#weird strange and awful art

[weirdstrangeandawful]

It’s done!!! Bound and blocked. I'm about to take it off the board but it's easier to take a picture when it's still pinned to the board. If anyone is curious I use sequin/appliqué pins to block my pieces. I need a better corkboard though. This one was from the dollar store for CA$6 and the pins go right through both the cork and the cardboard backing and it's a hazard. It's definitely a step up from using cardboard boxes though!

Image description: A waterscape scene stitched on an 18-count canvas. The scene is divided horizontally by distant land across a calm but rippling river. The sky is smoky but bright and full of dynamic clouds. The left side of the sky is sunny despite the menagerie of clouds whilst the right is dominated by a brewing thunder tower. The whole sky is reflected distortedly in the water with the thunder tower casting a dark shadow over the water and blackening a slightly nearer outcrop of land. A tiny, lone sailboat drifts in the middle distance, still too far off to tell if it's coming in to navigate the buoys dotting the water. The canvas is pinned with tiny pins to a corkboard.

@elodieunderglass If you wanted to see what it looks like not sopping wet, here you go

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Exactly.

Digital? Great! That's my medium. Hell, I use MATLAB and python for some of my art.

But I am superior for not ripping off other artists (aka actual crimes and also just against everything art) to create my art.

An example of the mixed media including MATLAB-as-a-medium art for the curious:

(I'd grab the code for y'all but I no longer have MATLAB access since my university has decided that astrophysicists don't need math. I'll write a python script replicating the function eventually)

'do you think you're superior for not using AI in your work' thank you for asking! yes i do

[tilbageidanmark]

From the Awful taste but great execution subreddit

[lambheartedgirl]

nearly finished the central, integral piece of my poetry manuscript :-D I feel so fizzy and alive with potential

[serenhob]

Got struck by brain worms and I made a concept sketch for...something

I have 'The doll people' playing in my head on a loop.

[nezuscribe]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: six years ago, when they placed that sorting hat on your head, nobody expected for it to assign the muggleborn to the slytherin house, but it did. six years later, you find yourself as alone as the day you walked through those doors. little did you expect the prince of slytherin, the pureblood maniac himself, gojo satoru, to be the one to coincidentally fill your empty hours.

warnings: gojo is a pureblooded slytherin, slight angst, slight messy makeout

word count: 12.6k

note: part two is out now! comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading as always!

part two

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

When you were little, all the strange and peculiar things that happened to you, such as Ms. Bromsely, the awful maths teacher's desk going up in flames, or Patricia Gallaghers rings disintegrating after she teased your dress, were chalked up to chance or just something else.

Your mother was too busy covering extra shifts down at the pub to worry about it, so she rarely made an occurrence to the meetings your headmaster had scheduled, resulting in very awkward meetings with just you as you were explained how peculiar it was that you always seemed to be in the middle of all these weird occurrences.

So when that brown spotted owl almost crashed into your bedroom window at the ripe age of eleven, explaining that you were chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you suspected that one of your classmates was playing a cruel joke on you, but alas, it turned out to be very real. 

You were whisked away soon enough, stumbling your way in some sort of haze through Diagon Alley, and then in a blink of your eyes, you found yourself waving goodbye to your mother from that red train, on your way to a life you may have only imagined when you were younger, dreaming of a place far away from where you were.

And you loved it.

The feasts, the history-soken steps that you walked on every day to get to class, the little town that was within walking distance that you could go to every weekend. 

While most of the students here had been introduced to this early on in their lives, you hadn’t. Your mother was just as shocked and as bewildered as you were all those years ago, and given your special circumstances, sometimes you wondered if you were yet to see the thick of it, wondering if some things were hidden from you given your upbringing, given your blood.

But you blinked out of your stupor, being brought down from your daydream to the sound of quills scratching, the smell of faint smoke burning in the background, and the quiet sounds of different animals in their cages. All of these tall-tell signs of the transfiguration classroom. 

After years of spending time in this classroom, it slowly became one that you’d look forward to, and despite most Slytherins having an aptitude for potions or defense against the dark arts, transfiguration was where you shined the best.

The light that carded through the high arching windows illuminated the desks, and you were glad seeing how the back of the classrooms was usually the most poorly lit place. Unfortunately, they’re the only places you found yourself sitting throughout the years, which is just another reason why this specific classroom in itself brought you a slight sense of comfort. 

“...cross-species and inter-species transfiguration is one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult, sort of transfiguration to achieve. Even the most accomplished witches and wizards find themselves struggling with it,” you watched as Professor McGonagall walked around the front of the classroom, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head, her emerald robes swaying behind her like green waves, “The only way we were able to replicate this form of magic is through ancient runes.” 

Her eyes raked over all the students of the class, to make sure that everybody was understanding the weight of her words. As seventh years it was expected that you all would be ready to face the challenges of such a high-level class. But especially with Professor McGonagall, seeing just how difficult her classes usually were. 

“Of course, this was all covered during your fourth years, so I hope that some of you,” she gave a knowing look over her glasses, “Remember your lessons.” 

You momentarily caught her eyes.

You squirmed in your seat, knowing that her displeased look was directed to the Gryffindor’s sitting next to you. The boy to your left had his mouth open in a large yawn, promptly shutting it when McGonagall looked at him, and the girl to your right was busily finicking with a piece of parchment, trying to figure out how to enchant it so that it could turn into a swan to send to her boyfriend who was sitting across the class. 

You loved Hogwarts. Most of the time. 

The reason why you usually found yourself at the back of class, sitting with people you barely knew, and the reason why you were yet to experience most of the core memories other witches and wizards your age experienced was because you weren’t welcomed the way other would be by their assorted houses. 

Nearly six years ago, when Professor McGonagall placed that sorting hat on your head, you didn’t know what to expect. 

You had heard from some of the people that you sat near on the train that Gryffindor was best. Of course, the boy who said it came from a family of Gryffindors, but his friends seemed to agree with him. Ravenclaw was only for the smart people, which you hoped you might be sorted into and Huffelpuffs were known for their loyalty, which, judging by your mother's statement about how you dared to leave home, you didn’t have much of. 

But the Slytherin house seemed…forbidden. 

At least for you, anyways. 

“And what about that girl we saw?” One of the boys pointed outside the carriage window into the little hall outside, pointing to a much older girl wearing green robes, walking with some other friends who wore adorning colors, “What house is she in?” 

The other boy, who seemed to have the most knowledge out of anyone, scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Not for you, sorry,” he leaned in closer as if he were telling a secret. You tried to listen in, not making it obvious seeing how you weren’t any of their friends and how this was the only cart available with space, “That’s the Slytherin house.” 

“Why’s it not for me?” The other boy argued, his face pulled into a scowl.

“Well, Slytherins are many things. Ambitious, cunning,” the other boy said but shook his head disapprovingly, “But above all else, they’re all purebloods. Some are half-bloods, but even that’s rare. You’re coming from a muggle family. My father works at the ministry, and he says that some of the people in his department who were Slytherin still despise muggle-borns and muggles even long after they’ve left.”

So you had a basic understanding of what to expect. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor.

But when the hat cried out “Slytherin!” you almost jumped in your seat, looking behind you at the professor, your face of hesitancy surely mirroring hers. 

And you soon found out that the boy on the train (who was sorted into Gryffindor, big shock), was right. Word spread quickly that a muggle-born was sorted into Slytherin, the first in centuries, and that it surely must’ve been a mistake. 

But the sorting hat doesn’t go back on its word, and what was said was done. So six and a bit years later you found yourself as the pariah of your own house and were forced to fade into the background to avoid any further trouble. 

“...and this is the one project in which I’m having you work with partners, picked by me, of course. The research that is needed to go into this is too much to be done alone.” Professor McGonagall continued, and you perked up in your seat a little bit, your brows furrowing at her words. 

You felt a part of your heart race at the thought. Normally when professors assigned partners, it either left you with a fellow Slyhterin who hated your existence and forced you to do the project on your own, or somebody from another house who didn’t know you and forced you to do the project on your own. 

Your tongue felt heavy as she began reading off the paired names on her list, your hands becoming clammy. 

“Miss Finnegan and Mister Belton. Miss O’Shea and Miss Adan,” The girl next to you, who you quickly pieced together was Leila O’Shea groaned, her face depleted as she realized she wasn’t going to be paired with her boyfriend, and you watched as she sulkily went to the other girl's desk. 

You listened in anticipation as she went down the list, your heart beating loudly and comically in your chest the closer it seemed that she was getting to the end. 

“Mister Reeve and Mister Thompson,” she paused momentarily as she watched the two boys clap each other on the back, her lips threatening to quirk up into a smile, just waiting to read what foolishness they were going to write, “Miss Ward and Mister Green,” you felt like you might be getting off the hook, that maybe she took pity on you but it all came crashing down when she looked at you, a knowing look in her eyes far worse than pity as she read your name along with perhaps the singular person you would’ve paid all your money to not be paired with, 

“…will be with Mister Gojo,” you heard some of your housemates laugh out loud, some of them pushing at the boy and ruffling his hair as if he were the one that was going to face the brute of everything. He sat near the front, and you could see a flash of his white hair as he begrudgingly began to pack his things up, having no choice but to sit next to you seeing how the seats next to him were filled up. 

You watched as she rolled the piece of parchment back up as if she hadn’t just sentenced your public execution, and she raised a singular thin brow at the faces that were looking back at her, “Well? Get a move on. This essay is due in a month.”

You tried to take in a deep breath, your eyes trained on the blank piece of parchment in front of you as if you couldn’t hear his footsteps getting closer and closer to you, as if you didn’t just feel his robes brush up against your legs as he sunk into his seat.

This can’t possibly be happening.

Anybody would’ve been better than him. Even Marley Petterson and her constant poking and teasing about how your clothes were held together by scraps, and how you must’ve lived with mud people before you came to Hogwarts would’ve been better than him. Being forced to be a partner with the Prince of Slytherin was torture, and you wonder if after all these years Professor McGonagall was just now starting to show her distaste towards you. 

That day on the train was the first time you heard his name. 

“You see that boy? The one with the white hair?” The boy discreetly pointed out the window to one of the kids standing outside your cart. All the other boys hurriedly nodded, each craning their necks to get a better look at him, “He’s a Gojo. He comes from a line of Slytherins, each one worse than the one before. They’re purebloods, obviously. You wouldn’t find a speck of anything else in them. They’re rich too, filthy rich. They could buy this school if they wanted to.” All the other boys guffawed, but he seemed serious as if this stranger's family was nothing to be taken lightly. 

“When it comes to Slytherins, there are four families to be wary of. There’s the Gaunts and the Malfoys. There’s the noble house of Black, but lastly…them. House Gojo is one that every other wizarding family steers away from.”

After the day you were sorted you also quickly realized why most wizarding families stayed away from them. His word seemed to be law, and all the other Slytherins, especially those in his inner circle, held him to it. 

You peeked from the corner of your eye, watching as he unpacked all his supplies, his face contorted in obvious anger and disgust, and you thickly swallowed. You had done a good job in staying away from him these past couple of months, fortunate enough to only be called a mudblood and an offense to their ancient house a couple of times by him and his posse. 

His left-hand ring finger almost caught your eye in the sun, the gold ring with his house emblem shining brightly, a clear reminder of your difference with him, and you tried to hide your old school bag, riddled with holes and stains, something you just couldn’t replace. 

When he was done unpacked, he sat there for a couple of seconds, the silence between the two of you thick and heavy. You felt like you could choke on it, your fingers twitching to do something, to leave.

“...this is insulating…” he was talking to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as you sat awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t one for many words. You had observed him from afar, long enough to see that aside from the occasional words he’d exchange with his closest friends or the few times he’d mutter traitor under his breath when the two of you locked eyes, he was a more brooding type of person. 

When he was angry, he hid it well. His cheeks might’ve flushed a bit, his nose flaring, but he never made an outburst. Which is why, at this moment, you could tell that he wasn’t in a particularly elated mood. 

“I…” you started, your mouth going dry at the way his eyes snapped to you, cold and cruel, “I can do the essay. I’ll get it done in time…if you want.” 

Most times your partners would just tell you to do the work, expecting (and knowing), you’d just say yes and go along with your day. But here, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, rather having your pride be bitten at rather than your overall self. 

You heard him snort, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he rolled his eyes. 

“What? And have you do everything wrong?” His voice was hushed and clipped as if talking to you a second longer than needed would ruin him and everything he and his family stand for. 

He unrolled his piece of parchment, opening up his book as he kept his head down. 

“Well, I’m fairly decent with transfiguration,” you spoke up, trying for a smile that quickly fell when you felt his eyes burn into yours. For most of your time at Hogwarts, the only times you’ve ever really spoken to Gojo was when he was hurling insults at you, his words spurred on by his group of friends behind him. 

Gojo Satoru knew his worth. He knew that his family name would last through centuries and that the gold his family owned could buy out the entire ministry if they wanted to. Those around him treated him as such; as if his word was law. It also didn’t help that he was incredibly charming, growing into his looks over the years. 

You watched as he grew taller, his lanky figure now filled out with muscles that you could sometimes see through the baggy uniform. His eyes were always a topic of conversation, the infamous Gojo blue. His arctic white hair grew a little longer, sometimes falling in his face when he wasn’t aware. He was gorgeous, and you couldn’t even lie to yourself that he wasn’t.

Aside from his looks, he was also freakishly smart. If he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin you were sure that Ravenclaw would’ve been fitting for him as well. He was always top of the class with O’s on every exam. 

Above all else, he knew his difference from everybody else. Even his closest (pureblooded) friends weren't even near his level. Even before he could walk, he’s been told of this. Not only that but he’s been told of the vileness of muggleborns. How their nature threatens the very fabric of wizarding society, and how muggles who have somehow been blessed with magical abilities are below humans, that they don’t deserve the rights every other witch and wizard has. 

Which means that you, the sole muggle-born in Slytherin, stood against everything Gojo Satoru believed. You were an abnormality, inhuman, somebody that he should resent for even existing.

“Well, we could always divide the work…?” You offered, your feet anxiously bouncing on the ground as you waited for his response. One of the blessings of sitting so far away from everyone else is that sure, they looked over to see how this was going, but at least they couldn’t listen in as you embarrassed yourself even further. 

His eyes darted over to your paper, blinking once, deep in thought. 

He sighed deeply through his nose, swallowing thickly as he gave you a singular, curt nod. 

“Hm,” he hummed, not even sparing you a glance as he began going to work, his pen scratching against the paper as his eyes began reading over the page, “But I’ll read what you write,” he said quickly, “I refuse to have my rank tank just because you mudbloods can’t do your work properly.” 

Mudblood  

After six years of it, you know you should’ve gotten used to it, but the stinging in your chest would argue otherwise. 

Your shoulders sank, eyes falling to the ground as your fingers fidgeted. You murmured something inaudible as you opened your book to the page McGonagall instructed you to. 

—

The days moved on and everything continued as it always did. 

The essay you had to write with Gojo was a slight hindrance in your usual schedule, but the two of you worked in silence in class and never interacted outside of it. Sometimes when his elbow would accidentally bump into yours as the two of you were busy writing he’d make a sort of noise in the back of his throat, his hand snatching back quickly as if you had somehow burnt him, but that was the most of your interactions. 

Sometimes when you were in the common rooms, late at night, you could hear him talking with his friends, talking about how heinous and ridiculous it was that McGonagall paired the two of you together, but you tried to ignore it.

That following week you found yourself back in the transfiguration classroom, working away quietly as you tried to understand the scriptures on the pages you had to read. You found yourself lucky that this subject was the one you might have some sort of talent in, seeing that this sort of ancient magic was just as difficult as McGonagall made it out to be. 

You heard some mumbling next to you, your eyes discreetly looking over at your partner, only to find his head in his hands as his brows furrowed in both annoyance and confusion. 

“...what does this…?” You heard him say to himself, watching as he flipped the page back and forth as if he was missing something. 

You looked back at your work, the talking around the room drowning out whatever it was that Gojo was saying to himself. 

Or at least you tried to drown out the noise, if not for the fact that your partner made some sort of sudden movement that managed to knock his ink bottle down, spilling ink all over the table. You moved your work to the side, watching as some of the ink soaked into your robes.

“Fuck,” he snapped, moving suddenly from his chair so that the ink would drip onto his clothes, “damn it,” he looked around almost helplessly, his hands clenching in anger after seeing all his hard work soaked up in black. 

“Wait,” you suddenly say, your arm outstretching over his body, watching as his head snaps over to you, “Stop moving for a second.”

He didn’t have much time to bite back at how dare you order him around because you had already begun to pull out your wand, flicking it on a quick movement as you murmured “tergeo,” watching as the ink slowly yet surely began clumping up in the middle of the table, going back with snake-like movements into its bottle. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Gojo sat still in his seat, his lips pursing as he finally let out a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he said, but it seemed like he had to bite the word out, choking on it as if thanking you was taking too much of his mental willpower to do. 

You nodded briefly, still watching him as he settled back into his seat. 

“Uh,” you scratched at the back of your neck, knowing that you’d probably regret asking this in a matter of seconds, but somehow not able to stop yourself as you continue talking, “I don’t mean to be rude, or intrude, but is everything alright?”

You hold your breath as you watch Gojo sigh, his eyes shutting briefly. You braced yourself to be snapped at, to be victim to yet another reminder of how much you’ve tarnished the Slytherin name, but he just shakes his head. 

“No,” he seethes, but when he peeks over at you he licks his lips, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he grabs his papers, moving it over to the middle of you two as he motions to it, “Everything is not alright. Something’s wrong with the book…and I have no idea what. I’ve read this page at least twenty times and it makes no bloody sense to me,” 

You try to hide your surprise. 

That’s probably the most he’s ever spoken to you without any mention of your muggle heritage. 

You move in a little closer to look at what he’s pointing to. You try not to heat up under his stare, squinting your eyes as you try to make sense of what it was he was writing, trying to hide your reactions when you realize that he was doing most of it wrong. 

The point of this essay was to learn about the origins of cross-species transfiguration, and eventually an animagus transformation and how it even came to be. 

You had to reference at least five other books and scrolls to piece together the correct herbs and spells needed to even begin the process. McGonagall honestly probably told everybody to reference the textbook because there was nothing in it. This essay was a testament to how many people went out of their way to learn about the true nature of transfiguration. 

What Gojo had written was something you were sure almost everybody else was writing as well, a mistake you almost made. His research was simple and black and white, and he was getting everything wrong because he was missing at least ten different very important points. 

“So,” you swallowed nervously, chewing on your already chapped lips, “You have the main ideas down,” which was a lie, “But there are just some things-” Before you could even finish your sentence the bell tower chimed once, twice, and then a final time, telling everybody that their class was over. 

All around you people began hurriedly packing up, surely excited for lunch, the chatter of conversations growing in volume, and you didn’t have to look at Professor McGonagall to know that she was irked by her student's sudden enthusiasm to leave. 

Gojo sat motionless, still looking over at you, waiting impatiently for you to finish. 

“I…” you scratched at your hands, “I can’t go over everything right now, but tomorrow I’ll bring in the other-” He raised his hand, packing up his bag as he cut you off. 

“No, not tomorrow, I’m already behind,” you watched as he shoved his papers into his leather bag, “Just explain it now.” 

You wanted to laugh, not knowing how long it might take to explain your twisted thinking process to him and you doubted he wanted to stay in this classroom with you for a minute longer. 

“Well, there’s quite a bit of things,” you searched for the right word, “Missing. I have to study for the potions exam right now, but I’m going to be in the library tonight anyway. I could show you then…?” 

You stood at your chair, your eyes looking up into his, wavering. 

What did you just do? Surely he’d laugh now in your face, roll his eyes at how absurd it was that you could even suggest such a thing, just as he usually does.

Instead, he looks at you, then at his paper, and then at yours, which is at least three pages long at this point. He’d never admit it out loud, but you were understanding this assignment better than him and nobody in his group seemed to understand it as well as you were. 

“Fine,” he runs a hand through his hair, the white sticking out between his fingers like snow perched on grass.

Your brows furrow, your lips pursing together in sudden confusion. 

“What, okay,” you fiddle with your fingers, tugging on them in that anxious way you always do, watching him tighten the straps on his bag, “But wait, what time…” You try to call out but he has already left, his robes swaying behind him as you stand alone at your seat.

You slowly begin to pack up, your thoughts running at what you have just done.

—

The potions exam went well enough, but you couldn’t stress out about it too much right now. 

After dinner (which you ate earlier than most, too anxious to be late), you made your way to the library, found a table near the back, somewhere that didn’t get a lot of foot traffic, and set up your workstation for the time being. 

Amongst many of the amenities Hogwarts had, the library was one of them you loved dearly. 

It wasn’t usually too busy, but it filled up quickly the night before some exams. But you didn’t mind it, you liked being surrounded by people. In the Slytherin common rooms, you usually had to wait until everybody had filtered out or had gone to bed before you could make your way down, not wanting to face their icy looks or the way they’d talk behind their hands when you were near, so you opted to be in the library above anything else. 

The muted sounds of pages turning, of people talking in hushed whispers, and the books that would sometimes rearrange themselves were calming. You liked the candles that were lit carefully around the large room, illuminating it deep into the night. 

You made sure that the work you had already written was set out, your quill resting straightly adjacent to it, your ink pot above it. Your pile of books sat neatly to the left. You wanted to seem as organized and as composed as you could, this might be your one chance to show the prince of Slytherin that you weren’t the slob he must imagine you as. 

The clock on the wall ticks, and you note that it’s nearly ten minutes till five. You chew on your lips, cracking your fingers as you keep your eyes trained on the door, waiting for the familiar mop of white hair to appear. 

After the first ten minutes, you begin fidgeting again, moving your papers centimeters above where they were as if they could appear any straighter. You weren’t wearing the usual house robes, and you hoped that your decision didn’t cause him to walk in, scan the area, and leave because he didn’t see what he expected to see. 

But you pushed those worries aside, just doing your best to watch the people who filed in and out of the large double doors. 

After the clock struck six, you began to stop looking at the doors, instead choosing to just get some work done while you were here, and opened up one of the books. Of course, he probably just lied just because he wanted to. There might be some of his friends standing outside, snickering as they watched you wait stupidly. 

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling like an idiot.

For the next half hour, you busied yourself with reading about the start of the animagus process, about the mandrake leaf, and the strenuous process of keeping it on your tongue for an entire month. 

Around you, you could hear the scrapping of chairs on the floor, and how most of the people were beginning to leave seeing that it was getting pretty late. The library closes promptly at eight, and although it was an hour till that happened, most people left till then. 

Your eyes flitted to the door, not seeing anybody, and deflated. 

Stupid, you repeated in your head. 

So you began shutting the books strewn out in front of you, packing them all up in your bag as you rubbed at your tired eyes. Madam Pince also made a deal if you left any ink splotches on the table, so you cast a quick tergeo charm to clean up any spots you might’ve missed. 

“You’re leaving?” 

You looked up from the table, eyes squinting to see his tall figure standing in front of you, his face flushed red, sweat dotting on his brow bone as a bit of his hair stuck to his face. Gojo was panting, his chest heaving up and down as if he had just run across the entire castle, and his brows were creasing in the middle, looking down at you as you seized your packing. 

You note his green quidditch robes and muddy boots. 

“I, um,” you looked at the nearly empty table in front of you, and you shook your head, giving him a small smile, “No, no, I just got here.” 

He looked at your bag, as if not believing you, but not caring too much as he hummed in the back of throat, rounding the table, and plopped himself down in the seat in front of you. 

Wordlessly, Gojo began taking out his supplies, and you figured you might as well, setting everything back up to where you initially had it.  You watched as he slyly looked around the two of you, his shoulder becoming less tense when he realized it truly was just the two of you left in the library. 

“Practice took up too much time,” he mindlessly explains, a clear explanation for why he looked so different from the put-together self he usually is. He pushed some of his hair out of his face, his breathing still a little erratic. 

You nod, swallowing thickly as you pretend to understand the ins and outs of quidditch. 

You were aware that amongst one of the many things Gojo could do, on his long lists of talents (which if there was a list would consist of his ability to speak five languages or his incredible ability to calm any creature down), was that he was an amazing seeker. 

While you weren’t very familiar with how quidditch worked, despite trying to best to follow along with others' conversations as you listened in, you could understand that his forte on a broomstick wasn’t talked about just because he was Gojo Satoru. 

He was fast on his broomstick, and thought it could be chalked up to the fact that every year he came to practice with the newest model, he could whize past anybody. He was nimble as well. With how large his hands were, larger than the other house seekers, he was able to secure a win for almost every single match ever since he got recruited. Last year he was named captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, so you were able to piece together that he got held up with the recent tryouts.

“That’s um,” you scratch at your arm awkwardly, “That’s alright…okay so I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but there’s a lot that McGonagall wants us to do,” you start slowly, letting his get situated as you push forward the first book that helped you out, “Oh, that textbook doesn’t help…right now,” you quickly said as you saw him pull out the assigned reading, saw how he looked at you for a second, his face scrunching up in an unreadable emotion. 

“This one is good, though,” you motion to the one in front of you. 

Gojo’s movements are slow as he takes it, eyes scanning over the title until he looks back at you. 

He doesn’t do much talking, you decide. 

“This book covers cross-species transfiguration, but it briefly mentions inter-species transfiguration. But the author referenced this one,” you pull out the other hefty textbook, sliding it over to him, “And this covers all things related to inter-species transfiguration and then goes into animagus transfigurations.” 

You pause, biting your cheek to stop you from rambling on. Transfiguration was something that you could talk about forever and ever, and you’d never really talked about out loud to anybody else up until now. 

“McGonagall said that the essay was on inter-species, she never mentioned animagus transfiguration,” Gojo said suddenly, pushing the two textbooks back, letting out a heavy sigh as if this was all a waste of his time.

You nod slowly, picking at some of the skin around your nails.

“R-right, and you’re right,” you quickly sputter, nodding, “But because cross-species and inter-species transfiguration are so close together, I doubt that this was what she wanted our month-long essay to be about. Which is why,” you pull out some old essays you had done earlier in the year, “I referenced back to these animagus essay’s we had done. I mean, she wouldn’t introduce us to the topic and then drop it for no particular reason, right? I suspect she wanted us to piece the two and two together.”

Gojo gently took the papers from your outstretched hand, his eyes raking over your words, and then back to the textbooks. He seemed to read it intently as if things were slowly starting to click for him. 

“Which is why the textbook she gave us isn’t really helpful, because it resembles more of an herbology textbook rather than transfiguration. So I think that this textbook, if anything, should be referenced at the end of the essay, seeing how it mentions the mandrake leaf and the properties of the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth. It’s all instructions on how to become an animagus without saying it.”

His eyes, a different shade of blue in the candlelight, watched your every moment. He listened carefully as you eventually did end up rambling, watching the way your face, on its own accord, twisted into a proud smile at your clever handiwork. 

You abruptly stop to catch a breath and glance up at him apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, I went too fast,” you shake your head, rubbing your temple in your hands, tired from staring at textbooks for as long as you’ve had. 

“No…it made sense,” Gojo murmurs suddenly, his lips pulled into a thin line as he quickly looks away from you, back down to his work which was now surely long after your in-depth analysis, twisting and turning that gold ring on his finger, the one he always wore, the symbol of his family crest as he looked through the books you had offered him. 

You stay silent, not knowing what to do, resting back in your seat, picking your nails. 

“Well, that’s all of it,” you rub your hands against your pants, your dry eyes blinking a couple of times, yearning for sleep.

“You could’ve said this during class,” he said, still reading, his attention preoccupied, as if this was a hindrance to him. 

You wet your lips, trying not to clench your hand in anger, frustration, and years of pent-up emotions, as you slowly nod, pulling the leather strap of your bag over your shoulders as you begin to stand up. 

“Right, sorry,” you apologize quietly, taken aback when he suddenly looks up at you, as if startled but you didn’t feel like spending any more in the presence of someone who despised you anyways, “goodnight,” you bid farewell, not noticing how he had opened his mouth to say something, scurrying out of the library as you make your way back to the common rooms before he could.

—

The next day at transfigurations, the two of you didn’t speak to one another at the beginning of class, like normal. 

You took out your books like normal, as did he, and began writing silently, like normal. Everything was going normally until he suddenly paused, his hand wavering above his essay as he set his quill down, turning his head over to you.

“Can I see what you’ve written?” 

You stop writing, eyes darting to the side as if you had misheard him.

Gojo points to the papers you’ve been working on as if you didn’t understand his first command. 

Wordlessly, you pass it over to him. 

He reads it over a couple of times, flipping through your endless pages, muttering some words to himself now and then. You would wager that compared to other people you had made far more progress in terms of how much you’d compiled, so you weren’t necessarily worried about the time restraint on this essay. 

You couldn’t say the same for him, however. 

You’ve never seen him look so intense, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed in clear concentration. He almost seemed frustrated, and it was a strange thing to see from somebody so usually put together. 

“Our work together is too divided, it looks like we haven’t been working with each other,” Gojo says as if that wasn’t purely what was the issue. 

You didn’t say anything, wanting to see what idea he’d propose.

“I need to finish the rest of these texts,” he jutted his chin to the textbooks you had given him last night, “We can work on the essay after classes are over, in the common room.” 

A part of you wanted to laugh at him as if he had just joked. 

But Gojo Satoru was not a joking sort of person. You rarely saw him smiling, even when with his friends, and it was even rarer for him to say something of any comedic value. Which could only mean that he was being serious and that he truly was proposing to work in the common rooms with…you.

A little snort escapes your lips, looking at him as if he were crazy. He looked at you as if you were the crazy one.

“I don’t go to the common rooms after class, it’s too busy,” you explained slowly to him, wondering if he was daft and even after all this time didn’t take the time to understand your situation. 

He blinked, eyes narrowing. 

“...and?” 

Your head tilted to the side, confused. 

“Well…there’s people there,” you explain even further. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as if you were stupid. 

“Ironically, that is the point of a common room.” Gojo looks back to his essay, picking up his quill as if he were done with this conversation, but you pushed.

“Right,” you say more curtly, nose flaring, “For you, it might be. But people don’t want me there.” You say, a truth that you had to stomach, something that you grew used to after too many unsavory encounters with other Slytherins when you tried to come down to the common rooms during social hours. 

“So during the hours of two to eight, you don’t go to the common room?” He didn’t even look up, his voice sarcastic, not believing such an insane thing.

“No.” You reply as if it was obvious as if he should at least know that this is why you rarely ever make an occurrence unless it’s early in the morning or late at night. 

That finally gets him to stop and look at you, confusion woven into his expression. 

“What?” He set his pen down again, and you noted that his eyes seemed a different shade of blue when he was confused, a little bit lighter than usual, he seemed like he was the only one not in on some sort of joke, “So from two to eight you just stay in your room?” 

You shake your head, playing with your fingers. 

“I’m not always in my room,” ignominy clear in your tone, “Most days I either go outside and do my homework or go to the library.” 

You hate the attention this brings to you from him. You’ve never had such a long conversation with somebody in your own house, let alone Gojo. You hated the way he looked at you as if you were either lying your arse off or even worse…pity?

But you almost shook your head at that thought. The great Gojo Satoru pitying you? 

“What if it’s raining?” He asked, pushing you to see if you were telling him the truth. 

“Then I go to the library,” you said as if it was obvious, mainly because to you it was. This was the usual schedule that you’ve become used to over the years, something you’ve just forced yourself to become used to despite wanting everything in your soul to go to the common rooms like everybody else, to laugh at their stories, to talk about your lives, like you were supposed to. 

“What if the libraries closed?” 

You squirm under his heavy gaze, wondering how the topic of transfiguration got turned around to him interrogating you. 

“Um, well, right now, because of the weather, I’d probably just go up to the astronomy tower if the library was closed. They don’t have lessons during the day. Or I’d probably just find a broom closet and do my work in there.” 

His head tilts just a bit, his lips quirking up into a disbelieving smile as if he just caught you in your lie. 

“In the dark?” Gojo presses, and you can hear the people around you already beginning to pack up their supplies, the class nearing its end. Had you spent this much time talking that you wasted nearly half an hour?

“I’d cast a lumos spell,” you argue, packing up your things as you break eye contact with him. You take your paper back, making sure the ink has dried before putting it in your bag. 

“I’ll be in the library,” you say finally, making sure that was the end of it, “See you there.”

—

In some strange way, meeting up with Gojo in the library became part of your routine. 

Every night at seven, after his quidditch practice would end, he’d run all across the entirety of campus to work on your transfigurations essay together. 

The two of you still didn’t talk much, but it was different nonetheless. 

“I’m tired,” Gojo suddenly announced, the candlelight flickering on and off from his face. 

You could visibly see the dark circles that were under his eyes, how he slouched (which was uncommon for him, seeing how he usually sat as straight as a ruler wherever he was), and how he couldn’t go four minutes without letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“You should take a break,” you muttered, not paying attention, head still stuck in your book as you continued to read the rest of the paragraph you were reading. 

Gojo snorted, rolling his eyes at the prospect. 

“I can’t take a break,” he dragged his hands across his face, “I need to finish this essay, the quidditch games in two days, and Snapes up my arse about that potion exam.” 

Your eyes flickered up to his, startled at how much he had spoken, but then tried to mask your surprise by looking back down to your book.

“Potions wasn’t too bad,” you offer, “And I can finish the last bits you have,” you look back up, putting your hand out, a silent ask for him to give you whatever it was that he had written so far. 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, silently passing over his stack of parchment, and you scanned through it quietly, shrugging as you nodded once more. 

To be honest, the two of you were far ahead of the other students in your class. He had eventually concluded on his own that you’d be wasting more time not working together, so you guessed that he just had to suck up a bit and bite back on his pride and work with a muggle-born.

His rush to finish the essay was spurred on by the plethora of other things he needed to do, a drawback of being the prime and perfect Slytherin prince everybody made him out to be. 

“You don’t have much left,” you deduce, “I can just write about the Scalivier trials,” the trial in which a man refused to register with the ministry that he was an animagus, “I’ll have it done by Saturday, I’m nearly done with my bit.”

You slide his essay back to him, but stop when you see the perplexed look on his face. 

“Saturday’s the quidditch game?”. 

Your eyes dart to the side, squinting a bit as you try for a laugh. 

“…and?” 

He scratches at his temple, tilting his head to the side. After these past couple of days working with you, he’d be wrong to say that he became more and more increasingly perplexed with you. Six years he spent watching from afar, muttering words to his friends about the absurdity of your existence, but now that he was able to see you from up close, a part of him has to agree that you’re an enigma he’s never been able to crack. 

You don’t say much during class, you don’t talk to many people, and if he was being honest, in that sense, you mirrored him. You were reserved, but the times he picked and prodded at you, you seemed to open up. You don’t have any friends from what he could tell, often eating at the end of the table during the meals. He watched sometimes to see you during the common rooms during the times in which you said you never came, a part of him thinking he’d be able to catch you. 

Gojo Satoru would never admit it, but in a way, he had become interested in you.

“Well,” Gojo didn’t like to be the one confused, hating being perceived as if he didn’t know everything, which is something he prided himself on most of the time, “After the game, there’s the usual…party,” he bit out, hating the word, because it was so unruly from the usual balls and galas he was forced attend, too many people sweaty and jumping, “In the common room.” 

You blink owlishly at him, fidgeting with your quill, twisting and turning it around in your hand. 

“Right…so I’ll be here.” 

Now it was his turn to blink slowly. 

Was this really that hard to understand?

“Coming to the library after a quidditch game seems a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?” He leaned back in his chair, playing with the green and silver tie around his neck. You wondered how he could bear to wear it even after classes were over, that even his most posh friend ditched their formal wear the moment they got back to their dormitories. 

“Thankfully I don’t go to quidditch games, so for me, it’s just climatic,” you said, smiling at your little joke, covering your mouth as you yawned, tired and longing for your bed. 

He sat up in his chair suddenly, looking even more shocked than before. This was the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emmett before and you didn’t know what to do with it. 

“What? Why not?” He seemed so startled that you almost wanted to laugh. It was strange seeing somebody you had regarded as stoic look like he did now. 

You shrug, rubbing your fingers across your eyes as you let out another yawn, resting your chin on your palm. 

“I went once, during my first year, but everybody seemed rather annoyed that I was there, and they crowded in front of me so I couldn’t see anything,” you recall back on the memory, one that you could remember vividly, “and I don’t know,” you’re suddenly very thirsty, your cheeks heating up the more he stared at you, laughing uncomfortably, “I don’t really understand…quidditch, so it works out in the end. And I also get to have some time to myself in the common room to do my homework, you know, unlike usual.” 

Gojo didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and you tried to pretend that you had read something interesting to not embarrass yourself any further with your mindless babbling. Sure, he might be willing to work with you now, but that didn’t mean that Gojo Satoru was up for a friendly conversation with you.

You looked at him briefly, feeling your stomach churn a bit to see that he hadn’t stopped looking at you.

“Everything alright?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting on the inside of his cheek as he picked up his quill, a wordless agreement that the conversation was over.

—

Transfiguration the next day went by oddly silent. 

Gojo didn’t talk to himself now and then, he didn’t sigh his exasperated sigh, and he didn’t peek up every once in a while to check how much you’d written since the last time he had looked over. 

You didn’t pay it much attention, keeping your head down, your eyes to yourself. Silence was better than being reminded of your muggle heritage, which even then, Gojo had yet to remind you these past weeks.

Briefly, you looked up from what you were doing to see if Professor McGonagall was walking around or sitting at her desk, but in doing so you felt Gojo shuffle a little in his seat as if he had felt your sudden movement. 

“Tonight…” he started and you quickly nodded, waving off any of his worries. Of course, you chided yourself, he’s anxious about the quidditch match, nothing else.

“Yes, yes, I know, you have quidditch tomorrow. I’ll finish up what I have left and then start reading about the Scalivier trials tonight,” you finished for him, tracing some of the wood grains of the table with your finger. 

He shakes his head. 

“Not that - and I’ll finish up the trials by Sunday,” he’s avoiding eye contact, and if you didn’t know any better it seemed like he was trying to find his words, as if they had slipped from his tongue and were dangling in the air for him to grab, “Tonight…tonight, don’t go to the library.” 

You purse your lips, trying to smile to see if that was his goal, maybe he was trying to be funny.

“Would you like to meet in one of the broom closets then?”

You felt even more lost after it seemed like he was debating taking up your offer, but his eyes shone a bright shade of aquamarine, and his cheeks twinged a slight shade of pink. 

Strange. 

“No,” he chewed on his lip, as if he were anxious, a preposterous thing to even think, “No, come down to the common rooms around eight.” 

The cursed clock tower chimed, three loud rings, and it cut the two of you off once again. 

“Look, I told you-” you go to say but he cuts you off.

“I know, just come down.” He was being so cryptic, and he looked so on edge that it was starting to freak you out. He was already beginning to pack up, his eyes snapping to his group of friends that were nearing the two of you, and he quickly looked back down at you, his head dipping down urgently. 

“Eight. Be there.” 

—-

You couldn’t say you weren’t at least a little apprehensive. 

You were so nervous that you just stayed up in your room, not even coming downstairs for dinner as you waited for the clock on the wall to read eight. 

Why were you so nervous? You first asked yourself, but then asked the more logical question, what did Gojo want with you?

The minutes on the clock seemed to take hours to pass, and the hours seemed to take days. It was such a slow process, and you knew it would be going faster if you were doing something more productive with your time until it was necessary, but you couldn’t. 

The other girls in your dorms could come in and out, sometimes exchanging glances with their friends when they saw that you hadn’t moved from your spot, but they didn’t ask any questions, opting to just leave you be. 

You were picked at your fingers, cracking your knuckles, and finally, finally, the small hand pointed to the eight on that ancient clock. 

Funnily enough, even though you had been mentally waiting for this to happen, you waited for a couple of seconds, trying to calm yourself down, nodding to yourself that this wasn’t anything big and that you were just overreacting. 

Slowly, you rose from your spot on your bed, a little dent in the mattress from just how long you’d been sitting there. You turn the handle of the door, taking in yet another deep as you take a tentative step outside the safe sanctity of your room. 

The common rooms are usually more busy on Friday nights, and that might’ve been a blessing in disguise as you’re able to slip past most people, keeping your eyes peeled for a flash of white hair. 

You scan the couch area, the sitting area, and the large window that looks into the black lake, but you don’t see him. It’s only until you look near the entrance to the common room, the large oak double doors, do you see him. 

It seems like he’s scanning the area as well, blue eyes looking everywhere until they fall onto yours, and you’re able to sneak past some people watching as he cocks his head in the motion of the doors, and before you could do anything else, he leaves, and you take it as your sig to follow him.

You’re glad that nobody’s looking your way as you push the two doors open, looking to your right to see him waiting for you. 

You go to open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. 

“Follow me, and be quick,” he’s already walking and you have to nearly jog to get to him, walking at a much faster pace seeing how his legs were abnormally long, “Put these on over your clothes.” 

Gojo throws you a pile of ratty-looking uniforms, but the more you open up the folded mess you come to realize that they’re old quidditch uniforms. In fact, when you’re finally able to get a good look at him you realize he’s wearing adoring green robes. 

You don’t say anything, multitasking as you walk and shrug over the (huge, it was practically dragging on the floor) robes, buttoning them up as quickly as you could without tripping over your feet, the quidditch uniform, or over the stones. 

He looks at you briefly, and he’s glad that you’re too busy trying to figure out how the robes are supposed to fit over you to notice the way his lips quirked up slightly at the look of you at the moment. 

“Put this on too,” he says once you're finally done, handing you another huge helmet, and you take it silently, pulling it over your head. 

The helmet is way too big for you, as it nearly hangs over your eyes, and you can barely see anything with it on, and you pause, a smile making its way onto your face as you push it up only for it to fall again.

You stop walking for a second, and when Gojo looks back he sees the helmet masking most of your face up until your nose, the only thing he can see is your large grin, the sleeves of the uniform enveloping your hands, reaching to your knees, and for the first time, he hears the softest sound, 

You’re giggling as you try to figure out how to tighten the straps on the helmet, not able to see where Gojo is because you have your head tilted down, struggling with the buckle until his boots come into your field of vision. 

All of a sudden you feel a hand tip your helmet upwards, and your smile falters when you now see his face, the way his eyes are swirling with different hues of blues, something you notice that happened when he was battling multiple emotions at once. You can tell that there’s a small, barely noticeable smile on his face, surely from how insane you look right now. 

You’ve never seen him look so at ease. His shoulders seem more relaxed, his jaw not clenched. It helped that he looked like he was smiling for once. 

But there’s no time to think as you feel the brush of him on your skin, his slender and swift fingers working fast and expertly at tightening the strap under your chin. He looks focused, his white brows scrunched up the way he always does when he’s trying to figure out a transfiguration rune. You feel your breath lodge in your throat. When he’s satisfied with how it was resting on your face his hands drop to his side, and his eyes slightly widen, as if he just realized what he had just done. 

He cleared his throat, looking around the hall to make sure that nobody was around, and he turned his back as he began his brisk pace out to wherever it was that he was taking you.

You walked, corrected, ran with him for a little more until he brought you to one of the openings of the castle, the one that led directly to the quidditch fields. 

“Where,” you were a little out of breath, noticing how the sun was nearly about to set, and also knowing that you sure as hell didn’t have a pass to be out this late, “Where’re we going?” 

“To the field,” he said, which was the answer you were most dreading. 

“Right, I can see that,” you feel hot under all these layers, despite the fact that it was late October and the weather was biting at best, “Why are we going out to the fields.” The breeze that was hitting your cheeks was stinging, so you were at least glad in that aspect that the quidditch robe offered you some sort of warmth. 

“Ravenclaws practicing right now,” Gojo said, turning around to look at you for a fleeting second, “I need to see what Nanami’s strategy is, and you need to learn quidditch.” 

You almost trip. 

And you need to learn quidditch.

His words were ringing in your head, possibly even louder than the blood rushing to your ears. He had to be lying, or have some sort of cruel prank planned out. He must be waiting for his friends to run out from behind one of the stands so that they could tie you to a tree. Not that he’s ever done that, but also not the first time it’d be happening at the hands of other Slytherins. 

Because sure, while you might’ve offended him in saying you didn’t understand how quidditch worked, that wouldn’t mean that he, Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, hater of all muggle-borns alike, would be taking time out of his life to fix this wrong.

You should’ve just run the other way, ditched the scratchy uniform somewhere, and ran back to your dormitory, somewhere where you’d at least be safe from experiencing any sort of humiliation. 

But the closer that the two of you neared the stands, the more you felt confused. Because nowhere could you see any other Slytherins, and he was right, the Ravenclaw team was practicing right now, if the flashes of blue and white from above you meant anything. 

Which could only mean that…? 

Gojo finally stops at the stairs that lead you up the stands, his hand on the wooden railing. 

“We’re going…up?” 

He snorts, nodding as he ushers you to move. 

“Obviously,” his voice now seems more amplified with his small and cramped winding staircase, “I’m not going to be observing them from the ground.” 

You’re the one that’s ahead, so you try to go even faster so that he won’t be held up behind you, but everything is moving too fast. Did he give you these robes so that you’d seem like another player? So that you wouldn’t be marked up if you were seen out of your dormitory so late at night?

When you finally got to the opening, you were able to hear the yells that the Ravenclaw players were enhancing with one another. You hold the tarp that acted as the door above your head, heading over to one of the seats in the far back, feeling Gojo right on your tail. 

It had been years since you were here since you looked out into the fields. The stands were high, and the winds were stronger up here. Gojo sat where you were, to your right, and you waited silently to see what he was going to do. 

Nanami was the Ravenclaw seeker as well as the captain. You could see the flash of blonde hair as he flew by, the other team members either watching him or practicing with their respective posts. 

Gojo rested his elbow on his thighs, leaning in as he observed intently. 

Eventually, after a minute or two, he sat back up, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his hair ticking your temple, his nose inches away from your cheek as he began to talk. 

“In quidditch, you have seven players on each side. One seeker, one keeper, three chasers, and two beaters.” 

You nod, following along. 

“You see number seven?” He points to the guy flying around near the three tall hoops, and you nod again, “He’s a keeper. He makes sure that the other team doesn’t get any balls into the hoops.” Gojo is leaning even closer to you now, and you can feel half of his body pressing up against yours. You feel like you're heating up, and not because of the excessive quidditch uniform you’re wearing. 

“The beaters, number four and two,” he then points to the boy and the girl flying around, holding wooden bats, “try to protect their team from the bludgers; which is this black ball that sort of follows around team members, trying to knock them off their brooms. Those bats ward off the bludgers.” 

You make a mental note of everything he’s saying, trying not to be distracted by the fact that you’re being given a quidditch lesson from Gojo Satoru. 

“The chasers, which are the rest of them, aside from Nanami, throw around the quaffle to each other. Every time they get it through the other team's hoop, they score ten points…do you follow?” Gojo pauses, looking at you and you push your helmet up so that you can see him, giving him a confident nod. 

“All that’s left is the seeker-” 

“Which is you, right?” You cut him off, rubbing at your nose which was now freezing at this point. 

Gojo pauses, eyes flickering to you as he raises a brow. 

“I may not know quidditch but I’m not daft,” you tell him.

For a second there, you swear you could see the start of a smile play on his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, almost softly, “I’m the seeker.” You’re too busy looking ahead to notice that he’s busy looking at you, so you continue to talk. 

“...plus, Kento was telling me about it a while ago. He said you were really good.”

This time, his brow raised even further. 

“You know him?” 

You shrug, your eyes following the quick and hurried movements of all the players, too focused on their practice to notice the change in Gojo’s voice, or overall, the change in his entire demeanor. You must’ve missed how he slightly tensed up, or the way his eyes narrowed. 

“We had potions with Ravenclaw last year, remember?” You turn slightly to look over at Gojo before you go back to watching, “He helped me with some of my brews, but we talked about other stuff!” You had to raise your voice, the wind was getting stronger, “And Quidditch came up!”

Gojo’s nose flared momentarily before he swallowed thickly, his jaw ticking as he tried to focus back on the practice as well. 

“A-anyways,” he cleared his throat, not remembering that last time he choked on his words, “The seeker catches the snitch. I can’t see where it is now, but once the snitch is caught, the game is over.” He tried to push some of the hair out of his face, getting annoyed at how it kept getting stuck in his eyes. 

“I need to get something, I’ll be back,” Gojo murmured in your ear, pushing himself off of the seat as he walked in front of you disappearing down the stairs within seconds. 

You glanced at where he left but found yourself looking back to the players, your face breaking into another excited smile when you began to piece together what Gojo had just told you, finally able to understand quidditch after all these years.

The sun had set and the stars were peeking out through the sky, and you watched the players as they furiously rode around, each one tense and stressed for the match that would be happening tomorrow. 

You tried to hide yourself in the background as much as you could, now feeling a little more out in the open with Gojo gone.

The minutes ticked by and yet Gojo didn’t come back. Now and then you found yourself looking at the stairs, eyes darting back and forth from those on their broomsticks to where you had first entered from. 

Slowly yet surely, you found yourself in that position the first night you saw him at that library. 

When the Ravenclaw players slowly began dissenting from the air, running off the fields as they went in from shelter from the old, you felt a part of your stomach twist. 

This was all part of his plan, you concluded, shivering to yourself as you tried not to feel let down, or even worse, like an idiot for thinking anything had changed, that you had maybe actually begun to have a friend after seven years.

You feel your eyes water, either from the wind or from everything, and you make your way for the stairs, your lips trembling as you suddenly start to feel claustrophobic under all the clothes you're wearing, your fingers slipping and sliding as you try to take that wretched helmet off of your head.

You feel like if you go any faster you’re going to trip and tumble down the stairs, and it doesn't help that you’re already too distracted with trying to take the helmet off. You sniffle, your eyes blurry as you feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You couldn’t even tell if you were thinking that in your head or saying it out loud as you neared the end of the never-ending stairs, unbuttoning the buttons of the scratchy uniform as you bundled everything up in your hands, wiping at your wet cheeks with your palm.

Amongst all the things people have done to you over the years, this wasn’t the worst. You’ve had your room ransacked, your trunk thrown into the river, your shoes stolen on multiple occasions. You’ve been called a mudblood more times than you’ve been called your own name, and none of these things were actually done by Gojo. 

Perhaps you thought that deep down, maybe he could change. That maybe after all that time spent in the library, talking to you, controlling some of his laughs at your awful jokes, he saw that maybe muggle-borns weren’t as bad as he thought they were. 

And yet tonight you suffered your first prank, if that’s what this could even be called, at his hands. It didn’t hurt because of its nature, but because a naive part of you actually thought that he could’ve been your friend. 

But none of that mattered now, not that you-

“Where are you going?” 

You stop in your tracks, your head whipping around to the voice. 

It was now fully dark outside, the moon and the spare candles that were lit around the castle and the stands were the only sources of light. You could see his figure standing a couple feet away from you, his white hair like a beacon in the night. 

He takes a couple tentative steps closer to you, close enough so that you can see the furrow of his brows and the small pout on his lips. Damn it, you wanted to curse, you could hate him more if he didn’t look so pretty. 

“Back to the castle,” you snap, wiping at the corners of your eyes, throwing down the old uniform and the oversized helmet on the ground near his feet. You sniffle, looking to the side so that you won’t have to see his face.

“What?” He steps closer to you and you take a step back, your head still turned, eyes trained on the dewy grass, “Why?” You try not to think too much about the two sets of brooms in his hands, or how for some strange reason, he actually sounded dejected that you were leaving.

Letting out a shaky breath you laugh curtly, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up to the sky, counting the stars, wondering if that could calm you down. 

You hear the grass crunch under his feet, the warmth of his body as he comes in close to you. 

Why does he care? 

“I brought you a broom,” he holds it to you so you can see the outline of it, “Here,” he bends down to pick up the helmet you had thrown to the ground, “At least put this on,” he’s already securing it on your head, not noticing the way your lips were trembling, his fingers brushing up against your chin once again but you don’t him faster it, smacking his hand to the side as you rip the helmet off your head, throwing it with more force on the ground. 

“S-stop,” you murmur harshly, wiping at your cheeks, “Stop, stop whatever it is you’re doing-” 

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarls, his eyes a dark shade of navy blue, “So stop crying, I don’t know what it is you think I did.”

He’s angry now, good, it’ll be easier to yell at him if he’s just as amped up as you are. 

But when you finally look at him and get to see his face, it’s not the kind of anger you’re feeling. His eyes are narrowed, his eyebrows pulling together down the middle the way they do when he’s confused, the way you often see him looking like when he’s frustrated at your cursed transfigurations essay. He’s not angry at you because of you, he’s angry because he doesn't understand where your frustrations are coming from. 

He’s at least a head taller than you, looking down as his chest heaves slightly, waiting for you to say something, anything, so that he could explain himself for whatever it is he’s done wrong. His cheeks are a little pink, either from the cold or…something else, and his hair is messy, no longer kept the way it usually is. 

Gojo looks different.

And you don’t know who it was that moved in closer, whose rational mind slowly turned irrational as you two took another step towards the middle, but all you do know is that the two of you didn’t care as you roughly grabbed him by his robes, tugging him in as you slammed your lips to his. 

It happened in an instant, your lips moving against his soft one, your hands gripping onto that fabric for dear life. And for a second, you begin to pull away, your eyes opening in shock, but there’s no use, because Gojo slams his lips down onto yours as he pulls you into his chest. 

It’s rushed and messy, your teeth clash against one another, your hands going up from his chest as they intertwine around his neck, your fingers tugging on his long white strands and you hear him groan into your mouth. 

He moves fast, biting at your lips, one hand sprawled on the expanse of your back, the other one behind your neck, almost cradling the back of your head, tilting your head upwards to meet him. His tongue prods at your lips, and somehow, mindlessly, you part them a little more, moaning quietly at the way his tongue explores your mouth. 

Gojo leads you a little back, so that you’re up against one of the wooden pillars of the quidditch stands, offering you more stability, a good thing, seeing how you feel like you're becoming lightheaded, soon about to faint. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, heavy on your lips as he dips down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he says once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips. 

“G-gojo,” you whine, feeling hot as his hands travel across your chest, cupping your tits through your thin sweater as he continues to kiss down your neck, tugging some of the material down so that he could leave even more marks across your collarbone, “G-god, oh my god,” 

His pants tighten at your voice, his pupils dilate at the way you're pawing at him, pulling at him, needing him. 

“Satoru,” he says against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.” 

He’s delirious, he kisses you like you’re the air he’s been missing his entire life, and holds you to him as if you’re the only furnace in a land barren with snow. He needs you. 

Your fingers are lost in his hair, pulling and tugging, hearing the way his breathing stutters when you do so. 

One of your hands drops down to his chest, feeling at the skin that’s exposed from where his uniform was pulling up, and when your cold fingers make contact with the skin resting taunt on his stomach you swear you could hear him almost whine, his head momentarily dropping into the crook of your neck as he urges you to continue, holding your wrist tightly, pushing it up further. 

Your eyes find his, your breathing coming out in short spurts, and he seems so far gone, so transfixed with how you look under him, that the two of you fail to hear the footsteps that come near where the two of you were.

“Who’s there?” 

A voice calls out, and you see somebody behind him standing with a lantern. 

You push Gojo off of you, but he stays put, looking over his shoulder, shielding your body with his. 

“Oh, fuck off Taylor,” Gojo calls out, anger and irritation laced into his voice.

The boy's eyes widen when he realizes how it is, the blue and white Ravenclaw robes dashing away into the distance, the lantern long gone in a matter of seconds, but it’s no use. 

When Gojo looks down at you, you’ve been given too much time to come back to your senses. 

You push him away from you, and this time he moves.

You take a deep breath, not looking at him as you wipe at your spit-soaked lips, blinking rapidly as you try to make sense of what happened. 

He didn't say anything, but you could hear the quiet pants that escaped his lips, trying to catch some air. 

You open your mouth to say something but close it promptly, shaking your head in disbelief. 

You don’t think twice as you make your way back to the castle.

---

(part two)

taglist (CLOSED): @satorusemepls, @mokonasenpaiposts, @kao-ri, @rinxgojo, @notsochillnerd, @astral-hydromancy, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron, @tedbunny333, @13-09-01, @mynameislove1, @hyunsuks-beanie

[thewisecheerio]

Messmer's actually terrible at his job. (affectionate)

Messmer is a fascinating villain, because he is strangely compassionate. I would go so far as to argue that this same compassion that is so at odds with his villainy is the very thing that drove him to become that villain in the first place. Hang with me; this is a long post.

Spoilers for Elden Ring DLC. Obviously.

Messmer tells us himself that his purpose is to purge all those stripped of the grace of gold. "Yet...my purpose standeth unchanged. Those stripped of grace of gold shall all meet death...in the embrace of Messmer's flame." We can piece together who gave him this genocidal purpose from his armor set's description, which tells us directly that he's working on his mother's behalf *and also* taking all the blame for it.

So he's playing war criminal on Marika's behalf. And I do mean playing. I'm not downplaying the fact that he is a war criminal; he has murdered on entire people. But here's the thing: he's *terrible* at playing the sole part of the spiteful, hateful overlord. He's *awful* at reveling in war and its victories.

Why? Empathy.

Messmer is strangely empathic for what could have otherwise been a cut-and-dry villain:

1. His relationship with Gaius, an Albinauric: We learn from Gaius's Remembrance that he was Messmer's bestie. We also know that Gaius was an Albinauric both from his armor as well as the location "Albinauric's Hut" in the direction he comes from at the beginning of his fight. Albinaurics are despised by the Golden Order, but Messmer didn't seem to care. In fact, he cared so little that he gave Gaius command of either a huge chunk or perhaps his entire army, second only to him. And what is given as the basis of this friendship? The fact that they were "both cursed from birth", i.e. a mutual understanding of what it is to be despised. They're trauma bonded because they have empathy for each other's predicament.

2. His relationship with the Jar people: Even though the Jar people were used as weapons of war against his own people, he doesn't seem to resent them. How do we know? There is a hospital where the Jars and their innards are being cared for in the Storehouse, a stone's throw away from where Messmer spends all his time. There are even a few baby Jars running around in it. Strange thing to do to what is essentially an enemy of your people, unless you consider them to also be victims of the same conflict.

3. His relationship with his soldiers: Messmer shares his own flame with his army. Yeah, that absolutely could be interpreted as a utilitarian move for the sake of war. Power up the troops, boost your chance at victory. But it's a strange choice when he could have just armed them in the traditional way of handing them sharp, pointy objects and pointing in the desired direction of stabbing. Instead, arming your soldiers with your own power could also be interpreted as something you do when you care about their survival and are potentially working directly with them to ensure it.

4. The mourning of people who betray him: Speaking of his soldiers, Messmer gets betrayed by at least a few of them. We learn this from the ashes of Andreas and Huw. Huw's ashes further tell us that Messmer *mourned their loss* as brothers-in-arms. Weird thing to do to someone who has betrayed you, unless you care very deeply about them to begin with.

5. The implications of the Storehouse: Even though he is actively genociding Hornsent on Marika's orders, he somehow has preserved an entire library of their history. At first, I thought this was maybe just British Museum vibes: steal all the artifacts and refuse to give them back. (And that could still be a correct interpretation.) But in context of the rest of these points, if you're truly hellbent on erasing a culture, why would you bother to preserve any of it? Would you not burn the libraries along with the people? It's a fairly common thing to do in our world's wars--destroy the art and history to ensure full erasure. And yet, it seems he can't even bring himself to avoid some small amount of sympathy for the people he was explicitly tasked with killing. If you really *think* about the basis for his sympathy for Marika, this does make a lot of sense. Messmer is following Marika's orders because he knows about what the Hornsent did to the Shaman. Wouldn't it then also be the case that once Marika's reign became nothing but genocide, i.e. an exact reversal of what was done to her people, he would have the same kind of sympathy for them? Perhaps this is a form of harm reduction in the only way he could square with what he thinks is his purpose.

6. His own self-hatred: Messmer despises his own flames, which we learn from the Messmer's Orb description. If you were happy to be Doing a Genocide, would you not celebrate your weapons of war? Wouldn't you take pride in them as tools of power? Unless, of course, you're not actually as happy as we think and maybe having regrets and come to be filled with severe self-hatred. Woops.

So then, if Messmer is this guy running around with a lot of Big Feelings (and probably a deep need for a Prozac prescription), why does he even agree to this genocide in the first place? Isn't that an *odd* choice for someone who seems to care pretty deeply about people, even people despised by his family's governing order? Why does he carry out these orders even to the point of developing a deep self-hatred?

This is where Messmer's sympathy, one of his best aspects, also becomes his fatal flaw.

I mentioned above in 5 that Messmer has access to information about both sides of this conflict. As much as he might have sympathy for everyone around him--including weapons used against the Shaman like the Jars--that means he *also* has sympathy for the Shaman. So if you have sympathy for the other side and sympathy for your side, and you are raised by your own side, then what is the natural outcome? Your side wins. If you must choose a side, then you fight on behalf of Child Soldier Fostering Mother Marika. She raised you, after all. It's inevitable.

In the end, that same sympathy he seems to extend to others also is what causes him to do war crimes. Out of an abundance of sympathy for what happened to the Shamans, he agrees to take up arms.

At the end of the day, he's still a villain that needs to be stopped so that he'll stop oppressing an entire people on behalf of his mother's misguided attempts at revenge. But making his reasoning to agree to become that villain in the first place *empathy* of all things? Fascinating.

[pukefactory]

☽────✧˖°˖ OPERATION PAPERCLIP ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring ENA X Reader Who Likes To Draw

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): ENA (ENA: Webseries)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ At first, you only drew her when she wasn’t looking. Which, to be fair, was difficult—ENA’s neck turns with alarming flexibility, and her eyes sometimes seem to operate on independent surveillance. You’d think she didn’t notice. But one day, while she was loudly declaring war on a nearby chair (“YOU! You smug-legged traitor!”), you caught her reflection watching you from a puddle. One eye was the shape of a frown. The other blinked. “Were you… caricaturing me?”

☆ You try to get her symmetry right. Or, rather, her lack of it. She’s never the same twice: one drawing has her geometric hand cradling a melting balloon. The next, her yellow side is smiling like the sun knows a secret. When you look back at them all together, it’s like you’re watching someone glitch through emotions, pages fluttering like a flipbook of joy, sorrow, and things in between. The pages smell faintly of turrón and electricity.

☆ Moony found your sketchbook first. “OHOHO! WHAT’S THIS—PAGES OF OUR MUTUAL CHUM?! Shall I investigate further?!” You snatched it from his noodly hands before he could start narrating. Later, ENA approached you with a folded napkin and very calm rage. “Moony said you were…’creating a fanfiction but with more pictures and fewer words?’” You were not sure how to explain the difference between art and devotion in a language she could hear.

☆ You once caught ENA mid-shift—sadness spilling out like static, face half-paled and twitching. You didn’t speak, just sketched. When she saw the drawing later, her half-circle eye blinked slow. “Oh. I looked like a gargoyle having an existential breakthrough. But also like a balloon in prayer. Hmm. HmmMMM. You captured it.” She tried to pose like it again, but tripped on her own polygonal foot. You kept drawing anyway.

☆ One page is filled with nothing but her hands. That weird asymmetry—one warm and soft, like sunlight that remembers being human. One sharp, angular, like it could shatter something and apologize after. She asked why. You told her it’s the way she gestures when she speaks. “Ah. My flailing appendages of meaning. I see.” She’s started doing it more. You’ve started drawing faster.

☆ Sometimes you doodle her words next to her face, like little dialogue bubbles. But ENA doesn’t always talk in words. She talks in metaphors, fragmented syntax, Morse code sighs. One time you tried to replicate it exactly: “THE CLOUDS ARE RAVENOUS TONIGHT, DEAR HEART.” She saw it and gasped. “Did I say that?! That’s AWFULLY poetic of me! Wait—what was I talking about?” You had no idea. Neither did she. You kept the page anyway.

☆ When she first saw the sketchbook, she looked at every page without blinking. Her expressions shifted like a slideshow of theater masks—smile, frown, awe, panic, neutral, awe again. Finally, she handed it back and muttered: “…Do you draw me because I’m strange or because I’m you-shaped?” You didn’t know what to say. She blinked again. “That was very cryptic. You don’t have to answer. But if it’s both, that’s okay.”

☆ Sometimes you draw her in scenes that haven’t happened yet. ENA in a paper boat. ENA with wings made of receipts. ENA with a crown of toasters and lightbulbs. She looks at them, points, and goes, “Oh! That’s going to happen next Tuesday.” You ask her how she knows. She just shrugs. “It’s just a feeling.” You check the calendar anyway.

☆ You caught her mimicking a sketch you did of her once. Trying to stand in that exact dramatic pose—head tilted, one eye closed, one arm high above her head. She held it for about four seconds before falling over and sobbing dramatically. “I HAVE FAILED THE ARTIST!! THROW ME TO THE PARROTS!” You gave her a sticker. She stuck it to her forehead and recovered instantly.

☆ Now, whenever you pull out your sketchbook, she’ll freeze in place like a deer caught in the spotlight of creative judgment. “Are you drawing me now? Wait—do I look tragic enough? What if I shift…like this?” She twists into a shape only possible in dreams and cubism. You tell her she always looks like art. She tries to respond, but her mouth glitches between a smile and a sob. “…I think I’m flattered,” she finally decides. “But my feelings are buffering.”

[werew0lfhours]

So, a certain someone has decided to rebrand, but before that, she was working on a script for a new video.

(Before I get to far into this, I don't want this to become a blog about her this is my safe side of the internet, I just feel insulted by this.)

Now, here's what she said;

(For those that can't read the fuck ass text; I apologize for everything I've said about Natalie Wynn, Jessica Routhier, Nate Stevenson, Patricia Taxxon, Jessie Earl, Rebecca Sugar, and Abigail Thorne. And if I said something unkind to you and I forgot your name, pop it into the comments and you'll get one personally.)

.... Interesting right?

She apologizes to creators who probably have forgotten about her existence, if they ever knew about her in the first place. And she ends it in a way that says she wants to be reminded of who else she may have hurt. Don't worry hun, I got you.

Crimson Ender; Trans man you have dehumanized and called a pedophile for having a differing opinion and poking fun at you. He's also native, and trying to keep his culture alive. Unlike you.

Sai Scribbles; A lesbian you have dehumanized and happly let be doxxed until it looked bad on you. All for correcting you on a show made for children, and being a bit catty about it. Not to mention, false flagging her content.

Anthony Gragmulia; A bisexual man you have dehumanized, denied his experience with surviving abuse, have been homophobic to, and claimed to have been fired for being a misogynist, which could have gotten him blacklisted from his industry, if it wasn't total horseshit. He also got false flagged by you. All for correcting you on Pokémon lore, a game made for children.

Blake; A person you sexually harassed and tried to get them to admit they were attracted to you, which is still, sexual harassment.

Britt; A woman you sexually harrassed when you were presenting as a cis man. She's a lesbian. You had Tara try and talk her into sleeping with you. That is harassment.

Josh; A man who you were friends with, alleged he faked being in the American Armed Forces, said he was a pedophile (when you had previously tried to get him to date a much younger woman who was a minor at the time), and continue to bring up even though he has moved on.

InkRose; A woman you tried to pressure into dating an older man when she wasn't even legal, and then had your fans draw art of her sona with women, even though she is straight and uncomfortable with that artwork.

KP; A friend you threw away when she wanted some answers. A friend you have doxxed. A friend who wanted to believe you. But you ran like a coward.

Lizzy; You're ex who you dehumanized and have continually said horrible things about unprompted when she hasn't done a goddamn thing. She never said anything about you until you started talking shit. You dragged her name so far through the mud, she doesn't feel safe on Tumblr anymore. You threatened to release the nudes she thought you had deleted. You stole one of her beloved oc's, which is so fucking awful to do. Not to mention: You stole her goddamn last name.

Ginger; A minor you didn't discourage to not draw NSFW of your avatar, when they were very open about being a minor. You then proceeded to have some kind of a relationship with them when they were hardly legal.

Carousel; Another person you had a romantic relationship with that you treated badly after they broke up with you. You also stole an oc from them.

Ren; Another fan you seemed to have a strange relationship with. They're married, and live in Russia. I'm assuming their spouse wouldn't be happy if they knew the full truth, no?

Opal; A fan of yours who you drew a version of your puppet in their style that you got so enraged at because she gave you some weight and curves. She isn't on the internet anymore... Weird, huh?

Lolo; A friend turned fan who you have snapped at as if she is an unruly dog and never seemed to apologize for your outburst after the fact.

Levi; A minor fan who alleges they had a weird interaction/relationship with. Who has screenshots they are too scared to share. Strange.

Mikaila; Your wife. Your wife, who was a fan. Your wife, who has had a very hard life, and sees you as her ray of sunshine. Your wife, who you expect to draw, you whatever art you want without payment. Your wife, who you have trained like a fucking dog. Your wife, who would make noises you didn't like so you cried, instead of talking to her like an adult. Your wife, who you horny posted about when her cat died, and she needed your comfort. Your wife, who you snapped at when her chair creaked, the same fucking day she found out her mother had been stealing from her. Your wife, who left the call after that. Your wife, who you didn't notice she left until a few minutes later, because you were flirting with another woman. Your wife, you chastised for letting dinner burn because you were playing a video game and couldn't get off your ass to check on it yourself. Your wife, who you have dehumanized, and very recently, made it seem like you only value her because she has "holes you can penetrate". Your wife, who doesn't live with you.

Courtney; You know what you did. I don't need to say it.

And to top it off; the countless people you told to kill themselves in very uncreative ways.

But you apologize to people with more power. The one that stands out who doesn't fit in is Patricia Taxxon. You know, a trans woman who has e-flashed her fan base, some of them being minors, has allegedly masturbated in a discord call with minors as well, and posts on her public Tumblr about wanting to fuck her biological father. Actually "fuck" is the incorrect verbage; she wants to be re-victimized by him for her sexual pleasure. She also talks about having pedophilic thoughts in a way she doesn't seem too bothered about. And, don't get me started on Buyer's Market.

And while I'm thinking about it; Why don't you apologize for associating with someone who might actually be a white supremacist. You know who. Your brother.

Cameron. Cameron, who molested your sister and shared a room with you. Cameron, who had other children in your neighborhood, alleged he did the same to him that he did to Courtney. Cameron, who was dishonorably discharged for assaulting several fellow officers. That's public info, you know. Cameron, who deadnames, misgenders, and refuses to acknowledge your identity and your wife's identity. Cameron, who you, for years, said was a piece of shit until recently. Cameron, who is a Trump cocksucker and has made fun of children dying in mass shootings. Cameron, who is the exact person you say we should bash his brains in with a rock, but he's your dearest relative? Your beloved brother?

So, nice try at an apology. But, it isn't true, is it? But nevermind that, we both know that apologizes mean nothing if you don't fucking change your behavior. And you never change. Do you? So, take your apology, because it's worthless here.

Ps. If you were planning your rebrand, why did you still sign your most recent script with your old name, "Casey"? It seems a bit fishy to me, but how would I know? I'm a jackass on the internet :)

(Final line reads; I'm Lily, thanks for watching.)

[newtkive]

pixels [newt x reader - modern text au]

ch. 1 - the gc birth

in which two online friends navigate a romance through a minecraft groupchat with their stupid friends

or, newt, the quiet, stoic boy, and y/n, the bubbly girl both curse the world for keeping them apart, but at least they can send each other cute emojis and hope the other doesn't notice their blossoming feelings.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

__

notes: hi :p im very new to writing on tumblr (but ive always been a reader) so pls bare w me! and im trying to revert back to being 14 (im 23 lols..) so im revisiting my old favs including the maze runner/thomas (bc i binged the artful dodger and now im obsessed again). there will be non-text chapters in the future as well, when everyone eventually meets. this will be newt focused so enjoy !! also everyone is like a realistic age from 23 to 28

__

THE GLADE

[ 7:45 PM ]

alby added minho, y/n, newt, tommy, and gally

alby: Hello, guys.

minho: wtf is this

newt: uhhhh

tommy: hi :3

y/n: so this is why you asked me for my # in private

gally: i didn’t consent to this when i gave you my number

newt: don’t give strange men your number y/n

tommy: oh that’s y/n?

alby: Wait, Newt you had Y/N’s number already??

newt: yea

tommy: o.O

y/n: i gave it to him like two weeks after we met lmao

tommy: SO HE HAD YOUR NUMBER FOR A YEAR AND I DIDNT????

y/n: well he asked and you guys didn’t :p

newt: lmao

minho: ik he smug as fuck rn

not u asking for a girls number lmao simp

newt: stop

y/n: we all talk in discord anyways so i didn’t really think about it

plus you guys are friends irl so idk

it felt kinda weird to insert myself heh

minho: we’ve known you for a year and a half y/n

we play games all the time

call all the time

we even send packages and shit

you’re very much considered our irl friend

y/n: REALLY?? 🥺🥺

tommy: internet friends are real friends 😍❤️

minho: the heart eyes are crazy

but yes dude

newt: of course you’re our close friend. just cuz we live near each other and you’re a bit far away doesn’t mean we don’t adore you

minho: ADORE IS CRAZY LMFAO

but real ig

y/n: AWWWWW YOU GUYS LOVEEE MEEEEEE

hahahahha

HAHAHHAHJFIEKMGOR

I LVOE YOU GIYYYYSSSS IM PUTTING ALL OUR MINECRAFT BEDS TOGETHER LATER

gally: i do not want my bed to be infested by you guys

minho: gally sleeps in the corner

gally: no i dont i sleep in my mansion

y/n: cherry blossom mansion*

gally: and you sleep in a shed

y/n: cherry blossom shed* its pink and that matters.

tommy: love you y/n 😊🥰

y/n: love you tommy <3333

minho: that’s actually nasty stop now

y/n: u mad ur unloved

i love how the gc name is our minecraft town name :((

newt: aw it is

minho: can we talk about why tf this was made when we have a perfectly good discord

alby: I’m done with Discord.

newt: you got your shit hacked didn’t you mate

minho: mate 💀💀

british people so crazy

alby: Yes maybe..

I don’t want to make another.

y/n: or your old ass doesn’t know how to

minho: LMAO REAL

alby: Gonna ignore that. But I am getting too old for it. I have a new promotion at work so that means I won’t have time to play with you guys as much anymore. So I decided to make this groupchat in hopes to talk to you guys more to make up for it :)

minho: every group always has the old head with the job 💀💀

newt: minho admitting he’s jobless

minho: you work at a library be so fr rn

newt: i have an income. you have a room in your grandmas basement. we are not the same.

gally: LMFAOOOOOOO

minho: stfu :////

y/n: AWWWWWWW ALBYYYYYYY

tommy: YAAAY!!!!

im going to text you guys all day

tell you every meal

every thought

every interaction will be meaningful and glorious

newt: you are 24 years old you don’t have to do all that

minho: no fr im turning off my phone if he starts this shit

why not just do it before in the discord ??

tommy: easy access now and i tried before but stopped since no one really replied..

y/n: i say we all do it :D i will too tommy

newt: ok second thought that’s fine

minho: .

gally: that’s wild.

y/n: YAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!! NEWT YOU GO FIRST

newt: first with what

y/n: say what u ate today

newt: didn’t say i’d do it.

tommy: i ate muffin, monster energy drink, and hamburger :3333

you guys next

minho: that’s all you had bro..

y/n: hot cheetos and french fries and coffee :D

minho: ??????? BRO

how are you guys alive

y/n: it's my day off and no class so i just wanna rot in bed and that means no cooking

newt: please eat and drink water.

like for real and document it

y/n: ok wait

there

tommy: yum!

minho: y/n..

newt: cereal does not count

y/n: I DONT HAVE ENERGY TO MAKE ANYTHING OKAY

im a 23 year old broke college student my fridge is bare

newt: alright what do you want?

y/n: wym?

newt: like if you could pick.

minho: that’s so cruel 😭😭 just making her imagine it

i like it go on.

tommy: i want chick fil a

minho: i knew you hate the gays

tommy: I AM THE GAYS?????

y/n: ugh that does sound good

mmmm chickem sandiwh waffle fry I Want that Os mYch

newt: that’s what you would order?

y/n: mmmcm yeahshhhhh

newt: ok

minho: that’s it?

i thought soemthing would happen

tommy: me too

like a spell! magic 🪄

y/n: sigh

my cereal tastes bad now

newt: well it is cocoa puffs.

minho: L cereal

y/n: DTOP SAYING L ITS SO ANNOYITIGJNGGGGG

minho: she so madddd 😂😂 L

newt: you're annoying minho

minho: youre just saying that bc shes saying that

newt: no ive always said it. and i will continue to. youre fucking annoying

minho: who bought you your coffee yesterday

newt: ???

myself

and i paid for yours too

im the one with an income

minho: .

well i didnt think youd remember that well.

newt: it was literally yesterday.

minho: yeah but ur old

newt: IM THE SAME AGE AS YOU

minho: yeah but im 🤗✨ 26 ✨🤗and youre... 26😬😔

tommy: guys stop fighting

newt: we aren't fighting

maybe this gc was a bad idea

tommy: NO!!!!!!!!!

y/n: NOOOO!

tommy: this is like y/n is here w us irl

y/n: awwwwwwwwwwwwwww

minho: no it's not. we would smell a foul stench if she was

y/n: i ahte you sooo bad.

wait there is a knock at my door im scared

newt: answer it

minho: aren't you supposed to say don't open the door for strangers ????

newt: well usually yes

y/n: no im not expecting company

newt: just do it pls

y/n: ok :D

minho: bruh..

i hope she gets robbed and u feel bad forever newt

newt: why would you want that

minho: bc she owes me money

newt: YOU owe ME money

minho: yes but i have a good reason she just wanted robux

tommy: Y/N DONT DO IT!!! I HAVE SEEN DATELINE

y/n: :o....

tommy: Y/N?????????

OH GOD THEY GOT HER

minho: why would she text a silly face if she got got

tommy: clearly its a surprised face

maybe its not her

its like those cut out magazine letters murderers use

y/n: who got me chick fil a!!!!!!!!!!

minho: me

newt: you literally did not

minho: shut up

y/n: newt it was u i see ur name on the receipt

newt: well

y/n: :(

newt: what why are you sad?

minho: im hungry too

y/n: u spent ur money :(

newt: you're hungry are you not?

minho: she's not but i am

y/n: yeah but..

i feel bad you shouldn't have

newt: just eat it or i'll be mad

minho: i think i want red lobster

newt: it's really no big deal y/n

y/n: thank you newt :(((((

newt: you're welcome

go eat and watch ur show or smth

minho: i owuld love to eat and watch a show rn <33 ohhhh im starving

newt: can you shut up

gally: im muting this gc if this means i have to deal with your guys' shit more than usual now.

minho: thank god

newt: good

tommy: good

y/n: good

the food is good too <3

newt: good.

_

lmk if you want to be tagged!

[weirdstrangeandawful]

I did it! I organised them!

My floss collection has been in a horrendous pile for six months (I mean literal ball of 60+ colours that I've been moving from shelf to shelf) but it's now organised!

I did it whilst watching Peep and the Big Wide World and I have no regrets except that I didn't have a CRT television to watch it on for the vibes (though I probably don't need more X-ray radiation considering the week I've had).

If people have questions, I am happy to advise. I know this is like,,, a whole thing in needlepoint circles but this is what's easiest for me. I do need to sew some sort of strap for the binder though because it fits the skeins easily but is springy as fuck.

[alexanderwales]

Turning Off Your Brain and the Critical Lens

Alright, let's start with this: there is a thing called a critical lens. It is a way of looking at a piece of art, examining what it's saying to us about itself or its subject or themes or whatever.

There are many critical lenses. Because this is something that's mostly only taught at the college level, most of them are (in my opinion) mired in academic language and not actually all that interesting in and of themselves: I think if you read a dozen stories through a feminist lens, you really start to think "okay, yeah, I get it". Different readings of different texts through different lenses can be great fun though, and it's one of my favorite parts of media criticism, and something that I wish people were more explicit about.

I'm going to talk about the Barbie movie, because it's easy. The feminist lens is obvious and in my opinion intended: it's the thing that the movie is most trying to be about, and as a consequence, it's something that probably has the most critical meat. But you can also read the movie through other lenses, and ask what it has to say about capitalism, about race, about neurodivergence and queer theory and game theory and a bunch of other things.

Some of these readings are Unintended. The author (in this case, hundreds of people working together on the film) did not intend for you to look at the movie to see what it's saying about, say, American Imperialism. Probably.

I personally enjoy unintended readings. I like teasing apart a book to see what it's saying about different things, and how it's saying it, and what the assumptions it's operating under, and whether this creates anything interesting when I bring a different set of assumptions. I think the writers and actors of Winter Soldier were not trying to say anything in particular about masculinity, but fuck it, let's watch the movie and think about it.

Sometimes people will watch something and recommend that you turn your brain off. Sometimes they'll say this to you just as you're about to start in on some critical analysis of something that definitely was not made with that critical analysis in mind.

Here's how I think of "turning off your brain": it's a critical lens. It's not a critical lens in the sense that academics might use it, but you're looking at this piece of media from a specific viewpoint, and that viewpoint is "omg they're in love" or "fuck yeah" or "no, don't go into the basement!". There are certain pop genres that greatly benefit from being viewed this way, at least in terms of pure enjoyment.

When I sit down to watch a romcom, I can do it with male/female social dynamics in mind, or I can do it with "aw, I hope these kids get together" in mind. One is the intended reading, and I don't think that it should get all that much privilege for it, but I do think generally it can result in better enjoyment. I love media criticism and consider it to be one of my main hobbies, but if you fall in love with one particular way of viewing media and only use that single one, you're going to have a bad time.

I write and generally enjoy rational fiction, which comes with its own lens, which I guess we can call the rational lens. If you sit and view a work through the rational lens, sometimes you can have fun with it: you try to work through the systems as presented and the actions of the characters and think about how you could make everything make sense. The way to do this that's not very fun is to look at a work through the rational lens and conclude that the author is dumb, the characters are dumb, and the worldbuilding is shit. I guess this can be fun if you have a sense of smug superiority, but I personally do not.

One of the things that I love about media criticism is that you can sometimes extract weird and new things out of a work. One of the things that I love about fanfic is that you can take a deliberately strange reading of a work and then write as though that reading was true. You can look at Batman and say "what does this say about income inequality" and then start writing and say "this is about income inequality now". You can look at Winter Solider and find a reading where Cap and Bucky are gay and then write it out.

Where I think people fail in a way that's personally annoying to me is that they take their preferred reading and then loudly claim ("ironically" or not) that this is the One True Reading against which no other readings can stand. Sometimes "that is not The Point of [thing]". I think you get that a lot from the "shut off your brain" crowd, but I've seen it from other places too, and I would attribute it to people talking past each other, sometimes not even realizing what critical lens they're using.

If you're talking to me, you can just say "non-preferred lens" and I'll understand, or maybe I'll say "wat" because I might forget this blog post moments after I write it.

[contamination-zone]

warning im a yapper

hello ummm just wanted to say!!! i really like the dynamic you give fresh and nightmare/color with the whole “cat who goes to different houses to get fed twice” thing. nightmare and his weird cat that he has probably locked in a basement a few times. color and this guy he picked off the road because he looks weird and decided he can solve this mess. fresh does not have any strong personal feelings towards either of them.

i very much so like the comic thing where nightmare and ccino were talking about fresh and ccino thought he was a kitten cat,,, no he is not but he acts like one. “he keeps crawling on my lap” that is a grown man get him away!!!! he has a dog cage i think that he is put in sometimes for naughty behavior. he doesn’t really care because he’s allowed his gameboy though. do you think nightmare ever sprays him with water when he does something bad. and this is like a grown adult. what

maybe i just like the trope of dehumanization (bonus if with someone who’s weirdly chill with it like fresh) but whatever,,, your art!!!! it gives me life!!! i very much enjoy the pixely type style and how freak you draw fresh. he’s a fucking creature he is. something is wrong with that guy. and i love him soooo much. so creature. he’s the kind of guy to do that thing where you walk on all fours up the stairs.

AND the way you characterize him is!!!! so good!!!!!!!!! he is so fucked up and weird and terrible and manipulative!!!!!!! he takes advantage of others’ empathy and feelings because he has very little of it himself and whenever he does feel it he does not like it!!!!!!! he looks at a guy with a savior complex and goes yeah i can mentally fuck him up for the next seven months to get something cool i want. he’s just actually terrible and i love him for that.

i also!!! don’t know too much about CB but i feel that fresh’s dynamic with them (him?? i forgor) is very interesting from what i have seen!!!!!! and their shimeji is very cute i still need to download it but i like it a lot :3

OKAY UHHH BYE!!!!! I LIKE UR ART A LOT…… HAVE A GOOD DAY!!!!!! 10/10 fresh posting on your blog love him a lot he is my wife (he feels nothing towards me)

THANK YOU!!! I see you mass reblog things sometimes it makes me giggle :-]

I yammer back...

Glad you like the dynamics haha X] Fresh having very little personal feelings about people is fun and interesting to me. As someone who has trouble connecting and low empathy, its nice to depict someone like me. [Guy interacting with people who are a Lot more invested than he is ghghg]

Fresh would only accept being put in the cage because he can teleport out. Anything like that is only for the Aesthetic, which I think Nightmare would still be down for. Shove that thang into some awful little crate, as a treat. [Honestly I think Fresh would like to get in some nice dog crate with a blankie. Small hide / den thing to nap in :-]]

ALSOOOO dehumanization and freak who doesn't mind is my favorite dynamic <333. Fresh doesn't mind because... he isn't a monster? or a human? And he doesn't have a human/monster centric view of the world. Being seen as a human/monster isn't in anyway important to him, because he doesn't seen it as better/worse. He is the way he is, why does it matter?

Its like, I don't think a cat has very strong opinions on the fact it isn't a man. I also think Fresh is incredibly self-centered and when he's on a high point, sees himself as above humans/monsters. Of course he's not seen as human, he's Fresh! he's a sick-nasty parasite! way cooler. [annnddd way cooler that he gets to eat dog-treats. heck yeah!!]

Also I drew up a little thing with CB and Fresh. Its ahh, I like them a lot I just get nervous speaking about them because its suuuch a oc & canon are besttties that it makes me feel a bit cringe... I also get nervous because CB and Fresh have a very, toxic?? friendship.

Fresh is very possessive and strange about it, because this is his Only friend and he has very dysregulated emotions. Not being able to feel positive emotions often makes it so when he does, he gets very odd about it. So its a lot of... trying to keep CB to himself, at the detriment to CB's goals and ambitions. [CB is trying to track his family down, and Fresh uh. knows. where they are. and is not telling him :-)]

I dunno I think Fresh being genuinely friends with someone but also an awful person about it is like, sorely missing from the fandom landscape. He's a bad person but bad people can still form meaningful relationships and!!! I think that should be explored :-]

[They do eventually get somewhere more healthy. As in, Fresh's whole Thing is revealed, a lot of shinanigans happen, CB lives with his family and Fresh and CB reconnect and become friends again, just with like. Fresh trying actively to do "good person things" to make sure CB's family doesn't shoo him off [I ADOREEE good actions for morally ambiguous reasons!!!], and CB with the understanding that his best friend is Kinda a Freak.]

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Protected/Unprotected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

A/N: I have no self-control. Hope you all enjoy chapter 4 a week early.

Jin's cafe, also known as Mainstreet Cafe, sat smack dab in the middle of town and was actually owned by his parents. In college, while you were starting to throw your life away for a worthless man, he was excelling in Culinary Arts. You always remembered him talking about wanting to own his own restaurant, earning Michelin Stars, and wanting to build his own culinary empire that would rival Gordon Ramsey. You honestly believed that he probably could have achieved it. Well, maybe not the Gordon Ramsey part but everything else.   Unfortunately, being the good son that he was, he lived by his parents' demands. They wanted to retire but refused to give up the little restaurant or let him make any changes to the outdated building. The floor was still checkered in black and red tiles that have since started to fade some time ago. The booths still lined the windows, and tables stood in the exact same place. Other than the soaring prices, even the menu was still the same. Everything was still the same. Well, except for one that is. The horrible uniforms that you used to wear. 

You and Jin had both worked at Mainstreet in high school, getting hired by his parents as soon as you turned 15.  Looking back, the pay sucked pretty bad, but at the time, you felt rich when you went home with 60 bucks in tips. You finally had a little of your own money to do whatever you wanted. Which wasn't much, but it was a small taste of freedom. You had felt so grown up back then.

The uniforms, however, were just awful. Today, the servers were able to wear jeans and black Mainstreet Cafe t-shirts. Back in the day, you had to wear a 50's style pink poodle skirt with that damn black poodle pictured at the bottom, a white sweater with matching white ruffled socks.  The skirt had hit about knee length, and the white sweater was just a tad too tight. It was embarrassing. It looked more like a Halloween costume than an actual work uniform. 

You distinctly remember Yoongi and three of his basketball buddies coming in to eat all the time after school, after basketball games, and random times on the weekend. You also seem to remember that they sat in your section, taking the booth in the very back corner. It’s strange now that you think back on it. You think they even sat at the counter when you were behind there for the night running the cash register and shake machine. Weird. 

 You remember how you could always feel the way your face would heat up when you had to approach their table to take their order. You always prayed that it wasn't noticeably red or that your voice wouldn't be shaking and quivering with nervousness as you interacted with them. They always ordered the same thing, every time. Four baskets of fries and four milkshakes totaling 34 dollars and 40 cents. It's funny how you remember that, 34 dollars and 40 cents, but you do, just like it was yesterday. 

The jingling of the bell above the door breaks you out of your nostalgic thoughts. You look up from your phone as you sit in a small booth that sits against the window near the front and see Yoongi walk into the cafe. Instead of turning and going to the back booth like you were always used to, he heads straight for the counter. As he is walking, he turns his head to look at you, giving you a slight nod in greeting before sitting down on a stool.  You turn back to your phone, mindlessly scrolling through your social media, waiting patiently for your food that Jin was excited to surprise you with. He called it The Jin Special. In other words, since one of his friends was in the restaurant, he could finally cook what he wanted, and it wouldn't get back to his parents. It made you feel sad for him. He was talented. You wish that he was able to show off those talents. He would have been great in the city that ate you up and spat you out. He would have fit in perfectly with the so-called fancy friends and their fancy food. Luckily, he was better than all that. He was better than you. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, sunshine, my love,” Jin sang out to you, drawing your attention to him as he stood on the other side of the counter, opposite Yoongi. “Come, come,” he beckons and pats the counter next to Yoongi. 

“What?” You ask as you pocket your phone and get up to walk over to where he wants you. 

“We have important business to discuss with you,” Jin informs you as you sit down on an unoccupied stool next to Yoongi. 

“It's not that important,” Yoongi said, shaking his head while looking at you. 

“It's very important, and you are the key to this important business,” Jin continues.”It's top secret….”

“Everyone liked your bread, and we want to discuss maybe having you sell it at our stand at the market,” Yoongi says, cutting Jin off earning himself a glare from your dramatic friend for spoiling the news. 

“Wait, sell it?” You ask, looking between the two handsome men.

“Yeah, it would be the perfect addition,” Yoongi says. “Obviously, we do well, but this can bring in a whole new consumer group.”

“How many am I supposed to make? I can only make like four at a time,” you tell them. “Ingredients can get expensive.”

“You would use the business card to buy the ingredients,” Yoongi tells you quickly. “You wouldn't have to worry about the cost. Plus, we would pay you for your time.” 

You hesitate and drum your fingers along the counter. This sounded pretty serious, and you were not sure if you wanted to take on the responsibility. Sure, you love to bake as a hobby, but this sounded like a  business deal, and that scared you. It wasn't just a normal business deal. It was one with your friends,  their business, and that put a lot on the line.  Plus, you're not even sure if you have enough time to make what they would need. You did work full time, and your little free time was special to you because you didn't have much of it. 

“How many would you need?” You ask timidly, giving in to the request, too afraid to look up at them. 

“About 100,” Jin said with a big smile that you didn't return when your head snapped up at his words. In fact, you think your eyes widened to the point they bulged out of your head . 

“No,” Yoongi cut in again, quickly shaking his head after he clocked your response. “How about we do a trial run. You make what you can, and then we sell to certain trusted customers for feedback. If all goes well, then…..we will discuss this further then.”

“It will go well,” Jin said, nodding his head assuringly. “Especially when paired with my special jam. This will be the first in my Jin's Jolly Jams line.”   

Jin reaches somewhere behind the counter and produces a small white ramekin that is covered with a matching white plastic lid. Peeling the lid off, you see a purply red concoction with seeds that appeared to be a little too runny to actually be jam. Jam should definitely be thicker and not look like liquid. You and Yoongi exchange glances as you both hesitantly take a spoon from Jin, who was handing them out to you with a big excited smile on his face. 

“Go on, try it.” Jin urges, pushing the ramekin closer to you. “It's raspberry. It took me forever to perfect it.”

You look at Yoongi again, and he is staring right into your soul. A look that is almost daring you to go first. Did you want to go first? No. Will you? Yes. You didn't want to hurt Jin's feelings, but you were positive that this was not going to end well. Taking a breath, you dip your spoon into the liquid, scoop some out and bring it to your mouth, and sample the liquefied fruit. You wince at the acrid taste that hits your taste buds. It makes you want to spit it out on a napkin, but instead, you swallow quickly.  Yoongi raises an eyebrow at your expression and hesitantly follows your lead in tasting the jam.

“It's,” you start but don't know what to say to him. Your tongue sneaks out of your mouth and licks your lips. You swallow thickly again and look everywhere except him. The taste it left in your mouth was lingering and ungodly awful. “It's ummm….”  

“Bitter,” Yoongi cuts in and supplies you with your missing word. You watch as Yoongi scrunches his face at the unpleasant taste.“It's really bitter.”  

You continue to watch as Yoongi goes around the counter and gets himself a glass of water, taking a drink before filling up another one and handing it to you. You grab it from him and pretty much chug it down. 

“I thought this one was going to be it,” Jin said, deflating at the reaction you two produced. He crosses his arms across his chest as he glares at his creation.  “Do you happen to know any jam recipes, Y/N?”

“No,” you say softly and then drift off in thought. That's a lie. You think you do know where you can get some recipes. “Wait, I do. I do!”

You jump off your stool and run out of the cafe in a hurry as the bell above the door jingles violently behind you. You leave behind one confused man staring at you in bewilderment and the other yelling at you about your food as you jump into your car and pull out of the parking lot. Looks like you have a lot of work to do. 

The attic at your parents' house was covered in dust, spiderwebs, and who knows what else. You don't think anyone has actually been up there in years by the amount of dust particles  that floated in the air when you pulled down the creaky hatch.  After your outburst, you drove to their house in search of your grandmother's recipes. She had recipes for everything, and if you remember correctly, there were a bunch for jams and jellies. You have a distinct memory of her house, always smelling like grapes as they bubbled away on the stove and when you were little. You're almost positive that she would have written it down at some point.

“Have you talked to Changkyun?” Your mom asked as she stood under the opening to the attic. “It's been months now. I think it's best that you try to call him.”

“No,” you answer, wiping your dusty hands on your pants as you finally climb into the attic. “Why would I?”

“Sometimes you need to forgive men for their indiscretions,” she explains. “Don't you miss the life that he provided for you?” 

“It wasn't all that great,” you say, looking down at her from the hole going to the attic. “I'm happy now anyway. Do you know where grandma's recipes are?”

“I hear you are running around with the boys again. How are you supposed to find a good man if they think you are dating one of them?” she asks, ignoring your question. “Mrs. Kang said you and that Min boy were rude to her a few weeks ago.” 

“Yeah, thanks for telling her about my relationship troubles, mother,” you say, moving away from the attic opening, looking around the dark room the best you can. You reach up to pull the chain to the hanging light, but nothing happens.  “I'm sure the whole town just loved talking about me. Do you have a flashlight?” 

“No. Are you dating him?” Her voice drifts up to where you were standing in the darkness. 

“Who?” you ask, leaning over the opening again and looking back down at her.

“Min Yoongi?” She asks, sounding frustrated. 

“Mom, where are the recipes?” You ask, going back to the original reason why you showed up in the first place.

“If you won't answer my questions, then I won't answer yours. Good luck up there,” she calls up, and you can hear her footsteps walk away. 

Great. Perfect.

Once your eyes adjusted to the room, it took you a little bit but finally found a beautifully decorated box after rummaging through multiple plastic bins and several bags that were all collecting dust about an inch thick. You found it inside a cardboard box that was soggy and taped shut. It sat  in the very back corner of the attic where there was very little light from the small dirty window, so you had to use your phone to see into the box. You smile as you look at the recipes written in your grandmother's elegant handwriting. Thankfully, they were still in good condition and not damaged from whatever caused the main box to be wet. You trace your fingers along the surface. This has to work. This is how you hope that you can repay them for helping you out so much.

“Did you find it?” Your mother asks as you climb down the ladder. 

“Yeah, thanks for the help,” you say sarcastically and wipe your hands on your pants once more.

“You should give Changkyun a call,” she says. “Do you really want to be stuck in this small town, dating a farmer? That's a hard life.”

“I'm not dating anyone,” you finally tell her. “If I were dating Yoongi, Hobi, or any of the guys, I'm sure they would treat me better than Changkyun ever did. Also, I do have a career, you know. It's not like I'm suffering.” 

“You are better than this small town,” she says softly. “I don't want you to regret coming back home.”

“I don't regret it. I'm going to be fine….everything is going to be fine,” you tell her.  For the first time since you came home, you truly believe it. 

When you got home, you immediately jumped in the shower. You were sweaty, dirty, and hopefully not covered in mold after climbing out of the attic. You were in such a desperate need to feel clean that you didn't pay attention to your surroundings. You didn't take the time to bask in the warm water, letting it relax your muscles  like you normally did. You didn’t take the time to sing along to your favorite songs that would normally drift from your phone speakers. Nope, you didn't have time for that. Your mission was just to get cleaned and get cleaned fast. Goodbye, dust bunnies. 

It's only when you turn in an attempt to shut off the water that you see it. A grasshopper, a huge green grasshopper in your shower. Startled, you feel frozen in the spot you were standing in, getting pelted in the face by the hot water. Slowly, you reach your hand out again, attempting to reach the handle of the shower once again when the large bug moves ever so slightly. You scream and scream loudly. In a hurry to get as far away from it as possible, you slip and fall into the bathtub, taking the shower curtain and rod with you as you go with them landing on top of you.  This only made you scream more since you now lost sight of the nasty green insect.  You throw the shower curtain off you, and your hands start to slap around your naked skin, hoping that it didn't hop on you. You shake your head and muss your hair with your hair just in case.  The shower above you was still going, spraying hot water everywhere.

“What happened?” Yoongi said, rushing into the bathroom. He looked out of breath as his eyes scanned the area on high alert.  

You look up at him, alarmed and quickly wonder how the hell he got into your home. Before you can open your mouth and question him, you see the monstrous bug again as it moves just off to your side. Screaming, you scramble out of the tub, slipping and sliding as you attempt to hide behind him, clinging to his back for dear life. Your wet naked body completely presses up against his fully clothed back. The back of his shirt is surely soaked now.  

“What!” He exclaims again,  looking around the steamy room. 

You don't say anything and just point your finger at the mess that is your bathtub. While you still clung to him, hands wrapped around his body, holding onto his chest. Yoongi quickly shuts the water off and moves the shower curtain carefully. The grasshopper jumps past him, making you gasp and cling even tighter. Even he jumped back, startled by the little creature making its way out into the hallway. 

“Get it, Yoongi!” You cry out and finally let go of him as he rushes out of the bathroom in search of the deadly bug. 

You place your hands on your hips, and your eyes widen as you feel your naked skin. Looking down at yourself, you realize that you're still completely naked. Tits out, ass out, bare ass naked. Grabbing your towel, you wrap it quickly around yourself securely and cover your mouth with your hands. Your heart is beating so fast that you're afraid that it's going to pound out of your chest. Your hands were slightly shaking as you gripped your towel tighter. Maybe he didn't look. He's a gentleman, right? No, you don't think he saw anything. Suddenly, you hear his footsteps run down the stairs. 

“It's gone….bye,” Yoongi yells up the stairs, followed by the slamming of your door. You're so embarrassed that you have probably traumatized him with your jiggly nakedness. He definitely looked. 

Getting dressed, you rush downstairs. You think about going over to his place to apologize, but you don't want to make the situation worse. Just when you thought that maybe you two were heading in the right direction, this had to happen. 

Heading into the kitchen, you see a bag of food with a note and a key on your kitchen table.  You need to eat - Jin. You sigh, Yoongi probably came by to drop off the food that you left behind at the cafe when he heard you scream. He must have knocked and then used a spare key to leave the food for you when you didn't answer. You'll give it time and just avoid him for now. You'll apologize for flashing him and thank him next Saturday when you go to the market. Until then, you will focus on making this jam and hoping the earth will open up and swallow you whole. 

《Chapter Five》

Tagged Readers:

@mar-lo-pap, @bontensbabygirl , @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs , @redragdoll, @svnbangtansworld , @wobblewobble822 , @busanbby-jjk , @pitchblack0309

[sil3ntfr34k]

p1 x reckless dumb teen boy reader (both in high school or college)

(Highschool bc I’ve never been to collage and don’t know that life.)

Highschool!P1 Dude x Highschool!Reader

Dude wasn’t as bad in Highschool I think. He was a good kid, didn’t have good grades, but he never really acted out. Very quiet, kept to himself. Even the weird, quiet, and anime kids didn’t wanna talk to him :((

Had really strange style of clothes. Probably wore a sweater vest with regular t shirt under and shorts with long socks or something. Bullied because of this, but he just never learned how to dress himself until adulthood.

Most likely had a rough home life so every time he’d go to school he’d have randomly placed bruises and scratches, didn’t help that everyone always made school shooter jokes about him. Really destroyed the little self esteem he had.

NEVER did his homework, only class work that he was able to do in class. Once he got home it was hell, so any work he had with him would either get ripped apart by his dad while he mocked Dude or forgotten in the rare moment’s where Dude could get some peace.

Tried to get along with the teachers, but the only one who could match his freak was the art teacher. He loved going there and escaping the loud cafeteria during lunch, and that’s where he met you!!

Dude was genuinely shocked when you turned around to talk to him, asking his name and what classes he’s in. No one has ever cared enough to ask him those questions, let alone talk to him, so he was flabbergasted when you asked him to hang out with you after school.

Immediately took up on the offer since he didn’t wanna go home anyway. Y’all both went to the gas station across the street for some snacks and then went to your house.

Your house seemed so much more quiet and cleaner than his. The walls weren’t as cracked, the floor was mostly swept, and there wasn’t any screaming or fighting. It felt like a safe haven to him. He was honestly jealous.

Even from the first time you hung out with him, you could tell he was troubled. Couldn’t tell what it was, but it was obvious that the lights were on but no one was home. He has really strange ideas and beliefs, and forgot how to talk a lot, always skipping over words and stuttering. Didn’t help that he talked a million miles a minute.

Hanging out with you was the first time he was able to do his homework. And he was god awful at it. You had to help him with every question,,, with every subject… You were basically teaching him the materiel he should’ve learned in class, but you figured he needed it so you continued.

You could see his mind slip further away as senior year approached. He wasn’t rude or anything, still the same quiet and nice boy, but he became more frantic and his beliefs became wilder. He tried to shut you out multiple times, desperately trying to self isolate from the beliefs that everyone is out to get him slowly creeping in, but you didn’t let that happen.

Despite his attempts to ignore you in the halls and pretend he didn’t hear you scream his name from across the entire fuckin school, you eventually corner him during passing period. In the span of those 5 minutes, you gave him a stern talking to and planned another hangout after school, or else you’ll hunt him for sport.

(I’ve written so much srry but I’ll get into dynamics now,,,)

Postal Dude is honestly like the Angel on your shoulder trying to make you be careful. You are the main source of his stress and probably make his anxiety worse.

You’re both probably financially conscious, but you spend more on ‘stupid’ things, which stresses Dude out. You tend to buy things that make you happy, like small plushies or trinkets, while Dude prefers to spend money on things he can use like food and lighters.

You are the only reason Dude still goes out the house anymore. Your gonna have to drag him kicking and screaming, but y’all are going to the mall (when it was still a thing) to together and y’all are gonna have a good time!!!

Dude is only BARELY learning how to dress and finding his style, so you have to help him a lot. Despite not knowing how to layer clothes, he’s very picky about what you try to put him in. He doesn’t want to wear a regular black graphic T-shirt with some dark green pants!! He wants to wear his favorite sweater vest over a button down shirt with his brightest blue jeans!! He honestly dresses like a dork nerd, but don’t tell him that, he’s not ready yet.

Dude’s actually really good at getting you out of trouble. He’s recognized human behavior patterns so he can read people a little better than the average person. Once he’s assessed the situation, he can persuade the person you got mad to let you off easy. It’s almost scary how easy he can unintentionally manipulate.

Despite the scared or worried look on his face he always has on, you can tell he’s enjoying himself on the inside. He isn’t pulling away or trying to get y’all to leave early, so that’s always a good sign.

It does break your heart to see your best friend slowly spiral downward, watching as his delusions grow and his nerves becoming fried. Before you know it he’s quickly checking out the window every 5 minutes, stocking up on canned food, buying more guns and ammo, and isolating himself more.

As you both grow into adulthood, you’re the only one allowed in the house. The littlest beacon of light he knows and clings onto.

[ilovelyneysm07]

Shooting Stars - SAGAU!Lyney x Player Part 2

Summary: Shooting Stars were always a weird occurrence in the world of Teyvat, so when they suddenly stop, certain magician can't help but wonder if it has to do with the strange aching in his chest.

CW: Self Aware AU, NOT Cult AU or Creator AU, Angsty, the Reader is referred as Player, Based on my own Genshin Account, Pretty Self-Indulgent, GN!Player, Cross-posted on AO3, English is not my first language and I'm not an experienced writer

A/N: Heyy, I'm so sorry for the long wait! My hyperfixation on Genshin just died when I got Lyney and I didn't have the motivation to continue this, but I finally got myself to write this. Also, I'm really sorry if this is bad, I got sick last week and I'm getting out of it rn.

Taglist: @crazed-flower @yurislilygarden @yurislotusgarden

The day is finally here, after five months of arduous saving and skipping characters (it was hard), Lyney's first rerun finally sees the light of day. The Player, who’s been waiting patiently for the maintenance to end, opens the game as fast as they could, feeling their heart beat in their throat.

Three hundred and twenty seven wishes. All for that magician they love so much. Oh, how much they regret being inactive from the game when his banner came out. They can only wish that they get him now… and his weapon if they’re lucky enough.

It’s kind of funny how they had to contain themselves from pulling for anyone else (except for Furina, they only pulled because she looked pretty at the moment), it didn't matter if all the new characters powercrept Lyney or if they were better in terms of DPS, for the Player, he was everything they needed, everything they wanted. They just wanted that cat-themed magician in their party and their account.

Seeing the Geo logo finally load, they rush to finish their dailies and change their team to the duo, Freminet and Lynette, and rush towards the Opera Epiclese. It felt like a dream, but the way they felt the keyboard under their fingers told them otherwise. This is pretty much real.

After reaching the designated “wishing spot”, they opened the wishing menu, seeing his splash art alongside the chosen four stars, happy that they can at least get constellations for them. The Player took a deep breath and pressed the “10 pull” button.

—

Lyney was looking at the ceiling in his room, the ache in his chest suddenly feeling harder… painfully so. He sat down in his bed, feeling how the sheets moved due to his weight. The magician sighed, running his hand through his ashy blonde hair while his head was strangely silent, no thoughts, nothing. 

After a failed investigation into the phenomenon of strange falling stars, Lyney was beyond desperate, no one seemed familiar with the ache the magician felt in his chest, even some people looked at him weird, like he was crazy.

Why is it only with him?

Lyney's gaze returned to the ceiling, the zero hope he felt about a possible explanation seemed to fade with each passing second. Was it only his imagination? Was he going insane? It's been five months since those shooting stars last fell, maybe it's time to-

*WAM*

Lyney stood up immediately at the sudden sound that came from outside, quickly dressing up (somehow) and grabbing his bow, he walked outside to see what’s going on and-

The shooting stars were back. The colors returned to the sky and made it pretty again, a purple star falling directly in the Opera Epiclese as he looked in awe. The pain in his chest was getting even more heavy, but he ignored it, lost in the colors of those shooting stars.

Thinking it was over when the purple star fell, another wave came right after, and then another, and another. And another. It became a full shooting star shower, that never happened before

It’s been at least eight or more purple stars when a golden one falls. Its shine lit up all of Fontaine, as the people exited their houses to see the show happening in the blanket of the night. Lyney looked at the golden star with anticipation, while it became bigger and bigger as it fell closer.

Only for it to continue falling towards… Sumeru?

—

The Player stares at their screen in disbelief.

Reached 79 pity only to lose it to Dehya… They sigh in frustration while closing the results of the pull, they still have a lot of wishes left, and now with a guarantee, it will be a lot easier… right?

They sigh again as their friend laughs at their misery on the discord call, deciding to continue the wishing session.

“He will come home, whether he likes it or not…” they mutter to themselves, already feeling pissed off.

—

Lyney thought the shooting stars were over until even more fell from the sky, this time more… fast, than before. Like they were in a rush.

He looked at the purple ones as some fall in the Opera Epiclese and the others go all the way to what appears to be Liyue.

He was starting to get anxious as he then became aware of the pain in his chest again. He felt a pull, like someone was calling for something, calling for him.

And suddenly, another golden star fell from the sky. And instead of going to Sumeru, it was falling dangerously close to him.

Wait, was it falling towards him?!

His body stayed frozen in place as the star fell on him. A golden aura engulfed his entire body and his feet felt light, and… a strange voice appeared on his head.

“Fucking finally, dude. You took your sweet ass time.”

That… was new.

He opened his eyes when the light disappeared, and he found Lynette and Freminet looking at him with a smile. Lyney then realized he was in the Opera Epiclese.

“Wha- how did I-” Lyney muttered, confused at the sudden change in scenery.

“Welcome home, brother. We’ve been waiting for you.” Lynette said with a small smile, the purple aura around her not going unnoticed for Lyney.

“Home? What are you talking about? What is going on?” To say the magician was confused was an understatement. He was beyond lost.

“Uhm, it’s hard to explain but… you’ll understand sooner or later.” Freminet said with a nervous smile and he had Pers in his hands, the little penguin making sounds of joy.

Lyney didn’t know how to react to the confusing sentences his siblings were saying. Or why the world looked so different, so 3D… so- fake. Has the world always looked like that? And what are those numbers in his siblings' heads? Level 40 and Level 80? What in the world does that mean?

“He looks so confused… Do you think he’ll be okay?” Freminet whispered towards Lynette, who was pretty worried for her brother.

“I don’t know… he doesn’t seem to be taking it well.” she says back, and she hears the sounds from the player in her head.

“Aquila Favonia?! Are you serious?! I already have it R2- This banner fucking sucks!”

They must be pulling for Lyney’s weapon, it seems, and it also seems that they’re not doing so well. Lynette sighed when she noticed Lyney’s bewildered expression at the loud voice, before putting a hand on Lyney's shoulder.

“Listen, things might look a little confusing right now, but everything will be okay. The Player is someone really caring and nice, and they really like you.” Lynette says with a calm tone, but also a lot of reassurance. “Why did you think there were no shooting stars in five months? Because they wanted you.”

Lyney looked at her in shock, still processing everything. This.. “Player”, as Lynette called them, was the one behind the shooting stars apparently, and they… wanted him? Really-

“I hate this game, I’m never saving up for another character ever again. Fuck you, Lyney.”

Oh.

“They’re always like this, don’t pay them any mind.” Lynette says with a small frown before sighing again. “It seems their wishing session is over, you should feel some changes in a bit.”

“What changes-”

Before Lyney could process anything, the world around him changed again, the walls (or what he assumed were walls) around him became red, with some fire coming out of the floor, where did Lynette and Freminet go?!

Before he could feel even more confused, he saw them… a person was looking at him and pressing some buttons on what appears to be a… keyboard of sorts.

“If it didn’t take me more than 200 wishes to get you, I’d be happier.” they say with a serious expression but a tired smile slowly creeps in, and he feels himself getting stronger… somehow.

What is this person? And why does he feel so strange when he looks at them?

Even with their tired expression and dark room, he could see affection in their eyes. Affection for him. He remembers Lynette’s words about this “Player” liking him and wanting him for a long time. Was this person the so-called “Player” Lynette was talking about?

If so, then he might consider himself lucky to be favored by this really pretty Player.

“Yeah, I have everything ready to just Level him up and his weapon straight to 90, it did take me a while to get all of the Rainbow Roses though…” they say practically to no one in Lyney’s point of view. Were they not alone in that dark room? Or were they talking to someone via real magic?

Wait, Rainbow Roses? For him?!

Were they collecting Rainbow Roses for him?

The more he thought about it, the more flustered he felt. This person was collecting Rainbow Roses and… materials (he doesn’t know what that means) for him. For this moment alone.

“Hey, is it normal for Lyney to have this idle animation?” they asked when Lyney suddenly grabbed his hat to cover his face a little. He could hear them laugh a little. “That’s so cute, though! Look at him!”

Oh God.

—

[Little Extra]

“I still have a few wishes left, might as well get Lynette C6 since I’m at it.” Lyney hears them while fighting some Hilichurls alongside other people, Kaedehara Kazuha, a wanderer from Inazuma, Bennett, an adventurer from Mondstadt and, surprisingly, Miss Furina. What a strange bunch, Lyney thought.

While the Player made their sudden wishing session, Lyney sat down on a nearby rock. It’s been 30 minutes since he’s been pulled into this weird situation and he’s still processing everything. Heck, it feels even weirder to be in the same “party” as the former Hydro Archon. Was this even allowed? He's not sure himself, but he’ll just go along with everything this strange person does for the time being, Freminet and Lynette seem to trust them, so he might as well give it a shot-

“What the fuck?!” Lyney was startled when the Player suddenly screamed, he looked up and saw a sudden golden star fall on him.

He felt a burning pain in his right arm, he pulled up his sleeve to see a strange pattern in his skin. C1? What does that mean?

He remembers hearing the Player say something about “Lynette’s C6”, but he has no idea what any of that even means.

“Constellation.” He hears Kazuha say by his side, a calm expression on his face. “It means Constellation. When the Player gets lucky and the stars fall on one of us again, our “Constellation” increases. C6 being the highest.” Kazuha explains, although it’s just what he heard. “For example, me and Miss Furina are C0 since the shooting star only fell on us once. Bennett over there is C4 since the shooting star fell on him 5 times.”

“I see…” Lyney says with a smile. “Well thank you-”

“No fucking way!” he gets startled again by the scream. And before he could react, another golden star falls on him, and the pattern changes to C2.

Kazuha looks at him with a smile. “Wow, signature weapon, C2… you really are the Player’s favorite!”

Lyney just laughs, his cheeks a bit red. “Oh come on, they don’t love me that much-”

“I love you so much, Lyney! I’m so sorry I said otherwise!” Lyney gets even more flustered at that, making Kazuha laugh even more.

This was certainly a weird experience, but… it felt good.