#it certainly has nothing to do with april first

[team-avia]

"you can't isolate, ignore, ibuprofen your way out of this one, MC"

#crumbs #make of this what u will #it certainly has nothing to do with april first #team avia #take a wild guess what we're doing next #mhd #indie games #visual novel #dating sim #vampires #lgbt #the sapphics are back #meme #artists on tumblr #twilight parody #promo ❤️ #mhd 💋

[calliopesdiary]

“mini-me”

synopsis; your little sister captures the hearts of your boyfriends, you may even say she has a little crush on james.

contents; sexual activity mentioned, fem!reader, reader has a cute lil sister, poly!marauders, james has baby fever, you have baby fever, i have baby fever, everyone has baby fever

warnings; none! just a brief mention of sex but nothing bad (;

a/n; i’ve been daydreaming about this fic for so long

“NESSIE! FINALLY MY BEST FRIEND IS BACK!"

roared a thunderous James Potter who’d spotted your little sister— Vanessa.

Nessie was all over the boys, and they were all over her. she was a first-year hufflepuff and a true sweetheart.

Sirius silently adored how similar you two looked, it was like looking at twins— except one of them happened to be five years older than the other.

He was too afraid and stubborn to admit it, but Nessie gave him a heavy dose of baby fever.

was she a baby? no, not even close. but something about her cheeky smile, the way her robes hung over her like how a child pretending to be an adult’s would, and how her hand (which was considerably smaller than his) slid into yours lovingly at any given time.

maybe it was just that he wanted to see you as a mom, or that he longed for a family that was warm and loving.

“y/n, dear.” Sirius caught your attention quickly, even though you were watching James ramble on to Nessie like it was an oscar award winning film.

“hm—?” you hummed, attempting to pry your eyes away from the sweet scene.

“what do you think i’d-be like?”

“what do i think what would be like?”

“you know, having kids.” he could tell from your flustered expression that to were certainly not expecting that.

“o-oh… w-well…”

luckily the conversation had been interrupted by one Nessie.

Nessie ended her conversation with James, earning a “hey!” when she walked away from him.

“Siri.” she tugged in his sleeve.

“yes, darling?”

she blushed at the pet name, and started twirling her hair.

“um.. will you guys take me to Hogsmeade…?”

“Hogsmeade? Ness, only third years and over can go to Hogsmeade—“

“Professor Mcgonagall said if i went with you then it would be alright!”

She tugged on Sirius’ slightly oversized leather jacket once more, as he stumbles from the unexpected tug.

“whats going on in here— AGH!”

Remus stumbled backwards as Nessie pounced on top of him like some wild animal who was about to feed on him.

“hi— oof— hi Nessie.”

Remus was taken aback by the little first year jumping around in him in a circle chanting;

“i’m going to Hogsmeade!”

“Ness, he gets it.” You groaned from your position on James’ lap.

“Get off!!” Nessie shoved you with all of her pre-puberty force.

“N-Nessie!” you ‘gently’ hit the bedpost as Nessie locked herself onto James.

“What candy is she on? Pixi Stix?”

“Oh, suck my dick, Moony.”

“Gladly—“

“Oi!” Barked James.”

“whats a dick?”

“Nessie—..”

HOGSMEADE was beautiful in summer time.

obviously— it wasn’t summer yet, but with April coming to a close and blossoming like a flower, you could basically say it was summertime.

you walked along with Remus and Sirius, as Nessie was hanging around with James as they skipped ahead down the alleys and walkways of Hogsmeade.

you adored James, and how sweet he was to your sister, she was such a sweet kid and deserved the love.

"James?" Nessie stopped skipping for a moment, keeping a steady walking pace instead.

"Hm?"

"Do you love my sister?"

"I do."

"so why don't you marry her?" Sirius burst into a quiet laughter, and Remus tucked the hysterical boy into his chest.

"i- marry her? i'd love too, but we're a bit young."

“but Snow White was 14 when she got married.”

“Oh.” James was clearly a bit flustered, his cheeks turned to a shade of pink.

Remus watched his lovers interact with Nessie, and it sparked something deep inside him.

Remus (until now) had ruled out a happy ending for himself.

being a lycanthrope, he never wanted to pass that burden to his child. so he couldn’t— no, wouldn’t have kids.

but somehow, someway, as he watched you with your little sister. he realized how badly he wanted you to be a mom.

for the first time, Remus realized that he could live happily.

“Remus? are you alright?” You tapped his shoulder rapidly, and he snapped out of his trance.

“Y-yes, sorry I got distracted.”

“you don’t have to apologize.” you smiled brightly up to him, the smile he was so in love with.

the smile he wanted his kids to have.

*

you four dropped Nessie off back at her common room, and Sirius immediately sprung onto you, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Siri?” you asked through soft giggles.

“I can’t wait to have a kid with you.”

#marauders era #fem!reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #marauders #poly!marauders x reader #fanfiction #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader'

[ddarker-dreams]

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005. 

8:02 a.m.

-

You don’t get it. 

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role. 

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport? 

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then. 

You go as still as a statue. 

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system. 

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?” 

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. 

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard. 

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh. 

“Just a bit.” 

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head. 

“Gonna come with?” 

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found. 

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?” 

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?” 

“It’s almost like a ghost town.” 

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point. 

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one… 

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says. 

You blink. 

“On… the first day…?” 

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.” 

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future. 

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious. 

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later. 

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image. 

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other. 

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth. 

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable. 

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience. 

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning. 

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away. 

The creature continued to sip. 

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way. 

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’ 

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel. 

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them. 

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’ 

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four. 

You hope you can befriend everyone. 

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book! 

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment. 

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines. 

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten. 

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself. 

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs. 

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground. 

Dodging isn’t an option. 

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone. 

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters? 

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can. 

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds. 

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest. 

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.  

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed. 

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares. 

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind. 

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.” 

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges. 

“Are you okay?!” 

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense. 

You inhale shakily. 

“Never better. You?” 

He sounds chipper. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over. 

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?” 

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.” 

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch. 

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells. 

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger. 

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. 

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan. 

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?” 

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely. 

How did he pull that off…? 

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go. 

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess. 

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?” 

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”  

You make a face. “Eh?” 

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?” 

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?” 

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes. 

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble. 

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.” 

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines. 

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.” 

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.” 

“That was the most egregious part!” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you. 

“By the way, how do you know my name—” 

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence. 

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison. 

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.” 

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up. 

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets. 

You introduce yourself as well. 

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?” 

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.” 

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.” 

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue. 

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color. 

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him. 

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Any spell you were under withers and dies. 

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say. 

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own. 

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him. 

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly. 

You wonder what everyone else is like. 

-

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class. 

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.” 

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.” 

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?” 

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly. 

“What’s up?” 

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.” 

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?” 

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.” 

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face. 

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That��s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun! 

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information. 

-

This has been the first proper school day. 

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking. 

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball. 

This guy really irks you. 

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up. 

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.” 

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha. 

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response. 

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite. 

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?” 

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.” 

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.” 

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums. 

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.” 

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.” 

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory. 

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back. 

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.” 

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually. 

-

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down. 

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high. 

“Need help?” 

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares. 

“I’ve got it,” you insist. 

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.” 

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact. 

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out). 

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.” 

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon. 

You take a deep, deep breath. 

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?” 

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.” 

“...” 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known. 

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Really.” 

“Really really?” 

“Really really.” 

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow. 

“For you, madam.” 

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along. 

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.” 

Gojo gives a hearty salute. 

“Yes ma’am!” 

-

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.” 

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space. 

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.” 

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway. 

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose. 

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.” 

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?” 

Gojo furrows his eyebrows. 

Geto blinks. 

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?” 

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist. 

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.” 

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce. 

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?” 

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?” 

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate. 

He doesn’t. 

“Geto-kun, care to translate?” 

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…” 

Geto trails off and clears his throat. 

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him. 

You nod. 

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?” 

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.” 

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw. 

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask. 

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? 

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever. 

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.” 

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?” 

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor. 

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.” 

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear: 

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?” 

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes. 

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally. 

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.” 

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest. 

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance. 

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?” 

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach. 

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?” 

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal. 

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.” 

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.” 

“You do?” Geto hums. 

“He does?” You ask. 

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?” 

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment? 

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such. 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.” 

Geto and Gojo exchange looks. 

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.” 

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that. 

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.” 

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?” 

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—” 

You clap to redirect their attention. 

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.” 

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses. 

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.” 

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off. 

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon. 

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied. 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm?” 

“I think I get it now.” 

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.” 

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.” 

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?” 

“Are you?” 

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it. 

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that. 

-

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.” 

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on. 

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums. 

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.” 

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.” 

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say. 

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said, 

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.” 

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right. 

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed. 

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex. 

What could be better than learning from the best? 

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors. 

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children. 

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration. 

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment. 

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident. 

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time. 

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read. 

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight. 

Painfully so. 

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested. 

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life. 

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines. 

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location. 

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.” 

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?” 

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival. 

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak. 

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions. 

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?” 

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.” 

You shiver. 

“... Oh.” 

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.” 

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.” 

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out. 

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different. 

This cuts and it cuts deep. 

Are you that incompetent to him…? 

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building. 

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument. 

Leaving no room for you. 

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day. 

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” 

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru. 

This is destruction in its raw, purest form. 

This is what it means to be the strongest. 

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant. 

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description. 

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed. 

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage. 

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace. 

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—” 

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack. 

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else. 

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating. 

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him. 

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.” 

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby. 

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown. 

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…” 

You hear a sniffle. 

Then a whimper. 

And a gurgle. 

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—” 

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources. 

All is still. 

All is silent. 

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain. 

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon. 

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions. 

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.” 

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise. 

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them. 

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit. 

The appendage plummets down. 

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name. 

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe. 

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable. 

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge. 

You dismiss your cursed technique. 

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run. 

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in. 

Is that really the only way? 

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up. 

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing. 

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?” 

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—” 

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.” 

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back. 

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.” 

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—” 

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.” 

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession. 

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?” 

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.” 

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures. 

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks. 

“Just a few sprains.” 

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.” 

You exhale shakily. 

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?” 

How does he know that? 

You’ll worry about this oddity later. 

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?” 

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you. 

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse. 

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.” 

Seventeen sources? 

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says. 

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?” 

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.” 

“Seriously?” 

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?” 

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all. 

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant. 

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind. 

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage. 

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well. 

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is. 

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers. 

“Cursed Technique: Null.” 

Your ability is versatile if not simple. 

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth. 

There’s an additional application beyond this. 

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within. 

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds. 

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer. 

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood. 

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast. 

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them. 

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you. 

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down. 

Time to leap across. 

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you. 

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two. 

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too). 

Three. 

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops. 

…

So does your breathing. 

-

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse  ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

-

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design. 

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping. 

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud. 

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh. 

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?” 

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp. 

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups. 

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking. 

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his. 

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”  

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.” 

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter. 

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.” 

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.  

“What kind of suggestions?” 

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.” 

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?” 

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.” 

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed? 

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?” 

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation? 

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children. 

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.” 

The tips of his ears turn red. 

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.” 

“I’m getting this over with.” 

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.” 

“... Oh.” 

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat. 

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.  

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward. 

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?” 

He nods without hesitation.  

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?” 

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self. 

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down. 

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain. 

It stops you from shattering. 

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.” 

… Is that what you meant? 

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace. 

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back. 

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage. 

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace. 

-

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day. 

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.  

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak? 

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side. 

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway? 

-

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed. 

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still. 

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down, 

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.” 

“Eek!” 

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure… 

“Satoru? You’re back?” 

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic. 

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning. 

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!” 

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything. 

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable. 

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though. 

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility. 

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.  

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs. 

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless. 

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp, 

“Welcome home, Satoru!” 

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out. 

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.” 

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that.  “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

(He holds up two). 

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat. 

“Funny girl.” 

“I learned from the best.” 

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath. 

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being. 

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier. 

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch. 

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off. 

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.” 

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?” 

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.  

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—” 

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.” 

You blink. 

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow. 

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?” 

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane. 

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught. 

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric. 

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since. 

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.” 

That sounds like your mentor alright. 

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?” 

You point to yourself and he nods. 

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation. 

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.” 

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now. 

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?” 

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.” 

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.” 

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.” 

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection. 

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done. 

“It’s—” 

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.” 

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?” 

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.” 

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!” 

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight. 

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—” 

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—” 

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication. 

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.” 

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in. 

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.” 

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you. 

“And that happy medium is…?” 

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it. 

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.” 

What is he, a member of the mob?! 

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe. 

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff. 

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.” 

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?” 

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.” 

Wait, what? 

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish. 

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!” 

“But I did.” 

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.” 

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning. 

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.” 

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you… 

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere? 

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.” 

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum. 

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs. 

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out. 

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder. 

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?” 

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight. 

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”  

-

December 23rd, 2017. 

8:02 p.m. 

-

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him. 

Or so you thought. 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.” 

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!” 

“I’m not laughing, am I?” 

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take. 

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching. 

“Is that genuinely what you think?” 

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record. 

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future. 

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate. 

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends. 

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?  

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not. 

“... It isn’t.” 

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.” 

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo. 

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell. 

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion. 

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.” 

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. 

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?” 

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t. 

“I know.” 

“... Could you?” 

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through. 

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile. 

He quickly abandons the farce. 

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out. 

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.” 

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition. 

He whispers your name. 

“You trust me, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then do this for me, baby.” 

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?” 

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.” 

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice. 

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you. 

“And this is all based on a hunch?” 

“Mhm.” 

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you. 

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth. 

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available. 

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school. 

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up. 

His explanation upon answering the phone? 

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!” 

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm. 

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.” 

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile. 

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

[hotheadedhero]

In Unrequited Love - Part 2

AN: When I say that writing this part had me feral, I don't mean it lightly. This part ended up being over 2000 words, blimmin heck. It had me losing sleep, losing sanity, and my grasp on reality and going insane. All in good ways of course! It got angstier than I originally intended but, man, I'm a sucker for it. I think you guys are too ;)

Part 1 - Part 3

Warning: angst for reader's lacking self-preservation, silly dummy, but Donnie is also a dumb-dumb, so you're as bad as each other really.

Donatello x Reader

Every explanation you can come up with to try and disregard your feelings for the tallest of the turtle brothers has only been met with more anguish. First, you theorised it to be some kind of miscommunication with your emotions, that you had merely misread a deep level of friendship as a new crush. Then, you tried to reason with yourself that it was a rebound - a re-focussing of such feelings onto someone else who likes spending time with you. Neither holds enough weight to get out of this funk, however. You’re chain-bound. 

Then begged the question: what are you to do about it? Realistically, what can you do about it? Not once have you had the courage to even try and say something to Casey, so what makes you think this is any different? If anything, it’s worse. Not only because Donatello is so helplessly in love with April, but because you are so much more hopelessly in love with him. Even the way you used to feel about Jones wasn’t this overwhelming. 

You hate it. You hate it so damn much and, yet, you can’t stop yourself from spending most of your free time in that forsaken laboratory. There’s a saying that keeps coming to mind whenever you find yourself aiding him with inventions and experiments: fool me once, shame on you - fool me twice, shame on me. You certainly feel the fool and more so after a particular incident. A word used candidly but it felt like an incident at the time. The details are foggy but you believe it had something to do with the daughter of The Foot - Karai - and a new robotic toy of hers. Donnie had come in and saved the day, earning a kiss on the cheek from his crush by the end of it. To say that it stung is an understatement.

Nothing appeared to change after that day other than the joy your new infatuation must have been riding on since. You hadn’t even taken note of how it’s affected you. You don’t take notice of it at all. Yes, you still regularly visit the lab but less so to help out. As of late, it is you who is being helped. A habit which has become the norm where the purple-clad turtle finds himself patching you up. Almost every time you see him, there’s a new bump, bruise, or scratch that needs tending to and every time he does what he can to make it better.

Today is no different. If anything, it has to be the worst of your afflictions that he’s seen to date. The first few times were viewed in mild hilarity but he’s not finding these frequenting successions of being your first aider funny anymore. He currently has you sat in his desk chair, knelt down and worriedly looking over your ankle. The pigment of your skin is only slightly discoloured but it’s clear from the way you hobbled in a few moments ago that it can’t handle much weight right now. Carefully, he holds a cold compress against the affected area, earning a jolted hiss from your person. He winces himself and mutters a quiet apology. Some silence follows until he decides he needs to know exactly what you did to warrant such a bad injury. 

“What happened this time?” he asks as he continues to inspect the contusion, making sure nothing is broken beneath. 

“I just slipped whilst I was coming down the ladder,” you admit casually. “Think there’s been some rain recently, so it’s my own fault for not wearing grippier shoes.”

Your answer is marginally concerning for two reasons: it hasn’t rained for at least a few days now and he’s seen the way you work - how careful you are when you’re helping him with mechanics or measuring various chemicals. This isn’t like you. Retrospectively, he hasn’t known you long but he likes to think you’ve hung out enough for him to discern that you aren’t typically this clumsy. He’s even detected a drop in your mood. You don’t crack out as many jokes with him, nor have you spoken much about Casey. The band of his mask creases over his furrowing brows and he slowly looks up at you.

“Is everything okay?” he inquires carefully, mindful of the potentially sensitive question. “You seem… out of sorts lately. If it’s something to do with Casey-”

“It’s not Casey,” you interrupt, rather abruptly he notices. Sighing, you quickly attempt to correct yourself and slump into the seat. “I dunno. It might be. I think I’m just done with all the love stuff at this point.” 

You end on a bitter cadence, one that has Donatello sinking. His heart breaks knowing that yours has been taken away and trampled on by this mess. It well and truly hurts him to see you this way, to hear that you’re energy has been depleted because of this. Then, like a jab to the gut, it all comes to fruition. The ugly canvas decorated with the hard, cold facts paints this horrifying image before his mind: your physical pain is a manifestation of that from within. Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s still an alarming prospect. Swallowing past the nausea permeating and rising into his throat, he takes a moment to reflect on how best to help you. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell you that you should keep pursuing that ragged hockey puck-lover but he also doesn’t want to see you in such disarray. He can’t bear the thought that you might get hurt worse than this.

With a steadying breath, he takes your hands in his own and smiles up at you sympathetically. “Don’t say that. You never know. There’s still time for things to change in your favour.”

If only he knew how much that gaze of his torments you; how his hands make yours burn cold. You silently beg of him to not look at you with such warmhearted affection, that the very thing he believes to have ruptured your heart is not Casey but is him. Part of you wishes that you could get angry and blame this on him for being so sweet, funny, and an overall joy to be around but that wouldn’t be fair. The reality is that you can’t blame anyone, not even yourself. Feelings can’t be forced nor can they be changed. Your eyes drop to the two sets of hands that rest on your lap, knowing you can’t stand to stare into those puppy-dog maroons much longer. 

Unenthused, you hum, “Guess so. Seems like you’re a little more on the hopeful side after that kiss on the cheek, huh?”

He glances away with an awkward smile. Everyone may assume that his head must have exploded when that happened and it would have done were it not for a certain change of circumstance. April kissing his cheek was ironically what led to him realising he loves you. At first, he was entirely confused. Why didn’t he get that round of butterflies? The heart palpitations? There wasn’t even a wild glee that he would have expected with something that monumental happening. Maybe there wasn’t supposed to be. He would have to look into it, he thought, and test it to figure out what was going on. An experiment that didn’t even make it to the drawing board. 

No more than an hour later, Donnie’s tending to a burn on your arm after you spilt boiling coffee on yourself; the first domino to fall in this onset of injuries he would serve medical attention to. Seeing you hurt struck something fierce within him. He had this sudden urgency to protect you, care for you, and look after you. Then, followed a quick daydream of holding you in his arms, close to his body and safe from any and all extraneous variables that could threaten you. It flashed before his eyes with such volatile ammunition he almost stumbled over the dressing work he had been so carefully wrapping around your forearm. That’s when he realised and, boy, he couldn’t look you straight in the eye for the remainder of that day. 

Perhaps, in a way then, your words ring true. He likes to believe he’s more hopeful. He likes to think he stands a better chance with you with how often you hang out and how well you get along. That’s why he doesn’t want you to give up on love. Regardless of where your sights are set, if you’re done with love, that’s his chance gone completely. He wants to keep that hope alive in you as well. Even if it’s for someone else, he doesn’t want you to be devoid of that sensation. It can hurt but it’s still a beautiful experience in his eyes. 

Realising your smaller fingers are still overlapped in his, he blushes - a blush you assume to be the result of your conversation. He finally withdraws his grasp lest he risks you experiencing the backlash of his suddenly clammy palms. It’s about time that he secures your ankle in a bandage, anyway. 

Ignoring your question altogether, he laughs nervously and clears his throat. “Well, the good news is that nothing is broken. Most of the fall was taken by your ligaments, though, so you won’t be able to walk properly for a few days. My recommendation is you rest at home in the meantime.”

You toss your head back into the chair and groan out lethargically, “If only I could replace it with a robotic one, hm?” Along with your overly attached, love-sick heart. “Would make things easier.”

“As long as you know to come here for repairs. Robotic limbs need just as much care and attention as organic ones.”

Glancing away, your lips turn up at the sides bashfully. There’s a smile. A genuine smile. He’s been waiting all day - a few days - to see one of those. What a dork. You can only hope your ankle does a fast job of getting better. At least that means no school for a few days but it’s still a bother. Simultaneously, that means no visits to the lair until you’re healed up. The thought is upsetting but you can’t help thinking it might do you some good; a bit of distance to calm the erratic, painful ache of the suffering muscle that sits behind your ribcage. Distance and distraction. On the topic of distractions, a particular object of interest has caught your eye from across the room: a small, rectangular mound hidden beneath a thin layer of cloth.

“Hey, what’ve you got under this?” 

You don’t even wait for an answer, opting to propel yourself over to his desk with your good foot. The office chair glides along the floor and, before he can stop you, you’re already pulling the tarp from this mystery item. For someone who’s just injured their ankle, you’re annoyingly quick to feed curiosity’s temptation. Your snoopiness would reveal a narrow box, that which you open too, further revealing a slim sliver of chain with a charm sitting comfortably in the centre of it. Said charm is a purple turtle and you don’t have to think hard to figure out that this is a gift for a certain red-head. It’s magnificently crafted if not a little corny but you can commend his boldness.

“I’m sure April will like it,” you say sweetly enough that it masks the disdain bubbling in your throat. With a quiet sigh, you return the necklace to its resting place, fingertips brushing over the top of the box. “If she doesn’t, though, I… think it’s beautiful.”

Truthfully, that’s the only appraisal he’s looking for, especially seeing as he’s made it for you. He should take the opportunity whilst he’s riding on that high. You like it. He should just say that it’s for you. Get it out there and proclaim his feelings if not at least allude to them but the melancholy behind your eyes chokes him out of trying. It’s not the right time. Your heart is fragile - far too fragile to be here any longer, you’ve decided. 

“Thanks again for helping out,” you mumble, swallowing past a lump whilst you attempt to stand. “Better make a start on resting, huh?”

Quickly, he holds an arm out in case you need to grab onto it, face scrunched and brows raised from the middle. “H-Hey, wait! Can I at least walk you back home? That manhole cover is gonna be a struggle let alone the ladder to get to it.”

Cursing the kindness of this tall terrapin would be cruel but he just makes it so darn difficult to not fall more victim to your feelings. You would love nothing more than to take his offer. Wholehandedly, you would within a quarter of a second. There’s just one teeny tiny problem, however. 

“I appreciate the offer, Donnie, but it’s still daytime,” you remind him. 

In his overzealousness, he had missed that fact. A seemingly obvious detail that he wouldn’t typically forget were he not so worried about you. He is not letting you go back to the surface alone in your current condition - both the physical and mental. Wishing to be human isn’t a naturally occurring thought but it’s currently a prevalent desire. How is he meant to ensure a safe trip home if he can’t go topside? Just as begins formulating a plan, a certain dark-apparelled miscreant passes the lab. Donnie can’t believe he’s actually going to do this but it seems like the only option. 

“Casey.” He raises a hand dilatorily to catch the teenager’s attention. “Any chance you could escort (Y/n) home?”

Casey takes one look at your wrapped ankle and throws out two finger guns with a wink. “Jones is on the case.”

He understood the assignment quickly enough at least. Hooray for him. Donatello is prompt to smile when you cast him an estranged glance. You reckon he’s trying to wingman you, which is almost hilarious. If only he knew. Your “escort” temporarily donates you his hockey stick as a makeshift crutch and places a hand between your shoulder blades as extra leverage whilst walking you out. Donnie may have been lying to himself before. He doesn’t want you to be devoid of love but he doesn’t want your love to be directed elsewhere like he had initially tried to come to terms with. It should be him. He wants it so badly to be him. Pitifully, he watches you leave, hearing Casey remark something along the lines of “you’re in safe hands” before the two of you are out of earshot. Such friendly, flirtatious comments from your prior crush would have had you in a tizzy but, weirdly, you find comfort in them. It’s a short moment of silence for your incessant pining. 

Now, all there is to do is hope that your forced rest isn’t met with bedridden wallowing for the oncoming days.

I know the first kiss on the cheek moment doesn't really fit with how it goes in the show but that's the point of fanfiction, is it not? :P Hope you enjoyed! I'm gonna lie down now, holy jeebus

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #donatello #donnie #2012 donnie #tmnt x reader #x reader #donatello x reader #angst #part 2 #casey jones #april o'neil

[rougecreator1]

Hey! Could I request a Wednesday imagine where R is her younger sibling, and Wednesday shocks everyone by being more gentle and patient with them?

Soft Thorns ||

|| Wednesday Addams & nonbinary!sibling reader

|| Warnings: platonic, first time writing for Wednesday's character, brief mentions of blood and reader getting injured (nothing insane)

|| Summary: Reader's on the more clumsy side, Wednesday's there to support Reader when they need it. Wednesday's "soft" side surprises everyone.

Requests open!

Started: April 23rd

Finished: April 23rd

~~~

You and Wednesday were only a couple years apart. Making you 14. Both you and her had started Nevermore at the same time, being paired with Enid for a roommate was definitely an experience the both of you weren't prepared for. She was different than what you were used to, although when you thought about it you and Enid weren't overly different from each other and connected on quite a few things. Building a fast friendship, unlike Wednesday who has tried keeping more so to herself. Only engaging in the occasional conversation with you.

It was after classes, you were struggling to carry all your binders as papers kept slipping. You rushed to snatch them but it was no use and the rest of your binders quickly hit the floor as your grip loosened. Sighing deeply, you stared at the papers in annoyance.

Wednesday, who had been walking slightly ahead because you both left from the same class, stopped and looked back at you. Raising an eyebrow as she watched you struggle.

Wordlessly she took a step towards you and then another until she was in front, crouched down and helping you pick up your papers. She handed all of them to you with a soft look. Well, a look as soft as Wednesday Addams could give. It was like looking at a soft thorn.

Enid had a bounce in her step as she joined the two of you, coming from her own class. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw the look on Wednesday's face.

"Oh my Gosh! No way?? Wednesday-!" Before she could say anything else about it, Wednesday had already sent her a glare.

"Never speak of this." Wednesday muttered, you smiled and suppressed a laugh. It certainly wasn't the first time Wednesday had been softer for you. It was just the first time anyone besides you had seen it. You could only assume she was embarrassed, if she even had the ability to feel embarrassed.

Enid quickly nodded her head and the three of you returned to your shared dorm.

~~~

The following day, you had been in art class with Wednesday & Enid. Bianca and Xavier sat a distance away from you and were mostly doing their own thing.

You had been working with a modeling knife, trying to get a your piece cut in just the right ways you had envisioned. Wednesday's gaze shifted to the knife in your hand and then to your eyes.

"Be careful." She tells you. Wednesday had always been overprotective of you, it was just in her nature. Especially when you were her younger sibling.

Enid looks up from her own colourful artwork and gives Wednesday a confused look.

"What?" Wednesday stared at Enid, who quickly shook her head.

"Nope, nothing." Enid insists.

"You are a horrible liar." Wednesday responds, though her attention is quickly brought back to you when you gasp. You had made the stupid decision to keep your thumb a little too close to the knife as you worked to shape your clay. Her eyes narrowed at you and she took your had. Examining the cut, which had blood dripping from it." I told you to be careful." She looks at you again.

You give her an awkward smile, having set down your knife as you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. Looking off to the side. "Yeah, I know... hand slipped."

"You are an idiot." Wednesday continued, getting up and heading to the first aid kit in the class. "I cannot believe we are related." She muttered the last part to herself.

Enid, Bianca and Xavier were all watching her with the same looks of confusion before looking at you. Was Wednesday seriously taking care of you? They couldn't believe it.

Wednesday comes back to your and Enid's table," Hand." She demands, you sigh and extend your hand out to her.

"I'm fine, Wednesday." You assure her as she wipes your cut with a alcohol cloth, making you hiss in response to the sting that shot through your finger.

"Fine?" Wednesday raised an eyebrow at you when she saw your reaction.

"Oh come on, that's a natural reaction!" You huffed, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"Baby." Wednesday teased you and you rolled your eyes as she wrapped the bandaid around your cut.

Enid leaned back in her chair so she could be closer to Bianca and Xavier," You guys are seeing this too, right?" She whispered.

They both nodded slowly.

"Good, good, cool... just making sure I'm not going insane." Enid continued.

Once Wednesday was satisfied, she let go of your hand and looked at the other three with an annoyed stare.

"Will you stop looking at me as though I have grown three heads?" Wednesday said.

"Sorry, sorry- it's just-" Enid stuttered out an explanation.

Wednesday simply ignored it and returned to her work, making Enid sigh and look at you. You couldn't quite read what her expression was saying.

Though you were quite amused by everyone's reactions to how Wednesday treated you.

#x reader #fem reader #canon x reader #fanfic #wlw fiction #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #wednesday x reader #nonbinary y/n #nonbinary reader

[foxy-eva]

hey! do you have any fic recs from when spencer comes back from jail?

Hi friend! With the help from my friends on discord I compiled a little selection for you!

Post-Prison Spencer Reid Fic Recommendations:

The Only Hoax I Believe In (Angst, Hurt/Comfort) by me: Spencer struggles with his addiction after prison until his girlfriend is determined to help him, no matter the cost

Haunted (Comfort) by @imagining-in-the-margins : Haunted by what happened, Spencer tells someone for the first time what he did while in prison

Clean Shaven (Comfort) by @/imagining-in-the-margins: Reader helps Spencer shave after prison

Life's Pleasures (Comfort) by @/imagining-in-the-margins: Spencer struggles with some side effects of his medication after prison

Untitled (Hurt/Comfort) by @spencer-reids-adventures : Spencer being insecure that he gained weight after prison

Black Coffee (Angst) by @titularkilljoy : Spencer had changed since prison. And no one seems to be able to help

The Last Straw (Angst) by @peachpitfics : Spencer’s been out of prison 10 months & he’s not coping

Café Mourning (Fluff) by @hyper-fxation : Reader is a barista who has been missing their favorite customer for the past three months. One rainy day, he walks in like nothing happened.

Curl Recovery (Fluff) by @writing-in-april : Spencer has returned from prison and isn’t feeling himself. His whole being has taken a beating including his hair. Y/N helps him gain back a little of what he lost.

Never Leaving Home (Hurt/Comfort) by @kirascottage : You comfort Spencer after coming home from prison

NSFW under the cut, minors DNI!

Blush (Smut) by @/imagining-in-the-margins :  Spencer finds something surprising in his girlfriend’s sock drawer after he’s released from prison

To Be Near (Fluff, Smut) by @mercy-burning : It’s Spencer and Reader’s first night together since he got out of prison.

Touch (Fluff, Smut) by @wonderboygenius : Being in prison without touch certainly left Spencer touch hungry. The problem was that since his assault, everyone’s touch felt like an intrusion...until he met you

Letting Go (Smut) by @yourmidnightlover : When Spencer comes back from prison, there’s no doubt he’s changed, especially in the bedroom

Four Feet Apart (Smut) by @spencers-dria : Reader meets Spencer in prison and when they get out, they meet up and they have really rough and kinky sex

The Pantheon: Golden (Angst, Smut) by @reidetic : Spencer is losing himself. Reader tries to bring him back down before that happens. 

Mots d'affirmation (Fluff, Smut) by @coldbrewat3am : Sometimes Post prison!Spencer needs to be reminded that he is a good man

#fic recommendation #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut

[cheesus-doodles]

An Unfortunately Timed Birthday

Yandere Koko

Masterlist

‎

Happy belated Birthday to Koko! missed the actual day of 1st April by a couple of days but truly, having a birthday then instead of the other 364 days of the year XD

truly sorry for the reposts yall, but this fic isn't appearing in the tags for reasons ;-;

"Come on, hop on!" You insisted as you patted the pillion seat of the motorcycle. “Let’s get started already!”

It was the first time Koko swore he had seen you on one, yet you already looked way too comfortable seated in the saddle of the overly-large bike where you had been waiting for him outside his house. Where did you get that? And without him knowing? Did you even have a license?

But those were questions that he decided to keep to himself for now; after all, he didn’t want to be a wet blanket on your very visible excitement. "I don't ride bikes," he mumbled, though the black-haired boy was quick to correct himself. "I mean, in general. Not just when you’re the one driving.” A pause, and silence as the tension churning in his gut. Fuck. The more he spoke, the more he was driving his foot further and further into his mouth. Maybe he should have just stopped at his first sentence.

Despite the day being especially cool, the usually oppressive afternoon sun tucked away behind clouds, though this was one of those days that the Black Dragon delinquent wished it was hot. At least you wouldn't be able to see the nervous sweat beading on his forehead. Fortunately for him, you looked merely confused at his words, cocking your head. “Then how will we get there?”

“Get where?”

“To the park, of course!” Your expression once more burst into smiles as you waved your hand about excitedly. “I have a whole day planned for us! We’re going to play baseball, and then we’ll go for a looonnnggg ride in the countryside before we eat ice cream for dinner!”

Koko couldn’t bite down the grimace growing over his face as you spoke despite his best efforts, the furrow of his eyebrows surely as clear to you as to him. Don’t get him wrong, there certainly was nothing better than spending time with you, but this growing list of his most hated activities - was this what you truly wanted to do? On his birthday? The boy shivered. Playing ball games, riding motorcycles and no food; absolutely not. But how should he play this without hurting your feelings? "Listen," he started carefully, sliding his hand into yours as those slit eyes ever so carefully watched your expression. “How bout we head out to a nice restaurant instead? Your favourite has space, we could take it easy and-”

“Koko!” You rebutted instantly, and his face fell. “I can’t let you treat me, it’s your birthday!”

“But-”

“Nope!”

He sighed, resigning himself to his fate. At the end of the day, he just couldn’t say no to you. “All right then.”

Yet just as he was about to climb onto the motorcycle, you suddenly burst into laughter, shoving the unsuspecting delinquent away before clambering off the bike yourself. “I’m kidding, Koko! April Fool’s!”

The realization hit said boy like a truck, and he let out a loud groan. So it was all a prank. Rolling his eyes, he couldn’t stop the long-suffering grin from pulling at his lips as you threw yourself at him, pulling him into a tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “The bike?”

“I borrowed it,” you hummed. “Not sure where Inupi got it from though.”

Ah. Inupi.

“So what’s the real plan?”

You pulled out a simply enormous picnic basket from its hiding spot, tucked neatly behind the trunk of a nearby tree. “I got your favourites all here. Let’s find somewhere cool.”

Such an unfortunately timed birthday indeed, Koko mused to himself as you tugged him down the street, leaving the motorcycle parked where it stood outside his house. But all this was worth if he could spend such a special day with you.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev #tokyorev x reader #kokonoi hajime #hajime kokonoi #seishu inui #inupi #koko x reader #inupi x reader #koko x you #inupi x you #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x reader #black dragons #kokonoi x reader #kokonoi x you #cheesus answers #tokyorev black dragons #yandere platonic

[pumpkinpie59]

“the 2012 family isn’t abusive” and “the 2012 family all have toxic traits that can affect each other badly” are both takes that can coexist

i think out of all the tmnt shows (except maybe rise, but i could go back on that if i think about it for more than two seconds; this post isn’t about them tho), 2012 has the most dysfunctional family.

this is not a criticism tho. it’s an observation and it can lead to interesting storytelling.

splinter in 2012 suffers from ptsd and it affects how he teaches his children and how he views the world.

he’s been through a lot and was lead to believe he lost his first child.

so yes it’s not shocking that he’d make bad decisions as a parent.

he’s not a bad person by any means, but his attitude about strangers, enemies, and relationships are off. he shows favoritism towards leo, though that’s not his intention. he fails to give his other children the attention they need. etc etc

so it’s not that surprising that his children also gained flaws that affect each other negatively.

leo is dedicated to his training, which isn’t bad but it gave him an ego. he believes he’s the good example, that he’s better skilled than his brothers. he has good skills that make him the best choice as leader, but sometimes his ego and his authority make him downplay his brothers’ opinions and chastise their choices.

it’s mostly seen in his arguments with raphael and donatello. raphael is stubborn, but he values his family like leo does. their opinions on how to protect their family and do the right thing aren’t always on the right page, which frustrates them. raphael goes through growth that makes him a lot more patient with leonardo, but he still calls leo out when leo makes bad decisions, and leo often refuses to listen to him bc he’s the leader. he’s in charge. why should he listen? which is not what a leader should be and he needs to learn that over the course of the series (he,, rlly doesn’t but i digress).

as for donatello and leonardo. donatello is smart and leonardo knows that and ends up using that to his advantage. he puts a lot of pressure on donnie and overworks him. donatello is smart so he has to be the one to track things down, fix mutations, learn what is going wrong. and when donatello’s attempts go wrong, leonardo gets frustrated and orders donatello to just. do better. keep working on it. since donatello struggles with insecurities, this is just added to it and he is super hard on himself when he fails.

having so much pressure put on him by splinter certainly doesn’t help his attitude either.

is he hard on michelangelo? eh not rlly but mikey’s a nothing character so moving on

raphael very obviously has his temper. he’s probably the most criticized of the team so his faults are kinda obvious. he has the most growth in the show tho so i’m not gonna go into too much depth.

obviously his temper and habit to get violent when he’s angry affects his brothers negatively. tho he’s mostly physically violent with leonardo or michelangelo. with donatello they usually are more verbal ig? when raphael is rough with donatello, it’s usually playful. idk

also his temper affects his focus and skills so he’s often chastised by splinter, which comes across to him like leo is so much better and splinter likes him more.

donatello’s turn. this guy has his heart on his sleeve and ik i mention his insecurities constantly but it does affect him more than anything else. he’s insecure about being a mutant, he’s insecure about his weapon and fighting skills, he’s insecure about his feelings for april, he’s insecure about whether he’s smart enough, he’s insecure PERIOD. he has so much going on in that brain so ofc it’s gonna affect his brothers

he snaps at people all the time. he lets his insecurities affect the way he interacts with other people (see: casey jones).

even the pride he does have about his scientific accomplishments can be easily crushed when they’re ruined or criticized in some way.

he isolates very often and sometimes when he is confident it comes across as rude.

and when he acts out of concern for april, he goes about it wrong and ends up being creepy.

it doesn’t help that splinter hardly corrects any of his behavior. plus he doesn’t get the affirmation he needs.

as for michelangelo he’s a bad interpretation of someone with adhd— oh wait no that’s not what i’m trying to talk about hold on—

so michelangelo is playful and naïve and fails to take many things seriously, which frustrates his brothers a lot so it’s hard for them to take him seriously when he is being genuine.

and for karai, we already see how flawed and rebellious she is, and it rubs off on her brothers often, particularly leo.

this family is just a wreck but that’s why they’re so interesting to explore and see them grow. it’s why i wanted more from the series. their dynamics have positive parts as well and it’s nice seeing them talk through things. but the series sacrifices a lot of that for plots that don’t rlly matter tbh (most of season 5 <3)

they are not abusive at all but they are extremely flawed and that’s okay

#except for mikey what who said that #pumpkin stuff #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt splinter #tmnt karai

[king-paimon]

Houseki No Kuni Chapter 108 Thoughts: Everything Stays....

Hello all. I hope the month of April was good to everyone. It was alright for me, though I'm just in awe by how fast it went! Time really goes by too quickly as you get older.

Speaking of time, would you look at that? The final chapter of Houseki no Kuni was released! 108 chapters over the course of 12 years. And I've been following it for nearly 5 of those years! Wow! That is quite the feat, Ms. Ichikawa.

I'd been waiting for this day for a long time, and the feeling is bittersweet, with the overlaying feeling of relief. This emotional rollercoaster that Ms. Ichikawa had sent us on has finally reached it's dock.

Phos's story is finally complete. What a ride it had been!

Now the question is: Was I satisfied?....

I'll do my best to answer this. I don't know how long this post will be, but I'm hoping that it won't be too long (edit: Oops. I was wrong.) And as always, please feel free share your own thoughts if you're interested!

Here we go:

Phos's True End: Was It Satisfying?

I reread this chapter a few times to answer this question and to be honest, I still reach the same conclusion: It was fitting. Not absolutely bad or 100% amazing, but in terms of Phos's whole journey throughout this story, I think this was a fitting ending for Phos, and that's good. And if anything else, it's a little ironic.

I mentioned in my last post that I thought it was funny that the remaining piece of Phos had become the youngest/newest member of the pebble species much like how they originally were at the beginning off the whole manga. It seems though, the similarities don't end there because of this little interaction between Eyeball/Pita-pat and Pebble Phos:

I'm sure this was supposed to be a little cheeky conversation and Eyeball/Pita-pat didn't really mean it. But still, this was an interesting exchange to include in this final chapter, especially right before it's implied that Eyeball/Pita-pat passed away.

One intriguing story choice Ichikawa made was having Pebble Phos continuously fall apart near the end to the point that they become a small spec. To be honest, I was not sure how to feel about this part when I first read, especially considering how now there's hardly any of Phos left now. Like, after Eyeball/Pita-pat saved that last bit of Phos so they could have a nice life away from humanity, it'd be unfair for them to break apart again to nothing after all of that. But I did like how the pebbles decided to view Pebble Phos' changes; that their fragments surely became beautiful comets that would brighten someone's day. And that shot with original Phos was nice...

Also, I saw the post that implied that Ichikawa released this final chapter around the same time that a rare famous comet was supposed to be seen on Earth. I want to say that I think it was a pure coincidence, but I'm not putting anything past this author!

This chapter made me think of that one song from Adventure Time: Everything Stays. If you haven't heard of it, please give a listen. It's a song about life and the course of change. It focuses on how even if things appear to stay the same over the course of time, changes still occur, even if subtle. Phos certainly changed a lot throughout their story through intense mind and physical altering events. But I also think they changed subtly even during the less intense moments. I think the moments in this final chapter fit with this song, too. Phos was always evolving, even when it didn't appear so. Through their interactions and lack thereof with others and their environment, Phos was always changing and growing, ever so subtly. And even in this last chapter, Phos is still evolving and that'll likely never end.

Interesting... after thinking about it some more, I think I feel a little more satisfied with how this chapter/story ended. I'm glad that Ms. Ichikawa didn't pull some other twist near the end; that certainly would have ruined it for me. Am I 100% happy with how Phos's story ended? I don't think so. But to me, it's a fitting end.

But what do I think about the series as a whole?

When The Journey Ends: Was It Worth It?

There are very few manga or written stories that had me wanting to see how things end because more often than not, there aren't that many stories that I've read to completion. Part of it is because I don't want the story to end; basically, I'd have the thought process that if I don't know how the story ends, the story doesn't end! Perfect logic (sarcasm). Though this usually happens because I lose interest or because the story goes in directions that I don't like, I'd say one of the main reasons I end up dropping a series is because of how a story ends. How a story ends can completely change one's opinion of a story, and I've seen my fair share of stories that end badly. Sometimes the ending is abrupt and not satisfying, especially if it was lead by a big build up, or the ending is a result of a jarring story pivot that seems to come out of left field. It just seems that many creators don't know how to end their story well. And if I like a story a lot, sometimes I'm too scared to see how it ends. Partially because I don't want the story to end, but mostly because I don't want the end to ruin my experience.

Houseki no Kuni is a unique case for me. I know I've mentioned this before but I'll state it again: I don't think I've ever been so invested in a story like this before. Though that investment had dwindled over time, partially due to me developing new interests, life, and being occasionally dissatisfied with certain story choices, I wanted to see this how this story would end no matter what. And now that it's done, I'm glad I stuck it out.

Was this story perfect? No. There were several story decisions that I wish was either told differently or completely omitted that could have made the story stronger in my opinion.

Did I get a too invested in this story? During certain points, most definitely haha. I remember getting very emotional about certain chapters when I first started making this series of meta posts. I remember seeing some posts from people stating that they no longer liked the manga because of the direction it was going and in some cases, I could see where they were coming from.

Do I regret getting so invested in this story? No. No I don't. Despite not liking certain story aspects, I do not regret getting invested in this story. Though the story was not perfect, this was such a unique experience that I'm grateful to have gone through.

I plan on talking more about how I feel about Houseki no Kuni as a whole in another post. I intend to delve into what I loved about it and what I wish was different. While I could include that stuff here, I think this post is long enough. I've already started working on it, but I know it'll be a while before it's done; you bet there will be some parts with me ranting a little haha

But long story short, despite some grievances I have with some parts of the story, I feel satisfied with how it ended. And I'm glad that I read this series.

What Happens Next: Thank you, HnK Fandom

I want to thank those who've read, liked, and even commented on my posts! I didn't think so many of you would like, let alone read, my longwinded messy posts. I loved every feedback I got, even the ones that didn't agree with me. You made me love being part of this niche fandom. Like I said in the previous section, I have at least one more post that I want to make detailing everything I feel about Houseki No Kuni as a whole. I might make another one that's more for fun, but we'll see. I encourage anyone who's interested to share your own thoughts on the post! I seriously love reading different perspectives.

But after those posts, I don't know how involved I'll be in the fandom afterwards. I may repost some art and other people's meta posts on occasion. But when it comes to meta commentary, these will likely be my last posts about HnK. I have other fandoms that I like to follow, though I don't make posts about them. Perhaps I will, though I know they will be nothing like the posts I've made about Houseki no Kuni. This was the only series I've ever felt compelled to analyze so deeply, which makes it special for me. If I were to post anything about the other stuff I'm into, it'll most likely be of fanart that I made for my own personal enjoyment. I know scare many of my followers away since they'll not be HnK related. But who knows? I haven't made any HnK art in a long time... Maybe one of these days, I can try to make some HnK art again. I have some unfinished pieces on my computer that's now years old. Yeah, I should finish them when I have the time. That'd be a fun little send off.

Anyhow, if you are interested, please hang around for my final HnK meta posts! And when it's out, please please PLEASE share your own thoughts in it! Don't be afraid to share your opinions. I promise I don't bite.

So that's it. These are my thoughts of the final chapter of Houseki no Kuni. I might add more to it, but I'm fine with what I put out. Wow... I still can't believe I got into this series 5 years ago! So much had changed in my life since then. Despite everything, it was worth it.

Thank you again for reading my jargon. It means a lot and I can't wait to post my true final meta posts about Houseki no Kuni.

What a ride this was.

Until next time...

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #hnk spoilers #hnk meta #lotl spoilers #hnk phos #lotl #hnk spoiler #hnk phosphophyllite #hnk manga #houseki no kuni spoilers #personal thoughts #hnk chapter 108 #phosphophillyte #phos #hnk manga spoilers #manga

[into-september]

"Destruction" is the worst episode of Miraculous Ladybug

Oh hey guys, remember way back in April or something when I said I was doing this? Well, the one year anniversary of its premiere is a suitable time to post this, particularly since yesterday saw the airing of the last piece of canon to come out in a while, which happened to be set immediately after these events.

With the always obligatory reminder in place that I generally think that “Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir” is in fact a good TV show whose appeal potentially reaches beyond its merchandise-mandated target group, it has an unflattering pattern of introducing the juiciest story threads and then just… do nothing about them.

The topic of today’s sermon isn't in isolation the worst offender. But it is thanks to this that the worst offender happens at all, so I'm not gonna be nice about it.

Scroll past to skip the negativity.

So, “Destruction”, possibly the most eagerly awaited episodes of out S5 if you don’t count all the false advertisement that was “Revelation”. I remember finding this episode uncharacteristically charmless for this show when I first watched it. They've been onto heavy topics before, but those episodes still had that je ne sais quoi that gives this show such heart. But re-watching "Destruction" I found it lacking already from the first scene, and felt it only in glimpses. It's just not fun.

The episode is also poorly paced, no way around it. It is inexplicably a flashback to two episodes ago which is not evident from the start. More than half the runtime technically consists of Marinette and Alya having a sleepover. The battle and its game-changing outcome is over at 12 minutes into the episode, which is barely past the halfway point. After that, we spend five minutes - a quarter of the episode's full runtime - on a flashback re-playing the same battle but now with verbal exposition explaining Marinette's clever plan. Mind that the confrontation between Marinette and Gabriel lasts for all of seven minutes, meaning that the flashback is nearing the length of the battle itself.

To top it of, it's bogged down with lengthy exchange between Gabriel and the kwamis just to make clear that the haters on the twitter were totally wrong when they bitched about Orikko being OP because actually its powers were something else than we established last season. Here's a bonus plot hole which has nothing to do with everything else I'm going to nag about: Orikko allegedly can't give out the powers of time-travel because no kwami can replicate another kwami's powers. Except for Nooroo and Duusu, I guess, who have done so on several occasions. One of the more remarkable being the episode which first heralded the event that "Destruction" set in motion: "Timetagger".

And who can forget that this was the second time in three episodes where Ladybug and Cat Noir had Monarch at their mercy but spent so much time giving triumphant speeches that he gets away.

Or that that in fact was the second time on the same night.

But while those things certainly make the episode poor, they are not what makes it the worst.

What makes this episode the worst isn't its technical failures, but about the way it leaves its feces all over the themes and the character arcs it seemed like the show had been building up until this point. Moreover: in the role it plays in S5 and the Agreste storyline, and how the show's refusal to touch it again creates a black hole in the season at large, and arguably in the show as a whole.

I. THE INESCAPABLE CONTEXT OF WHAT CAME BEFORE IT

The art of telling a story is the art of highlighting what matters and leaving out what doesn’t. In a well-crafted story, no matter the medium, no detail is insignificant. Every word is carefully chosen, every line or hue made with intention. The curtains aren’t blue just because, and Miraculous Ladybug has made too many meta jokes to hide behind the claim that it’s just a silly rom-com for kids. It has trained its older audience into looking for context and connections; after “Mr. Pigeon 72”, you can’t insist that nothing that happened earlier in this show matters for what happens later. Titles matter a lot in a show where episodes are titled after the villain-of-the-week who usually is the thematic mirror to what our heroes are going through.

“Destruction” is the fourth episode somehow named after Adrien, and the third somehow named after Plagg. You bet this matters.

As some might know, "Kuro Neko" is not my favourite episode. That's not to say I don't like it! It's cute! It's playing a really interesting scenario! We get Plagg hanging out at chez Marinette! But to enjoy it, I have to willfully ignore the storytelling incompetence it flagrantly displays. Because the moment you peek beneath the surface of the events happening to consider theme, motifs, and narrative parallels, it's just

"Kuro Neko" is the second episode that is named after Cat Noir. The first one was "Cat Blanc". There is a thematic connection between the two; not a very clear one and probably not an intentional one, but all the same: both episodes are about an alternative to Cat Noir. One is the result of his father's violence; the other is Adrien's own attempt to become more like the person he presents around his father. They also both show us Plagg and Adrien negotiation Adrien's relationship to Ladybug, and how Ladybug and Cat Noir negotiate that same thing.

"Cat Blanc", for all its apocalyptic visions, starts and ends with hope. It starts with Marinette’s hope at confessing to Adrien, to Adrien’s hope in finally knowing Ladybug’s identity and knowing her like he’s yearned for for three seasons. Those hopes lead to disaster, but the episode ends with Ladybug finding Cat Noir on the Montparnasse Tower, where he is singing his lullaby about the kitty being "all alone without his Lady". As is fitting, Marinette breaks the pattern: after having just witnessed a world turned to destruction because the two of them loved each other, she leans her head on his shoulder in perhaps the most romantic gesture she's ever given him.

"Kuro Neko", in contrast, starts with Adrien resigning the job when he realises that Ladybug no longer needs him and that makes him feel bad. It ends with him coming back and verbally accepting that Ladybug doesn't owe him any exclusive treatment; he isn't her unique partner, just one of many. Where the final scene of "Cat Blanc" seemed to confirm that Ladybug is indeed the answer to Adrien's solitude, the final scene of "Kuro Neko" and its continuation in the first scene in "Risk" both make clear that the opposite is now status: Adrien has to accept the painful fact that as much as Ladybug might be the most important person in his life, Cat Noir does not hold a similar space in Ladybug's.

(The end of “Strike Back” of course claims to remedy this, but those words don’t ring very true when to Marinette’s knowledge, nothing of what went wrong today had anything to do with her keeping secrets from Cat Noir. More damning: Marinette never follows up on her purported regret. In all of S5, she never once sits down to share all those secrets with Cat Noir. Status from "Kuro Neko" still stands, and Adrien is fine with that now. This has nothing to do with the many problems “Destruction” creates, but talking about “Kuro Neko” by necessity means talking about how it wasn’t fixed even if they put the words in Marinette’s mouth. And now back to our scheduled programming)

"Cat Blanc" and "Kuro Neko" by their very existence bring up a thorny topic: That Adrien being Cat Noir isn't wholly unproblematic, and that both Adrien as an individual and Ladybug as the Guardian might have legitimate reasons to question that choice. This has always been obvious to the viewer who knows Hawkmoth’s identity, but the show itself eventually starts calling attention to that from an entirely different angle - namely that of his powers.

Lest we forget: The first episode of S4 that aired wasn't the first episode chronologically: It was "Furious Fu", wherein we learn that The Order of the Guardians has it out for Plagg specifically, and where Ladybug's status as The Guardian is almost revoked on the grounds that she's letting him run around unsupervised. This question of Plagg's whereabouts comes up again in the only episode that is named after Adrien sans Plagg: "Ephemeral", a re-play of “Cat Blanc” except not good. This whole subplot is quickly forgotten, though it being the only one of Su-Han's complaints that weren't about him being a boomer, it's also worth remember that "Destruction" technically happens a couple of hours after he made his last appearance. One might expect that his one consistent lesson would be important enough to echo a bit in the episode where it’s proven to be justified.

"Destruction", as not only one very early episode of the season promising to finally bring about some significant and not the least permanent changes to their lives, but indeed an episode happening on the same night as Ladybug's declaration of regret and Cat Noir's renewed declaration to be her partner, would by its title and its topic seem like the obvious place to finally resolve what "Cat Blanc" and "Kuro Neko" both asked us to question: The existential terror of Plagg's powers, why it is that Adrien is uniquely chosen to temper them at Ladybug’s side, and how Adrien feels about being the one to carry that responsibility.

Yeah. Well.

II. ADRIEN'S PRESENCE IN "DESTRUCTION"

Where "Kuro Neko" and "Cat Blanc" place significant focus on Adrien Agreste in his civillian life, in "Destruction" he appears on screen for a total of 25 seconds - most of which are another flashback to a previous episode, and whose purpose is to highlight Gabriel's hurt from the cataclysm, not Adrien's thoughts about what is happening.

Cat Noir's presence is also marginal. Three minutes of screentime pass from his first appearance until the battle is over. Said battle is the turning point in the war between the heroes and Monarch, thanks to neither Ladybug's powers nor Monarch and all the kwamis, but Monarch using Cat Noir's powers for an impulsive act of self-mutilation. Cat Noir is distraught over this, turning desperate when Monarch first start toying with the idea and being near tears after he carries it out.

I'll get back to the impact of this event, but for now I'll point out that the aftermath is brief: After Monarch escapes, our heroes have this exchange:

LB: We had him, we almost had him! The kwamis were safe, they were right here! CN: I cataclysmed him! I can't believe this, I just cataclysmed someone! Granted it was Monarch, but - there was a real person behind that mask, and it must have hurt him terribly! Milady, you gotta fix this! LB: Cat Noir, Monarch just ran away with my lucky charm! Without it, I can't fix anything. I can't call on my powers and undo the effect of the cataclysm. There's nothing I can do...

We then cut to the slumber party, where Marinette tells Alya that she and Cat Noir "split up" immediately after, and Alya comforts her. From this point in the episode, Cat Noir and Adrien only appear in flashbacks. First a fifty-second flashback wherein Marinette sets up her convoluted plans, then a few seconds of him moving his statue in the wax museum before Monarch appears.

In the episode that more than anything should thematise Adrien, Plagg's powers, and his relationship to his father, Adrien is on screen for a whooping four minutes and twenty seconds.

And because I am that devoted to proving my point, I went and timed all of Alya's on-and-off appearances, which clocked in at a total of five minutes and six seconds.

Alya is of course core to the slumber party which frames the setting of the entire episodes. Moreover, it is with Alya that the emotional arc of the episode ends: it starts with Marinette tormenting hersef watching a Ladyblog report about Monarch's recent win, for which Alya chastises her. The last scene (before Gabriel pulverises the miraculous) has Alya reassure Marinette that she will get the kwamis back. When she regrets her lack of superpowers, Marinette in turn reassures her that Alyas true superpower is being her friend. The journey of the episode was for Marinette to stop blaming herself for messing up, and learning to rely on Alya's support in the new turn the war has taken.

...

IN THE EPISODE WHERE ADRIEN KILLS HIS FATHER.

III. SIR NOT-APPEARING-IN-THIS-FILM

In the episode where Gabriel commits suicide on his son's miraculous, here are some things that got more screentime than the son forced into using his only source of liberation to kill his father:

Flashbacks to past events (four minutes and fourty-five seconds)

Alya (five minutes six seconds)

The kwamis (six minutes and nine seconds)

Bet you can't guess which one is the only kwami who doesn't appear in this episode!

...okay, and Duusu, but you get the point. In the episode detonating the nuke that is the gruesome potential of Plagg's powers, and the potential damage Adrien might deal with them, Plagg never appears on screen.

In the episode highlighting the presence of the kwamis and their importance to their holders, the kwami whose presence is the most thematically tied to his holder's character arc is completely absent.

In the episode irreparably going into the only kwami whose powers is straight up murder, the kwami who The Guardians have singled out specifically as particularly dangerous, the kwami whose irresponsible nature has previously caused problems both to Adrien privately and Cat Noir professionally, said kwami is never even mentioned.

It's almost as if we're not supposed to remember that it is because of his presence that this whole tragedy was possible.

IV. THE EXISTENCE-DEFINING HORROR OF A CATACLYSM GONE WRONG

And ain’t that a funny one, when the gruesome potential in Plagg’s powers was the driving factor in Adrien’s first true crisis as a hero?

Marinette faced her moment in "Origins", where she gave up on her miraculous after the first disastrous attempt. She knows that she is the only one who can do something about the situation, but refuses out of her own lacking courage. She only becomes Ladybug of her own choice when she realises that she can save Alya's life. After this, Marinette never again questioned her place. She would grieve the burden on occasion, but she never once thought anyone else could do better.

Adrien, as we all know, was the polar opposite: he jumped right into it without reading the manual, had to have Ladybug pick up the pieces after a rash cataclysm, and never doubted his calling again until he realised what Plagg’s powers could do when used on a living being.

The NYC special has Adrien quit for reasons that had nothing to do with being unsatisfied with Ladybug's HR policies. It is in part because he effed up his duty as Paris' substitute guardian, but it's certainly also because of the recent horror he just witnessed: his hand forced by someone else nearly killed Ladybug, and killed Uncanny Valley instead as she stepped between them. Adrien just saw a mother weeping over her daughter's corpse, and how only the lucky presence of Ladybug's powers could undo the damage caused by his, unintentional thought it might have been. Adrien would of course never kill anyone on purpose, but Uncanny Valley’s temporary malfunction was a brutal display of what would happen if he stumbled the wrong direction with the gun loaded. Ladybug might have the duty to protect Paris, but Cat Noir has the duty to not to disintegrate people on touch.

The show never before discussed the weight of this burden in Adrien’s presence. “Cat Blanc” did it from Marinette’s side, but this never was a consistent story thread, only briefly brought up as her remembering why his knowing her identity is a bad idea. The sabbatical in “Kuro Neko” has nothing to do with Plagg or with Adrien’s sense of duty, and where you’d think this would be where Marinette finally brings up the issue bridging the NYC special and “Cat Blanc”, neither of the two are as much as alluded to. That Adrien has the power of murder has yet to be explicitly discussed in the show proper, but in combination with his personal relationship to Hawkmoth being a ticking irony bomb, the question of can he even bear it is inevitable.

That Adrien’s post as Cat Noir wasn’t as given as Marinette’s as Ladybug is echoed in the amount of times that Adrien has either quit or at least contemplated doing so (“Syren”, NYC special, “Wishmaker”, “Kuro Neko”). He likes being Cat Noir more than Marinette likes being Ladybug, but he lacks her iron certainty in the role. It is notable, then, that THE ONE TIME where Marinette questions her part, it is after Cat Noir has quit. She says this, out loud, in words. When Cat Noir’s powers become too heavy for Adrien to carry, then Ladybug, too, disappears.

So surely "Destruction" must be the point where this is finally comes together - where Adrien's history of quitting meets his ultimate crisis, where his powers abused on a human being of flesh and blood forces him into confronting the potential cost of being this particular hero, which will foreshadow the ultimate choice he’ll have to take: between being Cat Noir and being his father’s son. And where his choice, in turn, will define whether Ladybug can exist.

Or not.

Maybe we'll never again have Adrien think about how he probably murdered a man. Maybe we'll just - oh I don't know.

Have him start trying to cataclysm people?

Repeatedly?

While showing none of the horror at himself which he clearly had in the aftermath of accidentally cataclysming the villain responsible for his later victims’ possession?

And in the end, after never calling attention to Adrien’s new and trigger happy ways, we’ll have him give in to his fear, claim that he isn’t strong enough to responsibly use Plagg’s powers, and send his miraculous away for Ladybug to use alone, because it turns out that “Kuro Neko” was right and the NYC special was wrong: she can be Ladybug without him.

Growth, amirite.

V. IN THIS HOUSE WE DON’T TALK ABOUT PATRICIDE

Dramatic irony was the main engine driving "Miraculous Ladybug" from the start, and it was Adrien who bore the brunt of it. Not only did he spend four and a half seasons in unrequited love with a girl who rejected him for himself; he spent five seasons doing weekly battle against his own father.

The superpower war between father and son isn't just a source of story tension, however: it is inextricably mirrored in their relationship as family, where the father is openly abusive and the son is magically incapable of protesting. The show repeatedly makes A Point about how the freedom Adrien so wants, is one that he only gets through being Cat Noir, and the only way Adrien is capable of fighting his father - albeit ignorant of it - is with Plagg's powers.

Cat Noir defeating Hawkmoth was necessary not just for his story as a superhero, but as his character arc as a normal boy.

And in "Destruction", this is exactly what happens. Thanks to Plagg's powers, the path to Adrien's freedom is finally paved, in the most gruesome and unwanted manner possible. Adrien might not get the big cathartic show-down with his evil father, but technically he was the one to bring him down.

But we don't talk about that. Except for his one (1) line after Monarch escapes with Ladybug's lucky charm, Adrien never again brings up the fact that his being careless with a cataclysm certainly maimed a man, by precedent (Aeon) possibly killed him. Rather than a story arc about Adrien being afraid of his own powers, it’s only now that he starts aiming it at people when he’s under emotional duress. This could of course have been one hell of a story point if it was intentional, but by all accounts, it wasn’t. When Adrien never again reflects on his having probably murdered a man, or reasons that Monarch is probably fine since he’s clearly still around so maybe a cataclysm isn’t so bad, and he never dwells on his nearly murdering two of his friends, there can’t have been any connection intended here. Moreover: when Adrien is scared of his miraculous towards the end, it’s not about its capacity for normal murder when he’s having a bad day, but its capacity of ending the world if he happens to be akumatised.

Gabriel is likewise disinterested in the cause of his impending disintegration. You’d think the man would feel some kind of special resentment towards Cat Noir and his powers, you could think this was where he’d get to re-thinking his relationship to the two people who are sitting on the keys to solving all his problems. Maybe he’d start doubting himself now, bearing the ultimate testament to his magical hubris. But no. The cataclysm wound is there and it’s a problem, but the reason it happened is completely irrelevant to the man who did this to himself and unknowingly, to his son.

That is almost as mind-blowing as the fact that they really had a straight up patricide happen on screen. Sure, death was never the intention of either of the two parties, and Adrien certainly holds no blame for what happened. But Gabriel must have at least known what he was risking, and even if the soft-hearted Adrien would somehow reason away the gravity, Plagg would certainly now. By its very nature, this one cataclysm drags out and distils a plethora of questions about both Adrien’s role as Cat Noir, about Gabriel’s vision of himself and his goals, and about their relationship not as father and son, but as villain and hero. The gruesome narrative irony looming over all this is in that regard just the icing on the cake.

There is certainly an Oedipal layer to the drama of Gabriel and Adrien, though the often more scandalous incestuous angle is considerably downplayed here. Even so: By the denouement of S5, Adrien has successfully killed his father and set up a home with his mother. That really happened, but we’re sure not going to investigate how this influenced the relationship between two nemesis, between father and son, between Adrien and his kwami.

The cataclysm in “Destruction” turned Adrien from anguished shoujo love interest to the hero of a greek tragedy, but the show is dead set on pretending that it didn’t.

VI. SO THEN WHAT WAS THE POINT

In isolation, "Destruction" comes across as weird more than anything. It's named after Adrien's kwami, it spends an inordinate amount of screentime on Adrien's father, it reaches back to Adrien's perhaps most defining moment as Cat Noir as it fundamentally changes the game between our heroes and our villains as one of them is finally dealt a damaging blow - which in turn sets Adrien's life down a path towards tragedy that must be interfered with for him to have a happy ending by the end of the season.

And yet, Adrien is a peripheral presence in it. Marinette and Gabriel dominate the screentime, Alya and the kwamis are consistently present as the thematic chorus at their respective sides throughout, the episode plays its events twice in order to make it clear that Ladybug is too clever for Monarch's miraculous, the emotional arcs that are followed are the follow-up on where Marinette and Alya stand after the disaster in "Strike Back" as well as Gabriel's renewed vigour. Adrien's only contribution to the episode is to follow Ladybug's instructions and to make clear that his relationship with his father is still awkward. The episode depicts probably THE most important event of the show, but this event is treated almost as an afterthought, and the horrors of it are confined to one (1) line of dialogue from Cat Noir.

The only thing in “Destruction” that is brought up in later episodes is that Gabriel is now actively dying. If they wanted for Gabriel to live on a countdown for his date with the grim reaper, there were countless other ways about it: Have it be his use of too many miraculous which backfires, have him having used the peacock before it was fixed, have it be too much evil on the hands of Nooroo, have him get a serious call from his doctor, have him screw up Tomoe's machinery, have him develop a drug problem. This is a fictional narrative; its twists and turns are absolutely in the hands of the writers, teenage girls being irredeemable or not. It was never vital that this happened by cataclysm specifically.

So what was the point, then? Did we truly turn our magical girl show into a Greek tragedy for the shocked pikachu faces only?

The one thing I somehow haven't seen people bring up, is that "Destruction" makes it impossible for Adrien to learn Monarch's identity. According to the writers themselves, the reason lies in two of the other episodes named after him: "Cat Blanc" and "Ephemeral", wherein he learns his father's identity and is promptly akumatised. This is of course bullshit: both these cases relied not on Adrien learning his father's identity, but on Gabriel specifically scheming to traumatise Adrien with both the Hawkmoth reveal AND the fact that he's been living in the same house as his mother's dead body for the last year or two (timeline here is spectacularly contradictory). There was anothing inevitable about this. You're the writers. You could've set up a scenario where Adrien didn't learn about his father's crimes as an act of psychological warfare, and where he'd have the time to absorb it, to grieve and to find support by the time he'd confront him with it. Having every person close to Adrien keep life-defining secrets from him “for his own good” is, by god, not a good look on anyone involved here. Still it’s understanable, at least for those who aren't either adults or gods of destruction.

"Destruction", however, serves as an explanation for the gaping plot hole in the epilogue: Marinette tells Alya, she tells Su-Han. The one she doesn't tell, though?

The partner who was at her side before Alya or Su-Han ever appeared, and stood by her in far worse storms. Because telling Cat Noir the truth would mean telling Cat Noir that he dealt Gabriel Agreste the killing blow, and ain't that a nifty way to ensure that Marinette won't. Because if Adrien does learn Monarch's identity and the truth about his fall in future seasons, Emilie better hide those garment pins.

The truly damning part of "Destruction" isn't so much what the episode itself does. It's what it doesn't do. It's the storylines it cuts short and leaves behind, and it is the storyline it by its very existence introduces, but which the show refuses to touch.

Per title and content both, "Destruction" should be the culmination of thematic storylines from "Cat Blanc", the NYC special and "Kuro Neko". It’s not; it’s not even about Adrien, and Plagg isn’t even present in it. Moreover: its lacking presence on future episodes make it painfully evident that ambitions, there were none. Those storylines were either aborted like Adrien picking up Felix's spyglass in the S4 finale, or the show never did mean for there to be such a thing as "layers" to this story about a boy who becomes a hero to unknowingly break free from his superhero father.

The real reason why "Destruction" is the worst episode of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir is that it obliterates the most cohesive character arc this show had going for it, and that this was done on purpose.

#miraculous ladybug #ml criticism #mlb meta #blah #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #storytelling #mira

[thosehallowedhalls]

Second Thoughts

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x Raine of Riverbend (F!MC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1235

Summary: After choosing to leave the portals open, Raine is wrestling with second thoughts. Tyril is there to help her through them.

A/N: This started out as pure fluff and took a turn into the slightly angsty. Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge, prompts: flowers & "Your laughter is my favorite melody."

The first tulips begin to bloom in April, dancing merrily amidst the crocuses and daffodils. Raine can’t resist leaning in every so often and simply taking a deep, cleansing breath. There’s something invigorating about those first shaky efforts of springtime.

After the winter they’ve had, they deserve some spring.

It’s been six weeks since she made the call to leave the portals open, letting people and magic pass through them freely, but she can’t stop wondering if she made the wrong decision. For the first three weeks or so, she’d wake up in a panic in the middle of the night, heart racing and convinced she’d doomed everyone in both realms to a slow and painful death. Tyril talked her down from many a nightmare during those long, terrible nights, and she’d fall asleep again within the protective shelter of his arms.

She hasn’t had one of those nightmares in three weeks, but her waking hours are still plagued by doubts.

“You’ll get yourself stung by a bee,” he tells her fondly.

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Stopping to smell the roses is a time-honored human tradition. You’re just jealous you don’t have flowers in Undermount.”

“We do, too.” He gently tugs on her braid. “Next time you visit, I’ll show you the greenhouse.”

“How in the world do you…” She stops herself. “Ah. Magic.”

“Conjured in tandem by enough elves that only a little lifeforce is taken from each.”

“Tyril, you know I love flowers, but are they worth your lifeforce?”

His eyes light up at the promise of a debate. “Isn’t it also a human saying that beauty is its own reward?”

She takes his hand as images of him nearly falling at the battlefield flash before her eyes. “Nothing is worth your life, Tyril. Certainly not a few flowers.”

The argumentative light in his eyes gives way to tenderness. “I’ve never been one of the flora elves, Raine.”

“And you never will be. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She exhales. She feels like they just cheated death again. She feels like they just cheated death entirely too often. For once, she wants them to have simple, uncomplicated fun. “Let’s go on an adventure,” she tells him.

He raises an elegant brow. “May I inquire as to what you think we’ve been doing for the past year and a half?”

“I mean a fun adventure. Low stakes, no near-death experiences, absolutely zero monsters” A pause at his doubtful expression. “All right, fewer monsters.”

“We’re due to meet with Nia in less than two hours.”

“We can make it in time. Why don’t we go on a picnic to the woods?”

He looks at her. “Your heart is set on this, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Then I suppose we’re going on a picnic to the woods.”

“This was a good idea,” she says an hour later.

They’re sprawled out on a blanket, two goblets of elven wine and a bowl of assorted fruit resting near them. Tyril looks relaxed, his forehead free of the worry lines that are rarely far behind.

“Has it made you happy?” He asks, as if that’s the only relevant criteria.

“It really has. We needed this.” She raises herself up on an elbow and grins at him. “Especially you. Your frown lines were developing frown lines.”

“I believe I’ve had cause to frown lately,” he says dryly.

She reaches out to trace the little crease on his forehead with her fingers. “Of course. But the worst part is over, Tyril. We can relax.”

“That’s sound advice. Do you intend to take it?” He gives her a knowing look. “I’m not the only one who’s been frowning recently.”

She shifts, a guilty look in her eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

“No,” he admits. “You hide it well. It’s only that I watch you very closely.”

Well, hellsfire, what’s a girl supposed to say to that? “I keep wondering if I made the wrong decision. Should I have merged the realms? Or gone into the Shadow Realm? What if I made a mistake?”

“Uluvalir, I don’t think there was a right decision here.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, she can’t resist teasing him. “That must’ve hurt you to say out loud.”

He ignores her. “Yes, leaving the portals open wasn’t a perfect solution. But if we had merged the realms, untold quantities of people would have died. Would you have been able to accept that?”

“No,” she admits. “It would have haunted me.”

“And if we had gone to the Shadow Realm, we don’t know what would have happened. We might have become infected by Shadow.”

“I’d never be able to forgive myself if you or the others had been hurt.” She blows out a breath. “Okay, I get it. There were no right choices, but there was the right choice for me. And I made it.”

Tyril takes her hand and tugs her closer. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” She kisses him, then grins. “But you know what else would make me feel better?”

“I believe I have an idea…”

When he reaches for her, she scrambles back. “Mind out of the gutter, Lord Starfury. I meant a race.”

“A race? You want to run?”

But she’s already on her feet and making for the trees. She’s starting to gain a real advantage when the sound of her name stops her dead in her tracks.

“Raine!”

Alarmed, she skids to a stop. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I was promised no monsters!”

She runs back to him so fast her breath is coming out in short gasps when she finally reaches him. “What are you talking about?”

A blue finger points at a creature that’s… surprisingly small to be a monster. “That!”

She follows his line of vision and breaks into helpless peals of laughter. “Tyril… those aren’t monsters. Those are geese.”

“The difference is hardly significant!” He glares at her. “Are you enjoying this?”

“No! I’m not! It’s just…” But she’s doubled over now, laughing so hard she can’t finish her sentence. When she looks back up, she’s surprised to find him smiling slightly.  “Is that a devious smile? Are you planning to feed me to our geese friends?”

“They’re not our friends. And no. It’s only that I haven’t seen you laugh like that in a very long time.”

“We haven’t had very many reasons to laugh.”

“No. But I suppose I’m glad for those blasted things.” He shoots the geese a distasteful look. His hand twitches, as if he’s considering casting a spell to keep them far away from him. But his face softens again when he turns to look at her. “Your laughter is my favorite melody.”

Undone, she walks to him. “And your smile is my favorite sight.”

“I suppose I’ll have to smile more often.”

“Yes please. You of all people don’t need more frown lines.”

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her to him. “I don’t believe it’s possible to be with you, Raine, and not smile.”

“Back at you.”

She tips her head to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat soothes her, and the scent of flowers wafts up around them in a gentle welcome, a promise of more beauty yet to come. Her friends are safe, the realms are thriving, and Tyril is right here in her arms.

For once, all is right in her world.

#tyril x raine #tyril x mc #tyril starfury x mc #blades of light and shadow #playchoices

[naturallyexcessive]

So! Ateam wants me dead personally and dropped Amemiya and Masai revue outfit designs, knocking me dead and making me go eat concrete!

Is this their idea of an April Fool’s joke? Yes. Am I going to take this 100% seriously and at face value? Also yes.

This is mostly a cleaned up collection of my insaneposting from other places (cough Twitter and Discord) so these thoughts may be sporadic. And nonsensical. And filled with so much copium.

First major comment! Their revue outfits are almost entirely black. This also includes their undershirts, which one should note are - by default - white for Class A. Not only does this work as representing the difference between Classes A and B (Class A get white undershirts while Class B get black ones), but this choice of palette for their outfits is almost certainly a reference to the traditional wear of stagehands: they typically wear black or other dark clothes as a means of making sure they remain unseen during performances. Invisible, away from the spotlight, if you will.

Should note that this is mostly an anime-to-game thing, since Sakura Yanagi’s uniform in the stageplays is uniquely colored and features a white undershirt. However, one can also probably reason this is because Sakura outright reawakens as a stage girl, whereas we (currently) know nothing about the context for the Amemiya and Masai revue drip.

Another point: wow, their weapons are very silly. Byproduct of this entire thing being an April Fool’s addition and all. Yet in spite of them being supposed gag weapons, they actually do fit the two of them to a degree, even as jokes? Bear with me here.

Amemiya’s is mostly self-explanatory. She’s the scriptwriter. Her weapons are her words and this is pretty much a literal representation of that. Something something pen power sword. The thing is very stupid but it’s also very blunt and straightfoward in the same way Amemiya is.

Masai’s is REALLY silly... she’s gonna DECK you with her FOG MACHINE. There’s still cohesion here, though, albeit if it’s a bit straw-graspy. The “kiri” in her given name, Kiriko, literally means fog, so there’s that. There’s also the fact that - from what little we know of her - Masai herself is somewhat non-confrontational, preferring to avoid conflict for the sake of keeping peace (since Amemiya has to be the one to step in and fully reject Kaoruko back in Episode 6, not Masai), but when she needs to stand her ground, she does so well (see Gekijouban). Her having a rather unorthodox, ineffective-seeming weapon kind of works in her favor and represents this aspect of her; it’s a fog machine so it can produce a means of allowing her to hide and avoid attacks, but since it’s a blunt force weapon if swung at someone, it hits hard when it counts.

So honestly for an April Fool’s addition, this hits. Rare Class B content win for us!!!!!!

#revue starlight #shion amemiya #kiriko masai #now if only ateam actually added them as stage girls #then i'd forgive them for their sins. mostly. #they better be dropping an event story for this #i really want to write about these two more #like. their junnana parallels their nature as stagehands in a world run by the performers etc etc etc #reminder that these two were probably some of nana's first ever friends

[reasonandfaithinharmony]

2023 writing gif-making round up

Rules (adapted for fic, gifs, art, etc.): Share what you made this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you made or just the projects you're most excited about. Thank you for the tag, @thisbuildinghasfeelings!

January

Um. Coming to terms with the idea of 2023? I dunno. But certainly nothing creative happened here.

February

Boyfriend → husband (Schitt's Creek) — A side-by-side comparison of how David refers to Patrick in season 4 and season 6. (Brought to you courtesy of a lovely text post by @jesuisici33.)

David questioning Stevie's motives (Schitt’s Creek) — A fun look at David's expressive face. 😄

March and April

An existential crisis. Or two. Or five. 🙃 Managed to finish absolutely nothing.

I did come in contact with a lot of 911 Lone Star content, however. Which explains everything that follows. Oops?

May

Marry me. (911 Lone Star) — Ah, my first gif set for this show. A parallel of TK referring to Carlos as his husband when he proposes, and then during their wedding ceremony.

Wedding → honeymoon (911 Lone Star) — Holding hands right after they first kiss as husbands. (Promo footage that didn't actually make the final episode cut). And holding hands poolside on their honeymoon.

Note: From here on out, everything in this list is for Lone Star, unless otherwise specified.

June

TK and Andrea helping Carlos get ready — A parallel set highlighting similar moments from Best of Men and a deleted scene from In Sickness and in Health

We almost forgot. Your boutonnière. — In which I attempt to put a couple pieces of unaired footage back together: the deleted scene with Andrea and Carlos + promo footage of what must be the same scene

Heart tutorial — Danielle Savre and Stefania Spampinato teach Rafael Silva how to make a heart sign with his hands at the First Responders Reunion 🫶

July

🤨 (affectionate) — Listen. I love this dynamic. Had to do the parallel set.

Nothing ever stays the same, Carlos. — A look at TK and Carlos' conversation in 2x04 in parallel with Carlos' wedding vows. The first set I wanted to do for Lone Star. Took me a while to get to it because I wasn't sure how to put it together.

August

TK needs you all to RSVP — My first attempt at this type of post. Incorrect quotes? Text post memes? I don't know what to call them, really. But it was definitely fun. And then it became the thing I did most often. Lol.

And if it never changes? // What if everything changes again? — A parallel set for me and ~5 other people, putting Tarlos in 2x04 side by side with Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

September

You're a menace to society *smooch smooch smooch* — My next incorrect quotes/meme post. And my contribution to ascribing cat-like behavior to TK.

I like him a normal amount — A fandom reaction gif, essentially. Courtesy of Joey Tribbiani on Friends.

Love is stored in humans finding out we can make heart shapes with our hands — Had to revisit the heart tutorial for Rafa. This time as one of the incorrect quotes/text posts.

When you can be silly and slutty with them — Oh, I had fun with this look at TK and Carlos' relationship. 😍

Pretty sure this happened at least once — In which we learn TK was seen trying to catch a frog outside the firehouse. Obviously.

October

Carlos is lit like an angel — Commentary on that beautiful moment from 2x02 where TK falls into Carlos' arms.

I put my emotions into my cooking. // This tastes… horny? — A playful and sexy look at Carlos in the kitchen with TK, and then heading upstairs… 😏

I adore you. Why are you like this? I’m going to kiss you with such fervor… — Oh, just exploring the Tarlos relationship dynamic with a text post and a scene from 3x18.

November

Unedited Gif Game (26 entries so far) — This has been very fun. I think it was good for me to have a bunch of low-stakes gif projects where I was not in charge. Lol. I will spare you individual links to each of them. But they should all be in the tag linked here. I will probably make this an ongoing thing, as long as it's not annoying everyone.

December

Episode vs. Promo: Yee-Haw (1x02) — Let's start diving into some more unaired footage, shall we? And let's start with some alt takes on that first make-out scene.

Missing moments: then and now — From an almost-kiss in 1x02 to an alt kiss from their wedding.

You're a miracle, TK Strand. My miracle. — A rather large close-up gif of that alt wedding kiss. Why? So we can see the teardrop that beads up under Carlos' eye.

Tags below the cut…

Tagging: @rmd-writes, @reyesstrand, @strandnreyes, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @carlos-in-glasses, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @birdclowns, @welcometololaland, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @rosedavid, @heartstringsduet, @noxsoulmate, @chicgeekgirl89, @paperstorm, @tailoredshirt, @guardian-angle22, @swearphil, @carlos-tk, @three-drink-amy, @orchidscript, @danieljradcliffe, @lightningboltreader + open tag!

#tag game #2023 writing (gif-making) round up #2023 round up #mythings #mysc #my911ls #tarlos #911 lone star #schitt's creek #david x patrick

[nonotnolan]

No Not Nolan's Year in Review

Apparently this is a tradition now, so-- here are the stories of 2023, ranked by the number of likes.   It also helps keep me a bit grounded-- it feels rough when recent stories don't pick up stream, but the year as a whole has still gone quite well. It's also nice to see where all of my work falls, note-wise.  And if you're feeling very nostalgic (or horny?) here is a link to 2021, and here is a link to 2022.

I'm leaving the eBook announcement posts out of my year end review, but I'm calling it out for myself so when I revisit this in December 2024, future-me will remember to grab those. I'm not planning to abandon this account anytime soon-- and I'm certainly not shifting to Patreon or PayPal or what have you. I'm not prolific or popular enough for any of that. The vast majority of my work will continue to remain free and open. I just wanted to prove to myself that I'm good enough of a writer to publish something that I can be proud of-- I have, and I am.

Do authors love notes and reblogs? Yes. But they often enjoy hearing direct feedback even more-- I know I sure do. Consider "messaging authors directly" as a New Year's Resolution. (Please note that begging for someone to write you a story is not feedback. Don't be that guy.)

12) Green Grass - 122 notes - December 2023 Two guys learn first hand that not everyone values the same things. Concise and straightforward. 11) Soul Stones: Long Distance - 192 notes - April 2023 A romantic story of two men using the power of body swapping to close the gap on a long distance relationship. Cell phones have nothing on being there in person. 10) Colony Freedom - 197 notes - September 2023 A slime alien attempts to rebuild its colony from the ground up after its overseers have completely vanished. Can it manage to find enough hosts for its family, or will its cover be ruined? 9) Cuerpo Inc: After Hours Perk - 249 notes - July 2023 Ethan tries to pretend to be Jake for the weekend, but he wasn't counting on Jake's nosy neighbor getting But if he can't be Jake, at least he can still have fun in Jake's body. 8) Summer Break Dullahans - 252 notes - June 2023 Eric was not expecting to find Ben's detached head in the dorms. I'm a big fan of detachable limb stories, so I decided to be a part of the change I want to see. (I'm also very rusty at GIMP / photoshop, but it gets the job done.) 7) The Great Gym Shift - 275 notes - August 2023 A version of The Great Shift, but with a limited radius. A gym instructor is stuck babysitting a bunch of grown men who suddenly find themselves in very muscular bodies. 6) Just Another Sunday - 279 notes - October 2023 A Chronovac story with unaware recipients and a retroactive reality shift that ripples through reality. I'm really happy with this one, though I will freely admit that I lucked out on the photos for this one. 5) An Excellent Choice - 291 notes - February 2023 My Valentine's Day story, dedicated to my boyfriend. As such, the emphasis is on a merging transformation sequence. Two men take advantage of new technology to become a new sum of themselves. 4) Group Project - 331 notes - November 2023 Another work set in the Swapper universe, where college students take advantage of body swapping technology for success or pleasure. This piece features Aiden, who has to hire a nerd to take over his body if he wants to pass his classes. 3) Cursing Fate - 337 notes - January 2023 It's an alien possession story with a dark twist. If you're going to align yourself with an extraterrestrial force, make sure you have something valuable to offer them. 2) Soul Stones: The Easy Life - 412 notes - March 2023 Alfie finds himself in the body of Jordan, one of the most popular athletes on the football team-- but he's not the one who plotted for the body swap to happen. It's one of my favorites for the year, and it's a series I could see myself returning to if the inspiration is right. 1) Rookie Mistake - 482 notes - May 2023 A novice magic user tries out an Astral Projection spell without reading all of the instructions. Things do not play out in his favor.

Special Mentions-

Travis Cordin - 382 notes - February 2023 by @mergeman My boyfriend's Valentine's Day story that he dedicated to me. A raw and electric story about a magic user who gives the resident nerd too much magical power.

Stories I Love (Part 1) and Stories I Love (Part 2) I was not expecting so many people to react to these lists, but these have been getting reblogged like crazy. More importantly, a lot of authors have been reaching out to show thanks and start conversations, which I appreciate even more. Like I said-- I'm not always the best at participating in the community, so I really enjoy hearing from people.

Top 5 All Time-

5) Revenge, Reversed - 517 notes - August 2020 4) Overbearing - 538 notes - May 2022 3) Finals Week - 552 notes - May 2021 2) Gym Merchandise - 610 notes - September 2022 1) Soulmate Swap - 659 notes - August 2022

It's always fascinating to see which stories get a second life through reblogs and new discoveries. Soulmate Swap is one of my heavy hitters, but both Gym Merchandise and Overbearing have gained a lot of momentum this year. Finals Week is starting to slip, though I'm still quite fond of it. I'm quite surprised to see Revenge, Reversed on this list given its age, but it's another one of my personal favorites.

[henrystars]

We Are Family

April 29th.

That’s the day Steve’s world as he knows it comes crashing down. Sort of, at least.

Ironically, they’ve just finished having sex when it happens. Sweat slick skin pressed together from calf to shoulder, legs tangled up beneath the old Garfield comforter that Eddie refuses to be shamed for still owning.

“I can’t believe you fuck me with the same dick that’s been inside my sister,” Eddie says with the sort of nonchalance that Steve expects for a casual conversation about work or how Wayne is doing or what they’re having for dinner or like, literally anything else.

Certainly not this, that’s for sure.

“Pardon?” he asks calmly, trying as hard as he can to keep the wobble out of his voice. And mostly succeeding too, despite the way his chest is suddenly beating so violently against his rib cage he’s convinced there’s no feasible way Eddie can’t hear it too. “You’re an only child from Montana. I know I have…” He pauses, mulls it over in his mind for a second while he chooses his words. “History,” he settles on.

Eddie always gets weirdly touchy when Steve speaks about his dating history derogatorily. Steve isn’t entirely sure why.

It’s kind of cute, though, so it’s not as if he minds.

Eddie hums, seemingly content with his choice before he snuffles a little as he turns in Steve’s arms, pressing his face into his armpit in a way that should probably be gross but somehow isn’t. He blinks up at him, waiting for Steve to carry on.

“I know I have history but I’m not that bad,” he huffs. “I know I’ve put my dick around a fair bit but it certainly doesn’t reach all the way to Montana.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, earning him a kick to the ankle from Steve. “Also you do know I moved here when I was like, six right?”

Steve quiets him with a quick wave of the hand that’s been wrapped around Eddie’s shoulder, using it to tuck a few stray curls back behind his ear before he returns it to where it had been, stroking soft lines against his skin.

“Of course I know that,” he scoffs, slightly offended that Eddie might think he doesn’t. “I’m not entirely sure why that’s relevant, though.”

“How is it not relevant?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed.

“It’s - I mean - you know what, shut the fuck up. You’re distracting me from the point in hand here,” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes when he notices Eddie’s own crinkling at the corners. “You’re such a dick,” he chides.

Eddie stifles a chuckle against Steve's skin, hot breath tickling him softly as he mumbles an insincere sorry against his chest.

They’re quiet for a moment before Steve speaks again.

“So….” he drawls, fingers tracing nonsense patterns against Eddie’s shoulder. “Are you actually gonna tell me what the fuck you’re talking about or…”

“Oh,” Eddie perks up, pops his head up from where it’s been wedged against Steve’s armpit. “Nancy, obviously. Who else would it be?”

“What?” Steve splutters, pushing himself upright against the mattress to stare down at Eddie. “Oh my God…”

Eddie shrugs, reaches for the comforter to pull it back up over his newly exposed bare chest. He looks utterly ridiculous, Steve thinks, as he often does when he lies there freshly fucked and rosy cheeked beneath the fluffy blanket he’s had since middle school.

It’s a good job Steve loves him.

This stupid, ridiculous boy who, as it turns out, could’ve been his brother in law in another life.

Steve shudders at the thought.

“I don’t - it’s not like - you don’t see the resemblance?” he asks, shucking a hand free to push at his curls as if it’s obvious.

“Okay well first of all, Nancy has a perm.”

“She does not.”

“Does too.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie shakes his head against the pillow. “Them are some real genuine Munson family curls, baby.”

He looks so proud that Steve almost doesn't want to burst his bubble.

Almost.

He rolls his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, baby, but Nance and I were together long enough for me to know that she definitely has a perm,” he says with a shrug. “Nothing natural about those curls I’m afraid.”

Eddie gapes at him, mouth opening and closing a few times as if he can’t quite decide where to go from here.

Eventually he sighs, tucking a hand up under his cheek as he says, “Guess you learn something new every day.”

Yeah, Steve thinks with a tut that goes unnoticed, you really do.

“I can’t believe she lied to me,” Eddie mutters dejectedly, burrowing himself further beneath the stupid blanket. Garfield’s eyes are exactly level with where Eddie’s nipples should be and the sight of it is making Steve want to scream.

Steve pats his head the way he would a sad dog; enough for Eddie to know he’s still there but gentle enough that he hopes he won’t get bitten for it.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, head cocking in Eddie’s direction. “Nancy knows about this?”

“About…about being…my sister?”

Steve nods tentatively, watching as Eddie rolls his eyes.

“How the fuck d’ya think I found out?” he asks as if it’s obvious. As if any of this had even been within the realms of possibility for Steve before this very moment.

“From Nancy? Nancy Wheeler? The same Nancy we both know?”

He rolls his eyes again.

“No, Steve. An entirely different Nancy. Yes the same Nancy we both fucking know. Why would I be telling you this if it wasn’t?”

“I dunno,” he mutters quietly. Tacks on an even quieter, “Why are you telling me at all?”

Eddie sits up, mirroring Steve’s position on his own side of the bed as the blanket pools around his soft hips. The outline of the new tattoo that sits atop his thigh peeks out from underneath it, the thick black ink dark against his pale skin.

“This isn’t - this doesn’t…” he trails off.

“No, no,” Steve interrupts with a shake of his head, mostly believing himself. “It’s-”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet then, nothing but their breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator in the next room filling the space around them.

Steve tries not to let his mind wander, to think the worst. Of course he doesn’t want this to change things between them, why would he. But how can it not. How can they-

“Do you-”

“How do-”

Eddie chuckles, scrubbing a hand over his face as he mutters a muffled sorry and motions for Steve to continue.

“I don’t - I’m confused,” he says. He mulls it over in his mind, brows furrowing in confusion. “How does that even work?”

“Well,” Eddie starts, taking Steve’s hands between his own equally clammy ones. “When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-”

Steve cuts him off with an eye roll, pushing his hands away.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie rushes out, grabbing for his fingers again, only continuing when they’re back between his own. “I’m sorry,” he giggles.

Steve shakes his head, powerless to damp down the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips no matter how hard he tries.

“Continue.”

Eddie nods.

“Okay, so,” he takes a deep breath. “Sometime in the summer of sixty six Uncle Wayne had to make a trip down here for some reason and he was young and dumb and-”

“Hang on-” Steve interrupts, watching as Eddie blinks up at him, light from the lamp over in the corner glinting in his big brown eyes. “This is about Wayne?”

Eddie makes a face as if to say duh, who the fuck else would it be about. As if Steve is the idiot here.

“You - you do know Wayne isn’t actually your dad, right?”

Eddie pouts.

“He is the clos-”

“-est thing to a father you’ve ever had,” Steve joins in, smirking as Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no. I know. But you didn’t fucking come from his jizz, did you?”

Eddie pulls a face.

“Please don’t talk about my uncle like that.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Okay but don’t?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Steve huffs.

Eddie smiles and leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not like you came from…” he trails off, gestures the hand that’s not holding Eddie’s in the direction of his balls. “He’s not your actual dad, yano?”

“Of course I know that,” Eddie tuts.

Steve raises his eyebrows at him expectantly.

“What?” he asks.

“So…”

Eddie stares at him, confused. “So…?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “So, she’s not your sister at all then, is she?”

“No but like - I mean,” he pauses, presses his lips together tightly. “In a round about way-”

“Uh-huh,” Steve interrupts with a shake of his head. “Actually literally not even at all.”

“Close enough.”

“Not really.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters. “But she’s still more my sister than yours.”

“Thank God,” Steve laughs. “Given that I’m the one who’s had their dick inside her.”

He watches as Eddie bites his lip.

“Wait. You haven’t-”

“Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

“Okay, good. Good.”

“Great, actually.”

Steve grins, using the hand still clasped around Eddie’s to tug him back against his side, chuckling as he falls into him with an oof.

He settles himself back against the headboard, content to have Eddie wrapped around him once again, more than happy to forget this conversation ever even happened.

“You’re not allowed to tell anyone about this, by the way,” Eddie pipes up a few moments later. “Ted doesn’t exactly know and it’s not-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss to the forehead.

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, tugging him closer against his side. “I’m not exactly in a rush to talk about any of this ever again.”

also on ao3.

#taking a break from my regularly scheduled harry shit posting to drop this absolute belter apparently!!! #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie blurb #this is ENTIRELY jens fault btw #my fic

[beachy--head]

A silly drabble based on Jackson saying April has road rage in season 13 (and yeah, I know the canon in s13-14 doesn't make any sense, but this was really fun to imagine)

___

Ask anyone who's ever met his wife to describe her, and they'll probably use a synonym of "nice". Kind. Cheerful. Sweet ("Unbearably so", Cristina would say). She's known for being the peppy resident, the upbeat attending, whose compassion is not always reciprocated but still knows no bounds.

But these people obviously have never been in a car with April Kepner as the driver.

One minute she's talking about her plans for Sofia's birthday party the next weekend ("I offered to bake the cake, because both Arizona and Callie are on-call and Ari doesn't even like to bake in the first place, so it was the least I could do, I mean-"), and the next she's swearing like a sailor who stepped on a Lego.

"Did you see that?? He cut me off and is slowing down? Hurry up! We could be going to the hospital to go save lives or something!"

They're not, they're actually headed home after a long, exhausting shift at Grey Sloan's, but April doesn't really care.

"Do you need an instruction manual to tell the difference between the gas pedal and the brake?"

"April."

She makes a move to blast the horn and then reconsiders, opting to flip the offender off. Her hand stays safely below the dash though, so the driver doesn't see, but Jackson does. Who are you and what have you done with my wife?

"My grandmother would go faster than you and she's been dead for years!"

"April!" 

He hadn't really noticed before, because he or Alex or Meredith had done most of the driving on the occasions they carpooled to work. And sure, Alex had told him about what happened at the trauma certification, with April hijacking an ambulance and apparently yelling at Major Owen Hunt, but he had thought his friend had exaggerated when recounting the situation, because, well, he was Alex. Her jumping on another guy at the board and trash-talking him (or at least trying to) could have given him a clue, but he'd been too busy being in awe of her feisty side, and, well, they'd soon found themselves very preoccupied with each other, so he hadn't given it another thought (except than "damn, that was hot").

Two weeks of marriage though, and he's discovering a new April Kepner, driving menace.

"I would have had the time to go to the hospital, do a total colon resection, round on my patients and come back and you'd still be waiting at this stop sign, you-"

What follows is a litany of words Jackson is pretty sure would be highly frowned upon by Karen Kepner and that April certainly didn't learn at Sunday school.

He's not ashamed to admit that it turns him on a bit. He always loves to see April, proper, angelic April Kepner, get out of her shell and let it loose. Probably because it reminds him of one of the best nights of his life in San Francisco, and because the only times April swears otherwise is during sex. Really, really good sex. Like the sex they could be having right now if the driver in front of them actually went faster than 20 miles per hour under the speed limit, and is he starting to see the point his angry wife is making?

"Okay fast and furious, why don't I–"

He has to wait until April is finished with her diatribe (her long diatribe, because his wife seems very creative with her use of swear words), and it's only turning him on more and more. Once the offender makes a turn and finally leaves her sight, she turns towards him with a sweet smile on her face, as if nothing happened.

"Anyway, I'll have to pick up Sofia's gift before the party, and– why are you looking at me like that?"

#drabble #japril #april kepner #jackson avery