#you are now listening to: lock

[withloveajaxx]

IELY YOURE ALIVEEEEE HIHIHIHIHIIII HOWVE YOU BEEN o(≧▽≦)o

- lock

STOP. OMFG. LOCKKKK 😭😭😭😭

I MISSED YOU SO MUCH WTFDJFJKWNFKWKCOSKDK IM GONNA CRY

#you are now listening to: lock #HDKCJSJDJSJD I MISSED INTERACTING WITH YOU HOLY SHIT #HOW ARE YOY #I HOPE YOU'VE BEEN WELL 🥹🥹

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

#steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie #steve x eddie #listen i have a couch now and if you know me you know that i get really fucking emo about the tiniest things #i fixed my lock with graphite btw when i was blackout drunk. it still fills me with so much joy #sorry tag list gang idk what this is but it wanted out #i could write fics/poems/whatever about the most mundane things until the end of my days tbh so today we have: couch #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings #the hurt/comfort is implied like you'll catch it when you reflect on the words but most importantly this is healing. and comfort. and fluff #and so much love and understanding it makes me wanna throw up

[chimchiri]

It's Harrow and that other one

#I am sorry Gideon #Listen - by now I really like you #probably love you as well #but I am still reading this whole shebang for Harrow #by god #I haven't even read half the first book #yet I am so attached to Harrow already #Gideon as well even if I'm mean lmao #I've wanted to read more but #then I got the urge to sketch them #at least a first sketch to get it out of my system #the locked tomb #tlt #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav

[uhohbestie]

I'm supposed to be outlining the last several chapters of TAMN, but all I can think about is how in Hermitcraft Scar offered to share ownership of the Sand permit with Grian so that they could both hold a monopoly on sand, I'm gonna be so sick I'm gonna be so ill why would they do this to me they're never gonna leave that desert and NEITHER WILL I OTL

#WAKE ME UP (WAKE ME UP INSIDE) I CAN'T WAKE UP (SAVE MEEEEEEEEE) #scarian #hermitshipping #you guys have to listen to me lose my mind because LOCK WON'T ANSWER MY DMS #so now my spiralling is public :3 #🔑

[byronicbi]

did you guys know i'm a writer? yeah i had no idea either.

anyway, AMAPOLAS IN THE DESERT is a new short story (3.4k words) that just went up for free on patreon if anyone's feeling zesty and wants to read about a displaced latino roaming the american southwest, coming across a questionable watering hole, getting flirted with by trickster gods, and getting torn asunder by a trans woman who may or may not be a primordial deity.

but also, for like a whole $1, you can get access to a T4T sci-fi romance short (8k words) inspired by H.G. Wells' The Time Machine.

but also also, i've got a couple of nonfiction essays dropping next year where i set out to piss people off by arguing that their favorite pieces of media are grossly mis-categorized (in a fun and non-judgy way; and who knows, it might make it onto podcast or even video format if i can afford to outsource editing). among other things.

#yes i am extremely worried about my finances now that i have a ton of medical stuff to deal with #but i hate asking for donos and shit. i also hate locking stuff behind paywalls. i'm just BAD at this. #so like. yeah here's how you can keep my ass from going insane. 'but mitch it's free' LISTEN I KNOW. leave me alone. #text tag #if y'all let this flop i am spiritually shoving you into an animatronic suit and triggering the springlocks (with love)

[pangur-and-grim]

dusk under the lilac trees

#Tallgeese #Wormbecca #I've been listening to this biweekly avian flu webinar for Ontario and following the maps of infected zones #and it FINALLY looks like things are calming down! #they said all along that the increasing heat + end of spring migration would help and I guess we're seeing that play out now #so the girls got their freedom back. they were so so happy #immediately went to their favourite dustbathing location and entered a dirt bliss #then went around eating all the fresh vegetation #it hurts that Anzu had to pass while they were still locked up. I know she hated being restricted to the run #if you'd held on one more moth you could've had freedom

[snaillock]

kurona ranze as your bf: random hcs

tags: male!reader, reader is taller than kurona(5’6), reader is a blue lock player, me gushing over a character that has literal crumbs of info available so i’m making this up as i go, oh my god he is literally a bipedal lemon shark

kurona ranze. *sighs dreamily* kurona ranze…

he is literally a magenta lemon shark (*gasp* a strawberry lemonade shark… bro my fucking mind)

you two would literally be the “excuse me, he asked for no pickles” bf x standing behind you at the register bf

i do believe he has a good amount of self-confidence but only speaks when he feels it’s necessary so he’s completely cool with you being the more assertive one in the relationship

he is also so so loyal. one of the most loyal men you’ll ever meet and is just as reliable off the field as he is on field

i feel like he isn’t a big fan of pda so you gotta show him your love when you two are alone cause it feels a lot more special to him. besides you guys prob gotta hide it from all the bltv cameras anyway

when he warms up to the relationship more, he’ll absolutely love physical affection from you even becoming clingy for your attention once you two are alone

you absolutely love doting on him (i mean just look at him) and he clearly enjoys that type of attention from you so much but would never admit it out loud

he is literally the perfect height for easy discreet forehead kisses so you can simply sneak one in quickly and walk off before he can fully process it

it’s so cute how short he is that if you’re able to pick him up, you would (if he’s comfortable with it ofc) but if he gets a leg cramp during training, then that’s the perfect excuse to carry him off the field so he can rest

when he gets flustered, it’s just the most adorable sight ever. his cheeks getting just as pink as his hair and him nervously gritting his teeth, possibly hiding his face in his shirt collar

speaking of his hair if you two share the same dorm room together, you could offer to do his braid for him in the morning before practice or a big match. such a simple yet sweet act of affection that makes his heart flutter when he feels your hand going through his hair

you’ve ever seen those tiktoks of a lemon shark getting nose rubs? yeah it’s exactly like that

don’t get me started on his teeth. he seems pretty neutral about his shark like features so feel free to openly gush about how cute they are to him. he’ll probably let you poke and prod at the pointy ends when he feels like it

he gives me a partner who just randomly bites you affectionately vibes and i’m not just saying that bc of his serrated teeth (it is mainly bc of that) but i can imagine whenever he doesn’t feel like expressing his love verbally, he just gives you a good ol’ chomp right on the meat of your bicep!

the way he repeats his last words (it’s a speech tic idc what anyone says) is also so so endearing that part of his character is just *chefs kiss*

you two were probably pretty subtle about your relationship only bc you two mutually agreed on not being too open about it with the others plus your teammates won’t expect such a pairing anyway.

can you imagine their surprise when they do find out? it probably started out with some of the observant ones noticing how weirdly… ‘close’ you two have gotten. small rumors forming about what possible relationship you have with kurona, mainly thanks to you accidentally slipping out a pet name one time while you were greeting him in front of the team

until all their suspicions are confirmed when one of your teammates spots you two kissing when you thought you were completely inconspicuous and alone

once the secret was out, you two were certainly crowned the cutest boyfriends in blue lock

hello message from me from the future. if you want more male reader content, then check out more of my blog :3

#★ snail.writes ★ #kurona ranze #kurona x reader #kurona ranze x reader #blue lock kurona #kurona x male reader #blue lock x male reader #wrote this while listening to mitski (bmamc) #kurona is so texas reznikoff vibes #im being so serious right now #you know sometimes i feel bad about having messy looking posts #but then i remember it’s my blog and i can vomit out as many hcs as i want

[sojutrait]

well… on the bright side cowboy carter will be getting that aoty

#i blame MIDnights winning that grammy so now she thinks that’s what we wanna hear #it sounds like an ai generated version of being funny in a foreign language which. given the subject matter is very funny #favorite lyric: matty healy telling lucy dacus he’s going to kill himself #i fully gasp laughed #but in all seriousness fave song is so long london #‘you swore that you loved me but where were the clues i died on the alter waiting for the proof’ she remembered how to lock in #also but daddy i love him but even before listening i knew that was gonna be a banger #music #soju shut up

[bluespiritshonour]

I'm kicking, screaming, crying, throwing up, pulling my hair out by the roots—

Exile by Taylor Swift is such a Maiko-coded song. Like, it doesn't get more perfect. Literally every single line of that song fits with Maiko perfectly ugh!!!

The way I'm feeling right now has no solution, no relief. It's like how you want to crush cute things cause there really isn't any response that would deal with the stimulus called cuteness? I'm going crazy because I can't express how much I love this song and I love maiko and sometimes words aren't necessary. Sometimes it's just the vibes and exile is so maiko in vibes—I feel like I've understood a lot of things I feel like throwing up.

It's like Zuko and Aang looking at the dragon flames and understanding firebending. I listen to exile and it's just—maiko in my head...just pictures and vibes and feels. No words apart from the ones in the song and they fit, okay?

#i always associated don't blame me with mai #love did make her crazy #but two taylor swift songs being so maiko huh #i used to taylor but not anymore #i barely listen to her music anymore—new music at least and I don't like her anymore for a lot of reasons *cough* the environment *cough* #BUT—Lover is the reason is survived grade 11th and now #AND NOW I'M FINDING THAT HER SONGS ARE PERFECT FOR MY FAVOURITE SHIP!!! #ugh #ugg #UGH #exile is SSOOOOO maiko #you never gave a warning sign #i gave so many signs #ugh!!! #i think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending reminds me of when zuko locks mai in boiling rock cell and— #—they share 3 secs of intense eye contact #yeah #ive seen this film before!!! #maiko #zuko #mai #i just felt like word vomiting #atla #avatar the last airbender #exile taylor swift ft. bon ivor

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

#NO TAGS ON THIS ONE BC WELL. IM SHY. IM TAKING A BIG LEAP JUST BY ALLOWING U TO REBLOG THIS. IF IT BREAKS CONTAINMENT THATS UR FAULT. #i unfortunately suffer from the disease of 'i hate everything i write the day after i write it' BUT IM GETTING TREATED #I WILL NOT BE HAUNTED BY THIS WEAKNESS FOREVER. AND HEY LOOK THIS IS THE FIRST ACTUAL FIC BIT IVE EVER FINISHED.. #ITS SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF!! AND BY JOBE I WILL BE PROUD EVEN IF I HATE IT. #i dont always need to be the one who likes my art bc i know Someone out there will always enjoy it. #and to that someone i say: omg thankyou i LOOOOVEE YOUUUUUU!!!!! #JUST DELETED A WHOLE RAMBLE I JUST HAD ABT NERVOUS DISCLAIMERS FOR MY ART BUT I DONT NEED EM!! #GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT. ANYWAY. so emizel and soda huh #THEYRE SO CUTE TOGEEHTERRRR TEEHEHEHEHEEEE they are the homies that kiss eachother goodnight like CMON #but uhh so hey your bestest friend in da world just got turned into a freaky creature thing that eats ppl #ieah yknowthe guy that u care about alot that u had to watch get bled out by another freaky creature thing in an alleyway #yeaaah and you were super hurt and weak and stupid and u couldnt do jack nor shit to help him #what was i talking about again. RIGHT so hes even cooler now bc he cant die n hes super strong n his arms can be knives. sometimes. #but also he can eat people now. and sometimes he cant stop himself from eating people. and thats kinda scary. but in a cool way. #but also in a disturbing way. but also in an interesting way?but also in a freaky way.the feelings ARE MIXED!!!ATLEAST I THINK THEY WOULD B #okay again i havnt listened to the suckening ina bit. so its been a minute since i absorbed their personalities. i could be misreading or #misremembering or misconstruing or mischaracterizing or WHATEVER. i think the confusion carries its intended effect #LOSING MY TRAIN O THOUGHT. anyway i love soda n emizel i hope they get locked in a saw trap together or somethign. for enrichment. #TALOS GRANT ME THE STRENGHT TO POST MY CREATIONS ON LINE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHH!!!!!!!

[thresholdbb]

You know what I like? Star Trek

#had a conversation with my sister today and kept denigrating my current passion and lifestyle but like... maybe don't do that? #listen ok I've been trying to be cool my whole life #and I have failed cause at my core I am just not a chill person #shamelessly leaning into something that I like isn't something I did openly before #and honestly? it's changed me for the better #low key it's the reason I don't have a real job right now #because I've been miserable in every structured job I've had (except for maybe college teaching) #and the last conversation I had with my grandpa before he died he asked me if I was happy because that's all that mattered #and while this little shift in existence is ridiculous in the grand scheme of what I've accomplished in my life #and hustling is harder than just showing up and getting a paycheck #and however much I'm not meeting my parents' vision of my potential #I am closer to actually being able to answer his question honestly than ever before #also it led to the wild neurodivergent revelations #so being able to declare openly that I like something is already a shift #and being able to engage with people who are honestly the most open kindest group I've ever encountered? #amazing #cause I'm actually a mega loner who barely talks to people #I'm honestly so glad I got lost in the delta quadrant cause without boyager I wouldn't have come to these conclusions #so yeah I'm kinda really into Star Trek #and if you've read this I'm sure you already know how severely uncool and locked into this I am but alas I can confirm by talking inthe tags #en fin

[lucky-draws]

in another life kaz was an 80s pop star. to me

#mgs #metal gear solid #kazuhira miller #just wanted to draw his luscious locks . #kaz the smash hits poster boy. listen to his new single love deterrence out now. #quite like that last one bc of how loose n sketchy it is. i need to be less averse to drawing/posting stuff like that. stop #overthinking n worrying about detailed polished anatomy. things look better if you just get messy and Suggest things sometimes.

[hassianlovebot]

i know the rare and epic bugs are supposed to be yknow,, rare and epic so it wouldn't make sense if they spawned all the time. that being said, it's bad enough that the game has time limits on certain bugs, adding super low spawn rates just makes it worse. imo players should never feel like they have to spend hours playing to catch one bug

#fishing is easier imo just because you can do the little bait and pull trick #so you dont waste as much time catching every single fish #but the bugs spawns are just Bad #i understand devs wanting to encourage players to play More like i get it #but players should never feel forced to do so because of annoying game mechanics #again its one of those quality of life things #plenty of games have low spawn rates for certain things #but when palia is mixing low spawn rates with time gates and location locks its just... dude..... #*game criticism #and listen im not saying that these bugs should be popping up everywhere #i like that there are different spawn rates #but rn the balance is bad imo #i feel like if players are rage quitting and going online to desperately ask for help catching a Rare bug.. maybe you should reconsider #like not even epic ones.. i see people complain about the duskwing butterfly too and that one is just uncommon!! #low spawn rates is fine but when you also have specific areas and time spawns.. those spawn rates should be a little higher imo #its bad if only one specific rare bug spawns in its allotted time frame and it doesnt respawn if it goes away #that means literally only one person on a server can catch certain bugs #thats bad game design devs i feel like im going crazy #okay im done ranting now back to simping for tish

[random-human-being2311]

All Things Must Pass (1970) save me

All Things Must Pass (1970)

save me All Things Must Pass (1970)

#omfg why is every single fucking song such fire #currently relistening to Behind That Locked Door and holy fuck is that what heaven feels like #me on almost every single song like “holy fuck is that what heaven feels like” #I feel as though that's probably the intended response to this album given how spiritual it is and everything #george harrison #all things must pass #the beatles #I know it's not a beatles album but you know what I mean #first listened to this album less than a week ago #and now Isn't It A Pity is engraved into my brain #and so is My Sweet Lord #and so is What Is Life

[todayisafridaynight]

brother was talking to me about how if you almost die from an extreme-temperature-related incident then your body is just forever fucked towards that temperature and that's why i think kiryu and saejima are weak to ice. i dont know why aoki isn't like that too but ignore that statistic everything else tracks.

#snap chats #i already made this post highkey but im making it again cause i didnt know this was an actual real thing ☠️ #my brother learned this when he started to work for target. because apparently that's a thing they tell you frame one #'snap how did this topic even come up' i am LITERALLY so glad you asked :) the cold has almost claimed me twice #am i exaggerating Maybe but its my fucked up body temperature now listen #when i was younger i got locked out of my house for like. three hours since i was a latchkey kid #and my dad wasn't supposed to come home with my siblings (from their after school events) for Three Hours #and it had snowed outside and Was Cold Yeah and i couldn't get in cause i forgot my key like a weiner #and yeah. was really cold :) my dad was real cross with me when he found me shivering in the shed LOL #he made me hot cocoa tho so its ok. second incident's just funny No I Talk About It Evvery Other Week #and im p sure i talked bout the first incident too but yeah that time after the con when i was at my sister's #like i cannot stress how cold it was because It Was Late November and the cold still existed #and my sister's heater just. Didnt Work but yeah. i wont go into detail cause i share this story every five seconds #POINT IS i've always had a hard time with the cold- like i'm cold nearly all the time even if the room is 90 degrees #i wont be COLD cold but i'll be colder than i like #anyways can't believe i'm weak to ice this is so sad. i love winter.. #aoki isn't weak to ice cause uhhhh /aoki/ didnt almost die in the cold 🥴 masato did 🥴 #imagine changing your identity so well that you just remove your past elemental weakness. fucked up. #alright bye

[sabraeal]

in a world of locked doors, she's an open window; Part 1

[Read on AO3]

There are few things Gojo could say he is unequivocally— naturally— good at. There's school— that’s what Kitagawa-san would tell him, pointing at his middling scores, ones that always make the board but never quite the top. But that isn’t natural talent; no, that is the result of weeks of study, of all the small bites he takes each night to help digest the whole.

And sewing too— that’s what Ji-chan would say. Or rather, you make a fine mebina, Wakana, accompanied by an affectionate pat on the shoulder— if he could still reach— but what he means is the clothes they wear. And he might be right, but…

But Gojo remembers the pile of small kimono he had to remake those first few months while he struggled to understand ‘cutting on the bias.’ Or how the first pattern he drafted refused to fit together at the shoulder, mismeasured so badly that Ji-chan had sat at his elbow for his next attempt, gently reminding him to mind both size and proportion. Not to mention those first costumes he made Kitagawa-san— forgetting that unlike dolls, humans needed to move in their clothes, needed to breathe, and…

And sometimes he simply wonders if, unlike everyone else, he doesn’t have talents so much as struggles he simply got better at handling. Or didn’t, considering how half a year away from graduation he still can’t get the eyebrows to sit right on this kashira.

“It’s good, Wakana,” Ji-chan grunts, shuffling behind him. “I’d be proud to put a doll like that on display.”

Gojo squints, tracing the curve of his brush. “It’s not like yours.”

Laughs do not so much bubble up from Ji-chan as they do burble, like a stream squeezing itself through the gravel in his throat. “And why would it be? Don’t you know how long have I been at this?”

“Forty—?”

“Fifty!” Ji-chan barks, setting a stack of loose-bound books on the table before he settles under it. “It’s fifty this year. And even if I didn’t have all those years on you…”

No kashira painter holds the brush the same way. A fair point, if Gojo didn’t objectively hold his worse. “What are those?”

Ji-chan blinks, staring down at those books as if he hadn’t seen them before. “What? These? They’re the accounts. Sales, purchases, that sort of things. You’ve seen them around, haven’t you?”

Once, when he was still able to wriggle into Ji-chan’s lap. He’d let him flip through it, marveling at the endless pages of cramped characters— and closed it when Gojo had squinted at a few strokes and tried to stumble through the words. They’re notes for me, he’d sniffed, dust whuffing up from the pages, not everyone has to be able to work them out.

“I though you would have switched to, er…” Gojo clamps his teeth around the word, digital. The shop might have a website— one designed by his uncle nearly fifteen years ago now, when he insisted that any legitimate business needed an online presence— but Ji-chan still wouldn’t get an email address. “I didn’t realize you still had, um, physical copies.”

“There’s nothing wrong with doing it by hand,” he huffs, hunching over his arms. “And now when that accountant comes, I can just hand him the whole thing. No fuss at all! Not like with those file things.”

Gojo can’t bring himself to mention that using 'one of those file things' would mean the accountant didn’t have to come to them. Then again, knowing Ji-chan, that would be yet another tally in the ‘con’ category— much as he might like to say that he preferred to stay at the studio, surrounded by familiar faces, Ji-chan could spend hours on quick trips to the corner store, coming back not only with the ingredient for dinner, but whose grandson just went to medical school, or which neighbor's daughter is having yet another bundle of joy.

Instead, he manages, “We have an accountant?”

“Of course! You don’t think I do all this math myself, do you?” Ji-chan laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a smart kid, Wakana, but you got that from your grandmother. I might have done all the work, but she was the one who kept the lights on.”

His hand sweeps over a hard cover, a fond smile chasing on its heels. Gojo’s tongue twists, useless in his mouth, and— and it’s not often that they talk about it, about what it was like before. Before it was just them, trying to make the empty space feel like home. He wants to say something, should say something, but he’s never known how to put this sort of thing into words— how to say, I miss them too and I’m glad it was you all at once.

“And now I have to pay someone else to make sure I don’t muck it up.” Ji-chan pats the cover with a rueful chuckle. “Costs a pretty penny too!”

Gojo frowns, setting the kashira aside in its canisters. “Can I see one of those?”

Ji-chan blinks. “If you’d like.”

“I would.” He slides the ledger across the table, hefting the cover open. Ji-chan’s spiky scrawl stretches across every page, too much at first, too messy, but then--

Then they setting in into neat columns, numbers running up one side of the page and labels down the other.

There may not be much that comes naturally to him, but holding this ledger in his hands, seeing how the rows tally and the columns coalesce into concrete answers— this decision finally does. “I think I could do this.”

Ji-chan glances up from across the table. “Wakana?”

“For—for the shop,” he clarifies, tongue tripping over itself to keep up with his thoughts. “I think I could learn to do this.”

It’s silent for a moment, both of them sitting utterly still, Ji-chan’s wide eyes not even blinking.

“Well,” he creaks, after a moment. “Do you think that’s something that needs a degree?”

*

It all falls together quite quickly, after that. There’s relief on his homeroom teacher’s face when he stops by the office, the fabric of his uniform pants scratching his palms as he tells her he’s changed his mind about university. There’s the exams of course— and a round of cram school in the fall, expensive enough that Gojo feels balanced on a knife’s edge, wondering if the money they might save will ever equal what he’s spent trying to learn.

Kitagawa-san only laughs when he worries.

“I guess I’ll just have to cosplay twice as much.” It’s hard to take her seriously when she’s taking bites from a burger the size of her own head; a promotional item she’d dragged him into the heart of Saitama to try. “Then you’ll break even like nothing!”

“I only charge you for materials, Kitagawa-san,” he reminds her. Expensive ones, sometimes, but it’s worth it to see the way she lights up, looking at herself and seeing someone she loves.

“Well, you should let me pay you for your labor or whatever, my dude!” Her hand whips across the table, smacking his shoulder hard enough to make him jump. “Maybe then Juju-chan won’t say I’m a total mooch.”

Freeloader, that’s the word Inui-san uses. And once, more memorably, deadbeat. “I couldn’t…”

“Whaaat?” Kitagawa-san nearly launches herself over the table to stare at him, a smear of some condiment at the corner of her mouth. He tries— uselessly— not to stare. “Why not?”

“Ah…” His mouth works, trying to wrap itself around a reason. Because you were my first customer— too sterile, not a lie but dodging the truth enough to make his shoulders itch. Because you’re my friend— but he has others now, ones that do pay him in full, and she knows it. Because you were my first friend— still not quite true.

Because there’s no better payment than to see you happy. Ah, that’s— that’s not something he can say either. Maybe Amano-san could; he was charming, able to say the most heartfelt words like a performance. But Gojo— Gojo could only sound earnest, and she would be able to hear it, all the other words he can never say, and—

“Oh,” he murmurs, holding up the menu between them. “Did you see they have desserts?”

*

For so long— maybe even earlier than primary school, earlier than the day his only friend ran out the door with tears in her eyes— it felt as if every door had been locked against him. As if even asking to open a window in this room he’d made for himself was an imposition, a burden that could only be begrudgingly carried, and never for long. And then Kitagawa-san had come, dragging him out into the light of day, showing him how to do more than ask for some elbow room, but take up space, and—

And so it’s strange now to watch how the very stars align to make all this happen. A few extra commissions roll in just in time to make cram school not only break even but put him in the black again. He only sits in three exams— all of them to colleges either in or near enough to Saitama to allow him to still stay with Ji-chan— sweating through each one only to find himself posted on every acceptance list. He chooses the closest, and—

And now he’s here, seated toward the back of the lecture hall, squinting at the screen, trying to discern whether that's some new mathematical symbol on the teacher's notes or a flaw in the screen.

“Gojo-kun. Gojo-kun.” He glances sternly from the corner of his eyes, sighing at big dark ones staring back, half-black, half-red ponytails bobbing. “Do you have an eraser?”

Darting a glance toward the front of the hall— the professor is still elbow deep in his explanation— he fishes one out from his bag.

“Thanks,” Sugaya-san chirps. “Hey, this lecture hall is pretty full, huh? Weird.”

It’s the beginning of the semester, he wants to tell her—would, if they weren’t supposed to be in class. Most of these diligent academics will peel away over the next few weeks, until only he and a handful of other students scattered across the seats in the hall. Something Sugaya-san might know, if she hadn’t spent last year doing the same thing. Or at least she had in the classes they shared, taking shifts at her family’s restaurant and begging notes off him instead.

“You know what?” Her head tilts, thoughtful. “I think I gotta pee. Watch my stuff?”

“Sugaya-san!” he hisses, whipping toward her. “Class is almost—!”

It’s no good, her chair is already empty— aside from the bag slung over its back— the door to the classroom snicking shut at her heels. Gojo sighs, shaking his head. No wonder she and Kitagawa-san are friends; neither of them can sit still for a minute.

“If you have any questions” —Gojo’s head snaps to the front of the class, watching as the professor turns off the display, a handful of students already on their feet— “Please comes to the front. These problems will be on your exam.”

There’s only a trickle of his classmates that wind their way to the professor’s desk, most of them preferring to hurry out the door. Gojo’s tempted to join them; there’s only an hour until his next class, his only opportunity to eat before he gets home this evening. Enough time for a leisurely lunch, if he brought a bento or ran out to get one from the konbini around the corner, but—

But it’s the longest break in his whole schedule, and the only one that coincides with one in Kitagawa-san’s. Kitagawa-san, whose break is one and a half hours and likes to try something new each day. He just has to hope his meal comes quick enough that he can sit and eat.

Gojo glances down at Sugaya-san’s bag, slung over the seat. He can’t just leave her things here. But maybe he could take it with him-- she' eats with them after all, and he'd be saving her the trouble of carrying it to the restaurant--

“Wacchan?”

His muscles seize so quickly he nearly chokes. He’s…he’s hearing things. He must be.

His knuckle blanch where he grips his bag, bone white against navy blue. Maybe, it’s for someone else. Yes, someone else. No one’s called him that since—

“Wacchan?” There’s a laugh— not familiar, not as a woman’s voice, but he recognizes it anyway. Would have recognized it anywhere, even in a crowd, since it had been his favorite sound when— “Sorry, no one probably calls you that anymore. Maybe…Wakana-kun?”

Gojo’s head jerks up, and he— he must be mistaken. There’s no way that he— that she— that those eyes could be so familiar, not even if it’s her. Not when…when it’s been so long…?

“E-excuse me. Do I…?” Know you feels…abrupt. Terse. Curt, even. But he’s not sure what else he can say, not when his eyes keep trying to add a small side tail to the side of her bob, when what keeps echoing in his head is—

Why do you like girls’ dolls, Wacchan? You’re a boy. His breath comes barbed now, sticking spines into his chest each time takes one in. I hate you, Wacchan!

“Ah…” He clears his throat, a half dozen of those little spikes clattering down his windpipe. “Have we…met?”

Her head cocks, the once too-short bangs now perfectly cut to slip across her forehead. “Have I really changed that much?” Her mouth curves, mischievous. “You wouldn’t forget your best friend, would you?”

“N-n”— it’s terrible how easy the shape comes to his mouth, like it’s been waiting— “Non-chan?”

Her mouth rounds, matching the wide shape of her eyes, and he claps a hand over his own. “Sorry. I mean…Mizuno-san. It’s…nice to see you again.”

He says it politely-- friendly even. The way Ji-chan does when he can’t quite place a customer. But her forehead scrunches up, and— what if she cries? Right here, where anyone might hear, calling him a freak or a— a degenerate, or even—

“Mizuno-san?” she sighs instead, disappointed. “Are you really going to call me that?”

“I c-can’t just call you, N-n” —his voice drops to a whisper— “Non-chan. You’re not…we’re not little kids. It wouldn’t be…appropriate.”

Her lip juts out, just the way it used to. “Well…you don’t have to be so formal, do you?”

He makes an uncertain noise, more cornered animal than grown man, but she only stares up at him, eyes so wide, so expectant, he blurts out, “A-are you in this class? I haven’t…um…seen you…”

“I hadn’t either until today. I usually sit a little further back.” She gestures vaguely toward the other end of the room. “But I saw you sit down— you’re really tall, you know? Way bigger than most guys— and I was sure I recognized you. I worried that it might be too weird to say something— it’s been a long time right? And guys’ faces change so much— but then I saw, well…”

Her chin jerks to the open flap on his back, right where black hair and an enigmatic smile peer out from the pocket— his latest kashira, not the least bit hidden. “Ah! Oh…I…haah…”

“Your grandfather still runs that place, doesn’t he?”

“Um…” Gojo clears his throat, fists clenching tight around the back’s strap. “Yes. He does.”

Mizuno-san lets out the lightest laugh, eyes crinkling up at the corner, and all at once, it’s real. It’s her. Non-chan. Only older now, grown up in a way he’s not sure he’s achieved. “I guess that means you really are going to get saddled with that place, huh?”

“I…” It’s true; the shop will be his when Ji-chan retires— if he ever does— but there’s something about how she says that— saddled— that doesn’t sit right. That feels less like an honor but an obligation. “I don’t—”

“Ah, hey, Gojo-kun!” A small hand smack him in the vicinity of his shoulder, falling a few inches short of the goal. “Thanks for watch my stuff, bro. Want to…”

Sugaya-san trails off, eyes darting to where Mizuno-san stands, smile wide but eyes tight. “You…uh…good, my man?”

“Yes,” he lies. “Ah, I just…Mizuno-san, er…we…uh…”

“Didn’t I just say you didn’t need to call me that?” she laughs, not as bright as before. “I’m Mizuno Nobara. Wacchan and I went to elementary school together.”

Sugaya-san’s perfectly plucked eyebrows disappear behind the sharp horizon of her bangs. “You did.”

“Yes,” Mizuno-san says tightly. “You must be…one of his friends?”

“Sugaya.” She glances at him, too quick, before adding, “Sugaya Nowa. We met in high school. Through Marin-chan! Who, uh, just texted.”

Gojo blinks, fumbling with his pockets. He hadn’t even thought to look, not even when class got out. “She did?”

“Yeah, while I was peeing.” She flicks on her phone, squinting down at the screen. “She says there’s some place she’s been dying to try out around the corner. We can meet her there.”

“Oh.” He glances up at the classroom clock, wincing at the time. “We should hurry if we don’t want to be last for ethics.”

“Ethics,” she groans, throwing back her head. “Last thing I want to talk about after lunch is like, hostile takeover stuff. We shoulda taken the morning one.”

With infinite patience, he reminds her, “It was at eight o’clock.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“Oh, you have plans?” Mizuno-san asks, mouth settling into a grimace. “I thought if you were free we might go catch up, but…?”

“Yep yep.” Sugaya seizes his arm like pet birds take to a perch, fingernails digging in hard enough to turn his half-started sentence into a squeak. “Super set. Like, written in stone kinda can’t-move-it. Ritual disembowelment type thing.”

“Oh.” Mizuno-san’s wide eyes linger on him, wistful. “Some other time, I guess.”

“Y-yes! Definitely.” He tries a smile, but by Sugaya-san’s grimace, he’s wide of the mark. “That would be…nice?”

“Okie dokie time to go,” she sing-songs, dragging him out by the arm. “Nice to meetcha, childhood friend-chan. Seeya next time!”

*

There's a strange taste in his mouth as they leave the lecture hall, a nagging feeling that he has somehow missed something important. He means to ask Sugaya-san once they've gotten outside, but--

But Gojo’s barely put a whole foot into the hallway when there’s a squeal of sneakers against polished floor; his only warning before arms wrap right around his middle, fake nails catching on the fabric at his stomach. “Gojo-senpai!”

“K-kitagawa-san!” His hands hover useless over her cross arms, uncertain of how to untangle himself from her. “I-I told you that you don’t have to c-call me that.”

“Awww, but it’s true, my dude!” Her whole weight slumps against his back, warm and wiggling, like an overexcited puppy. Which he wouldn’t mind, not at all, except— except her underwire digs into his spine, a firm reminder of just what is pressed against him, and well…

Well, he’d like to be able to think for the duration of this conversation, that’s all. Not lose track of every word she says two syllables in as his brain forced him to imagine what it might look like if he had the neck flexibility to appreciate it. “I appreciate that, Kitagawa-san, but—”

“But I’m your kouhai,” she pouts, chin hooking around his elbow. “And you’re my senpai. Omigod, does that mean you should be taking care of me? Wait, that sounds so funny right? ‘Gojo-senpai, please take care of—’”

“We’re the same age!” Heat licks up his neck, stained pink as a shrimp’s shell. “I don’t think the same rules apply just because you, er…”

Started late. That’s what he meant to say. But it feels…rude, the way late bloomer had felt when his teachers had whispered it between their desks. Like somehow she’s behind because she’d spent a whole year flying around, doing exactly what she loved and getting paid for it.

“Huh? Why not?” Her head cocks, the grip she has on him loosening. Physically, at least. “You’re still my senior, aren’t you? I mean like, if we didn’t know each other, I’d totally call you senpai, and everyone would think that was like, super normal and stuff, so—”

“Marin-chan,” Sugaya-san sighs, pigtails tilting over her shoulders. “You’re torturing him again.”

“Whaaat?” He shivers when she steps back, hands hooked around her hips, a chill seeping up his spine. “I’m not! Totes not. Right, Gojo-senpai? Not torture at all, nu-uh.”

“Ah…” She turns huge eyes on him, so hopeful, and all he can manage is a half-hearted, “K-kitagawa-san…”

“Mah-ri-ne.” Sugaya-san pulls out each syllable, impatient. “Are we going to eat or what?”

“Uh, yes? I’m starving, my dude!” Kitagawa-san prances around him, sneaker squeaking as she twirls to his front. “You’re starving too, right, Gojo-kun?”

Gojo clear his throat. That’s better at least. “I…could eat.”

“Then let’s bounce!” She claps, smile blinding over her steepled fingers. “Where should we go? I just saw a guy like two days ago selling those meat-wrapped onigiri across from the student center or whatever, so maybe—”

“Ah!” Panic grips him at the thought of her cholesterol. “I thought…didn’t Sugaya-san say you had a place in mind?”

Kitagawa-san blinks. “I did?”

“Didn’t you?” His gaze darts to where Sugaya-san stands, too innocent.

“Sorry, bro.” Neither her words nor her shrug are the least bit contrite. “Thought it looked like you needed a rescue, so I did what I had to do, you know.”

He, in fact, does not know, but before he can inform her of the fact, Kitagawa-san’s eyes go huge in her face. “Rescue?” She’s practically starry-eyed, glancing between the two of them. “You needed to be rescued?”

“N-not as—”

“Sure looked like it,” Sugaya-san tosses over her shoulder, ambling down the hall. Her stride is two steps to Kitagawa-san’s one, and with hers one to his two, well— it doesn’t take long to catch up. Not when Kitagawa-san is so interested, at least. “Some girl came up to him after class. Said she was his childhood friend and then tried to get him to a secondary location and everything.”

“I-I don’t think you need to say it l-like that—”

“Secondary location?” Kitagawa-san breathes. “Childhood friend?”

“You looked uncomfortable,” she drawls, unconvinced. “So I did what anyone would do: lie a whole bunch and hope it works. Which it did! You can thank me any time.”

He nearly does, mouth already halfway wrapped around the word before he stops himself. “Mizuno-san wasn’t—”

“She was.”

“I don’t—”

It’s too much for Kitagawa-san; a squeal is his only warning before she bursts out with a shrill, “Oh-em-gee!”

Her hands clap over her mouth. “A friend? From when you were kids? That’s unreal, Gojo-kun!”

He can’t quite guess how; it always seemed as if everyone had one but him, as if he were the odd one out for not having a group of friends from middle school he struggled to keep up with, but—

“Omigod, you should invite her! To lunch I mean!” Kitagawa-san bounces on her toes, not so much walking as skipping beside him. “We’d get to hear all about what you were like in school? Ahhh, how fun would that be, right?”

Her cheeks are flushed, eyes shining, and yet his stomach twists, even though he can’t account for why. “I-I don’t know…”

“Come on, please?” Her nails snag on the placard of his button down, pulling him toward the orbit of her eyes. “I promise I’ll be totes normal about it. Even if she tells us about your cute baby cheeks. Omigod, or has pictures? Do you think she has pictures?”

He grimaces. There's a horrifying thought. “I don’t….think so.”

Her shoulders hunch, defeated. “Aww, well, still. You should invite her! I bet we’d have a great time.”

Sugaya-san shakes her head. “I dunno, seems like a bad idea.”

“Really?” Kitagawa-san blinks over at her. “How?”

One small hand juts out, giving a uncertain shake. “Vibes.”

“Well, that seems like a silly reason not to try.” She swings back to Gojo, all smiles. “You’ll ask her won’t you? I promise I won’t ask for anything else all week.”

“Er…” He doubts that promise will last the walk. “If you really want to.”

She nods. “I do.”

Sugaya-san snorts. “Your funeral.”

#my dress up darling #sono bisque doll wa koi wo suru #gojo/marin #my fic #future fic #a world of locked doors #kisekoi #1000 followers #listen i have always wondered when we were going to see the childhood friend again #because it's so obvious that her freak out comes from this big kiddo crush #like we're missing such big context for how this all comes about #and the anime really plays this as like. little kid jealousy #and all i could think is. this girl is going to grow up. what does this sort of jealousy look like #especially when the boy you liked got So Cute. and hangs out with literal models #Gojo considers himself so on the outside right now. or well less so post that idol arc #but it would never occur to him that someone could look at him NOW with all these beautiful women #and think he was anything but a friend