#without something fundamentally touching your soul

[amerasdreams]

when Jason is trapped, it's very hard for him. He can become despondent if he feels there is no way out. The energy of a man of action will turn in on himself and convert to self-destructive behaviors if this goes on too long.

add to that constant pressure, living in an upside-down environment, where the horrific becomes routine, and the evil rule, the burden on his psyche becomes almost unmanageable.

However, if he's allowed an outlet, some hope, a potential escape -- his energy will be diverted outward, a more natural state. However, because the pressure has been building for a while, it may manifest in destructive ways-- things may get out of hand. The rage and terror that's been bound up inside him will burst out at his enemies-- and he may not be able to control it.

The man of action is sometimes also a man of violence. How much is his soul damaged-- without him even realizing it? How distorted has everything become after the constant dehumanization?

in such an environment where violence and slavery is normalized, you don't even realize in what ways you have been affected. Until it's too late.

[waiting-foratrain]

> ‘your body remembers what your mind forgets,’ or, i think nona being as loved as she was should fuck harrowhark up a bit.

hello! i have a migraine and too many feelings, thus, as promised, im here to have feelings about tlt! (to preface, this is just a thought i have, it very well might not correlate w/ the text. i’m not fact checking x)

(NONA THE NINTH SPOILERS, I ASSUME)

to begin with, we need to talk about memory. specifically, we need to talk about somatic memory, or the physical sensations of trauma that remain in the body even when the brain itself has repressed the memories of said trauma (sound familiar? it should!) — nona, an amnesiac soul in someone else’s body, almost perfectly embodies this concept.

then, please remind yourself that the body that she’s in is belongs to harrowhark nonagesimus.

nona doesn’t remember drearburh, she doesn’t remember being 200 dead children, she doesn’t remember rolling away the rock, or harrows parents suicides, or any of the casual trauma of harrowharks upbringing… but her body does. then, in ntn, we watch that same body that is now experiencing care on a scale it has never comprehended prior.

forgotten trauma is still healable, and though the trauma that nona retains from having been alecto is still very much present and we see it affect her as she remembers more, simply experiencing the level of love and care that the people around her are giving- pyrrha, camilla, palamedes, even crown, aim, we suffer, etc, in their own ways (not to mention the people at the school)- is something that i think should start to sink into her body, even if she doesn’t have the words or the memories to process that anything is happening. it might not help with the somatic memory around nona being the soul of the earth, but i think it should affect harrow, after nona leaves her body.

nona is someone who is fundamentally kind, fundamentally loving, and fundamentally easily open to connection without so much as a whisper of the layers of guilt and shame harrow was brought up with in place between herself and others. nona doesn’t freeze or move away from touch; she constantly turns towards love, towards affection, towards being taken care of

(also, i think there’s something to be said for the lack of love alecto received vs the magnitude that nona did and the affect that has on the way they both turned out, but that’s for another post-)

anyways, here’s the thing: that sticks.

healing isn’t linear, and it’s certainly not instant, but the way nona treats harrow’s body, the way she lives in harrow’s body? i think that has sincere potential to start rewiring the way it responds to the world. so by the time we get to harrow in alecto? nona is gone, yes, but i think that the care she was shown, and the care she accepted should have started affecting harrow on a level she doesn’t even understand.

nona didn’t just exist in harrows body- she taught it, via experience, what it’s like to be loved... and i think that personally, harrowhark should have to deal with the after affects of that physically. (and emotionally. but this post is about physically)

[kakeashi]

of all dreams: you ─ songs of love & devotion. ⠀⠀⠀⠀pre-boyfriend!kakashi, the sprout of hope.

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who knows you completely. to kakashi, you were a drawing that constantly underwent changes made by that deity that created you. to kakashi, you were something that should be looked at, studied. all your mannerisms, all your imperfections, all your secrets — nothing about you was strange to kakashi. nothing of what you were or wanted to be, nothing of what you are and will be: kakashi knew you like no one else. no words were needed to feel heard by kakashi; no request was necessary to be understood by kakashi. a simple look was enough. a single look from kakashi and you knew that your soul would finally be seen. ‘i know you’re tired of hearing this, but you have to stop. rest is a fundamental part of growing. you need a break. you can stop. i promise you the world will keep turning, so stop. just for a while.’

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who is incapable of stop giving you little souvenirs. i mean, how was it possible for kakashi to pass by your favorite food stall and not grab a piece for you? how was it possible for kakashi to see the last book of your favorite trilogy and not read it, annotated and give it to you as a gift? how could kakashi live his life without seeing pieces of your soul in everything around him? in a way, you occupied kakashi’s entire thoughts. it was impossible for him to go a day without thinking about you. like a spell cast by your sweet smile and tender words, your image was all that appeared when kakashi looked for a distraction from all the tiredness he felt. quite simply, kakashi wanted to show you: he wanted to show you how well he knew you; he wanted to show you how caring he could be; but, above all, kakashi wanted to show you that you were always, and forever, on his mind, on his heart, on his soul. ‘i couldn’t remember if you wanted the green one or the blue one, so i brought both. and i can keep the one you don’t want. i don’t mind matching with you.’

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who doesn’t remember when he stopped hiding from you. time was a pretty funny concept for kakashi: he swore he lived an entire life until he met you, but still, his life only began when he met you. kakashi couldn’t explain it, especially because he knew there was no possible explanation, but he believed you were the owner of the time itself. kakashi was sure you were capable of manipulating the wheels of the cosmos and extending all your moments and memories. and that was why, with absolute certainty, kakashi had stopped hiding. when he spent his entire life with you, when your stories intertwined in an eternal timeline that transcended any cosmic logic, there was no reason to hide. every word was heard between tender smiles and silent looks. all stories were lived with full hearts and warm souls. all emotions were understood between ancestral tears and heavenly laughter. by your side, by the side of the person who gave him life, kakashi didn’t hide himself and never would. ‘i know this will sound strange, especially coming from me, but i don’t think i’ve ever thanked you. for accepting me as i really am, i mean.’

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who was the only one who knew about the pink tone that appeared on his face in your presence. you didn’t have to do much, actually. sometimes it was a touch — a brief moment that didn’t even reach the first second of its existence, your touches on kakashi always made him smile, laugh, gain a warmer color on his pale face. it didn’t matter if it was a mistake or if you were already shaking kakashi’s arm for mere seconds, the truth is that every time your fingers touched kakashi, every time your essence stole a little of kakashi’s magic, he couldn’t control his heart that, pumping anxiety and nervousness throughout his body, painted his cheeks a more affectionate color. sometimes it was a word — a small compliment that left your mouth carelessly and landed slyly in kakashi’s ears. your voice was the source of your magic. it was impossible for kakashi to control his heat when you praised him, when you defended him, when you confessed. but, of course, with his face so hot and heart racing, kakashi was sure it was all an invention — thank god!, you wouldn’t catch him falling for you. ‘i don’t know what you’re talking about. there’s nothing to hide, so stop it. come on, we’re going to be late. stop thinking about it.’

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who always arrives on time to accompany you. early in the morning before you go to work or in the tired night when you came back from a dinner with friends. on those lazy afternoons before you go to an appointment or in the cold early morning when you couldn’t sleep. when you told him or when he found out. when you wanted or when you needed. nothing mattered to kakashi. if you were the owner of time, he would be the owner of space and make sure that every empty window would be filled with your presence. it might be pathetic — he thought it was pathetic — but kakashi only wanted to give you what you offered him: the perpetual security of homely comfort. if you gave him your time, he would give you his space. and whenever you wanted, whenever you needed, kakashi would always make sure not a single second was wasted away from you. ‘yesterday you said you were going to leave early to go to an appointment and i just… well, it’s not serious, is it? what’s going on?’

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who doesn’t know what’s going on with him. kakashi read books, watched movies, listened to stories. it wasn’t a lack of knowledge that haunted kakashi — it was a lack of confidence. how could kakashi, the one who ruins everything and destroys everyone, feel something warm? how could kakashi, the one who swore distance and guaranteed coldness, feel something sweet? how could kakashi, the one who deserved nothing, want to feel everything? with you, kakashi just wanted to feel. feel the fear of losing you, the shame of hurting you, the uncertainty of courting you. with you, kakashi wanted to let himself feel. feel the gratitude of your patience, the hope of your love, the joy of your confirmation. what was happening to him? kakashi was someone unworthy, a person who, no matter how much he wanted, could not achieve that ultimate happiness. but with you, by his side, thinking of you, kakashi thought that maybe, but just maybe, he was worthy of a happy ending.

PRE-BOYFRIEND!KAKASHI who never thought he would have the courage to kiss you. but he did. he kissed you. kakashi left the voices in his head, those that once sang fados of loss and began to learn ballads of hope; kakashi left the voices in his head, those that recited eternal poems of failure and tried to practice brief sonnets of joy; kakashi let the voices in his head, the ones that always convinced him that he would never be entitled to a piece of sunshine, guide his every move. without realizing it, nothing existed in kakashi’s mind — just a desire, just a longing, just a need. without realizing it, everything boiled in kakashi — all courage, all love, all happiness. he had kissed you. with mystical powers, without a doubt, but even so, it was a kiss. it was a beginning. ‘sorry. sorry, sorry. i don’t know what happened — i… i didn’t mean to. please, i’m sorry.’

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Roronoa Zoro (One Piece) x Reader ...a kiss out of habit

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss for Roronoa Zoro out of habit

You and Zoro had never meant to keep this a secret. It wasn't something you were trying to hide, or to stop the crew from ever knowing. You were both just very private people, and always the last two left at the end of the night as the rest crew all went their separate ways.

You, as much as anyone, could appreciate Zoro's desire to stay in whatever bar you were docked beside until the place was closed and the owner had to politely ask you to leave through muffled yawns. You loved the Going Merry, and all the people that lived aboard, but when you spent so much time at sea you grew to savour every minute spent on dry land in a change of scenery with someone other than Sanji fetching you whatever the local drink of the region was. You knew Zoro did too, the slight variety that a change of scenery provided gave him more joy than he would admit to anyone but you.

So you formed a little routine. The two of you would stay out until all the local places had closed, and then you'd walk the long way back to the ship, exchanging stories and admiring whatever little details you could find to ground yourselves in each quaint town. You couldn't remember exactly which island had the intricately cobbled streets that almost knocked you off your feet, but after that you and Zoro never left a bar without your hand safely enclosed in his. You were sure the night breeze was comfortingly warm the first time you noticed just how many glances Zoro threw your way as you walked, gaze flickering between your entangled hands and your moonlit lips. And you would never forget the first time that instead of the long goodbye outside your cabin door that you had grown accustomed to, he had just leant forward and placed his lips on yours. He only kissed you for a split second before he withdrew, testing the waters neither of you could bring yourselves to acknowledge, relieved when you plunged back in and dragged his lips back onto yours, fingers combing through his short spiked hair.

Without ever putting a name to your bond, you two fell into an effortless routine of those sweet good night embraces while the rest of your crew slept. It became such a fundamental part of your life that in the nights you spent at sea Zoro would still find his way to your door when the sky grew dark, neither of you able to pass a restful night without that shared moment of desperate need. His strong hands firmly holding onto you as if you could drift away, his touch-starved soul aching for you in every moment you spent apart. Zoro prayed every night as he finally tasted your loving kiss that the sensation would fill his dreams, and give him strength enough to make it to another sunset before he could kiss you again.

***

After a particularly tireless battle one evening, the crew had gathered on the deck of the Going Merry to toast to the island they had just visited with a case of wine gifted by some very grateful locals. It had been too long since the whole crew had passed a night of merriment together, Luffy and Usopp dramatically retelling the best moments of their adventures while Nami laughed on and Sanji kept everyone's glasses topped up to the brim. You and Zoro settled side by side on the makeshift benches Luffy had quickly hobbled together for the occasion, exchanging warm smiles every time your heroics of the day were recalled by the two quarreling captains. It wasn't long until you felt the flush of wine in your cheeks, and a heaviness growing in your eyelids that was getting harder to fight back.

"You look as exhausted as I am!" Nami laughed out through a yawn, Luffy bursting into laughter as you immediately followed with a yawn of your own. Your friend and navigator rose to her feet, circling to stand behind you and resting one hand on your shoulder as she said more quietly, "I think it's time we both headed to bed."

You nodded at her suggestion, suddenly feeling the ache of exhaustion spreading through your bones now that it had been pointed out.

"Great party crew! But now I must say good night." You declared dramatically, stifling another yawn that set Nami off again. Before you rose to your feet you turned to face the swordsman nestled beside you, who quickly leant forward to capture your lips in a soft and sweet good night kiss. It was just a momentary embrace, a habit that had grown necessary to both of your nights, and with that you stood up and followed Nami towards the cabins. A moment of still hung over the night as the two of you stepped through the first door separating you from the others just as Sanji and Usopp cried out in unison,

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"Nami, did I just kiss Zoro in front of everyone?" You asked without daring to glance her way.

"Yup!" She chirped back without an ounce of shock in her voice, a far cry to the chorus of voices calling out behind you.

"Why aren't you surprised, Nami?"

"Because I've walked past you two kissing half a dozen times. Sometimes I like to make tea at night when Sanji's not around to pester me, and you two have absolutely no sense of your surroundings whenever you're together." She shrugged nonchalantly, unlocking the door across from yours.

"I'd say we won't make a habit of it.." You started your sentiment alone before Nami joined, "but it's too late for that."

If you enjoyed this please send in my Roronoa Zoro requests and check out my one piece masterlist!

[sozila]

convalescence. (sukuna x reader)

synopsis: convalescence noun. time spent recovering from an illness or medical treatment; recuperation. ryomen s. itadori was a disease that infected every part of your life, and you didn’t notice until it was too late.

pairing: best friend's older brother!ryomen s. itadori x pre-med uni student!fem reader.

warnings: explicit content eventually, mdni.

wc: 9.3k

masterlist | previous | next

you are on: prodromal. (part four)

a/n:

hiii lovelies <3 i wanna start out with an apology because this was much, much later than i wanted to post :( i am so sorry! i really appreciate all the love and can't wait to reply all the comments on ao3 and tumblr :,) you guys are amazing and keep my passion for writing going. anyways, word count is 9.3k !!! record highs breaking every chapter haha <3 i hope you all find this enjoyable after a long dry spell :) and as always, credit to my beta reader @beeh-ive ily bih

ao3 link here.

prodromal. (part four)

sukuna had discovered three key truths when he drove back home after yuuji kicked him out of his apartment. 

yuuji was right about sukuna. it was annoying to admit that his baby brother was right about anything, let alone something so fundamental to his character. it was easier to bark out orders and shelter him from the world. to not hear him be a mature person with complicated thoughts and his own perceptions— especially the ones about sukuna. deep down he knew he couldn’t keep yuuji unaware forever. he couldn’t deny that the events of their childhood scattered his soul, which he has since collected and duct taped together over the years. he knew he was a shitty person. better than anyone else. in the late hours of night he was kept up by the memories of their childhood, ones he couldn't burden yuuji or guilt their grandfather with. it was his to keep and bury within that duct taped soul. he had made peace with it, he thought.

he could respect yuuji’s wishes (withholding some information). messing with you was just an excuse to spend more time in your presence. if that wasn’t possible, he’d find ways around it. a small voice deep down was adamant to say attached to you, everyone be damned. 

he had seen you that day walk into the coffee shop in that gorgeous outfit, skirt swishing with every move of your hips, completely captivating him. moreover, he witnessed how you spoke with suguru and it made something tick inside. he’s never gotten jealous of his best friends, not until this very moment. who was he, that you smiled so big for him? hold on, why the fuck was suguru touching your hair? 

he pulled out a cigarette from his back pocket and lit it aggressively, smoke engulfing the sight before him. suguru was a friendly guy, he was often surrounded with women due to this fact. sukuna was well aware of it; and honestly didn’t care until he was witnessing before his eyes you becoming a part of that equation. 

friend or not, he wanted to barge in there and yank you away from his selfish, dirty and unwelcome hands. motherfucker. 

while his angry thoughts were steaming, sukuna didn’t realize suguru had left and was already making his way towards him at the bricks. sukuna’s eyes focused back and found the man towering over him, a question mark painted on his face. “thinking about something?”

sukuna flicked the ash gathering on his cigarette off of it and inhaled another puff. an exhale. “i’m gonna get a drink really quick.” he couldn’t look at suguru’s face without the urge to pound him into the ground, the scene of his fingers touching your hair on loop again and again in his mind. so, he pushes off the wall, crushing his cigarette with his boot, and makes his own way into the tacky coffee shop. he hated the sugary nature of the place, it was so suffocating. satoru loved coming around to buy sweets, but sukuna never let the man sit and stay at a table if he was dragged into accompanying the white-haired idiot. the girl at the register looked mildly nervous when he stalked inside, which was a common reaction he got given his tattoos and looming figure. sukuna’s eyes drifted to the display of pastries and bread, scanning. he recalled you eating chocolates during your study hangouts with yuuji, the goddamn wrappers always littered on the table. he decided the little chocolate pillow-looking thing (he refused to pronounce whatever the fuck a pain au chocolat is) would suffice, his eyes flitting to the sight of you getting verbally abused by your loud friend. “um.. what can i get you, sir?” the small voice of the attendant brought him back to the front. he nodded, pulling out his wallet. “that chocolate square shit.” she hummed in acknowledgement, and began getting the tong to pack it away. sukuna stopped her. “er.. actually, i’m buying this for someone. you see that girl over there? with the green ribbons?” she looked at him with wide eyes, then found you. she nodded slowly. “that’s my girl. give it to her for me?” “o-oh! how sweet.. will do, sir! anything else for you, then?” he shakes his head. sukuna leaves, paying for your little treat. and now, he waits. suguru looked at sukuna and noticed his empty hands, even more confused than before.

“didn’t you say you were getting a drink?” 

“changed my fuckin’ mind.” 

he pulled another cigarette out to light and his friend sucked his teeth in response. “you really need to find another vice. nicotine is total shit, man. ‘s why i started weed instead, y’know–” 

“suguru, please shut the fuck up.” 

suguru’s mouth pops in mild shock, but he obliges. he knew well it wasn’t worth picking a fight with sukuna when his mood was sour, he learned that by watching satoru try sukuna’s patience on the daily. his eyes trail your figure making your way to the register and the scene unfolds exactly like he asked. he chuckled as you started looking around exasperatedly, finally meeting his eyes. he gave you a little wave. you ignore him, the treatment he’s been getting for a while now. in due time, sukuna thought. in due time he would chip at your resolve, little by little, until your walls completely broke down. discreetly and respectfully, of course.

because above all, yuuji didn’t have to know about his attempts. sukuna didn’t intend to lie, per say.. he just decided he could have his cake and eat it too. said cake being you.

and so this brings us to the final and most universal truth:

3. he needed you in the rawest form possible. the realization was natural. when you had asked him that night upstairs, he was caught up in words because he didn’t want to end up saying the wrong thing– it was delicate. but he needed you. sukuna didn’t know how to describe why in words either.. he was studying engineering, you think he was killing it in english literature?  he just knew the feeling you gave him, the one that ignited a fire in his chest and a desire to orbit your sun. he had decided he wasn’t going to let you put him on the sidelines anymore; developing the fake half-way point to pursuing you in silence.

your internship was much more simple than you expected. while your interest in professor kaito’s research was high and got your foot in the door, the actual work was rather lackluster. you spent maybe three hours at your desk organizing files and sending simple emails, but other than that? you were just passing time. 

you had met her other student assistants a couple days into it, also in your graduation year. a mild mannered blonde man named kento and his super-positive friend, haibara. you thought kento outright hated you in the beginning, but quickly understood he was just another overworked college student. poor guy.

it really helped having something to take your mind off of sukuna’s futile attempts at catching your attention that had begun a month ago.

oh, how he was irking you. 

the bakery freebie was the first of many unnecessary gestures sukuna had done. he had made it a habit to buy you food and have it reach you in the weirdest ways. just last week, he had hit a new low by having a doordash guy somehow get you energy drinks and candies in the middle of a lecture. a note was attached that read, ‘don’t fall asleep, pretty. -s’. you were embarrassed, but thankfully the professor didn’t notice. you also took it up to apologize profusely to the doordash guy for having to fulfill such a weird request— you had handed him a crumpled up five dollar bill from your backpack because you felt so bad. your lunch got paid for randomly, your backpack had tiny presents waiting for you when you opened it, the list was endless. you were not only irritated but also mildly spooked that sukuna was able to evade your presence and manage these stunts simultaneously. he was like a romantic batman. ew, what? no. that doesn’t even make sense.

you were walking up to your apartment door late one night to see a deep red bag with black tulle stuffed into it sitting in front of it. you knew there was nobody else that would leave a gift like this in front of your door, and so you begrudgingly took it inside. it was rather heavy, which made you curious as to what exactly sukuna got you this time. 

as you put it on your tiny kitchen table, pulling tulle away from the bag, you spot the gold-embossed box. it was a really expensive brand you had heard of but never dared to think about buying from. you could hear your parents’ voices echoing in your head about being fiscally responsible, eliciting a shiver. carefully breaking the seal, you lift the lid to see the most gorgeous pair of maroon high-heeled mary janes. and once more, a note stuck to the tissue wrappings:

 ‘for my red ruby girl. -s’

your first emotion couldn’t be anger when the gift was so thoughtful like this. you giddily squeal and try them on— a perfect fit. but how? sukuna never asked for your size.. and you doubt yuuji would tell him without ruining the surprise for you. he’s so weird for that, you thought. 

you walk to your floor length mirror in your bedroom and stare at the shoes, thinking. 

he pays attention to what you like.

this was a stupid realization; he’d been getting you snacks and miscellaneous tidbits that were undoubtedly your favorites for a while. but it hits you nonetheless, your cheeks’ blush growing. you slowly sit on the ground, knees to your chest. what the fuck. you dig your fingers into the shaggy carpet, pressing down hard. you were hoping the hurty-happy ache in your fingers would go away, the one you get when you feel deeply emotional. the attempts he had made were like little vines growing over your heart, ones you had ignored for far too long and now they squeeze you tightly as if to say, “i’m literally never fucking leaving bitch!” 

you jolt when your doorbell rings. a melodic knock follows. “open up, buttercup! i’m hereeeee,” nobara voice was muffled by the door but recognizable enough. you leap to your feet, nearly tripping on your way to throwing the door open. 

nobara takes one suspicious look at your shabbily-hidden nervousness and calls your bluff. “were you watching R-rated shit? because if so i can totally leave, no problem.” your voice squeaks in an ungodly high pitch, spluttering gibberish before you manage an “oh my god no, what the fuck!” she cackles at your reaction and slaps a hand on your shoulder, moving to enter the flat. “you’re so easy to mess with babe, i worry for you at times! really. i do.” 

her eyes catch the shiny box that lay open on the table. “is that xtique? they’re mad expensive, girl! you actually bought something from there?” “no!” you quickly burst, making nobara jump at the sudden denial. “i mean, no, it was a gift from my… father! for the internship.” you point to your feet and she gives an impressed hum. “they’re super sexy-looking. your dad has good taste.. weirdly enough.” you didn’t really know what to say to that without it seeming weird or ruining your last-minute lie, so you just chuckle and nod. 

you like chocolate, especially when it’s melty or gooey in something. you hate tomatoes. which is odd, because you’re okay with ketchup and marinara sauce, but anything with a tomato that the eye can see you don’t touch. you drink a lot of coffee after lectures. you love little cute trinkets, but don’t have that many. 

sukuna was learning about you; and applying the information as soon as he did. granted, you looked positively enraged every time you saw his notes. he also saw your face turn red, so he has to be doing something right. the way your lips quirk for a moment before the eventual frown and looking around for him was pretty adorable. whatever it was, sukuna’s plan was in motion and working as he wanted. the lengths he went for you were unheard of for the usual suitor, but sukuna was a crafty guy (when he wants to be). he tipped off the doordash guy that snuck into your lecture hall an extra twenty dollars in cash to be quiet and unnoticed by the professor. he somehow made friends with the girl at the coffee shop— said her name was christy? kristen? fuck if he knew, to be honest. he really just kept familiar with her so he could have her deliver pastries and coffee from him.  

“this bast– RYOMEN! the fuckin’ oil!” sukuna snaps out of his train of thought to see he was still at work, not in his daydreams. he never got into his thoughts like this, what…? whatever. it was about you, so he didn’t feel as bad. he cursed when he saw the oil pan was slightly away from under the plug, letting the oil spill all over the deck. “i swear to god ryo, you better clean that shit up before you clock out,” choso chided. his cousin-slash-coworker genuinely never caught a break with sukuna and his antics. one of the downsides of working at the shop the family owned, he assumed. but truly, choso was getting gray hairs from the amount of stress that man gave him. sukuna simply waved him off, discarding his rag that was now soaked in old oil. checking his watch, he realized he is close to his clock out time. in five minutes, he messily cleaned up the deck and made his exit, clicking his helmet on and driving out. at a stoplight, sukuna hears some giggling from the car next to him. he pans to see four girls with their windows down, now squealing because sukuna noticed them. one had her phone up, recording him? while another gestures as if asking for his phone number. sukuna scoffs out of irritation. really? he throws up his left hand which was gloved and gestures to his ring finger. they go silent and roll up their windows, embarrassed. a little lie to get them off his case was harmless, he didn’t care either way. technically, it was true he was “promised” to someone, that being you. eventually, he declares in his head. eventually. his head swivels to look at the buildings beside him instead of the cars while he waits for the light to flip. his eyes catch on shiny, ruby shoes in a display of a boutique-looking store. they looked awfully like the ones he saw at your apartment, and at the door the times you stayed over at yuuji’s. sukuna decides to detour and turns into the parking lot for the fancy shop. 

when he walks in he notes it’s rather small, his large frame mildly cramping the area. it was silent and empty, save for the soft jazz playing overhead. a small but peppy old woman bustles out of the back, heels clacking. she was wearing a fancy two piece suit in some kind of purple(it’s periwinkle, but would sukuna really know that?) 

she was about to greet him out of habit when a small “good heavens!” leaves her mouth, in sight of her new customer. she apologizes profusely for the sudden reaction while chuckling nervously. “you’re not our usual patron, you’ll have to forgive me for my outburst dearie!” she runs a manicured hand through her blowout hair, giving a warm smile to him. 

sukuna becomes a bit hyper-aware he was in an oil-stained wife pleaser and slacks, and his usual leather jacket. right. he just grunts and nods, looking around the store. pastel pink and gold adornments littered the walls, the smell of roses infiltrating his nose. all it was missing was you sitting in the middle of it all, honestly. this place was unironically your persona. 

he turns to the display, thumb pointed to the shoes he saw. “you got those in stock?” the lady perks up and immediately gets to work, buzzing around the store to grab boxes. “why of course! is this for a mother, sister? girlfriend, maybe?” sukuna simply nods. “girlfriend.” she giggles melodically, opening and closing boxes. “how sweet of you! she must be one special girl,” sukuna imagines you opening the box and wearing the shoes, your giddy excitement in private. he smiles faintly at the thought. “very.”

she finally finds the set of ruby shoes, and asks him for your size. he replies nearly instantly. he had seen your shoes so many times, the size was always written on the sole. so maybe he had it memorized, no big deal. numbers came easy to him anyways, he dealt with many of them in his studies and job. and maybe he had a section in his notes app for you. 

the old lady quickly wrapped up the shoes and stuffed black paper in the bag to hide the box. sukuna quickly pays, giving her a deep grumble of a thank you. she just smiles and waves him off. “i hope your girlfriend loves them!” as he leaves the shop she sighs with a bittersweet expression on her lips. she misses young love. 

as sukuna leaves the shiny boutique, he looks at the bag in his hand. was he doing too much? he hopes you would like it, and as far as he knows, you don’t own a pair of these in the red he picked. maybe it was selfish thinking that you would enjoy that same red hue you saw in his eyes, especially after that comment that lived in his subconscious. 

your eyes are sanguine red.

he grins to himself, walking a little faster to his bike.

nobara had stayed around for a couple of hours before she called it a night, saying something about how stupid she has to study for her exams when she’s a liberal arts student. you just chuckle and turn her loose. “you’re always welcome to ask me for help," you chide her. she scoffs and pushes you playfully. “no way. you’re like up to your ears in stuff, i couldn’t burden you. and anyways, you’re already helping yuuji and his two brain cells.” she waves you goodbye, and you head back up to your apartment once you see her get into her uber. 

you’re about to flop on your tiny couch when your phone rings. you groan internally when you see the caller id. 

“hello, father.” 

“you need to come home this weekend.” 

you frown. “i’m sorry?” 

“did you not hear me? you need to come home this weekend and help your brother with his entrance exams.” 

you’re in mild shock for a moment, making you go silent. surely he doesn’t think you have time to spend an entire weekend at home. you had so many things to juggle as it was, and your weekend was kind of your safe time. if something bled over from the week, you’d do it then, or hell, sometimes you just wanted to sit and watch a show or two. 

“..father, i’m not exactly free—“ 

“you’re lying. i know how many credit hours you’re doing and that internship of yours is the only extra activity in your time. seriously, when will you grow up? you have so many more duties to fulfill and you’re trying to get out of the simplest one.” 

you had such a difficult time reasoning with your father and it’s been this way since your childhood. he never saw what you wanted or what you accomplished. it was always “how can she benefit the family?” you let out a deep sigh. there was no getting out of this, you accept. 

“i’m sorry, father. i’ll be home on the weekend.” 

“good. your mother keeps asking about your health so don’t eat any rubbish.” 

you make a noise of agreement, but mentally you’re rearranging your tasks for the upcoming week to allocate time for the impromptu trip. he hangs up the phone without a goodbye, as usual. the dread you felt for the first eighteen years of your life settles back into your chest like an unwelcome old friend. you sink to the couch, rubbing your chest to ease the pain. you’re looking at the setting sun seeping in from the window, the light disappearing feeling awfully similar to your emotions right now.

it’ll be just another thing you’ll brave through, you suppose.

kento is washing beakers in the back of the lab room, but you know you felt his eyes on the back of your head. “yes, kento?” you say without turning around. he clears his throat to cover up the cough he let out of surprise. he did not think you would’ve noticed. “you just seem a little downtrodden today, is all.” you let out a sad laugh and walk over to help him dry the beakers. “well, you aren’t wrong, i guess,” you say absentmindedly. you woke up today with the same dread you felt earlier this week, which you had felt every day since the call until today— friday. the gloomy, rainy day didn’t help your mood either. 

“anything i can do to help, maybe?” you smile at your monotonous friend. you learned he was quite caring, but had a hard time mirroring it in his tone of voice. “actually, yeah. do you think you could cover the last hour for me? i’m going home for the weekend.” he nods, putting the last clean beaker in the crate. “no worries. i hope you enjoy your time at home.” you draw a heavy sigh. “i’ll try,” you manage with a deflected grin. 

you wave kento goodbye when you’re walking out the door of the lab, heaving your bags along with you. the rain hadn’t stopped by the time you were walking to your car, so you had to run to avoid drenching everything you had and yourself. 

the drive home was mostly silent, save for your playlist playing softly in the background of the car. the rain slows to a stop when you turn into your neighborhood, which makes you slightly annoyed. couldn’t it have stopped for you when you were getting a cold shower on the way to the car? once you pull up to your apartment complex, you notice something that immediately draws a groan from your lips. 

before you is a sleek black bike, and leaning on it was none other than the object of your irritation. his helmet sat on his seat and his pink hair was moussed by the rain, making it a more deep pink shade. his stupid grin churned your insides. turning the key off in the ignition, you step out of your car, walking towards him. 

you notice his fingers drumming on his seat. he seemed happy to see you? “forgot your umbrella?” he gestures to your head, and your face goes red. your hair was a little out of the ordinary after running through the rain. “shut the fuck up.” you quip dismissively, comb your fingers through your hair to try and fix it– but the moisture had already had its way with you. you give up with a huff. 

your eyes narrow at him. “are you stalking me?” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, clearly not in the mood to deal with sukuna’s games today. he protests with his hands up. “i’m no fuckin’ stalker, sweetheart. just came to drop off your jacket. yuuji said you left it at his place the other day.” you don’t remember leaving anything at yuuji’s, but lo and behold, sukuna takes a jacket out of his seat compartment that looks awfully like one of yours. you stiffly accept it and look away. 

“you free tonight?” your head snaps to meet his eyes and that stupid smirk shone back at you. you turn away to walk back to your car. “nope. sorry! i’m leaving right now,” you swiftly call back to him over your shoulder. because of your height difference, he catches up to you in three strides. 

he grabs your wrist, halting you before you reach the driver’s door handle. “hey, what’s the rush? you literally got back home,” he was right. you did have things to get from your apartment, but you were more annoyed with his ambush that you simply wanted to drive home to get away. 

“can’t you see i’m busy?” sukuna gives you a furrowed expression. “with what?” his gruff tonality replaces the playful one he had before.

you were literally at your breaking point, couldn’t he bother you another day? you yank your hand away from his grip. you give him an icy glare, unwilling to answer him. he takes your pause to maneuver around you and stand in front of the door, blocking you from entering the car. his sharp eyes zeroed in on the tension you’re trying so hard to hide. 

“what’s your problem?” he asks sternly, his voice pressing against you. you clench your jaw, refusing to speak up. you hope he’ll just let it go. 

but he doesn’t. 

he’s still watching you, studying the ticks of your expression, searching. 

“come on,” he pushes, his voice quieter but unrelenting. “what’s really going on with you?” 

why the fuck was sukuna always around you when you were doing horrible? it was so damn irritating. you take a breath, more shaky than you wanted to show him. 

he didn’t miss it. 

you’re fighting back the anxiety and frustration that’s about to spill tears. 

“i’m.. it’s nothing, i just need to go home,” your stomach is turning knots. you hate the face he’s giving you. it’s digging at you, and sukuna isn’t one to back away from confrontation. 

his gaze sharpens, his eyes flickering with something you can’t read. “you mean your family home? like with your dad?” 

he only heard one phone call with your father, for fuck’s sake. you almost felt angry he thought he knew exactly what was going on. your heartbeat was in your ears at this point. “what’s so urgent that you’re fuckin’ running away all stressed?” 

your fists tighten at your sides, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. you felt like the muddy asphalt was swallowing you. you didn’t realize you were crying until a tear slid down your cheek. the words followed behind like a tsunami. 

“you think i want to go home?! i get told something and he just expects me to do it with no questions! i don’t even.. i don’t even have time to do this, but he—”

your voice gets caught in a muffle. sukuna had wrapped you in his leather-clad arms, your face smushed in his chest. he smelled like smoke and gasoline, which was weirdly comforting. 

“just.. cry it out.” he mutters. 

his hand is stroking your hair softly, like you were a small child to be consoled. you didn’t care to protest his sudden actions. your fists grip his tank top as you sobbed into him. you don’t know how long you both stood like this, but you could’ve sworn at one point that he was shushing you like a baby, which was again— weirdly comforting. 

when you tilt your head up, eyes red and puffy, sukuna slips a chuckle. you slap his chest, offended. 

“your first reaction is to laugh at my misery, asshole?” 

“your eyes are swollen, sweetheart.” 

you curse and press the cold backside of your hands under your eyes, hoping to reduce the inflammation. you’re both in silence for a couple of moments, him just watching you while you pretended to not notice the holes he was burning into your head. 

he finally spoke up with a hand tapping your cheek. “c’mon, let’s go somewhere.” 

you give him a gaping shocked face. ‘i’m sorry, did you not just see me have a breakdown about needing to go home?” 

he rolls his eyes as if you were acting immature. god, now you know how yuuji must’ve felt growing up. sukuna was definitely as sassy as he was now. “that’s exactly why i’m saying that, idiot. you can go home first thing tomorrow morning.” 

you open your mouth to argue again, but the looming dread you had of facing your father tonight still makes your stomach sink. a night to take your mind off of the stress you’ve been bottling for days.. yeah, that sounds like exactly what you need. you hesitate, glancing up at sukuna’s face, searching for any hint of pity, but all you see is that stubborn determination he had. 

“fine,” you murmur, wiping your hands on your jeans. “but if this is some dumb excuse to make me do whatever you want…” he gives you a sly smirk, visibly amused again. “when have i ever needed an excuse for that?” you smack him again while he walks you over to his bike. 

he grabs the helmet from his bike and hands it to you, nudging you with his shoulder. “just one night, sweetheart. then you can go back and deal with… everything else.” 

you take the helmet and sigh, feeling the dread slowly lift from your chest as you click it on your head. after he climbs on the bike, he stretches a hand out to help you on which you take gratefully. he glances back at you with a soft smile you hadn’t seen since that night you bandaged his hands. 

he feels like a lifeline right now, albeit you didn’t want to admit that. you just needed an escape. 

you nearly scream when sukuna pulls into the “small spot” he said he knew. 

it was a traditional kaiseki house, one that screamed rich and elite. you were wearing casual clothes and your makeup had pretty much melted away after your cry session (you noticed that your mascara had also bled onto sukuna’s white tank top, so you scolded him until he zipped up his leather jacket with a grumble.) 

“you should’ve fucking told me we were going to a nice place, i could’ve gotten ready or something!” sukuna looked practically oblivious. “why?” he deadpans. you fight the urge to facepalm yourself and settle for an eye twitch. “sukuna, look at me.” you gesture to your face and clothes. he’s seriously aloof, giving you a monotone stare. “yeah, i’m looking. you look pretty, why?” oh. there’s nothing you can find to say to that because you genuinely didn’t see an ounce of deceit in his expression. he genuinely believed in what he said, it seems. you process the fact he called you pretty once you’re off the bike, which makes you a little bashful.

regardless, you tried to prim yourself before you stepped inside; praying no one paid attention to you and your unlikely date. that was obviously wishful thinking considering how big of a powerhouse sukuna looked inside the small joint, which made you curse him out mentally. does he eat entire horses? however, the server looked at sukuna with respect you didn’t expect, and sukuna talked to him with ease. you couldn’t believe the sight before your eyes; he was acting like a socialite with insanely proper manners. 

the server led you both to a private dining room, bowing as he closed the door behind you. you unbuckle the ruby shoes you were wearing, ironically the shoes sukuna had gifted you the week before. you hope he didn’t notice. 

sukuna takes the seat opposite you, sitting rather poised and formal. you giggle at him, breaking the royal silence you were in. he frowns at you, miffed.

“what?” 

“you’re like, trust fund boy sukuna right now. you look so serious i thought it was funny,” you explain. 

he grumbles and crosses his arms. “my grandfather… is big on etiquette.” he manages. 

you expect him to iterate further. “…aaaand?” you had sat down, resting your head on your hands, batting your lashes mockingly. 

his frown deepens at your antics. “grandpa owns a lot of businesses, so when me and yuu were young... he made us come to formal dinners. parties and shit. if we acted like fuckin’ animals, we’d get our asses beat.” you giggle at the thought of little sukuna causing a ruckus. 

“i bet you were a handful.” you tease. 

“more like yuu was. unmedicated adhd in a boy is hell.” you agree with a nod. you felt kind of warm inside knowing something new about sukuna. yuuji had told you in the past that they were well-endowed, but these details were cute and… endearing to you. 

“you like them?” you snap out of your thoughts to see sukuna gesturing to your gifted shoes, sitting by the door next to his boots. a small blush dusts your cheeks. “it’s just a fluke… i was rushing this morning and they were the first pair i saw,” your excuse was perpetually lame. 

he nods slowly, amused. “…right, of course.” he lays sarcastically. 

you were about to say something else awkward when the door slid open, bringing the first course along with a round of sake. you both say your respects to the food before digging in politely. the food definitely tasted as expensive as it looked. 

you realize you’ve actually never had a meal with sukuna before. you take note of how proper he eats, which was kind of a surprise for you (again). you guess you could believe him now when he said yuu was worse off than him— that boy definitely ate like a man starved. 

when you finish your last piece, you take a sip of the sake the server had poured out for you. it was much smoother and sweeter than the ones you’ve had. honestly, a little worrying considering how much of a lightweight you were. you decide that’s a dangerous game and settle with nursing the small glass you had. 

“how’s college been, then?” this fucking… you didn’t expect sukuna to do small talk, but here you were. “um, it’s good. a little tedious lately, but i guess i can’t complain,” you chuckle softly. “that kid kento’s in your internship, yeah?” the way he just knew random things adjacent to you was a little scary. “yeah, how do you know that?” “he’s a family friend.” thank god. you were beginning to think sukuna had a private investigator on you or something. “o-oh, how interesting. so you’ve known him for a while?” “his father has been partners with my grandpa since we were young, so yeah.” you simply nod in acknowledgment, unsure of how to continue. this was awkward territory to speak so casually and non-hostile with the man before you.  

“you look like you’re being tortured to speak to me right now.”

you snap to sit more straight and less avoidant, feeling embarrassed he clocked your temperament. “sorry, i’ve not exactly had any real conversations with you,” he looks unphased. “you’re too busy trying to fight me for that.” you give him a frown. “well you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself, asshole.” he simply chuckles and takes another sip of sake. he manages to look elegant despite the fact he’s dressed like a thug. “you’re easy to rile up, sweetheart.” 

you look at him incredulously. “you’ve got to be a sadist or something,” you exclaim with a small scoff. he hums. “not the word i’d use, but if it’s easier for you… sure, i’m a sadist for you.” “for me?” “i don’t mess with anyone else, if you’ve noticed.” you’re mildly confused, given that you know his track record, but you digress. you give him an unimpressed look. 

“…right.” 

he gives you a look back. “fuck you mean by that?” 

“oh c’mon, just because i met you recently doesn’t mean i didn’t know of you before that.” 

his weird look deepens. “oh? and what did you know of me, sweetheart?” he’s absolutely egging you on, but not in a way that’s teasing. he truly wants to understand what preconceived notions you have of him, almost like it was making him upset. 

“i mean… you’re a frat boy, sukuna. you get girls. you party. that earns a reputation, at minimum.” 

he looked a little hurt by your words, but he doesn’t let it stay long enough for you to notice. “tell me this, sweetheart. are you an introvert that only studies all day?” you stiffen. “…no, i’m not an introvert. and i like doing other things too,” “you liked it when i passed judgment on you being nothing but a booksmart nerd the first day i met you?” you shake your head slowly. “then you’re beating your fuckin’ stereotype. just like how i’m not the fuckin’ stereotype others say about me. understood?” 

you start to feel bad that you threw the same callous mindset he’s probably faced before, which was super out of character for you. you were an open minded and intuitive person. “i’m sorry, sukuna. i guess i’m just… having trouble understanding some things.” 

he raises an eyebrow. “like what?” 

“…well,” you take a sip of your sake to give yourself time to recollect. “i guess i want to know why you’ve been gifting me so much these last few weeks.” 

he visibly lightens up, slipping back into his playful demeanor. he purposefully takes a comically long sip of sake, causing you to laugh and smack him across the table, chiding him. “oh my god, stop! you suck, really,” 

he glances at you from the side of his eyes. “i just wanted to.” 

you look into his eyes, searching his gaze. a small smirk plays on your lips. a jolt of confidence hits you as you lean over the table on your elbows. “you got a crush on me, itadori?” 

he matches your energy tenfold, leaning towards you in tandem. you’re almost nose to nose. “inconclusive, sweetheart.”  

you sit back down with a small blush. “you’re not getting compensated for them, by the way.” 

he snorts, a deep chuckle following. “i never expected you to. they’re gifts, sweetheart. and i sure as hell know that little internship of yours pays in pennies.” 

you give him a withering look of irritation. “i get paid in experience, sukuna.” “that’s straight bullshit they tell you, you know that? you realize i graduate this year? already seen the way internships pan out,” true. “potayto potahto, dude.” 

his brows upturn out of amusement. you opt to change the subject from you. 

“you’re a mechanical engineering major, right?” you ask, tilting your head curiously. he just nods, his face giving nothing away. “how’s that, then? fun?”

he fixes you with a dry, almost exasperated stare. his eyes narrow slightly, eyebrows upturned just enough to convey that he’s calling your bluff. “is that a real question,” he drawls, “or are you seriously asking me about my major?”

you clench your jaw, resisting the urge to sock him in the shoulder. instead, you force yourself to keep smiling. “you nearly made me want to explode with your small talk, so just answer the damn question.”

a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he snorts. “if i told you i find this fun, there’s probably somethin’ wrong with me.”

you roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “there’s definitely a lot wrong with you, but whatever.”

he raises a brow, leaning in just a bit too close for comfort. “hm? say that louder for me, sweetheart?”

you feel heat rise to your cheeks as your lips slip into an involuntary pout. you hate how you can’t control your expressions around him—it’s like your face has a mind of its own. you avert your gaze and take a long sip of your drink, feigning nonchalance. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, the sake warming you from the inside out as you mimicked his usual unbothered attitude.

without warning, he stretches out his hand and flicks you on the forehead, a light but annoyingly precise tap. “idiot.” he mutters, sounding amused.

you groan, rubbing the spot where he flicked you. “when will you stop calling me that?” you whine, exasperated.

his laugh is low and unapologetic and his eyes twinkling with something irritatingly fond. “when you stop doin’ stupid shit. cute, stupid shit.”

somehow that pulls a genuine laugh out of you. you catch yourself mid-giggle, feeling suddenly self-conscious as sukuna’s gaze softens, just barely, his lips twitching into a smile. he’s watching you with this odd.. elated expression, like he’s seeing something new in you. you quickly clear your throat and try to regain composure, but the grin on your face lingers.

“what?” you ask, embarrassed, still smiling despite yourself.

he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, but the faint trace of a smile remains. “nothing. just didn’t think i’d ever hear you laugh like that.”

a warm blush creeps up your neck, and you look down, fidgeting with the chopsticks. “i do laugh, you know,” you murmur, trying to act casual.

for a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze unguarded in a way that makes your heart skip. the silence stretches between you, not tense but charged, like something’s shifting that neither of you can quite name. he tilts his head slightly, studying your face as though he’s trying to memorize every detail. 

the rest of your meal with him was filled with this unspoken, almost serene connection that neither of you quite acknowledged, but both felt. the conversation felt more natural and genuine, you couldn’t stop talking it seemed. you found yourself stealing glances at him more often than you meant to, feeling a strange warmth in your chest each time your eyes met. there was an ease to the way you sat together, as if the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this strange little bubble.

not before long, you both had finished your food with much satisfaction. This is definitely one of the best meals you’ve ever had. when the bill comes, you half expect sukuna to pull out a credit card but instead, he glances at the check just a moment before he pays with a bundle of crisp bills from his wallet. god, that was unnecessarily hot.

"let’s go," he says, standing up. he waits for you to put on your shoes before offering his hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you take it, the touch warm and solid. he’s particular about the way he holds your hand– not too tight, not too soft. that makes your heart skip a beat. not to mention your hand is small in comparison to his, but a weirdly perfect match. like a peg sliding into a notch. 

as you walk out of the restaurant, you feel the cool night air hit you, a refreshing contrast to the warmth inside. sukuna’s hand still holds yours, his thumb lightly grazing your knuckles as you both make your way to the street.

that’s when you spot it—an unassuming little ice cream stand on the corner, the twinkling of the fairy lights on its canopy making you grin up at him.

you tug on his hand, pulling him toward the stand before he can even say anything. "ice cream." you say with a mischievous smile, not even giving him a chance to protest. "you are legally not allowed to say no."

sukuna gives you a feigned look of annoyance at you but doesn’t pull away. “you’re insatiable,” he tells you, but there’s no real irritation in his tone—just the faintest hint of beguilement. you don’t miss the way his grip on your hand tightens, just a little, when you pull him toward the stand.

the vendor behind the counter greets you both with a toothy smile, and you instantly scan the flavors, your eyes lighting up as you point to one that catches your attention. "i’ll have the matcha," you say, already thinking about how good it’s going to taste.

sukuna gives you a side glance before ordering the most basic thing he could’ve chosen—vanilla. you can’t help but notice the contrast between his choice and yours, and it makes you giggle.

“you and giggling today, i swear,” he teases. you take the cone from the vendor’s hand with a small thank-you, sticking your tongue out at sukuna before giving your cone a lick. sukuna takes his cone shortly after, paying the man. 

walking together, hand in hand, the quiet sounds of the city hum around you. it’s almost too perfect, the way he towers beside you, both of you savoring your cones. despite the fall night being cool, soon your ice cream starts to drip and melt faster than you can eat it. you try to keep up but it’s a losing battle as your hands get sticky and little droplets threaten to trail down your fingers.

out of the corner of your eye, you catch sukuna stifling a snort, his shoulders shaking slightly as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a crumpled handful of napkins. he must have grabbed them at the stand, almost as if he anticipated this exact moment.

“somehow i knew you’d end up eating like a messy kid,” he teases, his voice tinged more tender than you’re used to. before you can reply, he steps closer, raising the napkin to your face with a gentle hand, his fingers brushing your cheek as he dabs at the melting ice cream on your lips and chin. his touch is careful and surprisingly soft, as if he’s handling something delicate.

“thank you,” you murmur, the words almost a whisper as you meet his eyes. they’re closer than you expected, and you catch your breath as he holds your gaze, just a fraction too long. you look away, the heat of his hand lingering on your cheek, and take another bite of your cone, trying to steady the flutter in your chest.

when you finish, you make your way back toward his motorcycle parked beneath a flickering streetlight. its chrome metal was gleaming in the muted glow. you lean against the seat as he stands in front of you, hand on the seat space beside where you were situated. this definitely feels like a date now, you thought. 

his presence was grounding you in a way that felt both comforting and thrilling. he eats the last bite of his cone before wiping his own hands clean, then tossing the dirty napkins in the bin behind him. “can i ask one more question?” you look at him with a small smile. “sure, sukuna.” 

his hand that was now free of the ice cream cone instinctively goes to your other hip, not out of flirtation, but simply closer proximity. you were in the space between his legs, but it wasn’t awkward. it was just intimate.

“why’d your dad ask you to come home?” you let out a small sigh, brushing your hair out of your face to no avail as the wind pushes in your face again. you look a little solemn as you speak. “he wants me to help my brother with entrance exams for secondary school. i’m really just doing the work of a tutor, which i can’t imagine my father couldn’t afford, especially in terms of my brother.. but, i have duties that are unspoken, i guess. that i’m just expected to follow through. my tuition for university is paid by him, so i can’t exactly ghost my family. and my mom is still great with me, so.. i don’t want to lose her too,” you admit. 

when you finish you realize sukuna’s been rubbing circles on your side, deep in listening to you. “i know family’s tough,” he replies. “but you need to realize when it’s starting to screw you up. i’m sure if i didn’t come to your place, you’d still be burying yourself under all that fuckin’ expectation and you’d be burnt out by the morning.” you nod, the weight of his words settling in, and for a moment, you’re grateful for the honesty he’s bringing out of you. it’s strange, this feeling of openness with him, like he’s peeling back the layers you keep hidden from most people.

“maybe,” you mutter, looking down at your hands, which are still a bit sticky from the ice cream. “but it’s hard, you know? i feel guilty when i consider putting myself first, like it’s selfish or something.”

you hear sukuna inhale deeply, still focused on you. “selfish? putting yourself first is sometimes the best damn thing you can do. you’ve got one life, sweetheart.” he pauses, the weight of his gaze meeting yours. “if you don’t set those boundaries, no fucker’s gonna do it for you.”

his hand brushes a stray hair off your cheek that had been in your face for a while now, and your heart skips as his thumb lingers there. he leans in just a little, enough that his face is close, his gaze holding yours in a way that makes the rest of the world blur.

you swallow, feeling a warmth rising in your chest, a feeling that’s unfamiliar to you. “thanks. i guess i needed to hear that,” you whisper, genuinely touched.

he tilts his head slightly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, though there’s something softer behind his eyes. “anytime, sweetheart.” 

without thinking, you shift your hand up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

he raises a brow, an amused but warm expression lighting up his face. “tryin’ to feel me up now?” he chuckles, but his voice is softer than usual.

you laugh, rolling your eyes, but you don’t move your hand. “shut up,” you murmur, your fingers tracing idle circles on his shirt as you both stay there, close and comfortably silent. the connection between you was enough. sukuna’s hand shifts to gently cup the side of your face, tilting you to see him. you really see him. his thumb grazing your cheek, his gaze flickering to your lips and then back to your eyes. you feel like the world has stopped around you two. you feel the subtle pull of his fingers on your skin. your heart beat is pounding out of your chest, and you feel his racing through his jacket too. in that instant, everything feels inevitable.

the harsh honk of a car horn cuts through the air, dragging you out of the moment with a jolt. you blink as the abrupt return to reality makes your breath catch in your throat. you pull away instinctively, breaking the bubble you were in. the realization of what was about to happen makes you nervous and almost scared. suddenly, you felt suffocated again. you shift, fumbling your fingers with your head down. 

sukuna stands still, silent. his hand that was almost ready to pull you in rested at his side now. his expression was rather blank, but different about the way he’s watching you. it’s quieter, more reserved, like he's waiting for you to say something—anything—to bridge the gap that’s formed between you. his jaw tightens slightly, just a hint of frustration, but he says nothing. he doesn’t rush to fill the silence. his silence is weighty, deliberate, and you feel the intensity of it even more because of it.

you glance at him quickly, and for a split second, you wonder what’s going through his mind. he doesn’t look at you with expectation but with that unreadable intensity that seems to pierce straight through you. you swallow, breaking the silence first. “sorry,” you manage, the words coming out squeakier than you intended, the awkwardness making you want to jump off a bridge. god, strike me down now or so help me.

“don’t apologize,” he rasps, his voice low, rougher than before. it’s not a demand, more like a quiet statement of fact. “you didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

his words hang in the air, steady and unyielding. it’s not comforting in the traditional sense, but it’s there—uncompromising, like he’s just being real with you. there’s no pushing or attempting to rush things. he’s waiting for you to say what you need to say, or to fall silent again. like whatever you do, he’s not going anywhere.

you instead opt to pivot like you usually do, and turn to get on the bike. you check your phone and give a fake little chuckle. “it’s getting so late, wow! we should head out. yeah?” sukuna realized you were definitely feeling weird about the moment you just had, so he wasn’t going to make it ruin the night you both had enjoyed so far. he only nods. “lemme take you to your place.” 

the ride was weirdly quiet, even though you never spoke on the bike anyways. it was too loud over the roar of vehicles on the road. when sukuna turns into your street, you feel a wave of nervous energy pulse through you again. 

the bike slows as he pulls up to the curb in front of your building, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. sukuna parks, but doesn’t make a move to dismount right away. he keeps his hands on the handles, his body still. it’s as if he’s waiting for you to move first. 

you shift off the motorcycle and walk to his side. you don’t give yourself the chance to second-guess it. sukuna looks like he’s about to say something when you press a soft kiss to his cheek, fleeting and sudden, just enough to catch him off guard. for the first time ever, you saw sukuna blush. before he can say anything, you step back already turning on your heel to run briskly towards the entrance of your building, heart hammering against your ribs.

“goodnight!” you call over your shoulder, your voice filled with the adrenaline rush you were feeling. you don’t wait for him to respond as you push open the door and slip inside quickly. the cool air of the building is a sharp contrast to the warmth that still lingers on your lips. You press your fingers on your lips, feeling your heartbeat even in your fingertips. you seriously don’t know what you were thinking… tonight’s feelings are swirling around you as you make your way up the stairs to your apartment.

sukuna was sitting for five minutes on his bike in front of your apartment, brain flatlining. he was going to kiss you. he was so close to your lips. he thought that chance encounter was the most he was going to get tonight when you decided to do that and have the gall to run away. 

he didn’t wash his face that night.

a figure with shoddy blonde hair puts out his cigarette stub on the wall, exhaling the last drag he had. the rooftop was empty, save for his friend. mahito sucks his teeth and throws the bottle of beer he was drinking on the ground, the shatter echoing in the dark night. 

“fuck, man! what are we going to do about that motherfucker?” he seethes, face red from his drunken rage. 

naoya chuckles at his lack of control. he didn’t seem as pissed about the whole ordeal, especially not as much as mahito. the fraternity wasn’t everything to him. and he knew good things come to those who are patient. 

“don’t think about him. we need to focus on the bitch that curved you,” naoya tells him coolly. 

mahito nods slowly, raring up with hype. “yeah… yeah! that ugly whore that got me jumped!” naoya just stares out at the buildings below, unbothered. 

“she’ll pay, mahito. just wait.”

sooooo :) how was it guys :) as always i live and breathe for comments (and all reactions hehe) so please don't hesitate <3 i try my best to reply to everyone in a timely manner, but please have mercy on me if i don't </3 love you all!

peace luv bathtub!

taglist! @kawliflo @deepcloudspyhairdo @aldebrana @marie-is-in-the-dark @emoedgylord @gojoscumslut

comment to be added to the taglist! will be capped at a certain point! much love <3

© sozila 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

it's still agatha and her river

mama, I'm sorry I got upset. mama I'm sorry we're both starving tonight. I promise I'll do better tomorrow.

a six year old taking responsibility and apologizing for his mother's shortcomings.

agatha looks down at her precious little boy's pleading face

and she smiles at him, and nicky gives her a big relieved grin.

evanora is not stealing this moment. she did her worst to fuck with agatha's brain chemistry, but in one fundamental thing she failed: agatha is capable of loving her kid. despite all her other shortcomings, she will never blame nicky for her own faults.

she does a cute little dance for him, and this is what they do, isn't it? he's too small to explain his big feelings and she is too scared, and so they sing to each other and hope the love is understood anyway.

see how he touches the brooch? if only she could have loved nicky in vacuum, without any of the emotional baggage. but he is only the last link in a long chain of witches, pain and and tears and blood that made him what he is. agatha cannot escape her identity and legacy no matter how much she tries, and she couldn't protect nicky from it either.

the last time she sees nicky alive he's smiling adoringly at her. this is the boy she can't face in the afterlife, because her own guilt is so strong she's convinced he will hate her.

nicky dies peacefully in his mother's arms. his soul wakes up and sees rio waiting for him.

that some good cinema dear lord

rio waves at nicky. he doesn't know her (when who will return?) but he still trusts her implicity - she's been around him his whole short life, in the woods, in the water, in his lungs.

and - the bit that destroyed us all - rio makes nicky go to agatha one last time. go kiss your mama goodbye.

light and dark, growth and decay, here and beyond.

remember when alice died and the camera turned upside down? it stops halfway here. agatha has been affected so profoundly by nicky's death that she can never let herself go back to the land of the living, but she's also too scared to follow rio to the other side. she's stuck in the middle, consumed by the impossible dream of bringing nicky back, never allowing herself to find peace and companionship again. in love with death, but running away from it.

(people never seem to make crack and humor vids for episode 9, isn't that curious? when it's soooo fun and lighthearted!)

well ain't that just brutal

I have always known

This Road is cruel and wild

I bury my own heart

Here with you, my child

(I think those are lavender flowers? I'm not 100% sure)

coolcoolcoolcoolcool. that's fine. I'm absolutely fine.

BARRIERS UP right away. even if she looks like a mess. especially because she looks like a mess. she's not showing weakness in front of anyone, she's protecting her grief like a jealous goblin, and since she cannot run, she straightens her dress and gets ready to fight. the option to ask for help and comfort doesn't even cross her mind.

her eyes still full of tears / agatha gets another wonderful, awful idea.

we've seen this so many times, haven't we? the real agatha disappears behind the character she plays. the agatha we've seen from the very start, since the moment she walked into wanda's living room, has been a lie. very few people have ever seen a hint of the poor bruised heart she hides inside, and only to rio and (to some extent) nicky she has ever opened up.

how can someone go from total heartbreak to planning murder in the span of two minutes? well, you can if you are agatha harkness and have never learned one healthy coping mechanism in your life. and I'm sure she's already rationalizing it as something like "if I get powerful enough I can bring nicky back." but the truth is, she just wants to get drunk on magic and murder and stop feeling so horrible. she's running away, like usual. she's planning to kill witches in front of the grave of the very kid who begged her not to, and she's using his song to do it. as if that's not gonna haunt her or anything.

(it really gets me how agatha's smiles are so different from kathryn's. agatha never smiles with her eyes, except when she's with nicky.)

agatha's diabolical scam is so stupid if you think about, definitely worthy of the clown she has become. just pretend the Road didn't open and then annoy people into attacking you! better than using a literal child as bait, I guess.

here she absorbs a yellow coven, and yep, it does look like covens are all supposed to be the same color?

the bodies from the agnes of westview opening.

orange coven in the late 1800s. I really like that dress and hat on her

blue coven in the 1920s, and another cunty outfit

I know you guys like the 90s look, but it makes me laugh how hard she was trying for that Craft vibe. and we don't see the beams color here.

and finally, our girls. (I miss you all so muchhhhh)

what do you know! looks like a door has appeared! (sharonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!)

from fuck has my karma caught up with me to well well well, looks like we have another little maximoff on our hands

and speaking of little maximoffs and giant assholes...

go to episode 9 part 5

[itsabouttimex2]

so what’s your thoughts on season 5 (PS you can find S5 on YouTube dub ) , any thoughts, any yandere hcs ?

Yandere Headcanons

Nüwa, Li Jing, Xiangliu

Nüwa doesn’t necessarily wish to stifle her dear child, but… you’re staying. Even if it breaks your heart beyond measure to be locked up in a dull little realm with no other souls to interact… well, so be it. Your mother has more than enough love for you, doesn’t she? Why should she need to cut you loose when you’re the safest you could be by her godly side?

She can be more than enough for you, after all.

Nüwa’s absolute favorite thing to do is wrap you up in her tail for naps, keeping you nice and cozy as she dotes on your slumbering form. She could easily spend hours pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead, or rubbing your back with her gentle palm.

If you’re a naga like her, expect an endless amount of tail-based affection. Polishing, washing, intertwining… it never ends.

There’s definitely a lot of coddling that borders on infantilizing, like trying to feed you by spoon, reading you to sleep, or holding you in a cradle position and insisting upon frequent naps. Calling her out on it will lead her to back off, sure… but Nüwa will start to play several of the more manipulative cards in her arsenal in the hope that you’ll retract your statements and apologize, and go back to being her “good little baby”.

She’s not even trying to be weird, here- she just doesn’t really understand anything about you. After all, she’s spent aeons separated from her creations, Nüwa doesn’t really comprehend mortal mindsets.

All she understands is “Baby!Y/N was happier and more obedient than Current!Y/N”, and shifts her methods to try and get you back to that behavior- without understanding that babies and teens/adults are going to have fundamentally different reactions to having a spoon of banana mush jammed into their face.

Though, if your discomfort expressed goes beyond mild embarrassment and into genuine distress, she’ll happily drop the worst aspects of the smothering- Nüwa really does want her darling child to be happy, after all.

Although stern and demanding, Li Jing is genuinely very adoring of you. His love is more “low-key” than most yanderes, but still present. He can tamp it down by focusing on his work in the Celestial Realm, trying to neglect you… but it never lasts.

Your father’s affection for you is almost always subtle, performed softly and discreetly. Rather than overtly obsessive and flashy displays, his love takes a quieter, more restrained form. This low-key affection is demonstrated in the form of “small” touches. Fixing your hair. Dusting your clothes. Righting accessories. Little scraps of skinship that allow him to maintain a somewhat loving demeanor without tarnishing his reputation among the court.

He’s strict with your appearance and especially with your clothing, firmly dictating how you dress. Nothing low-cut or even mildly revealing is allowed, of course. Expect lots of fancy ceremonial garbs that swallow you up entirely.

Gifts usually comprise of sanctioned books or tools for “appropriate” hobbies, such as sewing, sculpting, or knitting. Anything that’s time-consuming without being too dangerous. About the “worst” hobby you’re allowing is alchemist, because it’s useful to the court and you’ll be working with Lao Tzu. Maybe you could blacksmith, if you’ve proven yourself mature and obedient.

You will be watched at all times, under the eyes of Li Jing himself or one of your three elder brothers, kept under lock and key.

Though, when you start to visibly wilt and deteriorate from pressure and stress, Jinzha and Muzha will cut you some slack and allow you a little bit of freedom- potentially even spiriting you down to the Mortal Realm for a day of exploration and relaxation. These trips are saved for worse days so you don’t get too used to them, but both of your brothers adore the way you cheer up at something like a simple bowl of fresh noodles from a street vendor.

(Ne Zha is not allowed to come, because he’s so desperate for his father’s love that he updates Jing on what everyone does. Snitch.)

I don’t think it’s very likely to Xiangliu to have a bio kid, but let’s play with the idea here-

It’s implied, to a mild degree, that our Nine-Headed Demon faces some level of desire to be accepted for who he is and what he wants. He lashes out when referred to as a monster, sympathizes with MK’s near lack of control over his fate, advocates for people making their own decisions…

Xiangliu conformed once, returned to order and away from chaos. And he was called a monster and rejected for it.

So there is literally zero percent chance that he’ll risk it happening again with, of all things, his own child.

He plays up the “loving papa” angle hard, essentially welding you to his side from the very moment of birth. Carrying you on his hip, swaddling you in his cape… anything to cradle the precious life bestowed upon him. As you grow older, he actively uses the manifestations of his chaos energies to create “soft” restraints.

Orange-tinged straps of black all bound around you, snugly conforming to the build of your frame, each lash pulsing with aching primordial unrest…

And it’s all to make one of these:

And it might seem silly of him to do (and it is, a little) but it also eases you into a life where chaos is everywhere and everything. You won’t question it for even a second, the constant snaking of wispy tendrils, the throb of a primal power, the sheer wrongness of being steeped in chaos as a bedtime ritual, or having it mixed into your drinks and food each meal…

But it happens anyways, and it’s been happening since the very day of your birth.

So you won’t ever question it.

After all, doesn’t your papa know best?

[timkontheunsure]

do you think stolas sings is a lazy name for a song?

Nope. 🙂 It because it's reference to the name of Stolas' leitmotif*, which is called Stolas Speaks.

(*In music it's a repeating melody that's used when the character is doing something fundamental to their character).

It's the backbone of Stolas Sings.

You can hear it when you play them back to back.

Sam did the same thing, when linking the names You Will Be Ok and I Will Be Ok.

It's used to connect the songs. But also to show different between what Stolas assumed would happen when he was out of his daughter's life; Vs what really happened.

Via being broken by it, but her dad genuinely thought she'd be alright. Depression does a number on you, and tells you your loved ones would be better off without you there.

Stolas Speaks first turns up in murder family, when he rings to set up the deal with Blitz.

With Stolas being an excited dumbass, thinks that sex and the book is a great plan to be closer to Blitz.

He thinks that this is what Blitz want from him at the start, which is honestly pretty fair. But the deal wasn't any sort of way to get any sort of romance relationship he was actually after.

It shows the difference between how Blitz's affection, during those full moon nights, made him feel alive and new again.

Vs what was really there. A comfortable lie, that deal could lead to the real relationship he was so desperate for.

It important to point out Stolas Speaks isn't the only leitmotif that's included in Stolas Sings.

This bit here has the Stolitz leitmotif.

It shows up when the boys are thinking about eachother, or doing something together.

It first showed up in truth seekers when Stolas saves them.

Stolitz also has a visual leitmotif of holding hands.

Basically when they're on the same page they managed to hold hands.

and they fail when they're not

Even their soules hold hands.

which is pretty sweet because both Blitz and Stolas have physical touch as love language.

[neerons]

Hello!! 💖💖💖 I hope you're doing well 💖

I wonder if you've noticed those insta reels where they analyse why one might feel attracted towards a specific character? For example, Character xx is for the girlies who thinks they are hard to love, etc etc.

If you were to assign such stereotypes to the 3S and Boss, what would they be and why? 💖😄

Hello nonny!! I am! I hope you're doing well too ❤

I did see these types of reels on insta! More specifically about LADS characters 🤣

I have to say, I'm not really confident in analysing why most girls would like x character, so I'm mostly relying on my inner intuition and using my own feelings as a base? Just know I tried my best, okay? 😫

This Character Is For the Girls Who... (MK version)

Kazuomi Shido

Kazuomi is for the girls who crave that burning-with-passion type of love. Who desperately search for the perfect chemistry, and ultimately find... their soulmate.

Kazuomi is for the girls who dream of running away with someone who makes the world feel like an adventure, where every risk is worth it, as long as you’re together.

He's for the girls who crave that sense of being seen, acknowledged and loved for who they truly are, under their tough facade.

Kazuomi is for the girls who need to be understood without having to voice their wants and needs — He just knows you.

He's for the girls who crave someone that makes them feel confident when being at their highest, and safe when being at their lowest.

He's for the girls who need intensity and want to see their craziest dreams become reality, experience a life filled with excitement and well-timed escapism.

Kazuomi is for the strong girls who secretly like to be pampered, complimented, and even worshipped.

Kazuomi is for the girls who dream about having the most passionate sex possible, when bodies and minds finally align and become one, creating the most romantic fusion between lovers — He doesn't just touch your body, he touches your soul.

Yuzuru Shiba

Yuzuru is for the girls who crave that mature and deeply emotional bond in a relationship. The kind of connection where both partners share something fundamental... and become each other’s equal.

He's for the girls who want to find someone not only their heart has chosen, but also their mind. The ones who embrace and cherish the charming flaws.

He's for the ones who want a love that'll be long-lasting and built on unshakeable fundations. Where every obstacle only strengthens what they already feel.

Yuzuru is for the girls who are fiercely independent, yet long for a love they can rest in. Who want someone who respects their solitude, yet silently says, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Yuzuru is for the girls who take pride in their partner’s growth. Who find joy in supporting his dreams, not by standing behind him, but beside him — as his equal, his strength, his calm.

He’s for the girls who find beauty in the authentic — homemade cooking, handmade gifts and rare confessions that come from the heart.

Yururu is for the girls who need someone who won't be scared to acknowledge their strength, and rely on their help at times.

He’s for the girls who crave sex that’s intense, and deeply intimate. When all the layers of the mask are stripped away, and nothing remains but raw, aching desire. The kind of desire that doesn’t just want to touch — it wants to consume.

Kei Soejima

Kei is for the girls who crave a love that slowly but surely consumes them. A love that feels dangerous at first. Too sharp, too intense, but becomes the one thing they can’t live without... until it turns into a beautiful obsession.

He’s for the girls who ache for a connection that’s messy and real. Not perfect. Not polished. But raw, relentless, and unafraid to cut deep. A love that tests them, breaks them open, and shows them who they really are.

Kei is for the girls who want someone who would burn the world down just to keep them safe — but who'd never let them touch the flames.

He’s for the girls who crave loyalty, even when death is at stake. Who want someone who loves them like a secret. Guards them like a soldier. And aches for them like they're the only faith he ever believed in.

Kei is for the girls who can handle the storm, and want to be the reason it calms. Who trust that even the deepest scars will heal with enough love and patience.

Kei is for the girls who carry fire in their veins. Who are used to shielding themselves, but secretly hope someone will break through the walls they don’t even realize they built.

Kei is for the girls who don’t want a hero — but a partner in crime. Someone who sees the darkest parts of them and doesn’t look away. Someone who fights their battles like they were his own.

He's for the girls who know the deepest kind of love is the kind that changes you. That turns you into someone braver, softer, and stronger — all at once.

He's for the ones who secretly dream of being read like an open book — body and soul. Who dream of opening new doors to their desire. Kei is for the girls who want someone who will claim them with feeling. Touched like something sacred. Wanted like something forbidden. Loved like something inevitable.

Seiichi Setoyanagi (Boss)

Seiichi is for the girls who crave a love time cannot fade. A loyalty that resists every trial. A risk worth taking, again and again. He's for the ones who want a shadow that leads them to their light... and shows them what it means to be loved with ultimate devotion.

He's for the ones who value actions more than words. Who want a man whose silence speaks, and whose protection moves mountains.

Seiichi is for the girls who like being hunted and guided at once, without ever feeling cornered. Like standing on the edge of something terrifying — and knowing he’d never let you fall.

Seiichi is for the girls who crave a love that doesn’t demand, but knows. A love that watches, waits, and never pushes — but is always there. The kind of love that feels like a quiet vow etched into your soul: permanent, invisible, unforgettable.

He’s for the girls who want someone who guards them like a secret, and protects them like they’re the only softness he has left in the world.

For the girls who want a love like a secret garden. Hidden from the world, but alive with untamed beauty.

Seiichi is for the girls who crave to uncover the secrets, who aren't afraid to dive into the dark to find the truth. For the ones who see the good in the broken, and believe even a lost humanity can be brought back to life.

He’s for the girls who crave a slow-burning passion. The kind that grows between glances, builds in silence, until the need is too sharp to ignore, giving way to erotic bliss. A culmination of every look, every unspoken want, finally answered.

____

I don't think I need to explain why I wrote these things about them? But I don't mind doing it if you need! Not sure I got it right but I tried hard, and I hope you like it and that it was pretty accurate ❤

Thank you for the ask!

[melandrops]

The Magnus Archives Entities as Greek Gods

The Vast - Zeus

The all powerful, infinite cosmic force that is both the king of the gods and the fear of insignificance. The fear of falling, and of openness. Pray that when lightning strikes, you will not taste ozone on your tongue.

The Buried - Poseidon

The ocean could very well be a part of the Vast, but they are fundamentally opposed. The same sides of a coin, one side pewter the other side copper. Two kings that rule next to each other yet are complete opposites. Pray that his brutal storms do not swallow you whole, crushing you under the weight of his world.

The End - Hades

He is the one inevitability of the world. He waits, passive, for victims. The other gods squabble and bicker and play their games while he looks on from the Underworld and knows that he is the ultimate winner. It is pointless to hope that he will not claim you eventually. Pray that you will be contented when he does.

The Web - Athena

The goddess of strategy, of weaving and trickery and cunning. She once cursed a girl to become a spider for her insolence. Pray that she does not lay her marionette strings over you, for then you will never know free will again.

The Slaughter - Ares

The god of war, and the gleam of bloodshed in your eyes and the eyes of the person on the other end of the battlefield. Pray that the blood streaking your hands and face is not your own.

The Corruption - Aphrodite

She is love, and the unbecoming of it all. The deadly force that eats away at your soul and changes you into someone you don't recognize anymore. She whispers that she is the most good and right form of the world, but her kiss is made of rot. Pray that her love will not break you apart piece by piece.

The Eye - Apollo

The god of the sun, who sees all the occurs in the daylight. Prophecy, truth, and the goings on of the world are the way he idles his time away. Pray that you are not intriguing enough to catch his vicious interest.

The Lonely - Hestia

She is the goddess of the hearth, of warmth and of family. Yet it was she who was foisted out of Olympus to make way for Dionysus. She tends to a hearth with no visitors to warm themselves by it. Pray that she does not beckon you to join her by the empty fire.

The Stranger - Dionysus

His parties are the raucous screams in the night, and people who walk in will never walk out the same person. There will always be something a little bit off about them. Pray that when the wine touches your lips you will still recognize yourself the next morning.

The Desolation - Hephaestus

Ugly, marred and disfigured. His wife refuses to look at him. He burns with a rage that he cannot distinguish as self hatred or as loathing for the world he lives in. He toys with the fire in his forge and the burns are the only thing that bring him joy anymore. Pray that he does not look at you with that fiery hatred in his eyes.

The Hunt - Artemis

She hunts in the dead of night, armed by the protection of the moon. Occasionally she enlists help. But always, she will dedicate herself to the next hunt. Pray you are not next.

The Flesh - Prometheus

He built humans out of clay. He built them with imperfections they would see in the mirror and insecurities that feel like a gaping pit in their chest. The god of innovation is also a god who wants their passions to hurt. Pray that when he creates you, your imperfections do not swallow you whole.

The Spiral - Janus

Doors and transitions and new beginnings but also endings all rolled into one. Everything and anything but also nothing and no one. He is a two faced god of deception and lies, and you can never trust what either face tells you. Pray for truth, but there is no point.

The Dark - Nyx

She's always there. Waiting for Apollo to leave. You're not safe from her. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, the most animal part of your brain will always fear her. Pray that she smiles at you without teeth as she watches while you sleep.

The Extinction - Pan

He is the god of nature, and there is no length he will not go to in order to protect it. Mankind is but a blemish on the world. The wild, untamable forces of nature will conquer it eventually. Pray that you will be overlooked when it floods the cities and burns the crops.

[crescentpaws]

giving u ur drug 🥀

bonus 2: the manner in which this happens also messes with fintan... whatever bronte threw at him was scraped from the bottom of his fuckedup heart, from the deepest and most secret feelings he has buried, where no one will ever find them. manifesting an ability no one's ever seen before. the guilt wrenching the bottom of his heart into his stomach as the red haze clears, as it shows him whatever unfortunate soul happened to cross his nerve, writhing on the ground at his feet, screaming, crying. in this perfect elven world, the world that looks with disdain upon the humans with their disgusting bigotry and torture and violence, here strikes like lightning, unprecedented, a most terrible pain. no one has ever felt, has ever even come close to feeling this sensation: raw anguish being pressed relentlessly into every nerve ending in the body at once. that isn't the worst part. the worst part, the thing that keeps him up at night, that makes his skin crawl with a thousand things he has no language for, isn't the sound of the screams or the tears in their eyes or the way everyone looked at him after, always. it's that before the red flash cleared, before he remembered screaming meant something was wrong, that moment didn't feel the way it should. his heart poured out in a scalding wave, rolling out from him in all directions, an explosion, a release. after it was all over, they told him how sorry they were. that it must have felt awful to be causing so much pain, to not know what it was, not be able to stop it. and it had. that's what he told himself, over and over remembering their screams tearing at his eardrums, so loud they'd drown out anything but the guilt no elf could carry without forgiveness, without relief. drown out that fragment of a moment before he realized what was happening, the crack in a shattered mirror that cut to touch. drown out how it felt good. you have a duty, you have a family, you have a life, an eternal life. an eternal life you fear you'll spend every moment of wishing you were someone else. elves can't bear to do wrong, everyone knows that. so why is that what you were born to do? why is your special ability, the thing that makes you worthy, the thing that makes you hurt everyone? why is the essence of you twisted and disgusting? why do you exist? why are you alive? and why should you be? perhaps there's a moment when it hits him all at once; perhaps it crawls in slowly, drip by icy drip sliding down his veins into his heart and bones until he realizes there's nothing else. what does it feel like, that hopelessness? the frozen conviction squeezing his ribs until they snap like an iron hand, that he, and he alone, should not be alive. the thing at the center of how society sees him, treats him, tells him who he is - his special ability - is rotten. in the peaceful, gentle elven utopia, the ability to cause pain is an abomination. and it's his feelings that did that, his emotions that lit that elf's nerves on fire, not just his power, his fundamental nature. he's scared of getting angry for a while. or sad. or anxious. he's scared of feeling anything, really. it could all be rotten and he'd never know, would he? what does it feel like to not understand your power? how many mistakes, how many slipups, how many times snapping without thinking does it take to figure out how to control it enough not to have to avoid even looking at people for days on end? what does it feel like during that time, balanced on the razor's edge between tormented control and that unforgivable, intoxicating fury? perhaps it feels like guilt. it feels like shame. it feels like nothing. it feels like the world is dropping from beneath him and burying him alive. it feels like something he doesn't have the words for, something he's sure no elf has ever felt before, something he's alone with, will be alone with, for eternity. it feels like sleep is the safest time, because it's when he is absolutely sure he can't hurt anyone. it feels like death is a sleep that lasts for ever.

so what if that's the emotion buried at the end of the red lightning that cuts into fintan's nerves like ice, and it's hopeless despair, nine layers deep in the guilt an elven mind can feel from even the tiniest infraction, overwhelming. fintan, who's proud of his ability beyond measure, for whom every moment with fire in his veins feels like everything he is meant to be. it is joy to watch flames dance across his skin, over the petals of the noxflares in his gardens, in the eyes of admiring onlookers as he masters his element further than anyone has ever done because it's his, and it's beautiful, and it's life. but now it's his and it's repulsive, a crawling, skulking, gnawing, hungry thing, a leech curled round his heart daring him to let it bleed, to unleash the most awful depths of his every intrusive thought and guilty pang and stab of annoyance on the world that is all he knows. he thought letting bronte practice on him might have helped; perhaps he had no idea what he had been holding back. the emotion made physical isn't white-hot pain, not crawling nausea, not anything else he's inflicted before. it's quiet and it buzzes like a stagnant fever. it's dead and cold and hollow. it's what it feels like to stand on a cliff ledge and not care if the weight of your head gazing down at the sea crashing on the glistening rocks below pulls you over the edge. it's hoping you won't wake up in the morning because you can't bear to face another day feeling the way you do. it's knowing that you will anyway, it's knowing that you always will. it's the fear in everyone's eyes when you show the slightest hint of anger. it's the relief in everyone's eyes when you pretend like you're happy, thank goodness, we're safe today. it's the part of you that relishes every night spent cleaving through the crisp, chill air with screams you tear from that elf's fever-hot throat, golden hair tangled in the grass when he falls, chest heaving, half laughing, struggling to his feet, telling you to try again. it's the rest of you that knows you shouldn't. it's that part of you that keeps meeting him anyway. fintan feels like living, breathing fire, poured and cast into the shape of a person, and the world loves him for it, and he relishes it. what does it feel like to want, more than almost anything, to be extinguished?

MY DRUGS ‼️🔥🔥🔥

this is so good i am screaming and crying on the floor. goijg insane . aaaah…!!!!!!

[sparklyeevee]

Thinking about the options for trans people who can channel in the show, and wondering if they're gonna be able to figure out something to do with trans men that's like, good or interesting. I'm gonna presume mainstream Westlands norms re: channeling here, but most of this translates pretty well to Windfinders and Wise Ones, although not to the Seanchan.

Bioessentialist version. Trans women channel saidin and are regarded as men who can channel, trans men channel saidar and are regarded as tomboyish lesbians like Juilaine. Transfemininity treated as madness, transmasculinity not acknowledged. Nonbinary people channel according to their chromosomes or whatever.

Cis feminist bad allyship version. Trans women channel saidar, trans men also channel saidar, because the taint on saidin (which is obviously all there is to channeling saidin) is specific to those bad, icky cis men. Everyone gets to be an Aes Sedai, no one gets to have a complex relationship with masculinity. Nonbinary people also channel saidar. Most upsetting version I personally consider at all plausible.

The show isn't transphobic but the characters are version. Trans women channel saidar, but are regarded as men who can channel and severed from the source. Trans men channel saidin, but are permitted to become Aes Sedai if they have the spark inborn (Aes Sedai cannot sense the ability to learn to channel saidin, so trans men without the spark will never be taught - they would have to actively demonstrate their ability to channel). Transmasc Aes Sedai eventually develop madness and rotting sickness, and are quietly severed and confined if they don't kill themselves first. Nonbinary people might channel saidin or saidar but are handled by Aes Sedai according to assigned sex at birth.

As above, but trans men and nonbinary people assigned female are birth are not permitted to become Aes Sedai because women who can channel can't sense or test their ability to do so. They are turned away from the Tower and live and die (horribly) without ever understanding what's happening to them.

No transphobia, no complexity version. Trans women channel saidar and can become Aes Sedai, trans men channel saidin and are regarded as men who can channel, nonbinary people who can channel are mysteriously absent from the show. (This strikes me as a reasonably likely direction for the show to take).

Let's not get into all that version. Trans women channel saidar and can become Aes Sedai, there are nonbinary Aes Sedai who channel saidar, trans men are mysteriously absent from the show. (This also strikes me as reasonably likely.)

Souls are not gendered let's fucking talk about it version. Most trans people channel according to their gender, although due to the availability of infrastructure to learn, there are more trans men channeling saidar than trans women channeling saidin. If you first touch the source accidentally, you will usually (but not always) touch the half of the source that lines up with what you currently believe your gender to be. There is no clear pattern to which half of the source nonbinary people with the spark inborn touch first, but here too the availability of teaching means more channel saidar than saidin, including anyone who needs to be taught in order to channel. The Tower's secret histories even contain a few examples of cis people channeling the "wrong" half of the One Power for no clear reason. Once you have channeled one half of the Power, you're kinda stuck, which can be a source of dysphoria for some trans people.

Fuck it, magic itself isn't gendered, but we're being a little victim blamey about it version. Saidin and saidar have no fundamental differences, they're just different ways of accessing the same thing, and it is possible to switch up how you do it. The saidin way, which tends to come more naturally to men for complex societal reasons, means you also have to deal with the taint, but maybe makes it possible to handle more of the Power at once. Cis men who can channel could learn to use saidar and be safe, but just... don't. Most trans women either start with saidar or start with saidin and switch before they take serious damage from the taint, depending on when, whether, and how they're taught to channel. Most trans men start with saidar and stick with it, but a few who transition late and have the spark inborn figure out the saidin approach first and have to learn the saidar way later. Trans women can become Aes Sedai. Trans men can become Aes Sedai too if they're willing to be aggressively misgendered as Novices and Accepted and lightly misgendered thereafter.

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby X OC

CHAPTER 4

Summary: after their late-night conversation, something has changed between Nina and Tommy. Now Tommy’s slowly coming to understand that they might be more similar than they thought.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, addressing the topics of rape and murder, English is not my first language.

A/N: This is more like a passage chapter with little to no action, but it’s fundamental for the development of Tommy and Nina’s relationship. But be ready, cause there’s a storm coming!

Important information for the context: In this chapter, Nina explains the delitto d’onore (honour killing) and the matrimonio riparatore (rehabilitating marriage), two practices which were recognised by the Criminal Code and were only abolished in Italy in 1981. In Italy, r*pe went from being a crime against the moral to being a crime against the person only in 1996.

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER’S MOODBOARD

Dividers credits

Sipping lemonade at the kitchen table, with the birds chirping outside and a slight breeze coming through the open window, Nina relished the first moments of peace in weeks. With the women of the family busy with the tradition of making tons of tomato sauce to preserve for the winter at Aunt Rita’s house and the men out for business, she could finally enjoy a day all for herself. She might even go to the sea, stay there to watch the sunset.

Glancing out the window, a curious sight caught her attention. Tommy Shelby was lounging in a chair, his head leaning back, his eyes closed. He had abandoned his formal attire, he wasn’t wearing a jacket nor a tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms. There was something captivating in his disheveled appearance, and in the way - despite his apparently vulnerable position - he still seemed to be fully aware of his surroundings. There was a clear tension in his shoulders and his eyelids fluttered, from time to time.

After their late-night conversation, it didn’t take long for Tommy and Nina to go back to their old ways. That morning, while they sat at the breakfast table, they mostly ignored each other, and the few words they exchanged during the day were mere courtesies. It was almost as if last night never happened. Almost. Because it had happened, and something had changed between them. But it was such a small change that neither of them were actually aware of it. Maybe that change was the reason Nina took pity on him and walked out to approach him.

However, as soon as his stern blue eyes rested on her, an unfamiliar nervousness took over her, and she suddenly felt stupid, regretting her impulsive decision. It wasn’t like they were close, after all. But he was there, and he was looking at her, and it was too late to go back. She had to find something to say before that situation became even more awkward.

Before she could speak, something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. A black fur-ball was curled up in Tommy’s lap, hidden by the shadow of the table. Nina watched in shock as Winston purred and stretched his little paws, enjoying the man’s scratches behind his ear. How the hell did he manage to touch Winston without losing a finger?

The gangster’s eyes shifted between Nina and the cat, and his lips curved into an taunting grin. “Your cat likes me. That should be a good sign.”

“Quite the contrary.” She retorted, recovering from her astonishment. “Winston’s a devil. If he likes you, there’s clearly something wrong with you.” She teased him, feeling the previous embarrassment slowly fade away.

“But he likes you.” He squinted his eyes, pointing at her.

“Yes, because I feed him.”

Something moved in the grass, causing Winston to raise his head and stare at a specific point. It took him only a few seconds to spot a lizard, and he jumped from Tommy’s lap to catch the poor animal. Traitor, she thought to herself, watching as the cat ran away with his loot.

Once Winston had disappeared, she remembered the reason why she had walked up to him in the first place. “I’m going to the sea for a while.” She said, shifting her weight from one feet to the other. “If you need something, everybody’s over there.” She nodded her head at Agnese’s house.

Tommy stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering, almost hesitating. “Would you mind if I came with you?”

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, which surprised Nina even more than his question. One thing that she had learned in the short time she had known him was that he never wavered. Yet, only for an instant, his firm and unmovable facade seemed to falter.

Truth was, Tommy didn’t even remember the last time he went to the beach. He was still a kid, Finn probably wasn’t even born yet. He had almost forgotten how it felt, and for the first time in a long time, he longed for a feeling that seemed to belong to another life. But Nina didn’t particularly like him, and perhaps he was overstepping by asking to go with her. Moreover, if her family found out, chances were that they would get the wrong idea.

“No.” Nina shook her head, recollecting herself. “No, I don’t mind.”

She took both Tommy and herself aback with her answer. Up until a few days earlier she would’ve said a sharp “no” without thinking about it twice, but now, as much as she hated to admit it, his company wasn’t so unpleasant anymore. Quite the contrary. And their bickering surely was a way of escaping the boredom of the small village.

So they found themselves walking down the dirt road outside the big gates of the houses, in the opposite direction from where Tommy had arrived a little over a week ago. It stretched in front of them as far as the eye could see, and its left side was surrounded by nothing but trees, whereas the right side overlooked the sea below. In the silence, he could already hear the sound of the waves and breathe the salty air, and the comfort it brought him almost made up for the burning sensation of the sun on his face. He wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the Italian summer, so radically different from Birmingham’s gloomy weather.

Eventually, they approached some narrow stone stairs, which led down to a small beach.

“Careful.” Nina told him, starting to walk down the high steps with surprising ease. “It’s slippery.”

Tommy followed behind her, paying close attention both to where he placed his feet and where she placed hers. She was going a bit too fast for his liking, and although her movements were agile and graceful, he had the impression she might slip at any moment.

Little did he know, she had walked down those steps hundreds of times. It was a spot she had discovered a few years prior, hidden from prying eyes and unknown to most people. It wasn’t even a proper beach, rather a small sandy space surrounded by rocks. It was her refuge, the place that sheltered her when she needed to be alone. Sometimes she would sit on a rock and watch the hypnotising motion of the waves rolling in, other times she took off her shoes and stood at the sea’s edge, lulled by the feeling of the cold water around her feet. She could pretend that nothing existed except for her and the sea, that she was free of the suffocating weight of judgement and injustice. And she could breathe.

“Nice place.” Tommy’s hoarse voice came to her ears as she went to sit on a rock. She watched as he looked around, an unreadable expression on his face. Another thing she had learned about Tommy Shelby was that it was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. He was so good at hiding his feelings that Nina figured it must be an ability he had mastered over the years. There was nothing left of the glimpse of humanity he had revealed the previous night, and she wondered whether her mind had just made it up.

With his back to her, he stood in front of the sea, observing the slow motion of the waves. “How’s your cousin? I haven’t seen her today.”

Unlike the previous days, that day no big lunch was organised in the shared garden, and Tommy had eaten with Nina, her parents and her two brothers in their dining room. Since he had officially started the courting the day before, the family’s agitation had quieted down, and big gatherings were not necessary anymore, unless something important happened, like a proposal. But it was too soon for that. So that day everything went back to normal, just like Nina had predicted the day he had arrived.

“She’s busy. She and my cousins are helping my mum and aunt Rita.” She informed him. “Summer means conserve. They’re making tomato sauce and preserving it. It’s a tradition.”

“You didn’t join them?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not this year.”

Tommy took her short answer as a sign not to inquire further. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed she was a bit of an outcast in her own family. He had seen how her aunts and cousins looked at her, how they whispered among themselves when she said or did something they considered unacceptable, how her own mother lowered her head in embarrassment on those occasions. It hadn’t taken him long to understand how things worked in Sicily: women had to be meek, agreeable and marriage-minded. It was no wonder Nina’s temperament clashed with that state of things.

“Anyway, Agnese’s happy.” She continued. “Just like everyone.” Although she was trying to keep her tone neutral, she couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“But you’re not.” He stated matter-of-factly, turning to face her.

“I’m happy that she’s happy. What I’m not happy about…” she left her sentence hanging, thinking about her next words. “Is this whole sale thing. Because you can call it whatever you want, it doesn’t change what it really is.”

There it was, the rage she tried so hard to contain. It never completely reveal itself, it only shone through cracks and fractures, like in that moment. But Tommy had seen it since the very beginning, for anger recognises anger, and he was angry too. He had been angry since he was a boy.

He sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the calm sea in front of them. “You’re right.” He nodded, knowing there was no point in denying what was in front of everyone’s eyes. “But it’s necessary. I’m selling myself too, you know. Before all of this I didn’t think I’d ever get married.”

Nina glanced at him, furrowing her brows. “You never thought about marriage?”

“I did.” He admitted, his mind wandering to moments that seemed so distant yet so close at the same time. “There was a woman I wanted to marry. Grace.” He explained, having to force himself to say her name. After a whole year, that name still stung on his tongue.

“What happened with her?” She asked curiously.

“Turns out she was a spy, working for an Irish cop who was investigating on some stolen guns.” Reality crashed back on him as he said those words, the memory of how he had been played by the woman he loved hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “He thought we had them.”

“Did you?”

A smirk made its way on Tommy’s face at her innocent question. He turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, slightly leaning towards her. “How do you think a backstreet razor gang managed to take control of the city without the police intervening?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away, shaking her head with an impressed look on her face. For once, she was at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” he straightened his back, becoming serious again. “She ratted us all out, and then she left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

It’s in the past. Tommy had lost count of all the times he had said that to himself. Maybe if he repeated it long enough, it would eventually become true. And maybe it was happening, because that was the first time he thought about her in days. Yet, it still hurt. He thought they were the same, that he found her, and she found him. He was wrong.

After a while, Nina broke the silence that had fallen between them. “At least you’re not some old man.”

Her sudden statement caused a chuckle to escape his lips, and even though she had tried to keep a straight face, she soon followed him. Tommy realised that he had never actually heard her laugh before. A few times she had chuckled, but until then she had never let out a real laugh. It was infectious, and he found himself laughing for the first time in God knew how long.

Soon the laughter died down, and Tommy was left with question that had been burning in his mind for a while. “Why don’t you want to get married?”

There was no judgment in his voice, just plain curiosity. He didn’t find it strange, but he couldn’t help but wonder what made her so adamant about the matter.

She took her time to answer, as if she was ordering the words in her mind, and he couldn’t tell whether she was translating her thoughts or finding the way to address a subject that was clearly a sore point. She was so fluent in English that sometimes he forgot it wasn’t her first language. Then her accent came through, or she mispronounced a word, and he was reminded that it probably hadn’t been easy for her to master a language without living in the place it was spoken. It was quite impressive.

“Because if I got married,” she started, bringing his attention back to the topic. “I’d be completely subordinated to my husband. I couldn’t make financial or even employment decisions. If we had children, they wouldn’t really be mine, I’d have no right over them. In the eyes of the law, my husband would have absolute power over us.”

Tommy attentively listened, not daring to interrupt her, afraid that she would close herself off again.

“Best case scenario, I’d end up being a wife and a mother, nothing more, nothing less. Worst case scenario, I’d end up like one of my mother’s friends, who was killed by her husband because he thought she had cheated on him. And he got a sentence reduction. Because it was a honour killing.” She spat out, her voice full of scorn. She frowned, as she did every time she didn’t agree on something.

“Honour killing?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He had heard about it, of course, but there was something grotesque in the fact that it was somehow recognised by the law.

“If a woman brings dishonour in any way to the family, and one of her family members were to kill her, they would get a sentence reduction. It’s called delitto d’onore. Honour killing.” She explained, and he could tell she was trying not to let emotions take the best of her. Her gaze rested on him, and he figured his expression let his thoughts slip through, because she nodded. “You think that’s fucked up? Wait until you hear about the rehabilitating marriage.”

“What about it?”

“If a man rapes a woman, he can escape his sentence by marrying her. It’s in the Criminal Code, just like the honour killing. And the woman must marry the man to save both her honour and her family. Otherwise she’ll be identified as a shameless woman.” Her dark eyes blazed with outrage as she stared at some point in front of her, and Tommy found himself sharing the same disdain. Maybe it was the part of him who had never tolerated injustice, a side of him he had pushed back a long time ago, but that stubbornly came to the surface whenever something unfair occurred, or maybe her rage was so strong that it was able to infect those who were close to her.

“It’s not that uncommon that a man kidnaps a woman so that she will be forced to marry him.” She shook her head, her voice lowering. “It’s not right. Sometimes I sit here and it’s all I can think about. It’s not right. And no one seems to be angry about it. Most people even agree with it. It’s just how things are. It’s normal. It shouldn’t be.”

Tommy knew that feeling, the frustration that came with helplessness. It plagued him when he was a boy, when he was treated differently because of who he was, of where he came from. When his mother couldn’t afford to put on the table anything but lard. When aunt Polly’s children were taken from her. It was that feeling that pushed him to make sure people feared the Shelby name, so that no one would dare treat them like scum ever again.

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like to have a family of my own. But it’s not worth the risk of becoming no one. I don’t want to obliterate myself. I don’t want to depend on a man who might be cruel to me. I want something that’s mine. Because right now, I have nothing. And I know that I finished school, and that’s way more than what most boys get, let alone girls. But it’s not enough.” Her voice cracked, but there was no trace of tears on her face. “Is it so bad to want something more?”

No, Tommy wanted to say. No, it’s not. But couldn’t bring himself to speak, because he knew that there were no words that could make it better.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, pulling herself together. “I got carried away and I talked too much.”

“No.” He said quickly. “You didn’t. I asked you a question and you answered it.”

For some reason, Tommy didn’t want Nina to think that her talking bothered him, that she had to hold her tongue with him. He liked hearing her talk. She was smart, she had thoughts of her own, and she challenged him. She didn’t agree with everything he said - or pretended to - just to please him, she didn’t make herself smaller like everyone else did in his presence. That was somehow refreshing.

There was silence again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. They were both meditating on the words they had said and heard, and the gap between them didn’t seem so wide, now. As the sun started to set, the sky took on shades of pink and orange, and a warm light illuminated the beach.

Tommy took advantage of Nina’s distraction to look at her. The last rays of sun lit up her eyes with a golden hue, giving them a colour which resembled honey. Her tan skin seemed to gleam, and her cheeks had taken on a tinge of red. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he realised - she was beautiful. He had already noticed her interesting, sharp beauty, but now it felt as if it had intensified. A light gust of wind rose up, and her long raven hair tickled his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. When the scent of lavender filled his nostrils, he couldn’t restrain himself from closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Nina shifted her position, causing their hands to accidentally brush.

He didn’t flinch away this time. She didn’t either.

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

[aliusfrater]

almost all s8 opinions regarding sam make me want to tear my hair out but what do you make of the takes that we can't really blame sam for s8, mainly not looking for dean/quitting hunting because it was "out of character"?

not just the you know who shippers who say this either btw I've seen so-called sam stans say the same

the evidence to this claim always seems to be that jared supposedly didn't like it either (which may very well be true idk the source) but I have to wonder if jared only said that or something similar because fan reactions to s8 sam began affecting him too

quite simply, i just don't agree with or enjoy interpretations that genuinely and earnestly refer to it as sam 'not looking for dean' in any context that's intended to be from sam's point of view because that's very much what dean considers it to be because he knows that he wasn't dead in the soul-had-left-his-body sense and he considers sam's adherence to his own perceived death as abandonment which is the major culprit of his own, sam's as well as the narrative's perpetuation of the idea that sam 'didn't look for him'. like this exact idea from sam's own pov is touched on in the first episode of season eight when sam is at his most confident in his independence away from his and dean's relationship:

then based on bobby's reaction to sam's own recount of dean's death to bobby in 8.19, it does seem evident to me that sam neglects to retell his own pov and he tells bobby that dean was in the same purgatory they were currently in, which is why bobby reacts with disbelief (because if you knew where he was, why didn't you attempt to save him?) and why sam's response is to bring up the previous 'agreement' he and dean had about death.

i have my own qualms about bobby's disillusionment re: the agreement as a 'non-agreement' and that he 'taught [sam] that' based on the actual events of 6.01 and the fact that bobby does indeed leave dean out of hunting at sam's will and the only plausible point at which it could have become a non-agreement is during the 6.11 and 6.12 conflict that is regaining sam's soul (without sam's consent, twice fold, but i consider soulless!sam to be more of a direct victim of being resouled than i do sam because of his active agency against it. sam's agency was preceded in his dying wishes and are therefore passive). bobby's reaction does, however, add to the already narratively skewed perspective of sam's decision where there is already that prioritisation of dean's 'didn't look for me' on account of the fact that bobby's own role as patriarch does narratively match dean's, along with bobby's position as a character who is narratively third to sam and dean's relationship (which then then bleeds into both sam's and the fandom's own interpretation of it, i think; sam also begins to doubt his decisions more which is also related to how the trials turn into his own suicidal ideation).

the conflict regarding which brother takes on the trials is very much foundational within sam's own view of a light at the end of the tunnel and his desire to leave the life and dean, at multiple points, within conversation about why he should be the one to do the trials, reiterates sam's own desire for normalcy away from hunting, within what dean himself desires for sam's life, which bring us back to the root of the issue that is dean's fear of abandonment (8.03, 8.14).

sam's own desire or attempt to leave the life seems to be fundamentally Wrong or is at least disproved of until dean approves of it/whenever it's part of dean's ideal for sam. 8.01, "so… free will, that's only for you?" the greatest sin is to disobey your patriarch; i think the culprit here re: sam's own person, just like it was with season four and the beginnings of soulless!sam, seems to be sam's rejection of the dynamics of his and dean's codependency in favour of his own attempt at independence. there's also the idea that dean would rather complete the trials that have a possibility of death than have sam go through the trials, die, then 'leave' dean to face the idea of living a life without sam—and he attempts to make this decision by on his own, without sam's input.

generally, i don't believe sam needs any excuse(s) to live a life outside of dean but the narrative's own facilitation of sam back into the non-role (the struggle to fit into the role) of his and dean's relationship, the dichotomy of monstrosity, the cycle of abuse, the patriarchal structure etc. etc. after his attempts at independence are endlessly interesting to me and although this isn't yelled at you through explicit exploration, i do consider aspects of sam's history with mental health to be relevant within several aspects of season eight, but mostly being related to sam's decision to leave hunting specifically within the context of the year between seasons seven and eight (especially after all that is seasons three to seven) as it's explored through character mirorring and subtextual acknowledgement in 8.08. ultimately though, i think the major aspects of sam's decision to leave revolve around 1) grief and sam's avoidance of his grief, which is pretty well represented by his initial reluctance to name riot and explored through sam and amelia as mirroring characters (how blatant it is pisses me off a little),

and 2) the very basic building block regarding sam as a character that is his desire to leave the life. quite generally, i think the fact that through dean's own conflation of family and hunting (on account of john's own pov that through choosing college over hunting, sam had also chosen college over family) as well as dean's own pov prioritised through his and sam's relationship along with the previously mentioned structures, the idea that sam, too, is therefore unable to leave the life or subvert any of these structures without it being perceived as leaving dean or forsaking family is pretty neglected within a lot of interpretations of sam as a character. i think dean very much keeps sam tethered to the life either through sam's own ability to choose dean and their conflated lifestyle over something/someone else (later season one, season two, three, later nine to fifteen) (there's also the guilt tripping) or as a result of being preoccupied in a way that inhibits his idea of normalcy (his monstrosity in seasons four and five), but on account of the dynamics and his and dean's relationship, sam is unable to reject their codependency which perpetuates hunting and SamAndDean as existing synonymously (an ideal that originates and is emulated from john's ideal of their family within the ultimatum of forcing sam to choose either their family and hunting or his aspirations then viewing sam's choice manipulatively, since he's one the that fabricated and fored the choice upon his child, as abandonment). i mean, even when sam was hunting without dean as soulless!sam, on account of the agency and autonomy sam was able to achieve due to the differences between s!sam and sam's priorities due to the difference between then (the soul lol), s!sam's rejection of his and dean's relationship did become evidence for his monstrosity. which is, of course, punishable by (possible) death should dean decide that the dichotomy will not stretch to accommodate said monstrosity.

season eight, to me, is when these characters first start feeling a bit like cardboard, especially due to how wittled down to its core sam and dean's dynamic is represented. this is the most boring and basic version of How They Work at this point in the show and even then people explain their simple and cardboard-ish behaviours away with explanations like saying they're 'ooc'. sam's state of mind is pretty straight forward if you know where to look; sam taking his entire family's death as his sign that he's able to leave the life is not out of character to me at all. kill the supernatural appointed patriarch in your head.

[the-lisechen]

~5.7k. copia/f!oc. rated gen. she's a bride-to-be of christ. he's sworn in service to satan. they have dinner. 2/2

(banner and unwavering support by @enjoy-my-swearing)

find part one here and here!

say it slow and perfect, chapter 2/2 - ao3

Copia slid in the other side, and Sophie turned her head to look out the window, unprepared for just how close he was on the faux-leather bench seat. Two handbreadths away. She wasn't actually seeing anything outside, her brain gone to static and an alarm both formless and very loud. He was saying something to the driver, her brain couldn't quite process what, while old soul music warbled on the radio. Sam Cooke? Something smoother than Otis Redding, in any case. It was the perfect Lynchian touch to her unfounded panic. His sudden proximity. That cologne, leather and smoke, with an underlying sweetness that could have been vanilla or myrrh. 

He'd been speaking. He'd been speaking to her.

"--Have you been to Charleston before?"

"No." She thought she'd recovered without the lapse being immediately obvious. "No, not here. I'm from Appalachia, this here's low-country. Different flavor of south."

"Appalachia?"

"No, no. It's Apple-latch-uh. You say Appa-lay-chia, I know not to take your opinion seriously."

"Your American South, this is a strange place, I think. A country in and of itself. Certainly it is where we get the most trouble. Yet you speak of it as if you love it."

"I do. I do love it, it's home. Even if it wasn't, there isn't anywhere in America I'd rather live."

"Even with the continual human rights violations, and the racism, and the outright hatred?"

"Even with that. But that isn't--"

"--isn't all that it is, you are going to say?" His smile was sharp, but fond, she thought. 

She had to turn to look out the window, a little rueful. "Hate to be predictable, but yeah." Maybe she should have stopped herself from talking, but it was a familiar topic, and with him so close, she didn't have quite enough nerve left to restrain herself. "It fails because it's been failed. After the Civil War, the collapse of Reconstruction fucked it up real good. Things were looking up there for a little bit before the Klan really got rolling, we had a bunch of Black legislators, reparations might'a been a possibility, and then Grant backed down on his way out of office, and-- poof. But I love it. I do. The food. The history. The music. The land. The legacy of struggling for something better."

"I sense a pattern, with you," he said, and she looked back to see him watching her with mingled amusement and respect. 

"I'll allow that you might," she said, amicable and implacable. 

He took his eyes off of her, watching the city slide past, and it was a little easier to breathe. "Beautiful and beyond repair. And you won't cut your losses."

"I mean, I figure that if you're committed to harm reduction, makes sense to go to the places that've had the most harm."

"'The least of these.'"

"Yessir, that's exactly right." She sank further back into the seat. Yes, that was definitely Sam Cooke. Swing Low? or was it Mr. Soul? She couldn't place it. "Where you taking me, anyhow?"

"A restaurant, unless I am fundamentally mistaken. It should be close now, I believe it is attached to the hotel in some way."

"Sounds fancy. I don't-- am I underdressed, here? I didn't think to bring--"

"No, you're perfect," he waved her off, thankfully missing how that small turn of phrase hit her. 

She recovered after half a breath, glad he was looking off down the street. "That's kind of you. I clean up pretty fair, though this ain't cleaned up. But if you're sure."

"Ehh, I am quite certain. Ah, yes. Here." The taxi pulled up, and Sophie had a brief stutter of surprise as Copia again got out first, stepping around the cab to open her door. He made an odd aborted little movement, and Sophie realized he had meant to actually hand her out of the car, as if this was some kind of fucked up Austen novel. She found herself both charmed by the intent, and warmed by the restraint. 

She fell into step beside him, and he led her to an old storefront building, a red lantern completely overshadowed by an old hotel with an elaborate awning. The antiquated gaslight spilled over the cobblestoned street, through palm trees, magnolias. 

"Oh, this looks interesting. Where'd you find it?"

"You must let me preserve a certain air of mystery, Miss Turner."

"Would you say that you move in mysterious ways?" she asked, with a grin that could only be described as shit-eating. He groaned and she outright cackled, too delighted to be embarrassed by her decidedly inelegant laughter. Nobody was ever going to describe it as musical. 

"You are too much, signora." But he was still smiling as he held the door for her, and she had to smile back. She stepped through that leather and smoke. Best not to think about it. She took in the restaurant as he spoke to the hostess. Low light, exposed brick, pressed tin ceiling, Peggy Lee on vinyl. A whole Vibe. She decided she liked it. 

A voice broke through her woolgathering. "--have your reservation. If you'll come this way, sir?"

Copia reached out to her, stopping short of cupping her elbow. "You will like this, I think."

She followed, scoping out elaborate cocktails and elegantly plated dishes, stunning artwork on the walls-- bright florals on stark black backgrounds, a whole series of them. The hostess led them up a wrought iron spiral staircase that had to be a bitch to carry cocktails through. Up, and out onto a rooftop filled with fairy lights and trellises draped with sprawling lilac, honeysuckle, jasmine, all framing a stupidly gorgeous view of the harbor. 

Sophie gawked. She'd never been good at controlling her face, but when she caught him smiling at her dumbfounded expression, she pulled herself together. Her cheeks felt hot. It never failed. She'd make a lousy poker player. Well. At least he didn't make any smart-ass comment, other than looking supremely smug, which was comment enough. 

Once the hostess had walked away, she kept her eyes demurely on the menu. "You made a reservation, huh? And you didn't think I was coming?"

She was proud of herself for containing her glee when he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat a bit. "Ehh, well. We wait in joyful hope, don't we?"

"You really do think you're funny." Hard, now, to bite back her grin, but she managed. Somehow. Turned her attention to the menu. "My goodness, where have you taken me? 'Blue cornbread, chicken confit, cheddar cheese and blueberry reduction.' Good God almighty."

"I believe the phrase is, eh, don't knock it," he said, keeping his eyes on the wine list, "until you've tried it."

"I'll admit I'm intrigued. What the hell, I'll give it a shot." She tossed the menu down lightly, and sank back into her chair. Absurdly comfortable, odd for outdoor furniture. The space had a couch as well, a low coffee table, scattered chairs, and-- was that a chiminea? She took in the warm lights, the crosshatched trellis, the hanging flowers, the view. Jasmine and lilac. "This is," she said, "incredibly nice. I'd never go somewhere like this on my own. So, y'know," she darted a sidelong look at him, a little shy. "Thank you."

"Hmm." He smiled, and something in it made her safe. "You are very welcome, Miss Turner."

She nodded, once. She was safe, here, with him. It was as if something had been decided, and-- 

--the waitress came for their order. Pork shoulder for him, the blue cornbread chicken monstrosity for her, and she kept her face fairly steady when he quietly asked for a bottle of a Paso Robles '17 Zinfandel. So they were going to be here for a while. That seemed alright. 

"Where were we? Mysterious ways, I think."

"Just so. tell me-- Dominican, was it not?"

"That is correct, yessir. By way of the Maryknoll Sisters."

"Hm. what is the process like? The-- how is it. Formation, I believe it is called? I understand that this takes some time."

"It does. It certainly ain't for everyone. Different orders do different things. Jesuits, they take seventeen years sometimes. Masters degree just in theology, not to speak of whatever other kinda specialty they got going on. Jesuits are hardcore. Dominicans ain't so bad, in comparison."

"Ah, but we aren't speaking of the Jesuits. It's you I'm interested in, Miss Turner. The Dominican order. You said Maryknoll? Your formation, your process. How did you come to this?"

"Well. Me personally-- discernment took a while, but that's different for everyone. I was in the congregation for a year, communal living, you know? And that was a learning curve, right there. Formation itself generally takes two years," she smiled, a touch wry. "I needed two and a half. Not always the brightest bulb, but if you can pound a concept into this thick skull, it tends to stick."

"I highly, highly doubt that. There is a level of modesty that borders on disingenuous, you know. And you haven't answered my question. Why this? Why a Rule. Couldn't you find an easier way to serve your God?"

"I found it, I dunno. Elegant. It's spare, but in that spareness there's room to maneuver. Like a sonnet, you know? The inherent structure of the thing makes a framework, but within that framework you can do anything. It's the structure that holds it together, and it seemed to me that-- in that way, you could make your life art. Into prayer. You understand? It's like--" and she gestured at the hatched trellis holding the jasmine vines up-- "you see this? How it grows on this framework. It seemed to me that the best way to get closer to God would be to climb a ladder that other people had found to be reliable. And I think that all my life, I've really wanted nothing more than to be closer to God."

"Are you?" he asked, his eyes soft but assessing. "Closer to your God?"

The waitress came with their order. Sophie was grateful. Copia leaned back, letting her go, for now, with murmured thanks to the waitress. He poured the wine while Sophie took the first dubious bite of this blue cornbread concoction-- and froze.

"This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth."

Copia blinked at her and grinned, as if she'd made a particularly good joke. "Is it, now?"

"Oh, yeah, here, you gotta try this." She pushed the plate at him, gratified when he picked up his fork, and even more so when he stared at her. "Right? This was a great choice, well done."

"You see why I am known for my impeccable taste," he said, wiping his mouth with great gravitas, as she barked a laugh. "This is, what? You call this collard greens?"

"Yeah, that'n might be more of an acquired taste, you'll have to let me know what you think."

"Hmm." He busied himself with fork and knife, and they applied themselves to the very serious business of food. Which was, as bitter as she could be about a certain class of gentrification, phenomenal. She just about thought she'd gotten away with it, when-- "I do notice, signora, that you have dodged my question. Do you feel closer to your God, in your discipline?"

She chewed at that really marvelous blue cornbread dish, giving herself time to solidify an answer. "I think," she said, carefully, "I would say that I most clearly feel God when I am acting in service to His children." She sat back with her glass of wine, and at his raised eyebrow, she continued. "Look, if you're asking me if I hear His voice or something, I dunno what to tell you, except it's not for the likes of me. That's for mystics and possibly schizophrenics. All I know about God is love for His creation. Anything else is above my pay grade. What, you gonna tell me Satan speaks directly to you every night?"

"And what if I did?"

"Then I'd thank you kindly for the meal and a lovely evening and back away slowly till I got far enough away to run."

"Yet you will dedicate your life to this, eh? A nun. A bride of an intangible Christ you will never hear, or see, or feel."

"You wanna get technical about it, I'm not gonna be a nun-- that's for the contemplatives. I can't imagine spending my life in a convent. That there's a level of discipline I can't even wrap my head around. No, I'll be what's called an active sister. Out in the world."

"So you are not a Julian of Norwich, contemplating from your cell, merely tugging on the strings of the outside world."

"No, not an anchorite. I'm not much of a theologian, be honest with you-- more about praxis than theory." She picked up her glass and stared into it, swirling the contents as if she'd find an answer or an out there. "No. I am-- will be-- a missionary." And why had that word been so hard to get out?

She dared a look up to his face and saw why. Something like loss, or horror-- she had such a hard time reading him sometimes-- but the dismay was there before he wiped it away. "Ah." It was his turn to look down, although he recovered admirably. "Laying aside the, eh, colonialist implications--"

"Thank you for that."

"--a missionary to where?" Was she imagining the tension in the tilt of his head?

"Colombia, probably. Healthcare, food insecurity, that sort of thing. Not a lot in the way of conversion, if that's what you're thinking. Already a Catholic country, not much there to convert. I'm going to learn, not to proselytize."

"No, that doesn't-- it wouldn't seem to be, ehh. Your objective." His eyes wouldn't stay on her face. He fussed with the stem of the wine glass. "It is far from home."

"Yes. It will be that."

"And yet you are not afraid."

"Oh, I'm terrified, I can't even get my head around it yet."

"That, I would not have guessed." He looked up from under his lashes at her, oddly coquettish. "You do not think your God will protect you?" And by now she could catch the smile he was biting back. 

"Don't be an ass. Ain't like that."

"What are you afraid of, then?" It seemed an honest question, not unkind. 

She turned the glass under her fingers, a quarter turn, half. "...failure, I guess. There's a certain amount of trust implied, job like that. One tries to keep one's word, you know? And there's a degree of responsibility that you take on."

"Of course. But how are you defining failure? I have a hard time picturing you shirking your duties."

"Mm. That's kind of you. It comes back to service, I suppose. I wouldn't want to not be able to take care of the people I'm there for."

"Service I understand. Responsibility for your people. They've been entrusted to your care, yes? Your-- is it a congregation if you are not officiating the liturgy?"

"We can call it that, for lack of a better word." She watched the candlelight, took a slow sip of her drink as she screwed up the courage to look him in the eye. He'd been watching her, intent, and meeting those mismatched eyes with sincerity left her feeling exposed. "They love you. Your people. That crowd."

"They do."

"Your flock."

"'Flock' implies sheep, Miss Turner. And we are not that."

"As you like. Still, the responsibility of it-- it must be a strange weight to carry."

"It is. But there is also, I think, gratitude. For the trust, just as you say. I care for them as best as I am able." Being the focus of that incisive and mismatched gaze wasn't going to stop being unsettling, she thought. Even if he was smiling. Maybe especially then. "Are you asking a Satanist for advice on pastoral care, Sophia?"

"Just because it isn't my ministry doesn't mean I don't recognize it for what it is. You're good at it." She watched him react to that, the infinitesimal widening of the eyes, the drop of his mouth, before he filed it away. "You are. I just got done watching you taking care of your people. I wouldn't bullshit you, not on this."

"I think you are perhaps incapable of bullshit." Dry, and a little arch. He wouldn't meet her eyes, shifting in his seat. "You know, a focus on the individual does not exclude one from taking responsibility. They belong to nobody but themselves, of course. But as you say, you've seen them. How can I not give what I can, in the face of that?"

"Because you're a good person, probably. Look, I--" She was drawn up short by the look on his face, the plain bafflement. "What? What is it?"

"It is-- not what I would have suspected, from a committed Christian."

"Why on earth would you think that? I think you're wrong, that doesn't mean I think you're bad. When did I ever say otherwise?" She sat back, surprised at just how badly that stung. "Did you really think so little of me?"

"Ah." Whatever the look was on her face, it made him drop his eyes. "I--. Ehh, it, it may be that I have some-- preconceived notions. Not so little of you, no. What it is that you represent. Your Church." He glanced up at her, briefly, and then back down, took the glass in both hands, maybe just to occupy himself. "You are-- you have been a surprise to me."

"I can't say that I was expecting this, myself," she said, a little dry, still smarting from the implication. "Certainly not how I pictured the tail end of my postulancy." She took a sip from her glass, buying herself a little time. It really was a good Zinfandel. 

"And yet. You do think I am damned to Hell. Don't you?"

"Is this some kinda self-flagellation thing for you, right now? Because I feel like you're horning in on territory my people traditionally occupy."

"You are unusually open-minded, but surely, there are some things you cannot  condone. I don't understand how you can believe what you believe and still be here."

She tapped her short-cut nails on the wine glass. "...you heard of Gregory of Nyssa?" He shook his head, and she continued. "You'll like this one. Or you'll be so offended you'll throw me out, not sure which." She took another sip of the wine, leaving perhaps a swallow left in the glass. "So he has this theory, yeah? A little logic exercise. If God's love is infinite, and if eternity is infinite, then, it just stands to reason-- 'no being created by God will fall outside of the Kingdom of God.' Universal reconciliation. In the fullness of time, everyone gets saved. Just might take some folks longer than others."

"That is. Tremendously insulting," he said, but his eyes sparkled at her. It made her nearly as warm as the wine did. 

"Yeah, pretty sure it's heresy. And free will is kind of an essential part of the doctrine. I think he mighta meant it as a thought experiment more than anything else, but it's a warm and fuzzy thought, isn't it?"

"That everyone will come to your Christ?" He took up the bottle, topped her off with an efficient movement of his wrist while she raised her glass. "I cannot say that it is."

"I don't think that a God that would throw anyone to eternal suffering would be worth following. If that's what I thought, I'd have a duty to rebel." She flicked her eyebrows up at him, mollified by his slow half-grin. "Laying aside that I think that's a pretty mean and shitty and shallow way to think of God-- also I might circle back to this wretched conflation of punishment with justice, though I've been guilty of it myself-- think we're getting a little further afield." He propped her chin on her hand, watching him. "You really need my approval for what you're doing? The pastoral work."

"Need? No. But I would not mind, say, comparing notes."

"I haven't done the damn thing yet, all I got is theory, just at the moment. Also I kinda feel we might have some differences here."

"You think so? How is that?" Maybe it was the wine, or maybe she was finally catching on to one of the kinds of social cues she'd always been abysmal at identifying, or maybe she was just getting a feel for the man-- the way he was watching her, the tension at the corner of his mouth, the banked amusement glittering behind his right eye-- she still couldn't read the white one at all-- he was enjoying this. Winding her up and watching her go. Playing with her. "Other than your God being a tyrannical despot and your Church being the source of incalculable suffering and the true author of every imaginable evil. Aside from that?"

"Tell me, once you get done sacrificing infants and bathing in their blood, is that when y'all start the orgies with the goats? Or is it the other way around?" She did manage to keep a straight face, but it was an effort. 

"Orgy, then sacrifice. Blood gets everywhere, dries sticky, and you very much do not want it near your, ehh-- bits. It is not sexy."

"I'll keep it in mind for the next time I find myself at an orgy. I always wind up so confused at those." She shook her head, tracking the corkscrewing flutter of a bat diving for bugs in the wash of the streetlight below. "Jackass. No, but this is where we actually get to praxis, right? And different situations are gonna call for different approaches, different priorities. How you deal with someone suffering from malnutrition is different from how you deal with someone suffering spiritual malaise, but also one of those things is gonna be a lot easier to detect. I don't get the impression you deal with a whole lot of hungry kids in your day to day practice, so how do you approach it? What's your biggest challenge?"

"Hm." He leaned back, hooking an elbow over the back of his chair, glass in hand. "Day to day?"

"Yeah. Other than whatever crazy shit happens while you're on tour, I imagine that's its own particular brand of difficult."

"It very much is. You would not believe." He rolled his eyes, witnessing some internal horrors, and took a drink of wine as if to clear his thoughts. "In the day to day-- we have a Ministry, yes? And our own kind of monastics. This is where I spend the bulk of my time, when I am not doing," he gestured expansively with the wine glass, "all of this. I think I would say-- Hm. Most people are not raised by Satanists. Primarily my charges are converts, and there is so much internalized-- guilt, I suppose. Shame. Even when you know you have nothing to be guilty about. There is much to deprogram. We do not have confession, as such, but I do serve as a spiritual advisor. They come to me with their fears, their uncertainties. Their... needs." He raised his glass to his lips and lingered, expression neutral, watching her. His right eye was very dark. "I find I spend a great deal of my time helping my people unlearn the idea that there's anything to be ashamed of about desire." As if he didn't know how he looked, with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed just so at the ankle, his arm sprawled over the back of the chair, the long lean languid line of him. 

Sophie hoped that she kept her face still. She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't look at that eerie white, how it burned, how it seemed to see so much. The weight of it was almost physical. She focused on his hairline, and kept her voice even. "That must be very challenging." 

"...Yes. Well." He looked down at his glass and she could breathe again, with his eyes off of her. He leaned forward slowly, folding in on himself, to set it down, almost apologetic. "It becomes reflexive."

"I see." It was too much for her. Nicotine was suddenly imperative. A small sharp noise as she set her glass down on the table between them, and she pulled her purse to her, reaching past her sunglasses and a bottle of hand sanitizer for her cigarettes. "How do you-- it's gotta be tough. What I'm having trouble getting my head around, what I'm worried about fucking up, is-- how do you build that kind of rapport? That they feel safe enough to come to you with their problems?" At least she didn't have to look at him, fishing the pack out of her purse. 

"That was not easy. You must seem enough of an authority that you are capable of solving these things, but also approachable enough that they will not think of themselves as-- ehh, bothering you. Or a burden. It is a delicate balance. You must project confidence, yes? Don't let them see you sweat. That was a challenge. Is still a challenge. But people? Trust? There, it is--" He spread his hands. "You just-- pay attention."

"And attention is the highest form of generosity." 

"Just so. Is that... Simone Weil?"

She had to stop, with her cigarette halfway to her lips, utterly delighted. "Copia. Did you actually read Gravity and Grace in between here and Asheville?"

He looked down, straightening the edge of his suit. "Ehh. There was time, on the bus. Not all of it, it is fairly dense, but some."

"I'll be damned." She shook her head, sparking her zippo and bending her head to the light. "Believe I said this before, but it bears repeating: you are very good at your job." The smoke drifted towards him, and between that and the strange expression on his face, she couldn't look at him. She got up and moved to the ledge, downwind, leaning her elbows on the railing, looking over the Charleston skyline, such as it was. Live oak and Spanish moss, streetlights like fireflies in the gloom. It all seemed very Southern Gothic to her, ostentatiously so, the faint sounds of conversation and traffic floating up, a glass breaking and a chorus of drunken laughter. The wine hit her in a rush, warm all the way through and a little unsteady. 

Copia had moved to her elbow, following in her wake. He reached for her cigarette and she passed it, a thoughtless and fluid motion, and it was only after he was taking a drag that she realized she'd done it like they had been doing this for years. It scared her badly, much worse than his heavy-lidded eyes when he had spoken of desire, and she couldn't articulate why. 

"You really think this," he said to the skyline. 

"Why does this surprise you? I'm missing something here, I just don't know what."

He tapped ash off the cigarette, a little fussy. "Most of our people are converts."

"So you said."

"I am not. I was-- it was expected, that I would go into the clergy. I was not called, as you were." And at her look, "I do enjoy it, I am fortunate, as I have said. But it is not, ehh. Second nature."

She took that in for a moment. "I wouldn't have thought you were a man given to much self-doubt. What would you be doing, if not this?"

"Ehhh." He gestured expansively with her cigarette, passed it back to her, and she took it without thought. "Honestly I do not know what. I am, largely, content. Truly, I am, you don't have to look at me like that. But I wonder, from someone who was called-- what is it that makes you say so? That I'm good?"

"Good at this, or just good?"

He shrugged, laced his fingers together, looking out at the city as if he couldn't meet her eyes.

"It comes to the same. It's attention. You pay attention. To your people. To me, and you have absolutely no reason why you should pay attention to me. You're leading them, and it looks to me like you don't even have to think about it, and I don't know if that's because you're a natural, or because you've worked really hard to look like a natural." She took one last drag on the cigarette, resolutely not thinking about how it had been between his lips a moment before. This wasn't the time. "I have seen bad at this, and you ain't that. The leadership-- I don't understand that at all, and it's probably where I'm gonna fuck up."

"Believe me when I say that I have every confidence in you. You will be just fine. Sophie." Something in his voice made her turn to look at him, and his eyes broke her heart. "You are going to be magnificent."

He was so close, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. It ought to have scared her more than it did. "I. What makes you say that?"

"You care. You care about things so much. You are on fire with it. The light you give off-- I could find you from miles away.  You are so-- you're so warm." The way he was looking at her. And then she was afraid, suddenly. "Who wouldn't want to come in from the cold?" Those mismatched eyes, seeing so much, catching her like a butterfly under glass. 

She had to turn away, before she did something she couldn't take back, put space between them, and never mind that it felt like running. "That's kind. Thank you." She dropped herself on that elegant little couch, feeling shaky. 

Copia was leaning back on the railing, watching her. "Kindness has nothing to do with it. I am right, is all. You'll see. I have faith."

She had to laugh, running her hand through her hair. The drive, the show, the wine, whatever strange thing she'd narrowly avoided, it was all catching up with her. She dropped her head back onto the couch, and closed her eyes. "You are funny."

She felt the other end sink under his weight. "And here I was under the impression that, eh. I only thought I was funny."

"Didn't wanna inflate your ego too much, there." Whatever danger he had posed had passed, and now she was just tired. Tired, and safe, and fading fast. 

"Sophie?" Her name in his mouth. Strange. Vaguely, she had the thought that she liked the sound. 

"Mmm?"

"Are you falling asleep?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"As you like."

The sound of crickets, distant drunken laughter, cars going by every so often, a faint Etta James song. She drifted. 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, someone draped something over her shoulders that smelled like smoke and leather and safety. Turning inward, she  laid her head on something warm, and slept. 

*

Sophie woke gradually, soft peach-colored light the first thing she was aware of. Sunrise over Charleston harbor, ridiculous piles of fluffy pastel color, pink and purple and that orange sherbet that seemed unreal, a frame in a Miyazaki movie. The water reflecting the color of the sky, framed by the scant few blocks between here and the waterfront. It had been an impressive view at night. In the morning it was ridiculous, absurd, a feeling of total unreality. 

The second thing she was aware of was that the warm surface under her head and hand was moving in a slow rhythm. And, it seemed, snoring very softly. 

Carefully, she did not freeze. 

Giving up sex was one thing. It was fine, sex, pleasant enough but not a harrowing loss. You could do without it. At times she would have spells of arousal so intense it was like a thunderstorm rolling in-- impersonal and connected to no actual human or image or sound, passing through her internal landscape with the insensate, thoughtless force of a natural disaster-- but these things passed away just as easily as they had blown in. And anyway she had two good hands. She could take care of herself. 

But this. 

This warm body under her cheek, the tidal rise and fall of his breath displacing her weight by millimeters, a cycle perhaps a third of a second slower than her own. The steady and organic cadence of his heartbeat in counterpoint to her pulse. The smell of him, wool and sun and leather and myrrh and a trace of something sour, like wine, or maybe sweat. The weight of his arm over her rib cage, pressing her closer into him, anchoring her. 

To give this up. The simple animal comfort of being half-held. He didn't even know he was doing it--! To wake up curled into the side of a person you knew you were safe with, who held you in some sort of regard-- intolerable. An unimaginable sacrifice. Too much. 

Well. She didn't have to give it up this instant. 

She lay there, listening to his heart, and watching the colors change in the sky, and carefully did not think about things coming to an end. Until, at last, she heard a sharper intake of breath underneath her, a stiffening of muscles. He froze, and held his breath. She heard his heart rate pick up, felt a featherlight touch over her hair. It lingered, the barest suggestion of pressure, and then she felt him beginning to try to extricate himself. 

"No," she said. 

He went absolutely rigid. "Signora, my apologies, I did not mean to--"

"No, I mean. Can we stay like this? Just for a little while longer."

He settled under her, a slow unspooling of tension. Tentatively, he put his arm back around her shoulders, cautious, as if she were a wounded bird that would try to thrash away if startled. "Anything you wish, Sophie." She felt his voice as much as she heard it. What a thing, to feel a voice. "Nothing you do not."

Together, they watched the light spill back into the world.

[steddieunderdogfics]

for challenge monday 'fics with playlist' i'd like to rec three incredible fics

'Tooth and Nail' by ParadimeShifts

'Take the Money and Run' by thisapplepielife

and 'I wore his jacket for the longest time' by Legitcookie & sidekick_hero

Tooth and Nail by ParadimeShifts

Listen to the official playlist here!

@paradimeshifts7

Rating: Explicit

113,060 words, 7/7 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: Band Fic, Mentions of Suicide and Suicidal Ideation, Drug Use, Background Drumcheer, Background Byler, Slow Burn, i can’t help it - it’s all I know, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, The comfort will come TRUST ME, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Musician Steve Harrington, I’ll have the Robin and Steve codependency special please, Smut, Rough Sex, Eddie/Gareth but it’s so fucked up and sad, Happy ending guaranteed I PROMISE, But they’re going to be awful to each other for a while, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Please read the tags my sweets — I’ll update them, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Face Slapping, Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Light BDSM, Dacryphilia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex

Summary:

Eddie told himself that he was done, because he wouldn’t survive another heartbreak at that boy’s hands. But he really, really needs someone to open for them on tour. Steve Harrington had waltzed into his life, sucked him in like a siren and fucking eviscerated him with soft touches. And maybe it wasn’t his fault, but Eddie would never forgive him all the same. He’d nursed his Harrington hangover for years, and he’s not about to hand over his sobriety chip just because the guy's got a busted foot and a very apparent issue with alcohol. Not when it had taken work to get Steve out of his system the first time. Steve thinks of long summer evenings beating the heat in his pool, of the stick-and-poke tattoo he’s got on his ankle and chicken scratch handwriting on legal paper. He’s getting caught in the slipstream of his own shattered expectations, and it’s dangerous to cling when the branch is failing, but he thinks he can’t help it. He has a fist full of letters by the time he arrives in Los Angeles, but the Eddie Munson he knew is nowhere to be found. Left to make sense of this new version of the friend he once bared his soul to, Steve’s just trying not to fall off the fucking deep end again.

Take the Money and Run by thisapplepielife

Listen to the official playlist here!

@thisapplepielife

Rating: Explicit

143,931 words, 22/22 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Recreational Drug Use, Eddie Munson Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Cover Art, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Road Trips, Internalized Homophobia, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington, Switching, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, optional future epilogue with kids, can be read without the epilogue

Summary:

“Rules. Like, there’ll be no eating in my car. You’re not driving my car. No heavy metal,” Steve keeps listing, “you’re not picking up women and fucking them in m-” “I'll try to control myself,” Eddie interrupts with a quip, a smirk. Fucking girls in Steve’s car, or anywhere else for that matter, isn’t going to be an issue, unless something pretty fundamental shifts in him. Steve continues, completely ignoring Eddie, “You’ll wipe your feet. You’re not dragging dirt all over my car. No hitchhikers. No cutesy road games. No smoking in the car. I’m not paying for all the gas.” “Ass, gas or grass, got it,” Eddie says, like he's taking this very seriously. He is not taking this seriously. Or: Road trip!

I wore his jacket for the longest time by Legitcookie and sidekick_hero

Listen to the official playlist here!

@legitcookie and @sidekick-hero

Rating: Explicit

58,311 words, 6/6 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Starting Over, Pining, Lovers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Praise Kink, Unsafe Sex, Bottom Steve Harrington, Top Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Tattoos, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, thigh riding

Summary:

Steve has made some bad choices in the past, choices that have cost him his marriage, and even worse than that, Eddie. The man he didn't realize he was in love with until it was too late. Now Steve must pick up the pieces of his life and figure out how to become the man he wants to be. It's a story about love lost and love found, about the importance of friendship and family, and most of all, about second chances and how it's never too late to change.

@sidekick-hero also recommends this fic, adding: "I would love to rec a labor of love from Legitcockie and me, 'I wore your jacket for the longest time' with a wonderful playlist by yournowheregirl 💜"

Thanks for the recs!

These recs are a part of Challenge Monday. The challenge this week was Fics with playlists.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!