#i mean i will probably experience at least 2 deaths of loved ones

[s4lv4tions]

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

1.

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands. 

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope. 

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

2.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business! 

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with. 

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone? 

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking. 

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest. 

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying. 

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard. 

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

3.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it. 

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning. 

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.) 

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke. 

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt. 

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

4.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly. 

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

5. 

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off. 

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need? 

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun. 

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

6.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate. 

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead. 

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up. 

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them. 

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

7.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you. 

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick. 

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living. 

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice. 

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

8.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all. 

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later. 

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it. 

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased. 

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness. 

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths? 

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns. 

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

9.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay. 

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will. 

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body. 

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised. 

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him. 

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw. 

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of. 

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish. 

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die. 

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact? 

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves. 

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin. 

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata. 

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight. 

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry. 

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities. 

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless. 

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce. 

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release. 

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes. 

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever. 

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness. 

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more. 

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful. 

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far. 

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again. 

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you. 

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others. 

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips— 

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk. 

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk angst #satosugu angst #satoru smut #geto x reader #geto angst #anime x reader #anime smut #anime angst #gojo fic #jjk fic #jjk x you #gojo x you #reading back over readers technique is suchhhhhh a trip #like blahblahblahblahblah yeah rock on little dude whatever u say #what was i on fr

[mikareo]

⌗ SEASONS OF LOVE ₊ ˖ ་. a 呪術廻戦 miniseries

“ ࣭⸰ ★ SERIAL ROMANTIC ; gojo satoru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . episode one ! ꒱ . . . word count; 1.2k ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᯇ remember when we first met?

⊹ ⠀⠀ you might possibly be the least helpful person in the world when it comes to making a hinge profile...gojo can attest to that.

contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, gojo's a dick, swearing, best friends to lovers, love triangle

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

"y'know, i'd appreciate it if you could help at least a little bit."

gojo can feel your hard glare targeting him, piercing into his skull like a red laser beam, yet still chooses to ignore you. he doesn't understand why you can't just finish unpacking later. you're kind of being a buzzkill. yes, he'd be a better friend if he continued to help you unpack your boxes and organize your cluttered dormitory; but he's got more important things to do. things that require his complete and utmost attention. things that are life or death on a college campus. things that will make or break his entire young adult experience...

...things like finishing his hinge profile!

"i promise— wait no. i pinky promise i'll put all of your shit away later, just tell me which photos to pick for this prompt, i'm stuck." he's begging and pleading for you to focus on him, which isn't unusual when dealing with a narcissist such as himself. c'mon. c'mon. gojo knows exactly how to win you over. it really isn't that hard. all he has to do is beg and whine a little, give you some puppy dog eyes, and you'll do whatever he says! there's no way he's actually going to put all of your clothes away; that'll take like...forever.

with an eye roll in response to the cheer of joy gojo lets out, you set your boxes to the side and lay beside him on the carpet. he can feel your nose tickling his neck as you lean close to see his screen, and he wonders why his heart skips a beat. eh, it's probably nothing.

"this is so dumb, satoru." you point to his screen, your finger directed at his favorite prompt so far.

don't hate me if i: have blue eyes

"okay, wait!" he flicks your forehead, laughing as you pout, and clicks on the 'add image' prompt. "it's like a thing now! girls hate guys with baby blues like mine!" being handsome is so hard nowadays.

if he asked anyone at jujutsu university who the biggest player on campus is, they'd name him off without blinking twice. while only being a freshman last year, gojo managed to become a household (or a dorm-hold?) name that'll be talked about for years after he graduates. there may be a possibility he's either flirted or made out with every girl in his graduating class, not including you, all in one school year. without the use of dating apps, he went on a total of eighty-seven first dates from august to june; albiet seeing a few girls more than a few times for some special alone time, if you get what he means; and he had the absolute time of his life and needs to recreate that thrill again.

"you don't need an app to get girls, you get plenty already."

ugh why do you always have to rain on his parade?

"obviously i don't need an app, but it's way more fun this way." he argues, "imagine if i hit a hundred first dates before may. i'd break last year's record."

"and why are you getting so butt-hurt about my dating life?" he's treading into dangerous territory. the two of you never talk about your romantic experiences, considering you never want to talk about them with him. "it's not my fault you had a total of...hm what was it? zero dates last year?"

"just find a fucking photo and get this over with."

yeah, your love life is off limits...

a chuckle rumbles from his throat as gojo continues scrolling through his camera roll, searching for a photo that screams 'boyfriend material'...or to be more specific 'one night stand material'. while he's searching for a photo that'll make girls want to sleep with him, he doesn't notice that his brightest smiles only appear in the photos with you. then again, he never notices you; and if he ever did, it's unlikely he'd date you anyways. you're his best friend. he doesn't want to ruin that. he can't ruin that, because then he'd have to imagine a life without you in it.

a particular picture stands out from the rest, and you choose to point it out. it's the two of you in your high school uniforms, standing side-by-side beneath the cherry blossoms after your third year graduation ceremony. his hair is slightly shorter and his height hadn't reached its full potential yet, but you look absolutely adorable— almost like a kitten that he's protecting from the no-good boys of the world (technically he belongs in that category, but that's besides the point).

"do you remember when we first met?" a soft hum is murmured in his ear and gojo finds the sound quite comforting.

he thinks for a moment, completely blanking as the memory escaped his mind, and takes a random guess. "middle school? english class?"

the look of disappointment on your face immediately tells him he's wrong.

"look it was a really long time ago, i know that at least." no amount of excuses will make up for his awful recollection, but he tries nonetheless. gojo satoru is a shitty friend. that's just how it is. you both know it and he tries his best to be better for you, however, he can't help the way he is. some boys are born to be boys. "i'm trying my best—"

"it's alright, just stop."

you're so upset.

"there are more important things to remember, really it's fine."

why are you so upset?

"i'm sorry," he mumbles. this feeling of guilt isn't familiar to gojo and he can't help but hate it. "i'll try to remember."

what is it that you were trying to reminisce about? he wants to know but he shouldn't pry any more, you're clearly done with the conversation and want to move on with a concentrated thinking face gracing your features. you look pretty. woah. you look really pretty. he's never thought that before. why hasn't he noticed before? suddenly, the thought of however many hinge girls want him isn't very appealing and he just wants to make you smile again. you're so pretty when you smile. his heart is beating ten times faster than usual and he's urging it to calm down, but it won't.

...maybe that's a good thing, though.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

#i.e. seasons of love #୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ my writing #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo ff #gojo fanfic #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jjk #jjk ff #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader

[the-au-thor]

HEEEEY what about the bestfriend blurb with Spenceeeerrr

Im dying here you know

have a great day

I appreciate you screaming the hey out of me. Am at the hospital because this almost-27-year-old-little-girl discovered she is a chronic asthmatic :) I don't wanna die and I don't want you to die sooo, you asked you'll receive.

Note from this author: This is more than a blurb, but we will still call it a blurb. It contains delicate topics so, I recommend reading the warning contents here AND I'm a pretender and delusional writer, and a super cool nurse answered my creepy questions last night during his shift. There's a bunch of medical terms I'm using here that are probably so very erroneous so my apologies, play along with me, please.

Also theres a part 1, 2 and 3

Bestfriend Blurb #4

Summary: You and Spencer are best friends and colleagues who are deeply in love for each other but oblivious at the same time. Let's see how much it takes for them to find out.

Words: 1.3 k

DELICATE CONTENT read the warning

You had put on your headphones; that was a clear "not to disturb" signal for everyone around. Something that slightly bothered Hotchner was that you were indeed doing so in the middle of a police station during an investigation into a series of murders. He didn't say anything because, at least, you had gone to get them decent coffee (not the one the sheriff's secretary made), and you were reviewing on the map the locations where the child abductions were occurring and where the unsub had left the bodies.

Your brow was furrowed, and you hadn't added sugar to your coffee; Spencer observed this from a distance with curiosity. You always added sugar, especially in the morning. They had been sent to Maryland after a case involving an unknown subject who kidnapped infants and left them in public places for everyone to see a day or two later. It was a complicated case, especially because they were children, and the time between abduction and death was so short that it seemed hopeless for the families.

"They just kidnapped another child. Tommy Gibson, three years old," Sheriff Saget entered the room they had been given for the case investigation. You turned, taking off your headphones, paying attention for the first time to something other than the points marked on the map. Spencer could hear Janis's raspy voice coming from your headphones even from a distance. "Same victimology, same modus operandi; he killed the person he was taking care by, his godmother, and took him from the scene in broad daylight. His parents arrived two hours after leaving him and recognized the signs from the news. They immediately called the police to report it," he added, "We've sent everything to your analyst, and she'll be investigating it," he announced, and as if on cue, their phones started ringing, indicating the influx of information that Penelope was undoubtedly sending them.

Hotchner hurried to contact her and put her on speaker to bring everyone up to date.

"Does it say if there was any kind of violence?" J.J. asked.

The sheriff nodded as Penelope grimaced with displeasure.

"Yes, the door was smashed, but there wasn't much violence in Tommy's godmother's death. The blow was gruesome but effective."

"He killed her with a rigid object, a poker; an investigation is underway right now," Rossi remarked, focused on the police report.

"He used a knife and a hammer for the previous ones," Derek added with technical expertise.

"Because he doesn't care about them. The nanny, the grandmother, and the godmother were just a means to an end," you murmured, leaning your hands on the table and looking directly at Rossi.

"I'm getting permission for public security cameras," Penelope rushed to inform. "Crosses social lines, but so far, he has stuck with the same race; Caucasian boys between two and three years old," Derek said with technical experience.

"Tommy's parents are on their way to give their version of the events," the sheriff informed Hotchner, who nodded.

He turned to Penelope, "Anything else, Garcia?"

"So far, there isn't much connecting the children except their age. I'll be looking into them a bit more. There has to be something in common," Penelope said her goodbyes and immediately started gathering information, ending the call.

Everyone looked at Hotchner, awaiting his directive. He looked at J.J. and Prentiss.

"J.J., you and Emily will go with Tommy's parents. David, Derek, and I will go to the morgue to find out more informationabout this unsub." Then his eyes landed on you, and you knew exactly what he would say next. "You and Spencer will go to the crime scene and figure out what connects Tommy to the rest of the abducted children." You nodded, stretching your back and getting ready to leave. "One more thing; take your camera and leave those headphones."

You felt your cheeks warm with embarrassment, swiftly removing the headphones, nodding.

"Yes, sir," you mumbled, starting to leave the place, trying to focus on the case and not the recent slight embarrassment.

"Are you okay?" Spencer hurried to catch up with you, concerned. You nodded, but that didn't satisfy him. "Is it because of the children?"

"Wait!" both of you heard from behind, turning to see a police officer stopping you with excitement. "The sheriff told me to go with you and see your work."

You sighed, looking at the pretty blonde approaching, you finally answered Spencer "Of course, it's about the children."

If Spencer hadn't been too busy answering the officer's incessant questions from the back seat of the car, he would have realized that it wasn't about the children. In fact, the real issue was much more humiliating. Apart from hating cases involving children, the real problem was that you knew there was something you weren't seeing right in front of your eyes, and it wasn't due to something serious. No, the culprit was, in fact, sitting right behind you, smiling at your best friend while polishing his red apple . You gripped the steering wheel, trying not to make it obvious that her presence was irritating you.

But if you were honest, much more honest; it wasn't just that. You recognized in the young officer the enthusiasm and curiosity you felt when starting your career at the academy. You could even understand her annoying infatuation with Spencer's intelligence or how she couldn't help but gravitate toward him like Peter Pan's little Tinkerbell. What irritated you in a wild and unprofessional way was that Spencer seemed to enjoy it. You had never seen him smile so much in the past few hours since arriving in Maryland, and that made you furious because you couldn't remember making him smile like that ever.

"It's incredible that he graduated so young from college, and the FBI considered him for an elite position," the girl mentioned with an admiring sigh, then turned to you, "Isn't that amazing?"

"Astonishingly breathtaking" you ironically murmured under your breath but unable to deny it.

"Is there anything from fieldwork that has been a real challenge for you?" she asked.

"I can think of a few," you replied quietly, of course, unable to avoid glancing at her sideways through the rearview mirror with an ironic tone.

"I'm sorry; I know I'm sometimes too enthusiastic. But you guys are my heroes; the FBI is the main reason I wanted to join law enforcement in the first place," she replied somewhat embarrassed.

You wanted to scream in frustration because the girl was nice and entirely innocent, and you were unloading your unreasonable anger on her for no reason.

"Don't apologize. It's that spirit that will lead you to save people and do a good job," you allowed yourself to rectify that uncomfortable impasse caused by you. It was the least you could do after sending tranquilizing darts through your eyes since you met her.

You tried to avoid Spencer's concerned gaze until you reached the Gibson's house, but you couldn't simply stop watching them. You knew something about that didn't sit right with you, but you turned your attention back to the officer's interested gestures and Spencer's animated smile to bury the splinter that had been constantly pricking your insides, almost leaving you breathless. You heard her laugh, then her hand squeezed Spencer's arm.

"Agent, you're so funny."

Okaaaaaay. That's it. You're done. Adiós

Without warning, you turned around, showed your badge to the officer guarding Tommy's house, and started taking photos inside without knowing what you were really looking for. Well, you were trying not to think about the officer and her enthusiastic hands on Spencer's biceps.

"What's wrong with you?" Spencer's question made you jump as you took photos of the kitchen where the child and his godmother were presumed to have been when the unknown subject surprised them.

"Nothing; just doing what Hotchner asked me to do," you announced, bringing the camera to your face and taking another photo of the broken chair and plates on the floor, "and your admirer?" you asked with a trembling voice, looking at how the photo turned out and examining the details.

Spencer furrowed his brow, you knew even if you couldn't see it from your angle. But he approached you with his hands in his front pockets.

"She stayed chatting with her colleagues at the entrance. What's bothering you about her?" You frowned and looked at Spencer, almost offended.

"What's bothering me...? Nothing! She's just a bit annoying, but it's okay; I understand her," you quickly replied, walking through the room and looking around with curiosity.

"Yeah, because that's why you'd be blasting Janis Joplin so loud that even a cow would be startled." You sharpened your gaze, looking at him through your lashes.

"I'm surprised you had time to notice anything with all the giggles she was getting out of you." You wanted to hit yourself; cut off your damn tongue or something.

You should have changed the subject; raised the white flag of surrender, but instead, you gave the most perceptive person on the planet material to soon draw the most accurate conclusion; that you were so jealous.

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asked, his face contorting into a confused and almost disgusted expression.

"Forget it," you snapped almost like an order.

"No; you said it. You have to explain it now."

"Spencer..." you murmured, rolling your eyes at his insistence, but you knew he wouldn't give up on this.

"No. I want to know what you mean."

"Nothing!" you grunted. "Just that you're smiling," you pointed, looking him in the eyes, feeling defeated just by saying it. "All morning you've been talking to her, and you've been happy and smiling, and...I've never seen you like this with anyone, and it's...weird," you admitted and finally downplayed it with a wave of your hand, "Forget it," you sighed, "it's not your fault."

"My fault for what?" You looked at him again.

"That a police officer who barely knows you knows better how to make you laugh than I, your best friend, do," you muttered, feeling your emotions reaching their limit and your irrational anger and jealousy starting to sting your eyes with tears. But you wouldn't cry.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his gaze suddenly a bit more relaxed, and the sparkle in his eyes indicated that he was understanding better how you felt. And then came that gesture of pity, and you refused to let him feel that way for you. "Hey..."

"Agents, do you think you've gathered enough evidence? I have officers on an extended shift who will collapse from hunger any minute now. They haven't eaten anything for hours, except for that gluten-free hummus and cookies the Gibsons offered them when they arrived," one of the officers entered the kitchen, interrupting the conversation.Thanks to the Universe.

"That's it, officer," you replied, turning off the camera and starting to walk towards the door with Spencer. Then you stopped, extending your hand and gently tapping Spencer's abdomen, halting his steps too. "Hummus and gluten-free cookies," you looked at Spencer. "Richard Collins, the first victim. Didn't his family consume fruits and vegetables without pesticides from their own greenhouse?"

It took him only a few seconds to analyze what you were saying. "And Bobby's family had a sustainable irrigation system," he recalled the first victim. "Call Penelope, something in this has to be connected."

"The results of the forensic analysis indicate a high production of Interleukin-1," Spencer spoke into the phone as you, he, and his cheerleader were already settled in the car, heading back to the station. "However, these kids had never experienced high fevers in their lives"

Their families were all anti-vaxxers. Despite leading healthy lives, and their parents being very responsible with their children's health, they hadn't taken them to their measles vaccination appointment.

"If they didn't have the vaccine, do you think the unknown wanted to simulate a measles outbreak?" Penelope asked on the other end of the call.

"It's possible; then he doesn't have access to the virus but to the medical records," Prentiss responded.

"An anti-anti-vaxxer?"

"Exactly. We could be talking about a paramedic or even an administrative worker with access to records but not to the laboratories," Derek spoke thoughtfully.

"How do you induce fever without making a child sick?" Tinker bell asked from the back seat.

"There were high levels of Cefuroxime, an antibiotic used for bronchitis or even gonorrhea. That explains the fever, but not the death," Spencer intervened.

"He needed a trigger," you murmured, trying to remember everything you've learned, but the information tangled in your mind. "There were also traces of the same measles vaccine in the children's blood sample, right? Sometimes it's contraindicated if the patient has any dermatological problems, fever, or seizures," you recalled.

"If the unsub caused the child's fever to simulate a measles attack and then applied the vaccine, it's likely that it caused the death," they heard J.J's voice "He didn't hydrated them, he didn't feed them. He just left them tobdie alone and in pain"

"It doesn't take much for such a young child to die from fever. Seizures after a vaccine are caused by fever, especially if it's not controlled. He made them boil until their bodies couldn't take it anymore," you muttered, annoyed, trying to control your urge to press the accelerator to the maximum.

"It has to be someone who can easily access medications and has some minimal experience in medicine. It doesn't take much knowledge. We're looking for someone who has an extreme opinion about anti-vaxxers. Someone who has expressed excessive anger on social media. Surely, he's proud of the murders and shares news about the topic online," Derek told Penelope over the phone.

"I'm narrowing down the search, but look; Do you know how many people cancel anti-vaxxers on social media daily? Many of them are healthcare workers."

"We're talking about a narcissistic vigilant," Rossi added. "He's between 40 and 50 years old, probably lost a child of that age relatively recently. Maybe he was very responsible with vaccinations and feels it's unfair that the children of people who consciously decide not to vaccinate them are still alive."

"That's terrible, but..." they heard Penelope typing furiously until she found the only name that blinked on the screen. "...we have Martin August. A Caucasian man, 45 years old. He works for a supply company. Coincidentally, he delivers medications to the three hospitals in the area where Bobby, Richard, and Tommy are treated."

"What about the family background?" Hotchner asked.

"You got it right. He lost his two-year-old son, Charlie, three years ago, and he was very strict. He never missed any medical appointments. I'd say the child practically lived in the hospital."

"But if he died three years ago... What triggered him?" J.J asked.

"Good question." She decided to check the civil records and found a divorce certificate. "Martin divorced his wife when his son was just one year old. The thing is, she remarried and recently had a baby."

"He must feel that she forgot about Charlie and is rebuilding her life," they heard Prentiss say.

You and Spencer looked at each other alarmed. "He's going after his ex-wife's son," you said with certainty, knowing that if the man killed Tommy, he wouldn't wait at all to go after his next victim, and you suspected that with her, he wouldn't hesitate to cause even more harm.

After an hour and a bit more, you and the team found Tommy. He was in a very dangerous condition; undoubtedly, Martin had taken it out on him, probably rehearsing everything he would do with his ex-wife's little baby. However, the doctors were positive about it, and you decided not to leave the hospital until you knew the child would be stable. J.J had stayed there, and you had promised to accompany her; you knew how tough child cases were for her. Both drove back to Washington, and you made sure Will was informed of the situation and would accompany her that night with his famoustea and a good conversation. From there, you continued alone to your apartment; Penelope had helped you find it, and it was a couple of blocks from hers. You started walking towards the reception of the building when you found Spencer sitting on one of the lobby's chairs.

You looked at him somewhat surprised; the tension of the case had dissipated all the previous events; it had been effective in making you forget that you had ever been jealous and that you had had that conversation where you practically admitted hownyou were feeling.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" you asked, leaning on one of your feet, tilting your head. "What are you doing here?"

He got up from his seat and approached you with a strange look; there was doubt on his face but determination in his gaze.

"Do you remember that strawberry punch you make?"

You raised your eyebrows. "Spencer Walter Reid wants to drink alcohol?"

"With you," he added with a half-smile. "I want to drink alcohol with you."

You stared at him; the circles under his eyes were more marked than usual. You knew he was tired; you couldn't just send him home and deny him a peace punch. You nodded your head and pointed to the elevator, greeting the building manager just before the doors closed.

Spencer stood still beside you; you could feel his warmth colliding with your body. It was crazy and sent confusing signals through your spine.

"When Officer Williams praised me, it made me feel good," he murmured. "Not everyone has the patience to hear everything I have to say all the time," he added, watching the numbers indicating the levels of the building move up on the screen.

"I listen to you always, J.J listens to you always, Prentiss does, so Penelope and Rossi. Derek and Hotchner sort of listen to you all the time," you reminded him.

He nodded, stretching his lips into a thin line, still not making eye contact with you.

"I know."

"Not like that, though," you added. "We don't flirt with you."

You saw his cheeks blush, and then you knew you had hit the mark.

"I think we all have an ego to feed, right?" he murmured. "You were right, but you're also wrong," he finally looked you in the eyes, this time not breaking eye contact for a second. "Yes, I smiled with the things she said, they made me happy. But you... I don't need you to do or say anything; I am happy because of you. I don't smile with you; I do it because of you."

Of course, hearing him say that sent a warm signal through your body; it was as if suddenly you were wrapped in a satin blanket, and your feet didn't hurt, and thatpast case didn't happen. You never went to Maryland and now you are floating. And despite how good it felt, you knew you shouldn't get used to it.

"Spencer, you don't have to..."

"No. I know I don't say it often because saying it out of nowhere and without context would sound strange, but it's the truth; I don't need words, or places, or anything to be happy when I'm with you. I could be vegetating by your side, and I would be the happiest man alive" he admitted this time, looking at you with such intensity, and his words being so real that they touched the most sensitive and hidden nerve in your depth.

Your eyes stung, but you knew you wouldn't cry. Instead, bravely, you stretched your hand towards Spencer, and he took yours with confidence.

"I don't need anything else either, Spence."

And like a stroke of magic, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. The moment had started and ended in the same location, but just like the elevator had done, you knew that conversation had left you in a different place, yet you didn't feel strange. In fact, you couldn't wait to explore it.

Part 5 and 6

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x bestfriend! reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid bestfriend blurb #spencer reid x jealous! reader #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #derek morgan #david rossi

[brainrotdotorg]

The skills ranked by how nice they would be to cuddle

Logic: does not know how to un-tense even a little bit. His lack of physical stability makes him difficult to put any of your body weight onto. 2/10.

Encyclopedia: will probably read you something or just read out loud for his own enjoyment while you hold him. So his hands are gonna be occupied by holding the book— but he will always lean his head on yours if you put it on his shoulder, and that’s nice. His palms are a bit clammy anyway. 7/10.

Drama: I feel like he takes all the sheets for himself. And he can tell if you aren’t comfortable, and he’s gonna take it personally. Physically, his texture is lumpy but not unpleasant. 4.9/10

Rhetoric:will talk the whole time. If you listen to one sided political debates as ASMR, this may be a comfortable experience for you. Otherwise, I’m sorry he’s taking up a solid 89% of the bed. 3.4/10

Conceptualization: tries to get creative with it. Who gives a shit about spooning. Let’s invent “the tongs”. Definitely not boring to snuggle up with! 6.7/10 sometimes you don’t need to get experimental with it.

Visual calculus: knows exactly how to make the geometry of your bodies fit together in order to maximize comfort. The light coming off of him can lower down to an ambient dim. Very kissable lips that will give you a gentle smooch goodnight. Look, his eyes are half closed anyway, he wants to relax. Probably actually the best choice! 10/10.

Volition: matter of fact about it. Will stroke your hair until you fall asleep and is very valiant in making you cozy. However the moment you do start sleeping he slips away. 7.5/10 for cuddle experience itself but minus points for leaving : (

Inland empire: the starry bits can be fun to watch like one of those projector lights. Very skinny so not a lot to hold onto. Their heads weird shape means that you’ll have to get interesting with pillow formations but I think it’s worth the effort. 8/10

Empathy: knows exactly how you’re feeling but they feel obligated to listen to your innermost thoughts and opinions that really don’t matter that much, but they insist they want you to be SO comfortable. Dude, I don’t mind that you have sweaty hands. Keep them wrapped around me. 8.7/10

Esprit de corps: officer we’ve got a code 113, snuggle emergency, let me get up in your body gap and wear you like a blanket thank youuuu 9/10

Authority: he has to be big spoon or death. Does not give you the option to get up and turn the light off. No. Stay here and don’t you dare move. 5.2/10 it’s nice that he at least cares.

Suggestion: sure you can snuggle, but he convinces you to be in the position that he really wants to be in. The twisty bits are configured weird and when you figure out how to make it comfy you will not be able to adjust. 4/10

Endurance: will never be the first to get up. Almost turns it into a competition— look man, I’d love to lay with you all day, but I’ve got things to do. Super wide so he can be slept on like a bed though 6.1/10

Pain threshold: OW THERE ARE FUCKING SPIKES!!! Girl I love you but 0/10

Physical Instrument: too much of a jock to display any real tenderness. Holds you like he’s trying to suplex you horizontally. 5.2/10 for the muscle but he’s flexing the whole time.

Electro chemistry: how does it feel to be hugged by a dozen horny pythons? 9/10 if you’re looking to cuddlefuck 3.7/10 if not

Shivers: probably will not be able to fit on your futon. ??/10

Half light: if you can ignore the claws you won’t be able to ignore the teeth. Kicks and thrashes in her sleep. You can feel her heartbeat and it’s really fast. 4.2/10.

Hand/eye coordination: gives you a head rub and a back rub and a shoulder massage and a belly rub and . 9/10

Perception: will absolutely remark on ever sensation coming from you that she is experiencing. I’m glad I smell nice and I feel good and you can hear my breathing. She is also if a smoke machine was a person. 7/10

Reaction speed: speed is not an important component of cuddling. Can’t stop shifting around. Impossible to get comfortable with someone who wants to change positions every two minutes. If the remote falls off the couch, she will catch it. 2.8/10

Savoir Faire: six arms to hold you but he’s not gonna stop talking about his hustler bullshit. No head does make for some innovative cuddling positions though. 5.3/10

Interfacing: he would rather be holding a machine. If you wear anything with buttons or loose threads he’s gonna pull at them. He’s also for sure gonna talk about how ballpoint pens work. Maybe put on some how it’s made to watch in order to keep him entertained. 6.3/10

Composure: take composure’s portrait. Now turn it 90 degrees. That’s how composure cuddles. 1/10

#disco elysium #the skills #the furies

[miguelswifey04]

mentally gone... (miguel o'hara x gender neutral! reader)

in which y/n suffers a brain injury, in a coma, and miguel loses his one and only.

WARNING: angst, suffering, trauma, near death experience (?)

part 2, part 1

miguel felt something break inside of him. he heard something shatter. maybe it was the sound of his heart breaking into millions of pieces he just didn’t know what to do. he just lost someone so important to him again. this can’t be. no not this again…

“no, no, NO!” he yelled out, “this can’t be…you mean to tell me they lost their memories?!” he didn’t know what to do but just stare at the doctor. he did not want to believe anything he just heard from the doctor saying you had amnesia. he did know you hit your head hard onto the ground but he just did not want to consider that possibility at all. he wanted all of this to be a wicked nightmare. oh god, he just wanted it to just be a nightmare. ‘please be a nightmare’ miguel begged to his brain…but he had to face the reality of it all. it was indeed not a nightmare.

miguel began to cry as he walked by your side. you looked at him as you furrowed your brows as you were so confused at the fact a stranger was crying over you. you didn’t know what to do but wince at the headache that you had as you held your head in your hands feeling the fabric of the bandages that were wrapped around you head. you looked up at him again and started to feel somewhat bad for him. he was distraught and a mess. miguel came closer to you as he fell down onto his knees besides your hospital bed and became to apologize profusely in between sobs.

“i—i’m so so s-orry, this is all my fault,” he held his face in his hands still on the edge of you bed. you were stunned to say the least and felt various emotions clash with one another in your heart. this was all too much for you, and you didn’t even recognize the poor man who was crying over you. you wanted to say something anything to get this man to stop crying.

you cautiously reached out to him as you put your hand on his shoulder. he immediately looked up to you as he shakily wiped his tears as his chest rose up and down viciously. you could tell he was shaking so badly. you felt bad. “i’m trying my hardest to remember but i can’t it hurts to try to recall any of my memories.” that’s all you’ve managed to say and his face fell to one of the horrors you would see in a horror movie. he was mortified towards the fact that you may never ever recognize him ever again or even if you did you probably wouldn’t feel the same way you once did for him ever again.

“please, it’s okay y/n…i’ll do my best for you to remember me again.” miguel said his voice quaking as he pleaded. he was looking for any signs that may indicate that you might remember quite literally anything but none were evident. a few more tears began to cascade down his chiseled face as he sniffled. he had dried tear stains on his face from his previous tears but all of that was washed clean with new ones. he reached out to grab a hand from you but you slightly flinched from his touch so he gently retrieved it back.

you stood there silent. you were confused and conflicted with a man who was promising you to make you remember. a man who was devoted to make you somewhat bring back your memories that have been blocked for who knows how long. how are you supposed to trust a man who you don’t even know? do you just take his word for it or deny him? “i just don’t know.” you muttered under your breath.

miguel was clinging on the last threads of hope. his stomach churned at your words and god did they stab him deep in the heart. he wanted to just hold you so tightly but he didn’t because he did not want to overstep your boundaries because after all you weren’t the same person he once fell in love with. you were a whole new person. miguel knew he needed to respect that as much as he did not want to accept it.

he took shallow deep breaths as he stood up on his own feet. most of the air he breathed did not fill his lungs properly. he would clench and unclench his fists as a way to sooth his internal aching. “i understand how you feel but please i’ll make you remember us. we had it all…god i’m such a fucking fool for never telling you that i loved you…”

“you loved me?”

“yes. yes i did and i still do. i’ll do anything i can to make you fall back in love with me.”

“i—i don’t know.” you knew he had to give it up now but you did not know that miguel was the type of person to never give up. he knew this time he had to try his very best to bring back the person he once loved. he did not care if it would take him years to make you fall for him. he just didn’t care because what he was not going to do was give up. at the very least you were alive but you weren’t the person miguel knew. you seemed unbothered and confused and in a way lifeless even though your soul was still intact. in a sense a part of you did die when you were knocked unconscious and fell off a building.

miguel left your room and gave you one last glance through the window of your hospital room and disappeared. you felt a twinge of sadness in your heart as you felt alone in your hospital room that was filled by beeps of the machines and the sound of the IV dropping from the bag. you didn’t understand why you felt that way but you did, but you brushed off that feeling as you looked up at the ceiling trying to remember. nothing came to mind.

miguel was consumed by his loneliness and that loneliness turned into angry outbursts. everyone noticed the slight change in miguel’s mannerisms and random emotional outbursts. he was a broken man just trying to make sense of it all while the responsibility of the multiverse were at his shoulders. jess and peter, even gwen and hobie tried to stir clear of his wrath. everyone was quite afraid to make him angry but you did not know that. you did not know anything that was going on. you were kept in the dark even though people would visit you.

this was a battle that you and miguel were facing alone. who will overcome their battles and who will lose?

…

a/n: let me know if you want me to continue this <3

@omartheuwu @arianyo

#spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #spider person #atsv x reader #spidersona #ao3 works #angst prompt #heavy angst #🌱 lin writes

[galaxycunt]

I Can’t Keep Crying pt 6

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Andddd it’s done! I might play around with this story some more but thank you all who have left comments and likes and just read it in silence ily ur so awesome send in the clowns

When you were probably way too young, and before she died, your mother wanted you to marry someone who could make you comfortable. She married for love, and all that got her was a husband away at sea for months at a time only to be killed by pirates. The boy down the street was studying to be a doctor, you felt her funeral needed to proceed a wedding. You would feel guilty otherwise.

When that got too hard, you set sail with a Marine, an officer even. You convinced him to let you on his ship, who left you to pirates when you were raided. You flirted with death more than lovers after that one, hopping around crews, never feeling comfortable.

When you met Buggy, it was an inn like the one you were in now, you heard about him though he didn’t impress you much. The get up was ridiculous, the nose too off putting to take seriously. He had some goons with him, taking up space at the bar. He wasn’t flirting with you, but with another woman. A woman who left the door open after making her exit.

Slipping in his room was easy, stealing enough berries to find passage with another ship. You felt this town was getting old, an adventure waiting somewhere else for you. You should have known your heist was too easy, a buggy ball knocking you out soon after.

”No one steals from Buggy The Clown.”

That was so long ago, being with him was the longest time you served under anyone. Not even your marriages lasted this long. You weren’t sure how to feel about it now. Buggy could probably charm your mother, she would pray for any child to take your features instead.

You were in love with the pirate captain currently beside you, after being inside you. God, you really loved him. Buggy gazed into your eyes like he could find the meaning of life in them. You could tell he hardly believed you were there, let alone that you loved him.

”Remember when we met?”

He smiled, “how could I forget? Not every day someone robs me.”

”Why did you let me live? Or join?”

He blushed, “I fall in love easily, what can I say? I don’t do slow and subtle.”

”You really don’t.”

You remembered the wound he gave you before you threw his money back at him. You knew when to fight and when to scrape by to live another day. Pirates liked a girl who was desperate enough to keep breathing.

“Security detail, you’re such a funny bullshitter.”

”Geez, sorry I didn’t want my future boyfriend chopping my head off.”

”Wait, really?”

You grin sheepishly, “well, no I wasn’t thinking that at the time.”

”Oh, when did you?”

”Like a couple of weeks before we fucked. At least what I was hoping for, you big flirt.”

He traced circles in your skin, finger roaming around your waist and hip. You hoped you didn’t upset him, that crush was bound to happen anyway. Falling for Buggy was inevitable.

“I mean, I always thought you were cute. You’re my boss, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Authority is hot and all that shit.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, you think back to the other men in you life, did they kiss you like this?

No, they didn’t. Not like this, Buggy was all in. No holding back.

“Remember when you saved me during the storm?”

You didn’t know about the devil fruit, not until a week or so into sailing with him. Buggy was always an excellent sailor, managing the sails with grace amongst the chaos. Showing the decades of experience, as easy as breathing. Until a wave hit him, causing him to tumble off the rope ladder he was on.

You were the first one to grab him, his body going limp. You stayed with him as you dragged him off to his cabin, unsure of what else to do. Drying him off, only for him to spring back into action like nothing happened. A wink and a blown kiss as he ran off to help his crew.

“That’s when I fell for you,” he whispered.

“Really? That soon?”

He shrugged, “when you know, you know.”

You felt like an asshole, the way you been unknowingly playing with his feelings. You hoped he didn’t hold it against you, and yet you wanted to just know it all. You were probably a little selfish that way.

”Did you mean it? That you’d say yes?” his voice faltered, filled with anxiety.

Your hands felt clammy, “yeah. You gotta do it right though, surprise me.”

He smiled, “I’m gonna dazzle your pants off.”

You smacked him playfully, “oh shut up.”

”You’re marrying this, so you can’t be that mad at me!”

”I ain’t marrying you yet.”

”But you will.”

”I will.”

His face fell into an easy smile, enveloping you in his arms. You had to let it happen, he wasn’t going to hurt you. You had to believe that.

You kissed his eyes, cheeks, lips, neck. Over and over, your body tingling with desire. Your mind turned over moments in your past; like when Buggy first taught you to throw knives, when he turned red as a tomato the first time you measured his body, the little pranks he pulled on you using his powers. You loved him in so many different ways.

”It was when you gave that kid some money.”

”What?”

”You did it once, we were in some village, it took me by surprise. No offense, you’re pretty greedy.”

He laughed, “I’m not that bad am I?”

“No, but it was just interesting. Different.”

He hummed in thought, and you wondered if you said the wrong thing. He kissed your knuckles, easing your worried face.

“I been married before. Two times.”

”That’s okay.”

You nodded, “let’s wait. Until the Grand Line. Find a nice quiet island.”

”Let me worry about all that, okay?”

”Yeah.”

Buggy looked at you with a fire in his eyes, scheming and plotting. It excited you, you were really doing this. Third times the charm right? And why the hell not? You did the legit route, a doctor, an officer, and a pirate. A captain even.

It was the stuff of trashy romance novels, a swashbuckling scoundrel who only had a soft side for you. That was Buggy alright, flashy and larger than life. You had one more question, deciding in your head which possible answer you’d like better.

”Where’d you get the ring?”

He laughed, “some bozo took it off his wife and threw it at me, remember that fancy schmancy ship with the gold stairs?”

That was a good haul, you still had the ruby encrusted ashtray. You did like this answer, after all. Why put on airs?

“It really does suit my style, she had taste. Well, for the most part.”

You let the wedding talk go, going back to talking about nothing. Things the ship needs, clothes you wanted to buy. You felt silly, when you thought about the lead up to this moment. You both could’ve been here a long time ago, but maybe that was a good thing.

You weathered the storm, coming out the other side stronger than ever. Buggy was your lifeline, your safe harbor. He was truly, the man of your dreams.

#buggy the clown #one piece #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy one piece

[alexistalkingsstuff]

Everybody Wants To Rule The World- Tears for fears.

Today I will be relating this song to six of crows.

"Most for freedom" - this part being about Inej because she wants to have freedom more than anything. Matthias because during soc he just basically wants to get the fuck out of there and be a Druskelle again (obviously his motives change throughout the books) Wylan who wants to run away from his father. Nina to 1. Break Matthias out of hellgate. 2. To go back to Ravka. Jesper to be free of debt and guilt.

"And of pleasure." Kaz is a money whore.

"Nothing ever lasts forever," - chapter 40. They were all supposed to make it. But as much as they all wanted to believe they are not invincible.

" Everybody wants to rule the world." - In Ketterdam a lot of the time people's main motivation is power. Jan Van Eck wants to maintain his wealthy lifestyle while using a drug that basically kills Grisha and is almost like torture but he doesn't give a fuck about the people he hurts because he wants to be richer and why would he care about people's lives when the cause of their death, jurda parem, is mostly benefiting him. Pekka Rollins wanting to be the boss of the barrel even if that means preying on innocent children and their naivety.

"There's a room where the light won't find you,

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down,"- This part being about how loyal the crows are to each other and how they each find love within this group both types too. They find platonic love with the fact they all have a strong bond. They also find romantic love within their pairings. (Kanej, Helnik and Wesper.) This part could also be about the ending in which Kaz and Inej hold hands without armour and the "walls tumbling down" are the walls Kaz has put up to protect not only himself but Inej too. But he ends up breaking down those walls just for her as she holds his hand through it. (Literally and metaphorically.)

"When they do I'll be right behind you," -Again the loyalty within the group.

"So glad we've almost made it," - They didn't all make it however the ones who did are glad they did so they can experience life past this point.

"So sad they had to fade it,"- This might be just me but I feel like the crows won't be known as legends like Alina Starkov. Of course Inej will be known for her work of hunting slavers and being the total badass she is. And Wylan known for being a member of the merchant council. Jesper is reading assistant and partner and helping run the Van Eck business. Nina as a Grisha soldier (I haven't finished reading RoW yet so I don't fully know Nina's ending yet). Kaz of course is famous as dirtyhands and bastard of the barrel running a criminal empire. And Matthias will sadly be known as a traitor to the Druskelle. But they won't be known as "The Crows" the ones who broke into the ice court at least not by the public. And the fact that they were criminals and also a lot of them were considered "barrel rats" probably doesn't help because history is always written by powerful people and they would be able to twist the story however they like. Idk this might just be by personal opinion on the legacy of the crows.

#leigh bardugo #no mourners no funerals #six of crows #the grisha trilogy #amita suman #grishaverse #sab #kaz brekker #matthias helvar #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wesper #helnik #kanej #lyrics #inej ghafa #nina zenik

[bluebunnyears-08]

How Prime Has The Potential To Be A Great Psychological/Lovecraft Horror

I know, I know, all of you are probably looking at this thinking I lost my mind.

But let me explain and show you how it could be a horrifying experience.

First, all of you are probably commenting on how Sonic is a family friendly franchise, but that doesn't necessarily mean EVERY media of Sonic SHOULD be this way. There are some family friendly franchises with mature and more serious spin-offs or adaptations.

So Prime can be a good start to deviating from it's other media's. But I'll get to that later, I should probably explain how it can be, and in a way is, a psychological and Lovecraft horror, more than just another cartoon. At least to me.

1. (Psychological) Exploring The Character's Emotional Trauma and Internal Conflicts Is a Different Approach to Most Sonic Medias

While most Sonic media's focus on action and saving the day, Prime takes a different approach. Instead of just being action and "Sonic saving the day", Sonic completely breaks his home, unintentionally shattering everything, including his friends. Shadow is also inadvertently dragged along, using a Chaos Emerald to save himself from the blast, but ending up trapped in the void.

If the variants being shards of the main characters is true, then Prime is working to deconstruct the characters, but some variants caught my eyes. There's Rusty, a robotized Amy, which sure, that's cool, but remember Amy's first known introduction in the Sonic CD? I only remember some parts, but wasn't Amy kidnapped by metal Sonic to be robotized or something? Another obvious variant is Nine, who was basically abused for being different, only this time Sonic wasn't there to help him? And Dread, a greedy Knuckles, kinda reminding me of how Knuckles was tricked by Eggman so the Doc could steal the master emerald?

Something just seems a bit more about these variants.

1. (Lovecraft) The Variants Situation if The Shard Theory Is True

If the Shard theory is true, then the variants existence is a nightmare.

Imagine having flesh and bone, imagine having thoughts of your own, imagine having a backstory of your own; only for it to be revealed that everything, your body, your thoughts, your experiences; your existence, to be a mistake. You weren't supposed to exist, and if the putting it back together = Shattered Space disappears is true, then you're doomed to die.

Doomed be mashed together with other shards, to be pieced together into someone you don't know, and will never meet. Your very existence is a lie, something that needs to be fixed with your death.

Yeah...not a pretty picture, is it?

2. (Psychological) Sonic's Emotional Turmoil

Sonic suffers a lot in this show. No, I don't mean the physical pain, that's a gag, I'm referring to the emotional suffering, which is very much there.

Sonic is horrified by these events; breaking his home, shattering everyone he loved and cared for, having to experience hatred, scorn, and hostility from those who look so much like his friends; from people who don't recognize him, and having to witness or hear about his friends suffering, being unable to really do anything about it without being met with apprehension.

He's clearly not enjoying any of this, or having any fun, at all.

2. (Lovecraft) The Paradox Prism Is Unsettling Itself

What is the Prism?

We know it's powerful as hell, being able to rip apart reality, and possibly time, and is capable of creating new spaces. But what else is it capable of? Where did it come from? Why is it here beneath the Green Hills Bedrock?

Whatever it is, it's the one in control after Sonic breaks it, ripping apart the world, throwing Sonic through dimensions, trapping Shadow in the void, and even responding to certain contacts.

It's glow almost seems like it calling, beckoning for someone to find it, to use it, to break it.

3. (Psychological) Shadow In The Void

How is Shadow doing in this void?

All memes aside, it's clear he isn't taking everything so well. As when he first makes contact with Sonic, he sounds despondent and absolutely devastated, stating: "It's broken! It's all broken!". His voice is slightly shaky when he does so too. But in his final contact with Sonic, is him furious and violent.

From his first contact to his last furious one, Shadow's mental state isn't exactly stable. Being stuck in the void doesn't help anything either. Some development happened to Shadow off screen, one I really hope we'll see.

Yeah, Shadow is not having a great time either. But development can never be fast, it takes time, which brings my next theory in mind below.

3. (Lovecraft) The Void

Ending up in the void is something I'd choose death over. Mainly because, when thinking about it, it's something nobody would wish on their worst enemy. Which makes Shadow being there so much harsher.

The void is an empty space, nothing but shards surrounding you, you're alone, with nobody to talk to. You're alone with your thoughts. But the scariest thing would be how long it must seem.

From what we've seen so far, time runs differently in the Shattered Space, the void can't be any different. It could've been years to Shadow, but time doesn't seem to run in the void, only in the Shattered Spaces. If anything time seems to pause, or just stop working in the void. It doesn't exist there.

Shadow definitely isn't having fun, especially when you consider his alliance with Rouge and Omega, and even worse, his promise to Maria to keep the world safe.

4. (Psychological) Nine Being A Part Of Tails Says Something About All Of Us

One of the things talked about a lot is how Nine, if the shard theory is true, was a part of Tails to begin with. This bitter, jaded, violent, desperate, traumatized, in pain child was a part of the happy, jolly fox we all know and love.

But, if the theory is true, Nine having been a part of Tails all along speaks about how there's a hidden side in all of us. All of that bitterness, cruelty, selfishness, trauma, denial, desperateness, and love/touch starved hope is in all of us. But we try to deny, to hide, to avoid acknowledging it, which only makes it never go away, or makes it worse.

It isn't just Tails that denies it though, which is a whole other thing of itself...

4. (Lovecraft) They Can't Be By Each Other's Side, Both Are Doomed To Be Alone In Some Way

One of the saddest truths about Prime is that Nine and Sonic can't be by each other's side, they can't be there for each other: no matter how much they don't want to be, they have to be alone. Sonic is from a universe that's now destroyed, thrust into the remains of his actions face-first, he can't connect with these variants of his friends, and is emotionally alone.

Nine is just a part of the universe Sonic can't stay in, so there's no chance of them ever staying by each other's side, he's alone in both ways.

The universe, the shards won't allow it, thrusting Sonic from Nine via shard or by Sonic himself. Not to mention the inevitable fate that Nine has to face along with his fellow variants.

Their entire relationship is a world of inevitable pain.

5. (Psychological) The Dark Matter, Symbolism, And Complex Themes Of Prime

There's no denying it, at its core, with the sprinkled moments of unease and signs of deeper depths in the first batch, so far Prime's setting up a dark story, one filled with harsh tragedy. Pretty much every character suffers and is going to suffer even more in the second batch, the aspects of Sonic that save the day, Friendship and Hope is actually deconstructed in this show, showing how friendship can become a means of escapism and can't really save the day, and how hope can instead damage someone to denial.

Sonic is without his friends here and the friends he made out of the variants is going to be shattered once they find out the truth, so friendship can't be used, and his hopes to fix the world are...almost desperate, like he doesn't want to acknowledge that maybe it can't be fixed.

Another thing is that Prime actually has a lot of symbolism hidden in it. The Grim being a literal landscape of escapism, Nine's nine tails, the variants themselves being representations of different traits, the palm tree being a symbol of desperate hope, and more.

The final thing is the early complex themes in the show.

The inevitable fact that the variants has to die to restore the world is a very grim one, but it shows how painfully insignificant and meaningless they are in the grand scheme of things. They’re just shards that need to come together. That’s the universe for ya.

The use of "Man vs. Self" in this show instead of having Sonic just save the day and defeat bad guys

The exploration that there's a dark, sad, traumatized part in all of us

The need for balance in everything

The exploration of desire vs need, and most importantly:

Selfishness vs selflessness.

5. (Lovecraft) The Grim Is A Lovecraftian Horror Of Itself

The Grim is hauntingly beautiful. The sky is every color of blue, filled with stars, the ground is orange and endless, and silver crystals jut out of it, some partly buried.

Look at how small and insignificant Nine and Sonic looks here, how vast the Grim is that you can't see where it ends. It's truly an unsettling wonder. It looks unsettling and it is unsettling, not at all an ideal place to live in.

There are no trees, no water, no signs of any life. Nothing. You're alone, surrounded by absolutely nothing. The only thing there is you and your imagination.

Why isn't there any variants here? Why is it so empty? Why doesn't it end?

There's no answer except your own thoughts, speaking much louder now that there's nothing to distract you from them. You're alone, an insignificant speck in a vast world of beauty and isolation.

Paranoia would kick in, you'd think you heard something, but there's nothing there.

That's what the Grim is, it's nothing but you, there's nobody here, there's nothing here, this place never ends, it's the physical representation of isolation, of perfect escapism.

And that couldn’t be more terrifying…

#sonic prime #sonic the hedgehog #nine the fox #miles nine prower #dark #more sonic prime! #nine needs a hug #sonic needs a hug #everyone needs a hug #sonic prime analysis #horror #very long post #but worth it

[bungoubongoboys]

Thoughts after BSD Season 5

(spoilers ahead)

1. Fyodor is alive

Fyodor has been one of the driving villains and I don’t believe that even his defeat at Meursault is the end of him, especially since all we see is his arm. Further, Sigma was able to touch him and live.

While Sigma is currently unconscious, due to having taken all of the knowledge in Fyodor’s mind into his own, there are several possible ways for him to return. This includes him being able to process through all of the information due to having so little life experience (only three years of memories), and possibly receiving help from Ango and/or Chief Taneda with their own information based abilities.

Back to Fyodor. We still, after all this time, do not know his ability. But now Sigma does—assuming he can wake up. Which means the moment is perfect for a big reveal of Fyodor’s true ability. Would it truly make sense to set up such a big reveal for an already-dead character?

Lastly, Asagiri very rarely kills off significant characters (at least not permanently). So I really doubt we’ve seen the last of Fyodor.

2. New Agency Members and Allies

Ok, so this is exciting! I think there are gonna be a looootttt of new Agency members very very soon (in the aftermath of…the aftermath?). Namely Lucy (officially) and Sigma, but tangentially Aya and Bram (they may or may not be “official” ADA members, but will be closely related). Fitzgerald probably won’t ever officially join the ADA, but he will have established himself more closely as an ally for them. Similarly, the remaining Hunting Dogs will remain distinct from the agency, but I doubt they’ll just disappear after their significance in this last arc.

3. Unresolved aspects

Most things were (seemingly) wrapped up really well with season five/vol 24. And yet…

- Fyodor’s body wasn’t seen (I won’t accept he’s dead until it’s cut into pieces and ritually slated and burned)

- The immediate aftermath of Fukuchi’s death and Bram’s restoration is fully unknown (before the ‘2 hours later’ bit); what happens to the vampires? To the page? To the One Order?

- Fukuzawa’s grief and the aftermath of it, both for him personally and for the agency

- The page—was it fully used? If so, is it powerless now? What happened to it?

- Full “resolution” of the arc, bringing everyone back together

- Did Chuuya get the vampire teeth off?

…

- What the fUCK was that “2 hours later” scene?????????

4. The “two hours later” and other personal theories

**Disclaimer that everything after this point is my own personal theories

- The two hours later scene was absolutely wild, and I don’t have too many theories yet, but it seems most likely that the page (or a page of the book) was used to alter reality yet again, potentially creating an AU? Idk but those outfits are insane and I love them

- The time between Dazai’s “death” and his appearance to Fyodor—Chuuya absolutely was concerned about Dazai and helped (at least partially) carry him to the landing for Fyodor; the idiot insisted on walking by himself to not appear weak in front of Fyodor, but before that? He absolutely was leaning hard on Chuuya (and after too)

- Sigma and Atsushi—so, it’s easy to lose track of in the many twists of Bungou, but the overall story is still moving towards finding the book, in its entirety, rather than just a singular page.

Back in Season 2, Fitzgerald was told by Fyodor that Atsushi was key in finding the book. This still hasn’t been fully explained. Now, many have noticed the similarities between Sigma and Atsushi. In particular—their unique, two-toned eyes. Additionally, Atsushi lacks much background in the same way as Sigma—we know very little about him before the orphanage, or even how he came to the orphanage.

The only pre-orphanage event we know of is from Dead Apple, where Atsushi is shown to have been experimented on by Fyodor and Shibusawa (before killing Shibusawa). But where was he before that? How did they get him? Well…if Fyodor had one page…

I think Atsushi himself, like Sigma, was written out of the Book. Created to play a role he had no idea about from the start. And why is he key to finding the book? Because Atsushi himself is a product of it. He is fundamentally connected to it in a way no one else is (until Sigma).

This also contributes to my theory that Fyodor is not truly dead. He has his own motives, apart from the Decay of Angels, and would use the book for his own purposes (to effectively become unstoppable, though he’d enjoy any attempts to fight against him). He’s nowhere near finished yet.

Anyways this was way too long but AHHHHH waiting till February for the next Manga chapter is going to kill me

#bsd manga #bsd anime #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #osamu dazai #bsd chuuya #bungo stray dogs #chuuya nakahara #bsd #bungou gay dogs #bungo stray dogs manga #bungou sd #bungo sd #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd spoilers #bsd fyodor #bsd season 5 #bsd sigma #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi

[suchalonelysunflower]

Happier Than Ever (Stay) (A.I)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Fem!Singer! Reader

Summary: Based on the songs Happier than Ever by Billie Eilish and Stay by Post Malone. pt 2 of YOYOK. You go back to L.A and old friends open old wounds

Warnings: ANGST. This is very, very based on my own experience so this is my therapy session with you guys, sorry. Mentions of abuse, death, melancholia, psychological abuse, sad times, curse words. And grammar errors (I didn't even check twice, I'm sorry)

Word Count: 8.7 k

Author's Note: Hey, I'm back because I've missed you and I needed to get this fit out of my chest and survive it. Please, if you like it reblog it and comment, I love to know your thoughts. SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS THAT WE'RE GETTING FEWER AND FEWER HERE. Thank you. Hope you like it and happy reading

YOYOK / Masterlist

“Hey,… I know it’s been a long time since we last saw each other. I’ve heard the new album is coming along great, I’m so happy for you. You… You seem happy, or at least that’s what I can see on social media. I just- I heard you were coming back home- I mean, L.A for some time and well, I was wondering if we could catch up? If you don’t have a place to stay maybe you could crash into mine, like the old times. But you probably already… Anyhow, just call me or text me if you want to. I would really love to-”

When I'm away from you, I'm happier than ever Wish I could explain it better I wish it wasn't true

You love the feeling of being above the clouds. So close to the sky that you marveled on the technological advances that allowed you to feel free.

“Mom, look!” You thought “I’m in the clouds, so high above. Is this the feeling you were always dreaming about?”

A pang of nostalgia stabbed your heart, wishing your mom could be there with you experiencing all of this. But she was back at home, safe and sound on the surface. You knew it was for the best, that you could miss her a little bit more before your heart begged you to go and visit, even when your mind knew better than to believe those rose colored glasses of memory.

Was it the feeling of familiarity that made you feel safe even when it hurt? Maybe. Still, you wish you could’ve shown the world to her, give her everything on a silver platter and say “Mom, I did it. I can take care of you now”

What would she say?

You know she’s proud and she’s thankful for everything you’ve done for her. Still, it doesn’t feel like enough. Her eyes just won’t shine the same way; her smile would change; and the hug won’t ever feel as comforting as you’d expected. Your heart would tell you that she loves you, but your mind would always go back to those moments where you doubted it could ever be unconditional. So you’ve learned to miss her a little bit longer each time. Longer until you learn to miss her for the rest of your life.

It was not a foreign feeling, but it was one that you learned to feel and apply to your life. With time you’ve known the patterns, you’ve learned to grow and let go because that’s not the energy you need to spend even a bit of your mind over. You could miss the happy moments but know that they don’t fit anywhere with the person you want to be most. For your own good, you needed to learn how to let go.

The path was not easy - having to teach your heart not to bleed itself dry for the memory of past times. All the tears and the hurt, it was all part of healing what other people broke. So, the beauty of the cracks made you see just how worthy you are. Even if sometimes the water leaks and your mind starts a whirlwind of doubt, you would never come back to the person you used to be when the people that you loved most didn’t love you as you deserved.

Since then, you found yourself thriving. Not only in your career as a musician, with your lyrics that resonated with a lot of people and even made you gain a considerable number of new fans; but, also with yourself. You started loving more freely, more authentically. you saw yourself in a better light and wished people from your past could see just how much better you are without them. Not to be mean or to gloat, but for them to know that you didn’t cave, that life was meant to be lived and you will be doing just that even if they’re not part of it anymore. You wanted them to be happy for you, just as happy as you are for them.

Still, it scared you to go back to L.A, a place that has seen you at your worst and was the cause of your declining mental health. Even if it was for a short period of time, you knew you couldn’t stay there. Your place, the place that you belong was somewhere across the sea; far from anything and anyone that could make you feel like you once did. Like you didn’t matter.

Yet, no process of healing is ever complete until the cycle of hurt is broken. There were some things in your chest that begged for you to say them. Now it was time to let them out. And, if you were honest, a tiny bit of curiosity tied itself to that feeling. There were just too many unanswered questions still left hanging in thin air. The problem was that you didn’t know if you’d like the answers.

“Hey, Y/N” Your agent called your attention as she sat next to you “I need to confirm the last dates for your airbnb, are you sure you want to shorten your stay?”

You smiled softly at her “Yeah, I will be staying with some friends after”

“Okay, but are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. There’s a lot of things we need to catch up”

Every time we make-up, the truth is fading' Everybody's blind when the view's amazing'

It was weird to feel foreign in a place that helped shape you into the person you are now. But, then again, L.A never felt like home. Australia didn’t either, even though that’s what you’ve been saying in all the interviews when they asked what’d you miss more from home. “My family, the sweets, my friends, the sun…” But the sun did shine in other places; your family, you realized, never made any difference; the sweets could be ordered online; and your friends… Your friends changed. In the end, home never felt like home because you could create it everywhere you’d go.

There just places you’ve been. Home is something else, something you haven’t found yet.

Still, if you had to admit something is that the sun in L.A shines differently than in other places. It always seemed like you were entering a strange dimension, always playing “Something about the sunshine” on loop inside your mind.

You’ve been there a month and so. Enough time to have meetings and writing retreats that lasted a weekend. You’ve been to social required events, just as you do every couple of months to show your agency that you do know just how lucky you are. You’ve been to concerts, gave concerts, left concerts early to go and drink some wine curled up with a book in your bathtub in the hotel room. A small holiday mixed with a little bit of work, you’d say.

But you were leaving in a week, and there are still some things left on the schedule.

You sighed as you grabbed your bag from the sidewalk. The driver was kind enough to offer his assistance, but you would much rather face this by yourself first. During the drive you’ve imagined what it would feel like. Seeing him again. You wondered if your heart was beating faster than usual because of excitement or anxiety. In all honesty you didn’t know what to expect or even if you should be expecting something out of this experience.

Yet, you made up your mind to try and heal this. Get the answers that you longed for and be able to move on completely free. So, once the car drove away, you walked up to the door you’ve only seen in pictures before, and rang the bell.

For a moment you wondered if he remembered. Hoping that, in the end, his proposal of having you as his guest wasn’t just a passing comment he made. After all, you didn’t know when you’ll be back in the city or if your schedule would ever be as free in L.A as it is now. And even if he forgot and didn’t expect you, well, you can’t say you’d be surprised. Thank goodness for back-up plans.

“Coming!” You heard moments before the door opened, barely giving you time to prepare.

There he was. His hair was longer, somewhat a few tones lighter than the last time you saw him. His eyes took a couple of blinks to recognize you, changing the gleam in that hazel color you used to share so many secrets with. He smiled at you, the ghost of a laugh hidden in the dimples you used to poke at lunchtime, claiming that it wasn’t fair that he got to be the pretty one of the two of you. And for a moment, the man standing in front of you was the same kid you met all those years back, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey!” Ashton sang with a laugh, stepping closer into your space and hugging you with one arm as the other took your bag out of your hands “I’m so glad to see you! It’s been so long”

“Yeah,” You softly said, pulling back just enough to analyze his face “Thanks for the invite, Ash”

“Of course! I know you’re not a big fan of hotels anyway and, you know, it’s good to have you back. You’re always welcome to stay here when you’re in town”

He opened his arm toward the door and invited you in. You tried not to think about the fact that this was the first time you stepped foot into his house ever since he moved to L.A. He invited you before when you first moved, but schedules were complicated back then and after a while he stopped offering.

It was hard to think that once you used to live at his house back in Australia. Always trying to escape whatever nonsense was happening over at yours. At some point, you lost count how many times you ended up napping on his bed while he played some dumb internet game on his computer or watched a really dumb movie because “You don’t understand, Y/N, Seth Rogen is a genius” And you didn’t understand because even then you thought Seth Rogen was a creep, but it didn’t matter. You were in your safe space. You were with him. And he probably didn’t even know just how much that meant to you.

Now as you look around, you couldn’t help but search for that same feeling. A sign telling you it’ll be okay.

“Sorry, I know the living room is a little messy”

You turned to watch him look around the place with a slight blush on his cheeks. You smiled kindly at him.

“It’s okay, I’m not one to talk either” You turned back to the room “This place… suits you. It’s a lot like I imagined. Very artsy, very you”

He looked at you confused for a while “Yeah, I haven’t changed it much since -” He caught himself before he could continue and tried to cover his realization with a cough “No, yeah. Thanks! Come, your room is over here”

Once he settled your bag on the bed you went and sat next to it. Silence falling over the two of you as he stood awkwardly at the door.

“I hope everything is-”

“Everything is lovely, Ash” You smiled “Thank you”

He nodded and looked away. Hands hid inside of his pockets as he thought of the right thing to say. But nothing seemed to come to mind.

Suddenly, you felt out of place. Incredibly conscious that maybe you were an inconvenience now that you were there. Maybe, after all, he didn't want you there. You wanted to take this chance to meet him and talk, knowing you couldn’t just pretend that the years of separation and the strangeness you now felt toward each other didn’t exist. Yet, judging by his stand, there might not be a chance to bring those old moments back.

“So, how long are you staying in L.A for?” He asked. And he must’ve seen the way your face fell in disappointment for he quickly followed by saying “Not that I’m not happy that you’re here, of course, I invited you. Just wondering because that bag is just-”

“Oh. Yeah, no. My other bags are still at the hotel”

“The hotel?”

“Yeah, I just asked my team if I could leave them there since we leave in a week and I don’t need much to get by while I’m here and so…”

“Wait,” Ashton shook his head “You’ve been in L.A for a while now?”

“A month or so”

“And you didn’t tell me? Y/N, I offered you a place to stay for a reason”

You frowned “Ash, I did tell you. Last time we texted to see when I was arriving, I told you I was already here”

“No, you said-” He protested as he took out his phone and you watched him scroll down to your conversation. His words got caught up once he read those messages again “I- I though-”

“I have been incredibly busy these past few days, hence why I didn’t want to inconvenience you with my crazy schedule and all. This last week is all I have to relax and so I thought that we could catch up this week before I leave?”

“No, no, no yeah, you’re totally right.” He said, running a hand through his face, embarrassedly “I’m just an idiot”

You looked at him quizzically.

“Everything okay, Ash?”

“I thought we had more time, that’s all” He smiled softly at you “Anyway, ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” You asked, a small smile forming in your face.

“Yeah! I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate your new album!”

Ashton started to dance awkwardly, making you laugh as you shook your head at him.

“You really don’t have to do that, you know?”

“I want to!” He said “You’ll see, just be ready by seven”

He clapped his hands and left the room. A warm feeling spread through your chest on the fact that he wanted to celebrate you and your success. It finally felt like he cared, like he hasn’t forgotten about you. This really was a chance to put all bad things in the past and start anew.

Or at least, that’s what you hoped.

You scared me to death, but I'm wasting my breath 'Cause you only listen to your fucking friends

Fuck off and pour another drink And tell me what you think You know that I'm too drunk to talk right now

You knocked on his door at fifteen past seven. You decided to wear your favorite light blue top with black, wide leg pants and some low heels. You didn’t really know where he was supposed to take you or how you should dress, so you went with the most comfortable but chic thing you could find given that you didn’t plan to go out as much.

When Ashton opened his door you took a step back to look at him. He was wearing jeans and a wide, white shirt. You could feel your cheeks blush, and had to look down to hide it. It was an awful familiar feeling that you thought you could leave behind knowing that it was extremely pointless to feel the way you once did.

And just like all those years back, he didn’t notice. But for the first time you were glad he didn’t.

“Sorry I made you wait” He said with a smile, closing the door behind him.

“It’s okay,” You said, looking up with a shy smile.

Ashton walked past you to grab his keys, the path he created with his cologne left you dumbfounded for a minute. It was a different smell, one that you weren’t familiar with.

“Why do you have so many colognes?” You asked him once, walking over to his small desk while he wrote what was left of his assignment. Ashton looked up and chuckled when he saw you puffing them into the air to smell them and making faces at each one “They’re mostly presents from my family. I think my aunts were trying to tell me something last year”

“Well, at least they have good taste” You said, trying on the one that had a clear, almost orangy color bottle “Yeah, I’m taking this one home”

“No the hell you’re not!” He got up and took the bottle away from you, raising his arm over his head so that you couldn't catch it. It was his favorite pastime to remind you just how short you were back then “This is my favorite one!”

“You never use it!”

“I will!”

After a couple more tries to grab it from his hands you saw yourself surrender and falling onto his bed again “If you don’t wear it at least five times a week, I’ll take it”

“Deal” He said with a smile, throwing one of his hoodies at you from the floor “And then you will hate it so much because it’ll remind you too much of me that you won’t even want it afterward”

You never told him that it would be the opposite.

Next thing you know, Ashton has parked and was getting out of the car. You looked around and you were surrounded by nice streets and expensive houses. You opened the door and looked over at Ashton who was nodding his head toward one of the houses.

“C’mon” He said with a smile.

“Where are we? Is this a new restaurant I haven’t heard about or…?” “What? No,” He chuckled, ringing the doorbell “Is my friend Andrew’s home. He invited us over for dinner to celebrate that he came back from tour as well”

You were at a loss for words, “He invited us?”

“Yeah, I told him you were coming. Why, what’s wrong?”

A lot. You wanted to tell him. A lot was wrong. How could he not see what he was doing? If he had told you that you were just going to a friend’s house then you wouldn’t have looked so out of place, or feel like a fish out of water. You didn’t know who this Andrew was, you didn’t even know if Ash had actually told them that you were coming or if you’re just going to turn up at this reunion/party for his friend. He said it was to celebrate you.

But before you could voice your concerns to him, the door opened and a guy with a big mop of hair jumped in to hug him.

“Dude! I’m so happy you could make it!” He - Andrew, apparently - smiled widely at Ash, chatting with him for a minute before he noticed you standing beside him “Oh, hi!”

“Hi,” You smiled shyly, extending your hand in greeting knowing Ashton was not going to introduce you judging by the face he just made, seemingly embarrassed of that fact “I’m Y/N”

“Of course!” Said Andrew, shaking your hand and pulling you in for a kiss on the cheek that you weren’t expecting “I heard so much about you, I didn’t know you were friends with this guy here”

“Yeah! We’re friends since the old Australian days” Ashton said, smiling at you “Y/N here dropped by for a visit since she’s doing a lil business around L.A”

You smiled tensely during that small exchange. Wanting nothing more than to crawl back into the car and wait for everything to be over.

One of the reasons you left L.A was because nothing ever felt right. For years you tried to fit in into the scene, going to parties and hosting them with a bunch of people who didn’t even know your last name. You were never good at making new friends, that is to say once you’ve established a relationship with someone then friendship would just roll around the corner. But everyone here was moving so fast it was almost impossible to even wish for a deeper connection with someone.

When you first moved, you thought it would be like a great new beginning. Yet you’ve never felt more alone. The only people you knew were from your team and from Ashton’s band, but even then they turned into more acquaintances given just how little time they seemed to spend in the city.

And maybe Ashton knew that. Maybe he was trying to fix that and give you some opportunities to mix with his group of friends; something you’ve been wanting to do since you moved here all those years ago. Still, something fell… off about all of this.

After the guys talked a little bit more, finally Andrew invited you in. There, you found a group of people you’ve never met hanging around the living room. Plastic cups and ashtrays were scattered around the room as a tinted, light smoke served to decorate the place and give you just an idea of the state of most attendees.

As you walked by, people started to come up to Ash, greeting him and spending a few minutes catching up. Not one of them turned to look at you for more than a second or even gave you the courtesy to say hi. Ashton didn’t seem to notice it at first, but there would come the rare occasion that he would introduce you to some of the groups that started forming around him.

It was not a rare sight for you. Back in school he was the popular one, always friendly with countless people you didn’t even see around school that often.

“This is Y/N, she’s here promoting her new album!” He’d say.

“Wait, I know you!” One of the strangers said, their smile totally welcoming “Taylor Swift gave you a few shout-outs recently, didn’t she?”

You smiled “Yeah! I had a chat with her at a label party a few days back. She’s amazing. We talked about collabing soon, maybe a writing session next time she flies out to the U.K”

“Damn, that’s awesome! I’m Laura, by the way” They said, extending her hand toward you “Ash, why didn’t you bring her along on one of our trips?”

Ashton chuckled “C’mon L, well…”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s our style. No offense” A guy next to them said. You frowned

“What do you mean?” You smiled awkwardly “Have you heard my songs before or-?”

“Nah, it ain’t that. It’s just- We don’t go Taylor Swift’s style”

You could feel your heart beating loudly inside your chest as you looked between Ashton and the other guy, hoping that Ash would intervene “But I’m not Taylor”

Once again you looked toward Ash, but his eyes were cast down to the bottle of beer that he held in his hands. You couldn’t help the disappointment that came over you then.

“Hey man, not cool” Laura said, locking your arms together as they pulled you away “Don’t mind him, he’s high out his mind right now. C’mon, let’s get a bit drunk”

They took you to the main couches and sat next to you. Your cheeks were a bit red from the humiliation. How could you have expected Ashton to defend you? He said it before that your music didn’t go with his vibes and that it was not really his thing, so why would he help you now?

“Those guys can be assholes sometimes. I love them, but they’re so…” Laura trailed off, looking over at you “But hey, forget about them. Tell me a little bit about yourself, how do you know Ash?”

You ended up telling them your whole story. About how you met when you were kids and how he was your best friend. How lonely you felt when he moved away the first time. And how excited you were to see him again after your big break, but that life got in the way. You probably told them more than you should’ve, but the drinks were soft and the room was crowded. And for the first time in the evening someone was actually willing to listen, curious to know you rather than know about you.

“That seems like a whole adventure” They smiled, “And when was the last time you saw Ash before deciding to come and stay with him?”

It wasn’t that long ago, a year or so earlier, when you gave a secret concert in London when you released your last album. He was standing in the corner, smiling at you as you sang. It was the first time since you told him you were moving a couple of years prior. You both kept following each other on social media, but that was pretty much it when it came to your relationship. And you were good with it.

You knew they were in the U.K for their tour, Michael and Crystal had asked you for drinks during that same week and you had a great time catching up. So, against your mind’s warning, you started to hope you would run to him soon enough. And when he appeared at the concert, you couldn’t help but smile back.

Afterwards, when you were back in the green room, you asked if he was still out there and to invite him over to chat. But no one from your team saw him; apparently he was already gone by the time you went off the stage. You remember waiting until you went home to allow yourself to cry, even for just a few minutes. That small interaction that seemingly never happened opened the wound back again. And, if you were honest with yourself, that was one of the main reasons why you decided to take on his offer to stay with him. But you didn’t say that.

“I don’t know,” You told them instead, as your eyes landed on Ashton standing a few feet away from you, a lighted joint between his lips as he laughed with people that you haven’t seen before “Since I moved to Scotland, I think. A while before, probably”

If Laura saw the sadness in your eyes, they never mentioned it. They just said “Okay, I think you should be a little bit drunker, my friend”

Hours later you were alone and tipsy sitting at the front porch of Andrew’s home, nursing a cigarette between your fingers.

“I didn’t know you smoked” A voice came from behind you.

You sighed, putting the filter in between your lips and taking a long hit before you let the smoke get lost into the night.

“You’re mad.” Ashton said, sitting next to you

“And you’re high”

“So we’re both telling the truth tonight” He chuckled, you didn’t “When did you pick up this habit?”

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly. “It was better than drinking myself to death back in Australia. It helps with my anxiety”

“What do you-”

“Alcohol makes you fat.” You deadpanned as you took another hit “I didn’t want my mom to have yet another reason for her nagging”

“Y/N-”

“But she’s not here so,” You passed him your empty cup, still not looking at him “Bring me another one, please?”

Ashton sighed “I think you had enough,”

“You will just never stop making decisions for me, are you?” You stood up, killing the cigarette after one last blow “I know what I’m doing, Ash. I’m a fucking adult, if you haven’t realized. I don’t need you to tell me what to do”

His eyes widened. He parted his lips as if to say something, looking over his shoulder back at the party. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t worry, your friends can’t listen to what I’m saying. Your reputation will still be intact and they will still love everything that comes out of your mouth”

“Hey,” Ashton said with a bit of a bark “Don’t talk about them like that”

You pressed your lips on a tight smile, looking at him as your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t believe that he was defending them like that from just a simple comment, but left you completely alone when they were making worse comments at you.

“Fuck, Y/N” He said, frustrated “I’m trying here, you know? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore! You don’t want to talk to me, you moved across the world. You still talk to the guys-”

“They’re my friends,”

“I was your friend too!” He shouted, surprising you “And I want this to work. I want you here, with me. But if you don’t want to be here and go back to your fucking hotel- I want us to work!”

“Why am I here, Ash?”

“C’mon, don’t be like that! I just wanted you to meet a few people, celebrate your new album-”

“Yet none of them cared to get to know me, nor you to introduce me and actually wanting to celebrate with me” You took a deep breath and sighed “Give me the keys to the house, I want to leave”

Ashton shook his head.

“You’re angry. I get that”

“No, Ash. I’m tired and I want to go to bed” You said more firmly this time “Give me the keys and I’ll call an Uber”

“I’ll take you!”

“The fuck you aren’t” You laughed, not a hint of humor in your voice “You’re high with more than just weed apparently. I’m drunk. I would rather not fucking die tonight, thank you”

“I’m not going to-”

“I don’t want you to! Okay? Fuck, Ash! I don’t feel safe around you!”

You saw the ways his eyes changed, how hurt they looked so suddenly at your words. You knew you wounded him, but it was how you felt. You didn’t trust him, not tonight.

“Y/N…” He said, getting up and walking over to you but you took a step back. He sighed, roaming around his pockets before he found his keys and gave them to you “Text me when you get there, leave the keys by the potted tree”

You answered him with a nod and a small thank you. You didn’t watch him as he turned away and walked by to the house. You didn’t hear Laura, who was watching over from the window, tell him:

“I don’t know what you did, man. But I’ve never seen anyone with such sadness in her eyes”

Damn, who are we right now? Can we have a little conversation? Figure it out with no intoxication We carry on, what is our motivation?

You woke up when you heard footsteps outside of your door. You knew it was him waiting outside, probably debating on whether or not to knock on your door, wanting to talk. There were times in the past where he would just open the door to your room and sit down on the floor next to your bed, waiting for you to start talking or acknowledge him so that he could apologize or talk things through. Sometimes you didn’t need to say anything, you just understood each other. And as he walked away without a word, you wondered where did all those times go?

Where was the friend that would go out with you and wait on the street for a cab to take you home, no matter whom he was with or what you were doing. Where was the friend that when you snuck out to your first concert, he held you close by the waist and covered your body so that none of the beer that people were throwing around got into your clothes or hair. What happened to the friend that would stay awake chatting with you on the phone even though you had an exam early the next morning, all because the guy you liked broke your heart.

Tears rolled down your face as you tossed and turned on the bed. It wasn’t fair, your heart kept begging your brain to understand. It wasn’t fair that you had to lose it all without a warning.

Once upon a time, you thought you had it all as long as Ashton was there. Now, you begin to miss the times where he wasn’t. Times where you learned to be happy without him, where you didn’t need him or his approval. Times where you felt complete even though your best friend was not around anymore. You were better off without him, and learned to live without him. You knew that to be the truth. But one just can’t ignore the past and the mystery of how the person that makes you feel such horrible things about yourself once promised to give you the world and its stars and meant it.

You just couldn’t figure it out. So you just forced yourself to go back to sleep.

When you woke up again a few hours later and made your way to the kitchen, you found freshly made coffee and bagels waiting for you on the counter with a little note next to them:

“I’m sorry, can we talk about it later? XX Ash”

You sighed as you wiped out the tears that clung to your eyelashes. You took a sip of the coffee and found comfort in the heat of the mug.

On the other side of town, Ashton was doing the same thing. His eyes were covered behind dark sunglasses as he thought of what to say once he got home. In front of him, Calum can’t say that he’s impressed from what he’s heard.

“What’s your deal?” He asked his friend.

“I- I don’t know” Ashton answered, biting the inside of his cheek “I thought she would have a good time. She was always cool at coming to those types of parties with me back home, we used to have fun”

“You and I both know she hates parties, and back home she had you. The normal, probably tipsy you, to keep her company” Calum said, taking a bite out of his sandwich “Last week I found her sitting alone while the rest of the world was having a conversation around her. We talked and it was nice, she’s not normally that outgoing on the get-go. She never was”

“You saw her last week?”

“We were invited to Gabriel’s cocktail party. You didn’t want to go, as usual”

“You never told me that-”

“What? That we’re still in contact? Dude, we all talk to her from time to time. We mention her in our conversations every now and then. She’s still our friend”

Ashton sighed, “So she just hates me for no reason?”

“You truly think that Y/N L/N could hate you?” Calum chuckled, “That girl would’ve followed you straight to the end of the world back in Aus. As far as I know, there’s only one person she truly hated”

“Who?” Ashton scoffed “I’m pretty sure our politics teacher was not so bad”

“What? No, Ash-” Calum shook his head “Remember when-” His face went blank “Oh shit,”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?”

Tell me that it's all okay You ruined everything good I've been waitin' on this all damn day Always said you were misunderstood Call me in the morning', tell me how last night went I'm here, but don't count on me to Just fucking leave me alone

He found you sitting outside in one of his garden chairs. A cigarette was hanging from your fingertips as the ashes fell on the floor in a small pile. You didn’t look back at him, for your eyes were staring at the moon that decorated the sky with its beauty.

You felt him come outside and sit on the chair next to you. The sound of a lighter made you blink, and you sighed at his exhale. There was no way he was doing this sober, and you couldn’t blame him. Yet…

“I was hoping we could talk without any of that” You said. “You have your ways and I have mines”

Silence fell over the two of you once again. You could feel his eyes burning holes into your profile, but you didn’t have the courage to look at him just yet.

“When did I stop being your best friend?” He asked.

Tears quickly covered your eyes and you hated that. “Probably around the time when you stopped being mine”

“Y/N-”

“You held me, once. Not the usual hugs that we gave each other, no. This one was different. We were at school, an overnight vigil that the nuns made us do every year”

“Those were fun,” He commented “A huge sleepover at school”

“The theme was about lost ones, remember? I had just lost my grandma that past week”

“I wasn’t at the funeral, I was away on a trip to the city. She was the one that taught you how to bake”

“Yeah,” You chuckled. “Though, I was never good at it once she passed. Anyway, of course I started crying. I’ve already lost so many people back then, and I was barely hanging on. But then - then you held me, so tightly. And my tears left a damp stamp on your shirt. You cradled me and brushed my hair with your fingers and whispered “It’ll be okay, you can cry. It’s okay” and kissed my head as they started to sing. You sang as well and never said a thing about it afterwards. That was the moment I knew I couldn’t have loved you more”

The sound of a cricket broke your monologue, and you allowed yourselves to be fed into the sounds of nature for a while. You knew there were still things left unsaid, so you better get over with it now rather than later. You didn’t want to stay for the aftermath.

“Remember the first time you came back to Australia? I was still living there in the house we grew up in. I was having a shitty day at work, so I went to grab a coffee at our favorite coffee shop with other coworkers when a few of our old friends and classmates came through the door. We said our hellos and caught up, it was nice. Then they had to go. “Who’s coming with me to Ash’s house?” One of them said. I remember asking about it as they argued over who had to take the bus or a cab. They told me you were coming back that day and have invited people over to celebrate”

“Y/N,”

“You invited them. Even people I didn’t know that well and that I know for a fact didn’t know you as well. And don’t try to tell me it was a guys thing, cause you invited girl classmates as well”

Ashton opened his mouth to say something, yet nothing came out. “I was numb as I took a taxi home. I still remember that the radio played “Waiting for Superman” as I tried my hardest not to cry. But when I got into the kitchen, I just couldn’t stop. I cried myself to sleep that night knowing that you were just a door away but didn’t want me there”

“Y/N, I wanted you there” He said, putting his hand on your arm as he leaned closer “I - I know I can’t say anything to fix it now but- I missed you, too”

“It didn’t seem like it” You told him “Every time I learned something about you back then was through a story or a tweet. I learned through the paparazzi who you were with and in which city you were going to sleep next. I saw you living your best life with your friends away from home. And, I get it, we both resented that place and all that we suffered while we were there. I just - I just hoped that my memory was something worth saving, cause my memory of you always was and will always be the best thing that’s happened to me while we were there”

You turned to him and looked him in the eyes “It just hurt to know that while I put you on a pedestal, I was already out of your sight”

“Baby, you know that’s not true” You scoffed “I swear! In my memory, you were always there! Front of the line!”

“Then why-?”

“I was scared, okay?!” He shouted, lowering his eyes in shame “So fucking scared and it’s so stupid!”

“Scared of what?!” You shouted back, willing for him to look you in the eyes “Ashton, for god’s sake just tell me!”

“They told me that you liked me!”

For a moment time stood still. You backed away from him as his words started to make sense. You pulled away your arm, letting his hand grasp the space that you left between the two of you.

“What?”

“People started whispering,” He said, his voice broken as if he were crying “Telling me how good of a couple we could be. How happy you were with me and how in love you looked”

“When was it?”

“At the beginning of our senior year” Ashton admitted, ashamed “I- I already knew that I wanted to get out of Australia. I knew that with the guys we could take the band somewhere massive. So I put my whole soul into it, trying to escape the feelings that would pull me back”

“You thought I was pulling you back” You stated, betrayed.

“No! I was pulling myself back by thinking about it!” Ashton said, finally looking at you and hating the way you were looking at him “I couldn’t risk it”

“Couldn’t risk what?! That I could have feelings for you?!” You stood up “You’re unbelievable! You could’ve asked me! Come to me instead of running away and make me lose part of myself in the process. Parts that I can’t take back, that I can’t love back because of you”

“Y/N!” He tried reaching out to you, but you took a step back.

“No!”

“Y/N, please! Just-!”

He grabbed you by the elbow and pulled you to him. The movement made you lose your balance, tripping over your feet as Ashton maneuvered you to land on top of his lap, holding you by your waist.

The sudden proximity made you lose all the air inside your lungs as you looked at him and his hazel eyes surrounded by red. He looked desperate, pleading with his eyes for something you couldn’t understand. He was breathing hard, his chest colliding against yours where your heartbeats were going as fast as your thoughts. Almost impossible to catch up.

Then, almost without thinking, Ashton launched himself forward and pressed his lips on yours.

The softness of the kiss contrasted the chills that ran up and down your bodies. As you gasped for air, his hand came to tangle itself on your hair, pulling you closer to him as you allowed him to deepen the kiss. He sat back on the chair and pulled you with him, making your legs spread at either side of his hips; never once letting you go as he kissed you over and over again, like a man deprived of something more.

“Y/N,” He whimpered against your lips, making you sigh as his hands roamed your body until they landed on your hips, moving them against lower half “Y/N, please”

Your mind was clouded in smoke, feeling the heat of his kiss along the length of your neck. His words whispered your name, as his movements on your hips became erratic, letting you feel all of him under you.

“Please, please Y/N” He said, kissing and kissing and kissing every part he could find “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

Suddenly, you opened your eyes as you jumped back to reality. Putting a hand on his chest and pulling away from him. Both of you were left panting, as your skin tingled from the contact.

Ashton’s eyes were desperate, looking at you in fear of what you might do. His lips - you imagined - were a mirror of yours, plumb and beat red as your name escaped him in the form of a question. You closed your eyes and let a tear fall across your cheek as you shook your head.

“You don’t get to do this to me” Your voice, a whisper.

“What?” He asked, almost out of breath. But you were already getting off him and turning your step back to the house.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” You yelled through the tears “You don’t get to confuse me all over again. You don’t get to have a half-ass apology followed by a kiss that would make it all better!” You turned to him, poking a finger on his chest “You don’t get to make me hate myself all over again for loving you when you didn’t think it was convenient for you!”

“Y/N!” Ashton pleaded, taking your hand in his before you yanked it away “I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking-!”

“Exactly! You weren’t thinking! You never, not once, thought of me during all of this. Fucking admit it! Trying to get me to come here to patch things up was just such bullshit! You just wanted to make sure that I was still available for you any time you wanted! And don’t say it isn’t fair cause you were not aware of how miserable you made me!”

“That’s not true-”

“Was this just a plot to get me to bed?! Is that what you think of me now?!”

“It’s not true!” Ashton yelled “I know I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry! I should’ve never-! Look, I want to patch things up. You were right, goddammit, Y/N, you were right! It took me a long time to realize and fuck! After you moved away I was fucking miserable as well! I- I failed you”

You stood there in front of him, crying silently as he paced desperately.

“Ashton,” You called to him “Ashton, why am I here?”

Suddenly, he stopped and looked at you “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“For fuck’s- About the fact that you were abused, Y/N!” He yelled, leaving you speechless “Right after I left! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

You swallowed hard “It was none of your business-”

“You told Calum” He accused “You told Calum and you never told me. Why? Maybe it was not just me who was a shitty friend to you, after all, if you were going to keep things like that from me”

“How fucking dare you, Ashton Irwin. How fucking dare you?” You pushed him away “I told Calum by mistake! I didn’t mean to do it and it was years after it happened. And because I didn’t think you would care!”

“What?” He broke down, putting his hands on his knees for balance as he looked at you in tears “How- Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” You cried “Just like you said, you had big dreams and a massive opportunity and I was just going to pull you back. Ashton, you just justified everything I thought it was true with that sentence”

“Y/N-”

“Do you think I had a good time? Knowing that my best friend, the only person I cared about in the world didn’t give a fuck about me to even ask how I was doing? So if you really wanna know… I don’t relate to you anymore. I don’t. I don’t want to think about what we had anymore because it just makes me fucking sad. I thought the world of you. Ash, you were my everything. I loved you, as a friend. I loved you, as the sun loves the moon even when it’s gone. I loved you with every prayer, every pleading, every move I made was for that one day I could be with you again, anyway that you would have me. I would’ve died a thousand times next to you, just as long as you kept me company. I didn’t care about what could happen to me. And when something happened, I tried to spare you from it, even when you never once asked. Fuck! I moved to L.A and this is the first time I’ve been in your house!”

“That’s-”

“I wish I could explain it better, I wish it wasn’t true. I wish we could’ve resolved this somehow, but let’s be honest. There is no bridge to burn when we're already so far away. And those memories? From all those years back? Now it all feels like a lie and don’t you dare say otherwise. You’re not the person I once knew, Ash. The person I once knew would’ve never invited me here to leave me alone at a party with people I don’t know, saying a cute lie about how it was for me when in reality it was to make you look a certain way. The person I once knew would’ve never made me feel like nothing every time we were at an event together and you couldn’t even say hi. The person I once knew would’ve never let their “friends” disrespect me in any way. The Ashton I knew wouldn’t have tried to make me feel sad. He wouldn’t have made me so miserable to be in my own skin because they’re not brave enough to face the music he so highly speaks about. You never once showed support for what I do once I became my own person. You never once called to ask how I was. You never once believed in me as much as I believed in you. You made me hate this city. But even more, you made me hate everything I used to love about us. Now I meet someone new and wondered if it’ll be like what we had. You ruined me, Ash. And you never apologized for it”

Ashton was shaking his head, crying as he listened to what you had to say.

After you had your feelings heard, you didn’t walk away or ran through the door so that you could escape the aftermath like you did back in December all those years ago. You were not going to run away again. Not when your heart finally felt light from all the things you’ve been carrying.

You and Ashton cried in silence, each one at one side of the room.

The two of you couldn’t help but wonder what had happened and why did it end up like this? You could play the blaming game; pretend this never happened; you could walk out and never see each other again; or, you could just stand there, waiting, digesting the sour words that fell from both your lips and think, think of anything that could be saved.

“What are we going to do?” Ashton finally asked, voice hoarse from the crying.

“I don’t know,” You answered in all honesty “It’s like we only play to lose”

“Every time,” He said, looking at you and giving a small chuckle. “Every time I see you it just hurts. Not for anything you’ve done, but for everything that I could’ve done but didn’t”

“Maybe it was for the best to have it end this way”

“But… I don’t want it to.” Ashton admitted in a whisper “Now that you’re here… I kept on failing cause I wanted to prove to myself that I still knew you”

You laughed “Who are we, Ash?” you asked “A girl that chases over the past and a boy with the excuse?”

“How the hell we’re going to make it?”

“Maybe we don’t” You shrugged “Maybe we’re just meant to be passing figures on the street. People we once knew. We can’t go back from this, Ash, and you know it. We’re just going to keep hurting each other”

Ashton nodded, walking over to you as you let yourself be embraced by a hug.

“I love you, Y/N. I will always love you”

“Terribly” You murmured against his chest “I will love you all my life, Ash. And I’ll miss you forever”

“Tell me that it’ll be okay? Please?”

You smiled and placed a small kiss on his chest, and held him tighter. And he knew.

He knew.

*

*

tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @hoodharlow @littledrummeraussie @irwin-fletcher-ash @wiiildflowerrr @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @in-superbloom @sadcupofcoffee @personalmuyverypersonal @as-hs-blog @himbohood @sofiaaraee @irwindoll @weasleytwinscumslut @fairytrice @colourfulcal @nibin0912 @youneedtocalumdown @heyitskelseaj @ashtonsunflower @calumspupils@secretsicanthideanymore @alltimesos @wontlastimokwiththat @whywontyoulovemecami @theimpossiblehologramtree @perriexed @abiancajg @rewmuslupin @icelily13 @bookthingz @gracieboogirl @fastandtheformula1 @lendeluxe

#5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #suchalonelysunflower #5sos #5 seconds of summer fic #Ashton Irwin fic #Ashton Irwin angst #happier than ever #yoyok #Ashton fic #ashton 5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer ashton #5sos Ashton #ashton 5sos #angst #writing #my writing #fic rec #ashton rec #angst fanfic #Ashton angst

[thegeminisage]

oh boy IT'S tng update time. last night* we watched "imaginary friend" and "i, borg."

*tonight. it's 1am. whatever. it's posting tomorrow when i'll be awake but busy. anyway im gonna have to start splitting these up so tumblr will stop FUCKING me re my character count

imaginary friend:

what i like about this episode and indeed tng as a whole is that the little girl was fucking adorable. tng fans, your show has at least one point of validity. whenever there was a child on tos i wanted to throw them out of the airlock because they acted possessed. all the children on tng inspire within me motherly concern.

HOWEVER. THERE SHOULD NOT BE. CHILDREN ON A STARSHIP.

we've gone over this at length. we don't need to do it again. i am sick to death of hearing myself talk about it. i want to stop. and yet. every. and i mean EVERY. SINGLE. PROBLEM. in this episode. happened because there were children on a starship.

problem #1: child is making up a fake imaginary friend instead of making real ones = it's because her dad hops from starship to starship

problem #2 her imaginary friend is real now and wants to drown her in the pool like in that one episode of s*pernatural = this is because an alien, from space, read her mind, which it could not have done if she wasn't in space on a starship

problem #3: the alien HATES the grownups and thinks they should die = because she is seeing the ship from a child's pov, because there are children on this starship

and on and on and on.

aside from this huge and ongoing point of contention it was solidly watchable. i liked the little girl. i like guinan. i like worf being a big old softie when he found them out of bounds. i like people not undermining deanna's counseling work. i liked the horrifically unsettling imaginary friend with laser eyes who definitely absolutely inspired 2.11 playthings.

can anyone tell me if the other star trek shows just let them have kids on the ships? ds9 i get because that's a space station but are there kids on the ship in enterprise? voyager? discovery? genuinely please write in i can't take living like this

i, borg:

ooooooh. ooh i am twirling my hair and kicking my feet and giggling about it. OHHH finally we get a good tng episode. and not just a good episode a GREAT episode. the liz community has forgiven tng. oh baby where do i even begin

okay, firstly, beverly. she so instantly sees someone injured and HAS to help, i mean HAS to, it's so good. it's very bonescore in a way that doesn't feel like they're trying to make her a cheap bones knockoff but rather a spiritual successor. he would have also helped his enemy rather than watching him die. hell, he DID do that and got quite literally mind-raped for his trouble, and he'd probably do it again. i was really really lukewarm on poor bev at first but she's come into her own so well and i'm proud of her

the borg himself - third of five, aw, just like seven of nine - but no, hugh - the name is dumb but whatever i'm glad he has one - was well-cast. it would have been easy to make him uncanny and an unpleasant presence onscreen (this was my biggest issue with data's daughter even though the ep DID make me cry, deeply sorry to data whomst i love the most). his "you will be assimilated resistance is futile" song and dance was actually really funny when played off of geordi's wry indifference. "ok, but before we get assimilated, can we please finish x test?" so true king

geordi's a natural choice to pair with this guy because when he's not being the creepiest person on earth to holodeck girls he's sociable, outgoing, and patient. PLUS he has experience befriending machines because of data. hugh actually reminded me of data in some ways because of his general lack of understanding re: humanity but - and this is critical to me - HE IS HUMAN

like, i feel like the episode didn't quite nail the point home hard enough possibly because they were afraid of the implications but the cold hard truth of the matter is that each and every person on the borg cube IS A PERSON. they have been assimilated, but we've twice now seen that it's possible to unassimilate them with only a few days of effort. picard (and guinan!) consider the entire collective their enemy but the collective is comprised of brainwashed prisoners. those fucked up little borg babies they found in the cube were assimilated as INFANTS - i assume they weren't born on the cube bc if the borg could reproduce on its own it wouldn't need to assimilate - but even if they were born on the cube, they had no choice but to be this. you know.

which is whyyyy it's so fucked picard was like yeah give hugh some digital poison let him carry it back to his cube and we'll kill them like ants <3 like, oh my god his lingering borg trauma or whatever. MWAH. when he told deanna he didn't wanna talk. when he and guinan had to trauma-bond while fencing. when he told geordi that he needed to unattach himself because it was nothing more than animal experimentation. STONE FUCKING COLD BY THE WAY. he is fighting in the war on animal experimentation on the side of animal experimentation. he was going to let his cre heal and feed that kid and then send him back laced with poison. diabolical <3

and, of course, when he didn't want to speak or associate that borg kid at all because that's who he used to be AND WHO HE STILL IS in some corner of his brain (!!!)

LIKE. WHEN HE WAS FINALLY CONVINCED TO INTERROGATE THIS KID. and IMMEDIATELY broke out the locutus voice. he still remembered all the protocol! the way of speaking! everything! i was so shocked and thrilled.

i love also how everyone who spoke to hugh came away extremely unsettled but also totally convinced of his humanity. even guinan, which was so fun, because she was even more anti-borg than picard at first and they were bonding over trauma and fantasy racism. that bit where hugh, who had only known about the concept of loneliness for like an hour, immediately pegged her as lonely after like three lines of dialogue. oh my GOD???

i was decently satisfied with the ending - obviously they couldn't send him back with poison nor could they protect him from the borg, but i wish they had informed him of the inevitable memory wipe before he made his choice. (a selfless choice! he loves geordi!!) still i think he mostly walked into it with eyes open. very sad but very proud of him.

my one tiny nitpick with this episode is that for all beverly's genuine and justified concern about hugh, i don't think theyre ever gonna address the fact that she shot and possibly killed some of the borg in the episode where picard got assimilated. i feel like after realizing they are all people, like hugh, she should also realize she's broken the hippocratic oath, and have a little crisis about it. i have no idea why we had the DOCTOR shooting and killing anybody but let alone if we aren't gonna get into that. i don't think anyone cares/cared except me though.

but tbh, for me this is one of the main draws of the borg. they're ALL brainwashed cyber-assassins and they're ALL prisoners and in theory ALL of them could be saved if only they would stop attacking first. sure, yeah, in fights you gotta do what you gotta do because your own life has gotta come first, but the unique scifi horror aspect of all of those guys being perfectly innocent people fucks and they should utilize it a little more!!!

NEXT TIME: "the next phase" and "the inner light."

#personal #star trek blogging #tng lb

[writingquestionsanswered]

I was wondering how to choose the best point of view character for each scene when you have multiple point of view characters. Thank you in advance and enjoy your day.

Choosing the Best POV Character for Each Scene

There are lots of things to consider when choosing the best POV character for a scene:

1 - Which character is most central to scene events? Sometimes the best POV character for a scene is the person who needs to be there the most. Try writing down every main character who's in a scene, then find the character you're most able to eliminate. That doesn't mean they don't have a role in the scene or aren't important to the scene, or that you're actually going to eliminate anyone. Every choice will have negative consequences, it's just that you're trying to figure out which has the least negative consequences and then rank them from there. When you get to the character that has the most negative consequences if you remove them from the scene, that's probably a good choice for POV character.

2 - Which character has the best vantage point of scene events? Sometimes the best POV character for a scene comes down to who has the best seat in the house for whatever is about to go down. Look at each event in the scene... do any stand out as the most important? Who has the best vantage point of that scene? Does anyone have the best (or not best but still pretty good) vantage point of all the scenes?

3 - Which character has the best perspective of scene events? Sometimes, it's not who has the best seat in the house but who has the best mental and intellectual window into whatever happens. These characters may have special knowledge, experience, or thoughts that are crucial to helping the reader understand the scene. Or, they may simply offer the most entertaining commentary for whatever is going to unfold.

4 - Which character has the most impactful experience through scene events? Once in a while, the best POV for the scene isn't someone who is central to events, or who has a front row seat or special knowledge, but rather someone whose experience has the biggest impact because of who they are and what the scene events mean to them. For example, when a major character is executed in the popular multi-POV book A Game of Thrones, the chapter isn't told from their POV but rather from the POV of when of their children standing in the crowd. This choice gave the scene much greater impact, not just because it didn't have to end with the moment of execution, but because of the age of the character, their relationship, and what the death means for the POV character.

5 - When there's no real stand out... Although it doesn't happen very often, every once in a while you have a scene that could be told well from more than one character's POV. They might contribute to the scene equally, all have a good physical view, and share the same knowledge and perspective on events... so then who do you choose? In this case, you just have to go with your gut. Is there a character you think will be more popular with the reader? Is there a character you enjoy writing more than the others? Is there a character with fewer POV chapters than the others? If nothing else, just go with your gut and pick whichever one feels right.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I've been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I've learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

[milestelleronlyfanss]

hc buzz is the poorest member of the dinosquad member (i dont mean like family is poverty stricken poor i mean like he himself has like 2 dollars)

the receipts:

1-in that one episode where caruso loses rump and doesnt want to ask for help buzz is mentioned multiple times to be on his “day off” and no one wants to bother him, this is something we never hear about anyone else having, which leads me to belive he not only has a job since if it was a day off from dinosaur shenenagins they would probably all take days off, but it HAS to be a shitty one if its going to be that serious. In my experience at least, people who work a lot (whether thats to save up or blow their entire paycheck on legos or sum) take their limited days off like theyre the last theyre ever going to get (bc they likely are for the next month), behavior that is seen in buzz in that ep. Bro literallt makes himself unavailable until it becomes a life or death situation (i think) and i love that for him. But still goes to show that he ia likely workinf like that for those sweet sweet minimum wage job dollars

2-he is completely ready, no hesitation, no thoughts at all to assist in the ruining of christi crash’s repuation for 50 dollars. 50. Dollars. That will not even buy you a full tank of gas, what was he cooking ???

#dino squad #dinosquad #Buzz dinosquad #Mr. Neil buzzmati out here beinf a little too relatable sometimes #Im convinced his checking is like 67 cents #Debatable obscenely large or pathetically smalll savings balance #I may take a poll

[astridthevalkyrie]

chand ko chakor dekhe, tujkho naseebo wala (the bird looks at the moon, a lucky one looks at you) | hawks x reader | chapter 5

“You’ve died twice? From clocks? “I know you’re not blind to the rocks and debris flying literally everywhere! The world would be better off without you in it!” you scream at the villain. The machine is even louder as it breaks and jams into the ground. “Flying building pieces or something, I don’t know—one hit me yesterday. The first day I got knocked into a wall, and then I woke up hugging my body pillow. Same thing the next day. And the next, and the next. Did my number three pro hero partner save me? No, he let me get stuck in a fucking time loop!” Or, you’ll do a lot of things with infinite time on your hands, but falling in love with Keigo Takami isn’t one of them.

a/n: hey

warnings: hawks being an endeavor fanboy, fourth wall breakage sorta, shorter chapter because i’m lazy, death but at this point you know that, implied daddy kink, invasive thoughts make reader lick just a taste of her own blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Burning alive is, without a doubt, the most painful way to die.

—————————————————

“Do you have to kill Endeavor?” Hawks whines.

“Why the fuck would I skip him?” You roll your eyes as far as your eyes can roll (how much roll can an eyeroll roll if an eyeroll could roll eye aaaand now neither of them sound like real words). “Besides, he has a bad attitude. He needs to be knocked down a peg or two.”

Besides, as far as he knows, you’re not skipping anyone. No, you’re not going to tell Hawks that you haven’t actually killed him, because you’re not about to admit that shit publicly to anyone, least of all the spared victim himself. It’s not like you’re taking a break day! The second you’d decided to spare birdbrain, you’d immediately started drafting up plans to take down the number two. And yes, by drafting up plans, you mean seeing how many cheese puffs you can stuff into your mouth while thinking about whether or not it was a viable option to just rip that dumb fucking fire mustache from his face and then put him in the ground while he writhes in embarrassment. 

“Think you’re just mad he beat you so quick.” He slouches in his seat, crossing his arms like the child he is. You wrinkle your nose. Fanboy Hawks is, without a doubt, your least favorite version. There’s a few different Hawks, you’ve learned both during this nightmare and before it. There’s Hero Hawks, focused, careful, incredibly precise and incredibly dangerous, who can take anyone out in a matter of seconds. He’s not to be confused with Celebrity Hawks, who is a dumb bitch. 

Then there’s Foodie Hawks notasgoatedasChefHawks (seriously. when the man wants to cook he COOKS), Twenty-Two Year Old Hawks who does flips off buildings or whatever the fuck, Good Friend™ Hawks who likes karaoke and fried chicken and dancing terribly, Regrettably Sexy Hawks with his pornworthy voice and slutty muscles, and you’re sure somewhere in there is Real Hawks, whose name probably isn’t even Hawks, but that’s a mystery you don’t care about enough to uncover. 

And Fanboy Hawks. A pain in the ass.

“I’m not mad,” you correct, not gently, “I’m determined to make him experience every single level of hell he made me feel. Seriously, how is it legal for him to use his quirk? Firepower is destructive, and heroes don’t kill.”

Hawks gives you the most unimpressed look you’ve ever seen on him.

“Heroes that think the dead bodies will actually stay dead don’t kill. Shitbrain.”

“You never know,” he hums, wiggling his eyebrows at you. What the fuck is up with those brows? Why do they split off at the ends like that—OHHHH, LIKE WINGS. That makes sense. But it doesn’t really. Like, the man’s a bird, that doesn’t mean each individual body part is a bird, does it? Maybe if you take his shirt off (youhaveseenhimshirtlessbeforesuckitbitches🤪) his stomach will like…kakaw kakaw at you? What the fuck. “Maybe one of these days you don’t reset, and you have the best hero of our generation’s blood on your hands while you rot away in a cell.”

“He’s not our generation’s anything, dickrider. And even if we were fugly with wrinkles, the best hero would be All Might.”

“Endeavor isn’t fugly!” Hawks cries. This is definitely deep rooted. Deeeeep rooted. Daddy issues. He practically screams daddy issues. And mommy issues. Issues in general, parental or otherwise. “He’s hot. Pun intended. And All Might is so…” Both his arms go up high, as though he couldn’t just say the word ‘tall.’ 

You beckon for him to go on. “Hot? Sexy? Fuckable?”

“Dad.”

“Daddy.”

“Ooh.” He grins. “Don’t say that, I might like it.”

You throw a french fry at him.

—————————————————

Endeavor’s hands are large. Large large. Super large. Ginormous, embiggen, elongate. You get the picture. (You, the reader, not you the self insert. But it’s you, you, who is talking to you. Nice to meet u, you, sincerely you. How’s that for fuckery).

Without breaking a single sweat, he’s able to grab you by the face and swing you halfway across the city, and even the wind can’t stop you with the force of his throw. You crash through glass, which breaks into your skin, because of COURSE it does, and you hit the ground of some office building with a scream. 

The most annoying part of dying constantly is that your body doesn’t become accustomed to the pain at all. When you wake up tomorrow, you won’t have any of the injuries you gain today, but you also have no resiliency and no change in your abilities. 

From this nice little comfortable spot (it’s not comfortable you can’t even be sarcastic about it that’s how uncomfortable it is), you can practically hear the jetpack flames or whatever Endeavor has on his feet come closer. You lie there, weakly kicking your feet as you bleed out like a pincushion, miserably enjoying your last few minutes before the restart.

An invasive thought makes you dip your finger in the pool under you, then push the digit past your lips.

GROSS.

Endeavor shows up, looks at you in abject disgust, aims, and sets you ablaze. 

—————————————————

And that’s how. The next year goes.

—————————————————

Maybe just a few months. Maybe a week. Who knows?

—————————————————

You’re tired, but you keep trying.

—————————————————

Sometimes you talk to Endeavor. He responds in mean words and dismissive grunts. Sometimes a rare word of acknowledgment. You get it on camera once to show Hawks later, but die before you get the chance and then your phone, y’know, doesn’t have it anymore, and for some reason Endeavor doesn’t do it again. Even though you ask the exact same way. 

—————————————————

Hawks doesn’t care. He finds you, shrieking and sobbing and clutching onto your pillow in your apartment, and pries it from you, holding your face in his hands asking you what’s wrong songbird and telling you i waited for you at patrol and you never showed and i got worried.

And you tell him, again. And you don’t show him how your foot is swollen from how you’d repeatedly banged it against the corner of your bed to force the tears out. It stays hidden under the sheets as he cradles you, thumbs away your tears and rubs two fingers against your neck that must unblock and activate a chakra because you suddenly feel free.

“Hawks,” you sniff, “do you wanna make me feel better?”

“‘Course,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose. “Say the word and it’s yours, songbird, what do you need?”

“How should I kill Endeavor?”

“What?”

—————————————————

“Hawks,” you sniff, “do you wanna make me feel better?”

“‘Course,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose. “Say the word and it’s yours, songbird, what do you need?”

“I’m bored. Entertain me. Tell me how you would fight the other pros.”

—————————————————

“‘Course,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose. “Say the word and it’s yours, songbird, what do you need?”

“I’m bored. Entertain me. Tell me how you would fight Endeavor.”

—————————————————

“I’m bored. Entertain me. Tell me how you would come out on top in a fight against Endeavor.”

—————————————————

“Say Endeavor fights you, how would you try to survive?”

—————————————————

“If you were to, hypothetically, fight Endeavor, is there any way you could come out on top?”

—————————————————

“Poor baby,” your partner coos, feathers running to and fro to get you water and another blanket. “Are you entertained now? Feeling better?”

He wipes the final tear from your cheek as you close your eyes, smiling sickly. 

—————————————————

It’s the same office building. Fate is funny like that, throwing you in through maybe the same window, but sparing you some this time around. It knows victory is with you, no matter how hard it will punish for this later.

You lay there again, knowing now that there’s no need to move. Hawks wouldn’t, so you don’t either. And isn’t it fantastic that Endeavor’s biggest fan should give you the means to murder him in cold blood? 

The fiery mustache man flies in through the window, and all you do is wiggle your fingers a little. Hurricane does the rest. You don’t call it out. It’s more surprising this way. 

The broken shards rise, and they spin around you. A tornado with you in the dead center. It spins, and spins, likeLeviinAttackOnTitanhe’ssohotbarkbarkbark until the room is filled, and you’re still lying there, dead center and damaged and battered, with little bits of Endeavor flying around you too.

—————————————————

For the first time ever, Hawks doesn’t laugh at your story. He reels back, hurt and disgusted, and you may as well have jammed a glass shard into yourself. “That’s sick, Nightingale,” he looks like he might vomit, “that’s fucking sick.”

—————————————————

Tracking All Might down is hard, but then you find him, um? on some beach? even though you’re pretty sure the man is a teacher now, and you float down in front of him.

He has the famous smile and everything, beaming at you. “Ah, Nightingale, is it? What brings you to the coastline, young one?”

You stare at him. For an awfully long time. Not once does his smile disappear. He looks every bit the symbol of peace he is. 

You’ve lost count of time. Endeavor could have taken a century, as far as you’re aware.

Fuck it.

With barely two motions, you bring your fists together then separate them, and his smile doesn’t even fall from his face when the air is sucked from his lungs, and he drops to the ground, gone.

“All Might?”

When you turn around, there’s some green-haired dork there, standing frozen in place, staring not at you but at the corpse behind. He’d had a box of…something, likely food, that’s slipped from his hands. It’s not the first time you’ve killed with a child present, but definitely not in such close range. You sigh, rolling your eyes in whatever mock pity you have left in you.

Then his arm starts to glow.

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #keigo takami x you #takami keigo x you #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #boku no hero academia x you #ckc fic #valkyrie stories

[mobius-m-mobius]

Fave shows tag game

Rules: List 5 favourite shows (in no particular order) and answer questions accordingly.

Life on Mars

Good Omens

Mad Dogs

Loki

Psych

@loki-is-my-kink-awakening Thank you so much for the tag lovely!! Putting my answers to the questions behind the cut 😊

1. Who is your favourite character in 2?

Oh no not this😅 Don't wanna start off totally indecisive but In all honesty Aziraphale and Crowley are such a package deal I've never been able to decide who I liked more so both it is!

2. Who is your least favourite character in 1?

Probably Frank Morgan since he's meant to give everyone the creeps and totally untrustworthy but if we're talking main cast then Ray because everyone else is just too good ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

3. What's your favourite episode of 4?

Episode two THE beloved my one and only 🥺💖 12/10 would gladly watch Owen and Tom sit around chatting and mirroring the cafeteria vibes either as Lokius or themselves for the rest of my days

4. What is your favourite season of 5?

Gotta be S2!! All the earlier seasons are gold so was very tempted by the latter half of S3 but S2's like a tour de force

5. What's your favourite relationship in 3?

Baxter and Quinn would an obvious one since John and Phil are married in every role and this is no exception but the dynamic between Baxter and Rick is so weirdly fascinating?? They just clash so instantly, usually to great disaster but will never stop themselves or learn from their mistakes, absolutely obsessed tbh

6. Who is your anti relationship in 2?

I don't really have one?? If pressed I wasn't interested in Anathema and Newt being shoved together for no real reason or the implication of ending up with someone because you're told but I don't have any active dislike for them or their pairing

7. How long have you watched 1?

Well I was pretty late to pick the show up and watched for the first time around three years ago, have since rewatched the entire series at least 5 times in full, and various clips more times than I could ever count lol

8. How did you become interested in 3?

Thank my url namesake, lol. Truly the most stunning TV experience start to finish I've had with a flawless all star cast and just criminally underrated show in general!!

9. Who is your favourite actor in 4?

🤣🤣 Feel as if I've walked right into this one and y'all don't even need to hear the answer but that would be Owen Wilson, whose take on Mobius has honestly been life changing for me 💖

10. Which show do you prefer 1, 2 or 5?

Oh man as much as I adore Psych I'm stuck between Life on Mars and Good Omens on this one... Oh this is the worst, okay, I'm going... Life on Mars! When taking the point of how much I love both main pairs out of the picture there are more elements of and characters in LoM I think I enjoy more

11. Which show have you seen more episodes of 1 or 3?

I've watched both fully through multiple times but Life on Mars just edges by with having more episodes so that'll be the one!

12. If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be?

Loki or Ravonna just for sheer proximity of how much time would be spent around Mobius lmao, literally my only primary consideration

13. How would you kill off your favourite character in 5?

Laughing so hard at this because ironically my favorite character in Psych has pondered many scenarios potentially resulting in his own death lmao. If necessary he'd probably prefer a blaze of glory gunfight but I don't think he'd mind being taken out by his favorite land mine going off?? "Sweet music. And then…nothin' but red mist." 😂

14. Would a 3/4 crossover work?

Not necessarily unless you mean would it work in terms of turning me on in ways I've yet to experience in this life because yes, yes, and YES 😳😳

15. Pair two characters in 1 that would make an unlikely, but strangely okay couple.

Idk if it would be the most unlikely but Sam and Chris would've been cute and I always enjoyed how earnestly Chris ended up admiring Sam's approach to the work and who he is as a person

16. Overall, which show has the better cast, 3 or 5?

I mean Mad Dogs is my favorite show of all time in part because of how talented the cast is in balancing their roles and I can't see that changing plus I'd follow those guys anywhere

Tagging @faylights, @too-funky, @safedistancefrombeingsmart, @symphony-in-silver, @colourfulwatson, @bebx, @linz33y, @michaelsheens, @veraynes-blog, @aleerax, @abitofboth, @eyeldritch, @lovingvincent, @seekers-who-are-lovers, @z-aliada, and @alternatively-undesignated as always only if y'all feel like it plus anyone else who wants to join! 💕

#ahhhhhh this was SO much fun!!!! #wouldn't have imagined pairing or comparing some of these and had a blast thank you again for the tag #hope your week's off to the best start and you're doing well <333 #tagged

[gewdmorning]

The way he loves

I’ve wondered why vegas never counted macau when he said he had nothing left. I think I know now.

“Everything that I love left me”— has mostly been Vegas’s experience. Let’s see what his ideas about love are to get a clearer picture.

1. The hedgehog

Those who have a pet would know that pets might seem like an insignificant part of life to many, but they are actually your family. You love them. You have a sense that there is someone there. There is someone on your side. You are their support in return, you provide for them.

When the hedgehog died, he expresses that it left like everything (everyone) he loved, his mom, his other pets.

Pete in response says, “you still have macau”.

2. Macau

The problem is macau, to vegas, is not part of his support system. Macau is his little brother, someone he has to protect. Someone he has to love. Not someone he can receive love from. To truly love and be loved, you have to show your true side to someone. And while he has loved macau, he has never truly shown his true side to him. Hiding the abuse, the stress, the burden and possibly protecting him from their father’s true thoughts about them. Macau didn’t have the full picture. So vegas can’t really look to him for anything, except the innocent, unassuming love and affection of a baby brother.

(Doesn’t mean macau can’t love him or can’t support him, this is more about how vegas thinks and his idea of love)

He never considers that love to be reciprocated, especially not in the way that he gives it. Even though, we all know that it probably is. Regardless, vegas cannot be “weak” in front of him. Which also means not showing any sort of emotion, especially sadness or vulnerability. It is also why he reacted so strongly to Pete saying he’s “sensitive”. He was aware that he was, but he thought he was doing a good job of not showing it because it’s a weakness. To him, at least.

3. His father

As much of an asshole his father was. It’s very clear that vegas loved him. At least to the outside world, his father’s name was a protection. It was shade.

Even though he beat vegas. He kept the world at a distance. Because of his father, he wasn’t left vulnerable to the world.

So the next time he says “there’s nothing left”. He’s grieving the loss of his father who he loved and who has now left him.

He gave his love to his father by doing his bidding, by giving what he could to him as his son. With his father’s death, it’s another love, as fucked up as it was, taken away.

Everything he loves, leaves him. Proved right, yet again.

4. Pete

“I’m right here.” Pete says to vegas. Vegas is probably not in the best headspace at this moment. But vegaspete went through a lot in the safe house. Vegas learnt a lot, and while pete left him, he had also stayed. Pete taught him a different way to think. I’m pretty sure if the whole part with pete voluntarily coming back and staying had not happened. Vegas would not have listened to anything pete was saying in this moment. Pete staying when he was literally down on the ground, grieving, crying, being vulnerable, was a big moment of realisation to him. A realisation of what actual love and support felt like, what it meant to rely on someone. It was also a realisation that settled in through time, till he understood what loving pete meant, which was a more selfless kind of love than the one he displayed at the safe house.

(I feel like I sound like a broken record, but I just want to make it clear that it was a huge thing for vegas to feel any inkling of tenderness and gentleness)

Pete left his job, almost-family and friends and chose vegas, although I doubt vegas had any idea about it in this moment. (He didn’t see pete resigning)

I’m pretty sure by this point he loved pete but didn’t expect anything in return.

Then again at the hospital scene he says, that “he has nothing”. That “he didn’t want to be a burden”. Because to him love is giving, but never his true self. Love was giving things to others, providing what he could, and to have them in a way, rely on him— for his father, his pets, his brother.

So when he says, “I got nothing left”, he’s saying that he has nothing to give to pete. He’s just vegas now. Not vegas, the minor family heir, the mafia lord, kinn’s rival, etc. Things that, according to him, gave him value. To him, it would make sense, if pete ran. And he’s ok with letting him go, because he loves him. His love isn’t greedy anymore, or possessive. It’s freeing, to him and to the one he loves.

But pete, being pete, again shows him another side of love. A type of love where, vegas is on the receiving end. He knew this since the safe house and he also said it to vegas when he did the personality test thing. Vegas needs love.

Pete shows vegas, that he loves vegas, not for what he can give or what he can do. He just loves vegas. And I think many have made great posts about how pete was only conflicted with his love for vegas because he didn’t think vegas loved him back. He thought vegas was just using him for emotional projection and was attached to him.

But then vegas said he loved him. In the middle of chaos. When it was clear that there is a very big chance vegas might not make it. Vegas still said it because he just wanted pete to know. He didn’t even expect him to say it back or love him back.

That was all pete needed I think.

They are both giving when they love, now they both had someone giving it to them without expecting it in return. What a wonderful mindfuck for both of them. I won’t go in detail about pete and his viewpoint since there are posts about it already and because mine is focused on vegas.

Anyway, in conclusion, we have pete saying that he’s just following his heart— vegas. Him following vegas is him following his heart. And by this point I believe vegas knows about pete leaving everything. So technically, pete doesn’t “have anything” either. It’s just vegas and pete, as real and true, as they can get with each other.

(Vegas is his heart omfg pete you absolute sap *cries*)

And then vegas, finally gets what pete is saying and responds in his classic way of giving love— that while he only has himself to give, he does it fully, completely, in the only way he has ever known. In vegas style, he declared that pete is the most important person in his life. (He’s so relentless with his love, I love it)

He has someone he can give his love to, and also someone who will love him right back. He has someone who has seen him at his worst, someone he can rely on, and lean on. It’s a give and give love, that they both deserve. Not something that he got from anyone ever before. And that is why he kept saying he had nothing and no one left— he might’ve been loved before but it was never in a way where he felt loved.

Everything he loved left him, but not this time.

He loved pete and pete stayed.

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