealed with a kiss as Joel loads Ellie into the car. You both knew why you saved her. It’s for your own reasons outside of the fact that the surgery would’ve killed her. 

You’d both lost children. You couldn’t endure that again. A parent’s love, despite the fact Ellie was your sister, was what kept Ellie Williams from falling victim to the very surgery that might have saved the rest of human kind. 

You make a pact sealed with a kiss not to disclose the truth to her. It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. 

But this time is an exception. 

[kiirotoao]

07/07/2023: Happy Byler Day!

In celebration, here’s a countdown list of my top 7 Byler details/moments!

7. Eggs and syrup (s1e1 and s3e1)

This detail is pretty easily overlooked, especially considering that it’s present for only two blinks throughout the show, but it’s one of my favorites. In fact, this detail was one of the first Byler facts that got me to ship Byler. The representation of the unconventional breakfast pairing for the show’s quote-unquote unconventional relationship pairing is just too perfect. I love this silent emphasis of their queerness together.

6. At it again (s3e5)

I don’t have a proper title for this moment, haha, but I can quote this scene from memory and just. Have to say it along with Byler. Every single time I rewatch 😭. The drama. The shouted whispers. Mike’s idiocy. Will’s sass. It’s glorious. It’s beautiful. And, best of all, it hurts way less than the rain scene, which is a win for me. Also, I love how these two fought really badly literally a day ago, but then they come around to arguing like a true married couple again because they can’t help but gravitate to one other.

5. “Crazy together” (s2e2)

Ah, the Byler staple. Now, this scene got me to put Byler on my radar when I first watched the show, so I have to give it a top 7 spot, for sure. Also, just, this scene is so tender and sweet. What a lovely way to show how sometimes the best relationships are made through sharing the worst times in your life. It really does help to have someone to confide in through awful situations, and this scene heartwarmingly highlights that. Additionally, their youth and innocence taking on this trauma together is what gets me every single time. Byler are so strong for each other, and it shines so brightly, here. It’s plain endearing.

4. The heart-to-heart apology (s4e4)

This scene is literally the pinnacle of Byler’s unspoken love, and the flirtation is off the charts. It’s just so, so lovely, and the atmosphere is simply wonderful and fit to make you forget you’re watching a thriller show. The flirting itself is all that I need to spotlight for this scene, and truly, I don’t have to say anything about it, do I? This moment just speaks for itself.

3. The shed scene (s2e8)

When making this list, I was torn between 3 and 4, but I ended up putting the shed scene at the top 3 because Mike’s speech here absolutely wrecked me the first time I watched it. The tears, the transparency, the traction despite Will being unable to utter a word in reply. I also just made a kinda long-winded grammatical analysis on the phrase above: “it was the best thing I’ve ever done” and how soft and adorable it is to say, and I cannot describe how close to tears I was, too, when watching this scene, like Will was. How often do you hear your best friend pleading for your life by talking about how you changed theirs? This moment is so sweet.

This moment is also somewhat unprompted, drawn from the rawest recollection of Mike’s mind, coupled with the desperation, it brings out how truly important this moment is for Mike. And the fact that this speech seems to prompt Will’s Morse code tapping makes it all the better for us to know that Mike’s message was very likely received. This scene is simply so tender. It is Mike and Will in their most exposed forms all season long, maybe even ever, for Mike (because I think that the van scene might be Will’s, but let’s not worry about that right now, this is a happy post 🙈).

2. “Not possible.” (s3e8)

I wish I was exaggerating when I say that Mike’s little smile in this scene changed my brain forever. Well, maybe I don’t care that I wasn’t exaggerating, actually. This scene is unapologetically adorable. It’s not as flirtatious as the s4e4 heart-to-heart apology, not as lengthy as the “crazy together” scene, not as clearly pivotal as the s1 opener, but it’s chock full of implicit love.

I love how Mike and Will communicate through dnd, particularly how they talk about the game differently apart from other Party members, and that’s the kicker that I love about this scene. Usually, Mike especially as we’ve seen throughout seasons 1-3, dnd is referenced with a sense of leadership about the Upside Down, used as a tool for knowledge with others. But between Mike and Will, here? They use it as a tool for their relationship, which is such a wonderful contrast to show how much Mike and Will mean to each other. And what’s more, Mike brings up this analogy, first, singling out Will and how special he is to Mike.

“What if you join another party?” It’s a simple question, and at face value, it sounds like, ‘what if you find another friend group without me? What if you move on?’ Which I think it is asking, but it’s also, ‘what if you move on from me?’ And Will’s quick and faithful reply, “not possible” is all we need to hear to know that Will is going to carry Mike’s love with him no matter what. Topped with cute glances each other’s way and a quickly leaving Will to let the emotion wordlessly simmer, this tiny flirt holds my heart.

1. The season-episode parallels

If this detail looks familiar, it’s because I’ve talked about this one before. And, yeah, looking at it a lot more over the past year, I gotta say that it’s my favorite thing about Byler.

It is such an interesting detail, and basically, it’s the way that the episodes of s1e1, s2e2, s3e3, and s4e4 all have pertinent Byler moments, arguably the most important Byler moments per season that kickstart a lot of the show, and every single scene has so many little details that they share. Mike on the left, Will on the right. Will’s honesty, Mike’s unawareness. The clothing. The alternating lighting. It’s been my favorite parallel to talk about on all platforms I’m active on, and so I crown this one as my winner. It’s such a loaded parallel, and it’s everything in my niche that I love to talk about as it covers so much of the show and Byler, from the bigger details of how it affects the show down to the smaller details of lighting, clothing, and coloring.

And also, this parallel inspired me to make my TikTok account and dedicate it to Byler. Then one thing led to another, and so this detail is kinda the reason why I’m here on Tumblr, too. So I owe it a lot, haha.

The season-episode parallel reminds me that I’m not alone or ‘looking into it too much,’ and even if this is all a coincidence, it’s a damn good one.

Thanks for reading, and Happy Byler Day, again! Now, go forth and enjoy more posts!

[oigimi]

arthur’s sequel - chapter 1

Translation notes provided at the bottom. Any text in italics is from a flashback. This process takes awhile but I’m re-falling in love with Arthur cuz of this. Pls enjoy!

There was a crescent moon in the sky the night I traveled from the Louvre Museum to 19th century Paris. It’s as if it was laughing at destiny itself…

I reminisced about it, and about my visit. I had experienced the worst encounter with “him,” and also the best love.

Arthur: Ah, you’re a good girl, so don’t act violently. Don’t be so rude and indulge in me. I’ll take care of you if you do.

With his vampire fangs peeking through, he uttered a nastily sweet whisper.

The flirtatious playboy mystery author, Arthur Conan Doyle. Even though he was the one I should’ve been the most cautious of, I became naturally drawn to him. He was like a gentle breeze caressing my cheeks.

Arthur: Well, MC. Why don’t we wager?

MC: Wager…?

Arthur: Whoever is first to kiss the other loses. When I win, I plan to capture every part of you. Your body, your heart, and even your destiny.

When we were together, it was so much fun I felt my heart soar. But the game of love was so painful it tightened my chest. Before long, I got to know the Arthur behind his smile, and the dark past he hid.

Arthur: I won’t kiss you. I can’t. Because if I want you, you’ll be gone. Isn’t that right…?

I’ll always be here for him. I want to protect Arthur, who smiles fleetingly, and his heart that is truly so kind and beautiful, no matter what.

A strong, irresistible feeling overcame a cruel fate. And…

Arthur: I can’t think of anyone else who makes me as obsessed as you. You’re the only opponent I’d ever want to lose to.

MC: Then will you let me win our game of who can make the other happier?

Arthur: That’s…

Arthur: Sorry. I won’t lose there.

Beyond the time where we weren’t supposed to meet – we’re still playing these happy games, even now.

--------

Since choosing to live in this world, several seasons have passed. I saw my colleague in his butler uniform at our meeting place, and trotted over.

MC: Thanks for waiting, Sebastian. I bought everything!

Sebastian: Thanks for your help, MC. I’ll carry the heavy bags.

I thanked him for so casually offering, and walked alongside him. The Parisian streets were bathing in sunshine, and lively with working people and energetic children all coming and going. As I felt my mood and movements lighten in the atmosphere of it all, Sebastian looked at me and tilted his head.

Sebastian: You’re in a good mood. You’ve been smiling for a while now. Did something good happen?

MC: Actually, the owner of the produce shop gave me some really nice apples as a bonus because the other day we helped his child find a lost toy!

But it wasn’t just the apples that made me happy. The owner also said, “Please also say thank you to that detective gentleman.” I’m gonna tell him as soon as I get home. I’m sure he’ll be so happy. Just imagining his expression makes me joyful myself.

Sebastian: I see. Well that solves the mystery of the apples I didn’t intend for you to get. So it’s a gift for playing detective?

Sebastian: …No, it’s not even playing anymore. Our great detectives are just as good as Sherlock Holmes!

The chiming of the bell tower mixed with our laughter.

Sebastian: Oh, is that the time? We need to get back to the mansion. Shakespeare is coming over to visit Vincent today, so I want to show some hospitality.

MC: Oh, uh… Sorry, I realized I forgot to buy coffee beans. Please go ahead home, Sebastian.

Sebastian: Will you be okay by yourself?

MC: It’s still daylight. And things are different from when I first came here. Leave it to me!

With pride, I split from Sebastian…

(At the shop)

I’d fallen into quite the pinch.

Man: Well, well, well. I’ve defeated this young woman. Now how are you going to pay me?

Playing cards were scattered across the table, and the man sitting across me had a nasty grin on his face.

I was fooled!! He was just pretending to be a shopkeeper!! When I went to buy the coffee beans, he said, “If you can win now, you’ll get a bonus! Come on now!” He greeted me with a smile, and before I knew it, I was entrenched in a betting match. I was careless, but I’ve been getting better at deception…

MC: I don’t have money. But you were cheating, weren’t you?!

Man: Oh? You’re going to whine now? Ha!

MC: Ah!

I threw my hands up, scared of his furious expression. At that moment…

???: Hey, stop!

A voice light as wind hit my ears, and I looked up.

Are you coming to rescue me at a time like this?

Arthur: Yoohoo, MC~

-------

MC: Arthur!

Arthur slammed his hand down on the table to block the man, and an arc drew on his lips. When I saw his always-relaxed smile, my whole body, which had been stiffened, was relieved.

Arthur, I hadn’t expected you to come…

Arthur: It’s quite easy for you to get caught up in these situations, isn’t it?

MC: Sorry, I was trying to be careful, but…

Arthur: Don’t worry about that now. We need to get out of this pinch first.

As he said that, Arthur sat next to me. The man glared daggers at the sudden intrusion.

Man: Hey, man. What do you think you’re doing butting in like this?

Arthur: Alright, here’s my conditions. You and I are gonna play another round. If we win, we get the full amount offered. If not, we’ll pay ten times the amount.

Arthur: Well? Sound good?

Man: What?! Ten times is a lot! Alright, fine. Let’s do it.

With that grin on Arthur’s face, I could tell he had a trick up his sleeve.

MC: Arthur, please be careful. This guy’s a cheater.

Arthur: Mm~? Oh, there’s no problem here. I have a goddess of victory at my side, and she’s got your name.

MC: Joking at a time like this…

Arthur: Don’t worry, MC. Don’t you trust me?

His eyes were an unwavering blue, like a glass ball. They pierced right through me, and I...

[CHOICE OF 3: I picked “Arthur’s got this.”]

MC: Of course I do. You’ve got this.

Arthur: That’s what I thought. I can’t show you my lame side anyway!

Even through his joking words, I began to relax. Things were going to be okay. Arthur and I laughed a little bit as we locked gazes.

Encouraged by Arthur’s reassuring presence, I also looked at the man head-on.

Arthur: Well isn’t this quite the development! I’m getting a sense of deja vu.

Man: Huh-?

Arthur: Nothing to do with you. Alright, let’s start the game.

The battle finished in the blink of an eye.

MC: Pontoon!

Man: What?! You’ve gotta be kidding-!

Arthur: And just like that, we’ve won.

Just like in the past, we triumphed brilliantly.

---------

Free from that man, Arthur and I walked in the evening streets, side by side.

Arthur: The shopkeeper reported him, so I don’t think we’ll ever see him again.

MC: That’s good, it saves others from getting caught in their trap. Thank you so much for your help, Arthur…

MC: But I can’t believe you had such good timing. Did you happen to be stopping by the store?

Arthur: I suppose it just happened. I was on my way to the publisher to talk about my new book.

Even in this time, Arthur continues to write under a pen name. He gets more popular every time he releases a new book, and even has been getting requests for serialization.

Arthur: And then I remembered you were shopping in town, and decided to visit the store you frequent. Aaaand bingo. Everything was fine up until you got in trouble.

He remembered the store I always go to. There’s his keen observation for you. Seeing my impressed face, Arthur grinned and looked at me.

Arthur: It really was like old times. Remember? When you were trapped in a game of pontoon?

MC: Of course! Yeah, I remember too.

That was way back when I first fell into this world. Arthur helped me when I was in trouble then, and he did it again today.

Arthur: MC, do you need my help? If you ask for it, I’ll give it to you. What do you say?

MC: Arthur… please help me…

Arthur: Mm, okay! And if I win, you need to do what I say.

MC: I was so relieved when you came.

I still thought of Arthur as dangerous and flippant back then. But now, it’s a treasured memory.

MC: Well thank you again, Arthur. You really are my hero.

Arthur: Your hero? Well, that’s just the biggest compliment I could receive.

Uttering it so quietly, Arthur gave a soft smile.

Arthur: Well it’s a golden rule as a hero to rescue my love in need.

MC: Ah! Well from now on, I’m going to be a lot more careful. I need to be more vigilant, and a little more suspicious of other people.

As I reflected on my carelessness, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Arthur: I wish you had a way to protect yourself. Your virtue lies in your ability to face people straight, because you don’t doubt others.

MC: You think so?

Arthur: I know so. I fell in love with your pure and beautiful heart.

My heart trembled a bit, presented with Arthur’s true and honest feelings like a surprise attack.

Arthur: You’re my one and only. The girl I want to protect more than anything. And that’s why I always will. So you can always smile, MC.

--------

Arthur… My cheeks, growing warm, must’ve been dyed even redder by the setting sun. As I failed to control my swelling emotions, a cold rain began to fall on my cheeks.

Arthur: Ah, I thought I could smell rain. It actually did start. Let’s go, MC.

He took out and umbrella and opened it. Holding out one hand, he invited me into a gentle embrace.

Arthur: My apologies, I only have one umbrella.

MC: Thank you Arthur! Ah, I’m remembering again. When you saved me the first time, it rained that night too, didn’t it?

Arthur: That’s right. Even the weather is the same! Today’s the day to stroll down memory lane!

That time, Arthur gave me his umbrella and we parted ways for the night. But today, we are lovers, walking shoulder-to-shoulder under the same umbrella.

MC: Ah, Arthur! Did you know in Japan we call this “ai ai gasa?”

Arthur: “Ai ai gasa?” What’s that? Is it like a lovey-dovey umbrella?

MC: Lovey-dovey? Pfft… Ahaha!!

Arthur: Hey, why is it you’re the only one who understands? Haha, you’re so cute.

MC: Sorry. It’s cuz it’s a silly conversation between lovers. The meaning of the words is a little different, but it means the same in the end.**

I looked up, and a soft kiss touched my lips instead of the cold rain.

Arthur: Then what’s a lovey-dovey umbrella?

I pretended to poke Arthur in the chest and couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. I wished days like this would last forever. With the man I love more than anything else in the world next to me, life is just so dazzling and dear to my heart.

But the destiny awaiting us was about to make a huge move...

-------

Translation notes:

**ai ai gasa (相合傘) is a trope in romance media where two people in love share an umbrella. I think the joke here comes from Arthur calling it “raburabu kasa” (ラブラブ傘), which isn’t really a term, and literally means “lovey dovey umbrella.” I think this will be better explained in the official eng translation lol

Most of this is stuff we’ve seen before (like damn MC, two times at the shop?). I tried my best to not do a literal translation of everything and give the characters their voices I pick up on in the jpn and eng versions, so I took some creative liberties so it’s nicer to read.

[marya-blackbone]

A/N: I have played not even a whole game of D&D, so I apologise if this is total garbage (and if this is garbage for any other reason), but here’s a little Soul Mate drabble :)

“Working on a new character sheet, Henderson?” Eddie asks as he sets up his DM’s screen in the rec room one Friday. “That’s a little defeatist of you. Not giving up already, are we?” He smirks; he knows his latest campaign is a bitch – never let anyone say Eddie Munson made things easy for his little sheep – but it isn’t like Henderson to throw in the towel so soon.

“I’m not giving up! I just want to be prepared in case Nog doesn’t make it out of this next boss fight – he’s still wiped out from the last. I thought you’d want me to be prepared. Besides, I’ve been wanting to use her for ages, she just needs a little polishing up before she’s ready.”

“She?” Eddie asks, not bothering to hide his intrigue.

Dustin slides the sheet of paper up the table. There’s a drawing – probably one of Will’s – next to the unfinished stats table that immediately catches Eddie’s attention. What started as mild interest gives way to unfettered curiosity. All for one minuscule detail.

Dustin’s creation is wielding a bat studded with nails. A very familiar bat – one he’s seen every day, etched into his skin, just above his heart. The only tattoo he didn’t spend hours picking out, sketching and re-sketching, but easily the most important mark on his skin.

Greedily, he takes in the rest of the picture – the ridiculous Farrah Fawcett hair, the smattering of beauty marks covering her face – she’s pretty, but not in an overly feminine way; not drawn through the male gaze (way to go Will). She looks a lot less zany than Henderson’s usual style (Pardonme Belchin, I’m looking at you), and even though Eddie lives for Henderson’s crazy imagination, he already knows that this character is going to be his absolute favourite.

Eddie’s mouth is dry when he asks, “This–” he glances at the top of the character sheet, “–Queen Stephanie wouldn’t happen to be based on a real person, would she?”

Dustin smiles, “You bet she is. Coolest person I know,” he says. And Eddie, well, Eddie doesn’t doubt that for a second.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from assuming an expression of faux affront, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Henderson. Who could possibly be cooler than yours truly?”

It’s a miracle he’s not tripping over himself literally to wring the answer out of Henderson; a true feat of self-control. But maybe that’s not the worst idea in the world when the kid hedges like Eddie’s isn’t hanging off his every word; like his heart’s not racing like a hummingbird’s.

“Why do you wanna know? So you can key his car or something?” And as much as Eddie would like to take offence, that is actually straight out of the Munson playbook.

But the confirmation that OG Queen Stephanie is a guy is the final nail in the coffin. “Or something,” Eddie agrees faintly. Definitely something – definitely not whatever Dustin’s thinking, however.

But he doesn’t have the guts to explain that, so Dustin refuses to elaborate at all for the rest of the session, the butthead. Eddie feels zero remorse when – coincidentally – later that evening, Nog dies a gruesome death to bloodthirsty cultists. And if that just so happens to accelerate Stephanie's debut, Eddie certainly had no hand in it.

[foundationsofdecay]

I’ve been really thinking about savior and martyr complexes lately, and the transition from being in that headspace, realizing this about themselves and the damage it is causing themself or others, to coming to reject and sometimes resent being seen in that manner.

Then, when I was listening to some Sleep Token yesterday, Jaws started playing, and I got to this line:

“I’m not here to be the savior you long for, only the one you don’t.”

I’ve always found this a very interesting line. The idea of describing and presenting yourself as a savior in a way the subject doesn’t want and might even directly reject, is a striking one.

(I feel it’s important to clarify here that unless I say otherwise, I am talking about the character Vessel, not the actual person. I don’t know the man who plays that role, and I won’t pretend to.)

Disclaimer out of the way, let’s dig into that line a touch. I will also be looking at this song separately from the main trilogy of ST’s discography, as I find its placement in that timeline incongruent with how this idea of saviors and martyrdom is depicted in that space.

The image of Vessel then being caged and abandoned immediately after this line shows this rejection, and the ensuing chorus takes on this idea less of a sweet yearning desperation and honestly an insistence that would absolutely make the recipient of this kind of attention deeply uncomfortable and wanting to reject this and leave immediately. Speaking as someone who has been on both sides of this, the subject of this attention may show Vessel their jaws and where the delicate stops, but they would never show him love if he acted this way. Nothing earnest and true, at least, the way he seems to want.

There’s an uncertainty here if his mindset is a display of self-awareness and self-reflection, or if it’s something deliberate, which is important to investigate, but the result is the same at this point in time. The nod towards xtian imagery with “stand under the stained glass and I will know it’s you” does feed into an image of a savior or even godlike figure somewhat helplessly drawn to someone who needs saving. Is it simply within his nature that he follows this behavior, or is it a choice he makes?

Why is he so invested in this vision of himself? Has he failed to save someone before? Does he feel like he’s failed himself? Does he simply want that all-encompassing level of control and frames it in this manner to justify it? Wouldn’t you want to experience the highest and lowest of someone, if you wanted to truly know them and be their source of comfort and safety?

The insistence on seeing both the best and worst in someone is one thing, but in this specific context it really is (to me) terrifying as much as it may be a positive in the long run. That, in and of itself, is a really interesting thing. Why be the savior you don’t long for? Why force that? It’s just such a fascinating thing, I think, especially given its separation from the main trilogy.

Show me your pretty white jaws, show me where the delicate stops, show me what you’ve lost and why you’re always taking it slow, show me what wounds you’ve got, show me love. Is that pain what love is? Do you not show me love until you show me your worst? Why not your best? What’s the use of showing your wounds if you won’t show me the skin that hasn’t yet been scarred, if you won’t show the delicate instead if where it stops?

You have this image of a man insisting on being a savior to this person, even one that’s unwanted and undesired and unappreciated, but what does that really mean? Who, here, is this really benefitting? Does Vessel even know? Does he care? Does he want all of these things from the person being sung about, or is that really a reflection of what he wants for himself?

Is he truly talking to someone else, or is he seeing his own reflection in the stained glass and singing to them?

Does he understand the difference?

Can he show himself his own wounds?

Can he show himself love?

Does he even know how?

[philaet0s]

First Line Analysis

thanks for the tag @run-for-chamo-miles

RULES: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions

I love this idea, I love first lines, I'm generally careful about the first line of my fics because I know that when I read books, the opening line is very important to me. I want to be drawn in

Lines

(from most to least recent)

"Look, we all have guilty pleasures." from @bazpitchsirlbf

"Hey, you’re alone this weekend right?" (text message) from Performances

"I sit up, Fiona’s taste still on my lips." from A Sexually Explicit Kind of Love Affair

"I like packing Snow’s lunch." from Simon's Girlfriend

"(11:23 PM) hey, who’s this?" (text message) from You Look Better in This Light

"I’ve never been good at packing bags." from Hold on to the Memories

(if you go to my ao3 profile and look at my most recent fics there are fics between these two but I don't 'count' them because they're follow ups to another fic)

7. "I think my leg is broken." from The Worst Kind of Good

8. "The kettle is on, the bread is in the toaster, Baz is already sitting down, reading the news on his phone." from How To Make Christmas Merry

9. "Agatha’s goats, like, comment -babies❤️-, scroll, Shepard’s monthly photo dump, like, comment –🔥-, scroll, the baby of some girl I went to secondary school with, scroll, Penny’s new vivid blue hair, like, comment -YOU LOOK SO GOOD OMG💙-, scroll, some group picture, scroll, glasses on the table of a bar, scroll." from Made Your Mark On Me

10. "This whole thing started, like many incidents happening at Watford, with Snow’s uncontrollable magic." from Wanna Know That Body Like It's Mine

Analysis

So clearly I like starting with short sentences, as a majority of those are short sentences. I also have a tendency of starting in medias res or with something that's supposed to catch the attention of the reader.

+ looking at the first lines like this I'm noticing that I do seem to introduce 'important' themes/plot points from the fic in the first line

1. 'guilty pleasure' + the sentence is written in a way that has simon adressing the audience, like he addresses his followers in the fic

3. focus on sex, like how Ebb and Fiona's relationship revolves around it in the fic + Ebb is the one who pleasured Fiona, not the other way around, set up for how Ebb is always bending over backwards to please Fiona with hardly any reciprocation

4. Baz packing Simon's lunches is the trigger for Simon talking about his 'girlfriend' at work + Baz does something for Simon that is traditionally done by a woman for her partner, so he 'takes on' that feminine roll that Simon pretends he has in their relationship when he doesn't say that it's not a girlfriend he has but a boyfriend to his colleague,

5. simon technically knows the person the phone number belongs to because he wouldn't have a phone number from a stranger written down on his notebook, but he doesn't *actually* know who it is, which mirrors the way he thinks he knows baz but *truly* gets to know him through their text messages in the fic,

6. this one can't possibly be perceived by someone reading the fic, but when i wrote it i was giggling to myself because i liked the idea of having baz struggle with 'packing bags' a lazy metaphor for moving on (you know, that overused image of a packing your things and leaving a situation), because that boy LIVES with everything that has ever happened to him burdening him constantly, while having simon speedrun through 'moving on' because he just doesn't think about bad things (he doesn't think about Ebb's death until Baz comes in with all that literal and metaphorical emotional bagage for him -he literally packed something for Simon that is very emotionally-charged and brings back difficult memories)

7. Simon thinking coldly and rationally about a broken leg, because that's something he's used to (doesn't freak him out and anymore) and that he therefore knows (can tell that his leg is probably broken), which is a consequence of the way the Mage treats him like a weapon

8. the general notion of domesticity + setting up the sweet, fluffy mood of the fic

Tagging anyone who wants to do this!!

[flashflames]

𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 … have a drink at my table , allow me to tell you stories — stories of dragons and burnt men . tell me about lady zhao keran .

( zhou ye , female , she/her ) : ̗̀➛ twentyfour years young , a firebender from the noble house of zhao . many know them to be rakish & untempered . how unfortunate , truly … i’ve always found them to be lively & open-minded . they oft fulfill the duties of a sergeant in the fire nation army . oh , i should tell you — they oppose the rule of house yi . well , you know how every storyteller bends the tale they tell .

ruvi here and bringing you a hot girl, quite literally! she's loyal only to their family and the soldiers she's sworn to protect, though she's taken a detour along the way that's shaken things up. like the post to plot and i'll send a message here or send you my disc ♡

youngest of house zhao, she's a sponge for the best and worst parts of her family. fully entrenched in the military mindset, the only thing that matters to her is strength—everyone's equal in a fight, and the strongest person is always right. and she's strong, too, trained from young to reach the rank of captain in the fire nation army by nineteen.

but she has a moment of rebellion at twenty, a moment's impulse when she ditches her section and sneaks away from the capital. her forethought only goes as far as her fists, and she'd been curious about life on the other side. her siblings, being the ones who run the military, cover up her absence for as long as they can while on the hunt for her, eventually finding her moonlighting as a barkeep under a new name.

keran gets freedom for a year or so, working at a tavern with no expectations or lives to be in charge of. it pokes holes in her life philosophy, seeing the way might can be misused—and sometimes, just outright wrong. at least she's always strong enough to right it, but she learns to value strengths that aren't just useful for a fight. though she still thinks a fist is the strongest of them all.

but a leash comes back for her, dragging her from the urban centre back to hari bulkan. she's demoted down to sergeant, and has been stuck there for a couple of years more. she's getting antsy about it, along with her realisation that a leash is still a leash, no matter how many military medals you put on it.

she thinks house yi might not deserve the throne, having seen what happens in the urban centre, and resenting the tight leash that bites into her neck. she wants them taken down, but hasn't gotten far enough to think about who should be put in charge after.

there's a biased sense of equality to her—she's open to everyone, as long as they can beat her in a fight. she's reckless and fun loving, but can be quite dogged once she's got her teeth into something. doesn't have a head for politics, off-puttingly honest, and isn't playing the long game—most members of house zhao die young, so she might as well make the most of what she's got.

wanted connections

sparring partner, someone she pulls no punches with and seeks out when she's itching for a fight, often

a dream she owes, she met them while moonlighting as a barkeep and left a promise unfulfilled

childhood enmity. they've never gotten along, but now they've got a common goal (against the royal house) that's changing things up

childhood betrothed no longer, their engagement was called off after her stint of missingness/demotion, possibly by their parents or it was their decision

an anchor/foil that grounds her, who provides a differing opinion that tempers her impulses

complicated familial relationships! a sibling with clashing egos and desires for the future of their house. a sibling she's a little shadow of

a moth to her flame, inexplicably drawn to her despite a myriad of misgivings

[aashiquidreams]

Saturday morning, I woke up to an unexpected text message from someone from my past, a person I hadn’t heard from in a year or two. I was intrigued as I read his words. I answered his message, curious about what made him reach out after all this time. He told me he had a dream about me, stirring emotions I thought I had buried deep. I managed to stay calm and asked him what happened in the dream.

He described a scene where he was sharing personal thoughts, discussing his life with me. It felt good and relaxing—a comforting experience after a long period, he said. Hearing this brought back a flood of memories—both joyful and painful—reminding me of the complex dance of emotions we shared in our long-distance situationship.

Looking back, our relationship was a delicate fabric of dreams and fantasies, bound together by a longing that often felt unattainable. I remember the early days, the thrill of our late-night conversations where we bared our souls, each word laced with hope and desire. Yet, as time passed, the reality of our situation crept in, revealing the shadows beneath the surface. I realized I was often drawn into a cycle of hope and disappointment, chasing a mirage that never truly materialized. I had learned the hard way that sometimes we create fantasies that don’t align with reality.

After it ended, I promised myself I wouldn’t pursue relationships with men who were emotionally unavailable and from that cultural background again, nor would I engage in long-distance relationships. The emotional toll was too heavy, and the rigid expectations placed on women felt suffocating. I yearned for the freedom to express myself and live authentically without the constraints of tradition weighing me down. So when the text arrived, I felt a whirlwind of emotions—nostalgia, sadness, and the lingering whispers of what could have been.

As we continued to chat, he revealed that he was now married to his cousin, an arrangement orchestrated by his family. Hearing about his marriage reminded me of the patterns I had worked so hard to break free from in both my family and past romantic relationships. He talked about his new life with a sense of defeat, implying that his happiness didn’t really matter—what was important was his family’s satisfaction. Before that, he expressed regret for the way things unfolded between us, saying I was the best woman he ever met and that he had lost me. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for his wife; it’s a delicate situation to navigate when a partner reflects on their past in such a way, and a reminder of how easily emotional boundaries can be crossed. I’m thankful I’m not in her position, and it struck me how easily that could have been my reality.

Yet, as I reflect on this journey, I can’t deny that a wave of nostalgia washed over me. I think about the fantasy we built together—a virtual escape from our realities, woven with hopes and dreams of an intertwined future. It was a beautiful illusion, and I felt a profound heartbreak when it came to an abrupt end. I still vividly remember the anguish of those nights, crying uncontrollably, desperately calling him while he remained silent, leaving me without an explanation or the courtesy of a goodbye. That experience mirrored the deepest wounds of my past, echoing the pain of my mother’s sudden absence during my teenage years. He knew this part of my story yet chose to replicate that abandonment, which cut even deeper. It’s an unsettling feeling when someone’s actions resurrect old traumas, reminding me just how sensitive those core parts of me still are.

Reflecting on my journey, I realize just how far I’ve come. The hurt he caused me, along with the emotional chaos, forced me to confront myself. This experience brought out the worst in me at times—towards him, but perhaps more towards myself. I learned through therapy and self-reflection that my value is not determined by how others perceive or treat me; my worth lies in how I view and feel about myself. Embracing the process of loving and caring for myself deeply, I have emerged stronger and more resilient. It’s fascinating how people from our past often resurface at the moment we’ve finally moved on and solidified our boundaries, reminding us of the growth we’ve achieved.

As I navigated these emotions, I also felt a profound sense of relief. I believe this whole experience with him reaching out was meant to show me that I was divinely protected from a life and dynamic that would have led to deep unhappiness. I really feel like I dodged a bullet—perhaps even literally. The strict expectations surrounding women in his culture would never align with my independent lifestyle. It also doesn’t completely align with how I was raised. Sure, my parents had a similar cultural and strict background, but it wasn’t as strict as his. Growing up in the West shaped me into an independent woman who thinks and acts for herself, and I cherish my freedom. Yesterday, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I used to think I could make it work with him, but now I see it clearly: I would have never fit into his world, and they would never have accepted me for who I am.

Astrologically, this relationship highlighted important emotional patterns and life lessons. With his South Node and Lilith falling in my 12th house, where I have Pluto, the connection had a deeply karmic undertone, often making it feel like we were working through unresolved issues from another time. This placement highlighted powerful themes of transformation and healing, suggesting that our bond would trigger profound introspection and spiritual awakening. This has definitely been the case for me, as I was pushed to confront my fears and unacknowledged parts of myself. The intensity of our connection, though sometimes liberating, also resurfaced past traumas that required healing. With Pluto in Capricorn nearing the end of its 16-year journey and set to transition into Aquarius in November, there’s a clear sense of closing old chapters and stepping into new beginnings. The fact that this reflection came just before the autumn equinox, a time symbolizing balance and transition, feels significant. Additionally, with Libra season now beginning—a sign tied to relationships and harmony—it feels like a cosmic reminder to fully embrace the balance I’ve found within myself. The ongoing Libra-Aries eclipse series, now approaching its final stages, resonates with my Libra rising and 7th house in Aries, emphasizing themes of relationships, balance, and personal growth as I reflect on the lessons from this chapter of my life.

As I move forward, I embrace my journey with confidence. I don’t know what the future will bring; life can be unpredictable. While I may cry or feel dramatically defeated at times, with so much fire and air in my natal chart, it can be challenging to stay calm. However, I trust in my fiery strength to guide me through. Above all, I know that God always has my back and that I’m being divinely guided and protected, even if I don’t see it in the moment. Afterward, it always makes sense. I am capable of navigating whatever lessons come my way, and each past version of me has contributed to the courage and resilience I embody today. Although my life may not be what I once envisioned, I can look in the mirror and be proud of the strength and wisdom I’ve gained.

[terselylove]

Why You Self-Sabotage Your Relationships

Sometimes we are our own worst enemies and sabotage our chances of getting what we really want. Relationships, careers, fitness…we can derail ourselves in all areas of life. It’s a hard reality to confront … when there’s no one to blame.

I’ve been writing about relationships for years and can’t help but notice patterns in where women go wrong. It’s not anyone’s fault. No one sets out with bad intentions, trying to sabotage their relationship. Usually, all a woman wants is to keep her relationship strong and happy. She wants it to last, but oftentimes she still ends up doing things that can push a guy away and ruin a relationship.

One area where people go wrong is in not working on themselves and letting less-than-ideal character traits go unchecked. I think that on the one hand, we’d like to believe that this is the way we are and the person we’re with should just take it or leave it, on the other hand, we realize that isn’t really the healthiest attitude, especially when it comes to negative tendencies like being insecure, clingy, needy, jealous, vengeful, hostile and on and on.

Yeah, being this way might be “yourself,” but it’s the worst of you.  Why not make an effort to refine those weak spots and be your best self? This is how you win.

Let’s look at some common areas where a lot of women go wrong in relationships and how to resolve them:

1. You choose partners who can’t give you what you want.

You will never get what you want if you keep settling for what you don’t want.

Maybe you’re only drawn to emotionally unavailable people who just don’t treat you right

Going for partners like this is a form of self-sabotage. It can happen when deep down you feel unworthy, you feel not good enough. And these feelings are usually rooted in childhood pain and trauma.

So deep down you have these beliefs about yourself, and then you go out into the world and try to date and try to find a partner but you only seem drawn to the ones who don’t want you. And this is because the subconscious mind is always looking to prove itself right. If you believe you are unworthy, you will be drawn to partners who make you feel that way.

When someone does show genuine interest, you may be put off because this doesn’t align with how you see yourself. You don’t truly like yourself and you, again this is subconscious, believe anyone who does like or love you must be fatally flawed.

2. You don’t understand your triggers.

Don’t let your emotions run the show, you have to look at why you’re reacting the way you are in certain situations. When we have an intense, reflexive emotional response, it’s usually the result of a core wound being touched upon or activated.

Try to identify what it is, especially when you have a strong reaction to something pretty trivial.

Trace it back to your childhood- what were your unmet needs? And how might these needs be showing up in your adult relationships?

Whatever unmet needs you had in childhood are bound to get touched upon in a relationship and a lot of the time, that’s what you’re reacting to.

3. You commit too soon.

If you latch onto someone forcefully and commit yourself too soon, it’s usually a sign that you’re using this person as a means to fill an emotional void.

Healthy relationships build slowly and evolve organically. There isn’t a need to force things to move in a certain direction.

When you feel an intense pull toward someone or are consumed with trying to win them over and prove yourself to them, it signals you have self-esteem issues you need to work through. Maybe you see this person as a chance to save you from something.

And the other person will most likely be put off by this. First, it doesn’t feel earned, and second, we can all sense when someone is trying to get something out of us and it doesn’t feel good.

You also may come across as too desperate and needy and this is a universal turn-off.

4. You’re too scared.

A lot of people are operating from a place of fear, they stay in bad relationships fearing they won’t find better… or they are consumed with fears of ending up alone.

When you come from a place of worry and anxiety, you’re basically saying “I don’t trust that things will work out for me so I’m going to question everything until I prove myself right.”

When you operate from fear and engage with negative, fearful thoughts, you perpetuate the very reality that you’re afraid of. It’s hard to connect when you’re in this worried state, it’s hard to be vulnerable and drop your guard when deep down you believe nothing is ever going to work out in your favor. This, in turn, will push away the very thing you want the most.

You have to get to the heart of the fear- where is it coming from? What is the root? And challenge the fears. Maybe you think you won’t find anyone… is that true? Can you know with 100% certainty that’s true? No, you can’t. So stop engaging with a thought that keeps you stuck where you don’t want to be.

Notice your thoughts throughout the day and ask yourself: Does this thought serve me well? Does this take me where I want to go? If the answer is no, then stop engaging with the thought!

5. You are the victim.

Look, it happens to the best of us. We fall into the victim mentality and it’s hard to get out of it.

It doesn’t feel good, but in a way, it does feel easier to blame outside circumstances for our misfortune… to relinquish any personal blame and responsibility.

And I’m not saying greater forces aren’t at play… but it doesn’t serve you to dwell on that which is outside your control.

You need to take responsibility. Take responsibility for yourself, for your life, for your actions and reactions.

Yes, I know life isn’t fair. And it’s more unfair to some than others. But wallowing in this doesn’t serve you, it stunts you.

You have to look at yourself in the mirror and ask: How am I contributing to my misfortune? And how can I turn it around?

How are you keeping yourself stuck and what can you do today to break free?

Create a vision of the life and relationship you want and make a plan with small, achievable action steps for how you will get there.

[operationslipperypuppet]

all prime numebrs for the fic writer ask! 💛😊

I will pretend you spelled numbers correctly lol. thanks for the ask!!

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

I want to say 12. I published 6, I’m currently working on 2 different ideas for the naddpod gift exchange so I’ve started both and will be making a full decision tonight or tomorrow (lmao), and then there are a couple I just decided to not publish and a couple I’m always working on but will never actually commit to finishing because I can’t come up with a satisfying ending.

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

That I can allow myself to do the things I want to do and go back and fix the other stuff later. I had previously only done this with a fic that included a bunch of time skips and that was why I wormed around the document but I did this with one fic that I consider my magnum opus and it worked. (I like to write dialogue more than scene descriptors so I wrote all the dialogue back and forth and then went back and added names and descriptors and everything else and it was so much more fun)

5. What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

Naddpod. It was just naddpod. I’m thinking I might break into d20 next year but I make no promises, naddpod is so fun to write for.

7. What character(s) captured your heart?

Hardwon Surefoot. Moonshine Cybin. For some reason I find them easiest to write even though getting Moonshine’s voice right was incredibly daunting every time I wrote her. There’s just so much to play with and it was very fun. Plus the Hardwon being alive reveal rewired my brain.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

how to think about you (without it ripping my heart out). God that was a doozy to write. It was my first foray into doing something multi-chaptered and I did have it finished before I even began publishing it but doing the daily updates and my every chapter mini edits took so much time that it was so much fun to finish. Plus I thought about the idea for truly so long before I started writing it that it was very relieving to finally finish.

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

Fools Rush In (Idiots, However, Take 200 Years). This is the fic I mentioned for number 3. I wrote all the dialogue in basically one pass because it’s a long, drawn out conversation that lasts an entire day. I immensely love writing dialogue and the back and forth, hitting what Hardwon and Moonshine would say and how they’d react was easy. And then, even though I was dreading the descriptors, they came so easily because I could picture them so perfectly. It does feel weird to say that my longest fic to date was the easiest to write but it was.

17. What are your go-to writing snacks?

Doing that classic ADHD thing where you hyperfocus and forget to eat all day and then start shaking and put fistfuls of m&ms in your mouth while waiting for chicken to heat up. But when I remember to snack, Smartfood popcorn.

19. Share your favorite opening line.

“You love me?” (Fools Rush In (Idiots, However, Take 200 Years).) I knew I’d open this with that before I finished the previous work in the series. I enjoy getting straight to the point.

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

This was a hard goddamn choice but here goes:

“Look - “ She paused, took a deep breath, and started again. “Can I make a suggestion? You two know him better than I do, obviously, but this might be a time where you give him some space. I know that’s not really what you three do, but he’s going through one of the worst days of his life. And you are, too, but he’s incredibly in his head about it right now. I think maybe if you give him a moment to work out his own feelings, he’ll be able to articulate them to you. And you will then be able to assure him that you need him. Besides, your MeeMaw will take great care of him, Moonshine.” (The Void of an Absence)

Alanis is speaking here. And I wanted her to be pragmatic without seeming insensitive while also staying relatively true to the character she is in the show. I ended up with this slightly more emotionally aware Alanis than we’ve seen but she does switch straight to business afterwards, and that is kind of how Murph RP’d the scene with her and Hardwon. But I overthought it a lot. I’m pretty okay with its final version, but mostly because I got to sneak a “tell me your feelings and I’ll tell you that I need you” reference in there.

29. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

Obviously the two crew for creating characters that so thoroughly destroy and entertain me, and the people who got excited when I said shit like “I have a terrible idea that’s going to hurt” and responded with “do it.”

Fic writer asks list - ask

[im-just-a-br0adway-baby]

Encantober 2023 Day 12: Nerves

To say parenting was not easy was an understatement. Pepa had just had her second child, and now with four children in the Madrigal home, everything was getting much more chaotic. With Luisa just starting preschool a couple months ago, while they just had Camilo on the weekdays while the girls were in school, the weekends was when the chaos truly began. If the girls were not running all over Casita and breaking everything in sight, Camilo was sure to cry because he was always hungry and putting everything in his mouth.

The worst part of it was that Julieta and Pepa were doing all the discipline in the house. Every time Agustin or Felix would try to discipline their children, it would result in the girls laughing the entire time and not taking them seriously because of how big of marshmallows they were. However, now that Julieta is pregnant with her third child, she will not have the energy to keep up with all three girls soon, which leaves Pepa being the sole disciplinarian.

There was one particularly stressful day when Pepa almost snapped. She just put Camilo down for his nap as Julieta put Luisa down for her nap right next to him. She laid on Luisa’s bed next to her and fell asleep while cuddling with her. That left Pepa to go downstairs and see how Isabela and Dolores were doing.

As expected, Isabela and Dolores were drawing on Felix and Agustin’s faces in Castia’s courtyard while they were asleep on the couch together. The girls laughed and ran upstairs with their markers and began drawing on Casita’s walls. That was the girls’ favorite pastime since they learned how to hold a crayon, and it drove Pepa (and Julieta) nuts ever since.

Pepa began to thunder as she made her way upstairs to find the girls and took their markers away. “I want you both to go to your rooms right now! You are both grounded for the unforeseeable future!” she yelled as a crack of lightning struck.

The girls ran into their rooms and slammed their doors. Pepa did the same thing and slammed her door before crashing onto her bed. Having to monitor all the children since Julieta’s second pregnancy trimester started was enough to drive her to the brink. She almost fainted until Agustin and Felix woke up from the thunder and noticed Pepa’s door flashing. Felix got up from the couch and made his way upstairs to see how his wife was doing.

Once he got in their room, all he could see was Pepa completely passed out on the couch with a thundercloud overhead. If this was anyone else, he would not bother with even attempting to comfort her. But this was his wife, his whole world that was in a shutdown. He’s getting the sense that having to keep a tab on all the children took a toll on her.

“Amor? Are you okay? Can you turn around for me?” Felix asked.

Pepa turned around in her bed and opened her eyes slowly to see her husband sitting in front of her and smiled. “Felix, I’ve been so overworked between keeping up with the village’s crops and the girls getting on my nerves, I don’t think I’ll survive the birth of my third niece,” she explained.

Felix laid down next to his wife and gave her a hug. “Is there anything I can do to help? You know I will help you if you need it.”

Pepa tried to hold in a laugh to see the drawings Isabela and Dolores made on Felix’s face. In a way, she understood why the girls did not take him seriously, but this was something that turned her clouds into sunshine.

“What’s so funny, Pepi?”

“It’s just that… your face… it has… you have to look for yourself,” Pepa replied with breaks of laughter in between.

Felix went to the bathroom to see what she was talking about. Once he got to the mirror, he saw his face covered with his daughter and older niece’s artwork with various pictures of flowers, drawn-on glasses, and what looked like red lipstick. He started laughing in the mirror until Pepa walked into the bathroom to see his reaction.

“I saw Isa and Dolores draw that on you and Agustin before they drew on the walls upstairs,” she explained.

“Well, I can see why this made you feel better.”

"Was the girls drawing on the walls your breaking point?”

“Si, mi vida.”

“Did you send them to their rooms before shutting down?”

“Si. By the way, I was going to say to you after you offered to help that I see how the girls don’t take you or Agustin seriously so I didn’t think it would really help.”

“I’m sure I can make the girls take me seriously. It’s just that turning into the bad cop might take some time.”

Pepa and Felix laughed some more and made their way out of the bathroom to see Alma looking at the drawings on the walls angrily.

“Pepa, Felix, did Isabela and Dolores do this?”

“Si, mama; I sent them to their rooms.”

Alma walked away and made her way to Isabela’s room and knocked on her door. Isabela came out and Alma made her way to Dolores’s room with her. She knocked on her door and Dolores came out. She kneeled down to her two eldest granddaughters' levels and sternly confronted them.

“Isabela, Dolores, we do not color on the walls of Casita. Just because Casita can clean itself does not mean it’s going to let you get away with this. I want both of you to help me clean up this mess after dinner. For now, I want both of you in your rooms until dinner.”

Isabela and Dolores made their way back to their rooms as Pepa and Felix walked towards Alma. She then made her way to her daughter and son-in-law after noticing how burnt out she was.

“I will take care of the discipline for right now. I don’t want to see your cloud acting out if it gets to this point.”

“Gracias, mamá.”

Alma made her way downstairs as Agustin made his way upstairs. He saw Pepa and Felix at the top of the stairs and walked towards them.

“Hola, Pepa, Felix; where’s Julieta?”

“She fell asleep next to Luisa after putting her down for her nap. You should look in the mirror, Agustin.”

Agustin went into the bathroom to see his face adorned in drawings of flowers and smiley faces. He laughed in the mirror as Pepa and Felix joined in with him.

“You got to admit, Isabela and Dolores are becoming quite the makeup artists,” Felix pointed out as he looked in the mirror with Agustin.

“I’ll let you both wash your faces. I’m going to rest a little bit until dinner,” Pepa pointed out.

She went back to her room and plopped herself on her bed to rest up. While her sunshine faded away a little bit, her clouds were still not to be seen. Since her mother offered to help, she felt a little bit at ease.

[firewoodwander]

Echo5 and 5, of course! 💖

5. we rented a place together with our friend group for vacation, but there are only double beds in every room and everyone else already found a sleeping partner

“I guess this is us,” Echo says.

He drops his duffel at his feet and immediately turns his attention to the balcony doors, beyond which they can see the forest stretching far above into the mountains they’re staying on.

Fives follows, leaving his things by the wardrobe and snooping about the room. He’s drawn, inevitably, to the large bed in the middle that they’re supposed to share, and the somewhat hysterical humour that rises when he notes how pristine and unassuming its been made up to look.

“So,” he asks, possibly a touch too forced on the casual tone, “which side do you want? I usually take the right.”

“Whichever,” Echo replies, and fuck, Fives wishes he could be as cool as him right now, and not freaking the hell out like a teenager.

“Cool,” he says instead. He examines the magazines on the coffee table for a short moment before flipping down on the sofa to stare at the side of Echo’s face, backlit by the bright sunshine outside. “Do all the rooms have a view like this?”

Echo turns back around, flashes Fives a smile and then starts rooting through his bag. “Only Jesse and Kix next door. I think we got the best room in the house, actually.”

“Well, as long as we don’t end up having to listen to them have sex or whatever,” Fives points out cheekily. He’s very lucky he doesn’t blush, because now all he can think about is how to get revenge if they do, and his only good idea is based in his many, and entirely inappropriate fantasies involving his best friend.

With whom their entire friend group has made him sleep with, platonically, for a week. Tup had even had the gall to laugh at him.

Echo snorts. “If we do, I’m going to make it so we leave them behind in the woods or something. I’ve had enough of them to last me the rest of my life.”

Fives laughs and starts up a mental mantra of don’t think about it, do not think about it, seriously don’t think about just don’t. It doesn’t work very well, but he keeps trying all the same.

“Ah, got it,” Echo says then, finally retrieving his swimming shorts from his bag. He grins at Fives again—and how someone can be so cute and so hot at the same time truly escapes him—and waves the trunks in his direction. “Come on, slow poke. Rex said we had ten minutes or they’d leave us behind.”

Fives is well, truly, and thoroughly fucked.

“All right, all right,” he mutters, coming to this understanding in a moment perfect clarity, and hurries to get his towel.

If he survives this week without firstly making a complete fool of himself, nor secondly blurting out some kind of embarrassing confession at the worst time just like an idiot, Jesse owes him at least three drinks. And so does Tup. And Tano. And probably Rex too.

Fives really, really hates (loves) his friends.