#Here and gray night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purple-petrichor · 1 year

Text

Asexual Gero Masterpost

Okay so hear me out. I love this series and all of the wacky moments and fun characters within it. And the story of someone trying to find a partner even though they struggle is so, so, so good. And just like many fans, I’m super curious to see how the story will develop, and who Gero will end up with (if anyone).

But there’s a big point that I’m not sure even the authors are aware of: Gero is Asexual.

–Evidence below–

The base definition of Asexuality is when a person experiences little to no sexual attraction. This means that even if a person has libido, fantasies, and positive views on intimate relationships, their natural orientation is little to no sexual attraction to any gender. They may be capable of finding people romantically attractive, and may even desire partnership, however, the mechanisms for finding other people “hot” and experiencing desire for them based off of looks and sexual signals simply aren't there. However, due to how strongly society pushes the idea of instant attraction, and the heteronormative world we all live in, this can be extremely difficult to recognize within oneself. Many asexuals say they didn’t realize their orientation for many years because it wasn’t even known as a possible option.

In line with this, here are many common Asexual traits and experiences that can be seen with Gero:

>>comfort with singleness

In the very first chapter, during a conversation with Bug User, Gero states that he’s not really interested in marriage or partnerships. Despite everyone around him naturally pursuing intimacy (his sister with her girlfriend, Bug User with his fiancee), Gero just…doesn’t. His natural conception of self is to be single. He even states that this is a comfortable thought for him, being ‘easier’. It’s possible the manga seems to imply that we should view this as ‘giving up’, but Gero doesn’t seem otherwise depressed or discouraged in his daily life aside from his job. The idea of being unpartnered isn’t one that feels ‘unfulfilling’ for him. It’s only when Gero is given no choice that he makes the decision to actively seek out a partner.

Of course there are many asexuals who do want romantic relationships, and strongly desire companionship, which is why...

>>basing relationships more on emotional bond and other factors than physical attraction

This emotional outburst is heartbreaking. It’s also very similar to how asexual people tend to talk.

All of these things, all of these ‘desires’ from Gero, all of what he values… are emotional. Not physical. There’s no depiction of sensual actions, not even hugging or kissing. Hell, they’re not even touching in bed! Gero’s face in the imagined scene looks confused, surprised that he’s even there to begin with, rather than the happiness of someone who’s next to their object of desire.

His natural ‘fantasy’ (if you could call it that) has some random woman essentially act as a placeholder. She doesn’t even have eyes! This is consistent with the fact that many aspec people report finding it difficult to fantasize about people, and if they do, it may occur as vague nebulous scenes, disembodied body parts, or faceless people. A ‘faceless stand-in’ is exactly what Gero is picturing here.

Everything Gero talks about could be provided by a close friend or queer-platonic-partner, not explicitly romantic or sexual in nature. He just wants companionship. He wants someone to care about him. And his way of picturing that doesn’t involve sexual or sensual affection as a base.

>>turning down opportunities

Here we see Gero literally pushing women off of him. Even when someone is offering sex, it appears to have no interest or temptation. There’s no blush on his cheeks. No sense of ‘that’s appealing but not right now’. Instead, his reaction is a brusque and clear refusal. He’s portrayed as somewhat flustered, and is even so upset that after this he immediately walks right into a glass wall. A professional hitman, not noticing a pane of glass? It must have really thrown him off.

Now, this refusal could be due to awkwardness, or a commitment to professionalism while on the job. Or, it could be that Gero is just truly not interested. And his flustered reaction comes from being forced into close proximity with something that deep down really isn’t comfortable for him.

>>not experiencing sexual attraction This is the big one! Let’s review that one accidental-grab moment:

I CANNOT GET OVER THIS PANEL IT LITERALLY SAYS “RELUCTANT”

HIT EM WITH THAT AGAIN GERO

RELUCTANT

ACCIDENT

NO BIG DEAL

Are those the words of a man who secretly wants to be physical with women?

The world instructs men to brag about and exaggerate their sexual interactions with women. Why? For the sake of ‘cool’ points: to be seen as popular, desirable, masculine. And yet, when Gero touches a woman here, instead of getting an ego-boost, his immediate instinct is to *minimize what’s happening*. All of his thoughts are about how uncomfortable he is, and trying to escape the significance of the situation. Downplay (it’s just the back of my hand), distance (A total accident, no big deal). The word that stands out here is UNWILLING. There’s not any psychological reward in this. Only psychological stress.

And sure, you could make the argument that he’s just inexperienced and self-conscious, but still. This…isn’t the reaction of someone who ‘could’ enjoy it in another circumstance. This is the inner dialogue of a person who is hyper-aware of what the world would say about this situation, and about him, and is immediately turned off, nervous, self-conscious, and negative towards that idea. This lack of reaction from Gero is further highlighted here:

Bro that’s not arousal, that’s awkwardness. He literally turns away a woman flirting and directs her towards another man instead. This isn’t inexperienced fumbling. This is feeling cornered and turning to panic. You don't exactly get any sense that Gero’s enjoying the pictures. Not even a passing comment like ‘nice’ or something.

For asexual people, there can be this weird ‘layered’ viewing of the world sometimes. You’re aware of what narratives the world has, how things work. You know what situations, phrases, and body parts tend to get strong reactions from people. You become hyper-aware of how you’re expected to act, and what actions you’re expected to enjoy, as a person of your assigned gender. Not to mention how certain actions around sex will raise or lower your status in the eyes of others.

And yet, when you realize more and more that your internal reactions are…not according to those pre-established lines….you can get really flustered and nervous. It’s not appreciation that Gero demonstrates here. This is pressure and embarrassment.

He follows the accidental-touch by asking Kinosaki what to do, because maybe he genuinely doesn’t have any internal desire about what to do next. So he defaults to someone with stronger instincts. Just as he ends up doing a second time with the swimsuit pics.

>>feeling like you’re ’broken’ or different from other people

Gero repeatedly seems to set himself aside from ‘normal people’. In his case, his excuse is that he’s ‘too damaged’, traumatized and manipulated since childhood to kill others and view the world through a rotten lens. And while that may be true (and questions about trauma or past experiences are sometimes relevant to asexuals in real life!), that’s hardly enough. Gero feels different, ‘seperate’ from others. “What makes you think I can”? I “could never do that”? There’s some kind of baseline rift that Gero feels; something related to him processing love and partnership differently than the norm. (And sure, within the series’ universe, this is done under the excuse of his hitman-upbringing. But did Gero “avoid love and women”, or was the draw never quite big enough to go after? )

(Side note: technically this has notes of being Aromantic, not Asexual. But in a society which pushes the narrative that both those attractions are the same thing, it’s easy to mistake lack of urge towards one with lack of interest in all. Or, like Gero, you may come to believe you aren’t good at relationships as a whole.)

>>not picking up on signals from others

Yup, Arashiyama was not shy about her feelings for Gero. And she was obviously designed to have looks that strike the audience as “sexy”. So it was a very interesting point of the series when neither her body nor her clothing were commented on in any way. Most notably, they didn’t seem to have any effect on Gero at all.

Look at that reaction panel: Truly he doesn’t care. We don’t see a ‘blushing but hold it down and ignore it’ reaction; he’s not drawn with any blush at all. Gero is not portrayed as holding anything back around Arashiyama. He just truly doesn't feel any reaction to her signals.

In addition, this:

OH THE GLASSES

OH ITS THE GLASSES YOU’RE MAD ABOUT

SO HE DID HAVE A POINT OF VIEW THAT INCLUDED ALL THIS

SO HE DID SEE THAT

BUT GERO DOESN’T REACT AT ALL

DOESN’T EVEN BRING IT UP

Honestly I don’t believe women and female bodies have any natural effect on Gero at all at this point, haha, he might be black stripe. That’s the thing about asexuals–we’re not stupid or unable to understand common flirting methods. They just doesn't usually trigger much of a reaction.

>>being confused or out of place in the world

As early as chapter 1, we watch Gero staring at Kinosaki while walking down the street, as they kiss and seduce another man.

One of the most common asexual experiences is a sense of wondering why people act the way they do. Why do people make such silly decisions? Why are they all so intense about sex? What is this hivemind they all share? Many asexuals report believing that people were “faking it” for most of their lives. Either they were broken, or the asexual person had to be.

This stare from Gero, enough to walk into a wall and break his glasses with the force of it, seems to me like that kind of asexual fascination. A kind of non-understanding, a kind of calculated curiosity about the world. What are they doing? I mean he knows what, but why? Why doesn’t he feel that way- (SMACK)

>>genuinely believing it’s not that important to people

In early chapters, Gero doesn’t seem to grant coupling the same sort of ‘weight’ that others do. He seems to have no instinctual discomfort with ‘missing out’ on common life markers. As shown here, he acknowledges and honors his sister’s relationship. But for himself, he views being single without children as an equally legitimate path in life. Even his younger sister picks up on the unspoken demand–that the family expects them to have children, once they reach marriageable age. But Gero just…doesn’t. Or doesn’t take the possibility seriously. He really seems to assume the world will just relax and accept him being unpartnered. His entire bloodline will die out. And that’s fine, right? After all, it's not like reproducing and seeking intimacy are deep-seated desires in most peoples’ basic instincts, right?

I mean come on. This is basically a common ace joke.

>>assuming you do feel attraction because XYZ

In the absence of strong attraction, it is very common to mistake other feelings in its place. For example, many asexuals spend years assuming they do have sexual feelings for people, when in actuality it was factors such as aesthetic attraction (admiring a person’s looks) or romantic attraction (feeling romantically drawn to a person) all along. People have also reported ‘overanalysis’ of their own reactions–this person is kind to me, and they look nice, and I care about them, so that means I’m madly attracted to them, right?

Here we see Gero fall into the same trap of overanalysis. He felt a rapid heartbeat, and some physical reaction, that must mean this is love, right? Throughout the entire series, Gero seems to be assuming he’s straight because, after all, he gets nervous around women.

Of course you get nervous, you’re new to social situations, bro. Of course you get nervous, she’s placing expectations on you and you desperately want to meet them. Of course you get nervous, this is a lot of emotion suddenly thrown at you. Of course you get nervous, you’ve been put under pressure to view all women as potential wife material. But is this good-arousal nervousness, or negative-stress-response nervousness? Signs point to the latter.

>>proximity to queerness

This is a more subtle point, but important nonetheless.

We know that Gero appears supportive of queerness in general. He has a sister who is wlw, and actively supports their relationship. Furthermore, he shows no hate towards Kinosaki for his gender and gender expression, after an initial adjustment period.

It is very common for ace-spec people to feel vaguely aligned with LGBT+ issues, even if they don’t feel like they have “enough” solid evidence to identify as queer themselves. Often ace people report assuming that they were simply a highly-invested supportive ally. It’s possible that Gero is in the same situation–comfortable with queerness, accepting of different ways of life, but because of marginal interest in women and needing to find a partner, he doesn’t recognize the ways in which he himself stands markedly outside the straight norm.

>>But most importantly this date:

DEMI???

MY BOY YOU ARE DEMI!!!

Demisexual. A subset of asexuality. A sexual orientation in which a person cannot feel sexual attraction to others unless a strong emotional bond is formed. Forming an emotional bond is not a guarantee of attraction developing, however, it is necessary for the person to even begin to feel sexual interest in the first place.

This is…I’m still stunned by this scene. Honestly this is the most direct example of a demisexual/demiromantic male character that I’ve ever witnessed, and it may not have even been intentional. I probably couldn’t write something this direct or skilled about it, and I’m close to demi myself!! It’s truly astounding. I remember reading this chapter the first time and my jaw dropped, totally stunned, in recognition. This is how I think. This is how my mind tends to naturally think about relationships. This is almost on-the-nose textbook demisexuality.

Gero you are demi!! Please realize!!

– – – – –

So yeah this is what I think. Given all the evidence at hand, and how consistently Gero has been portrayed so far, his actions and tendencies would match being on the asexual spectrum. If it were canon, that would be incredible–these moments alone would make him one of the most stunning examples of a male asexual character in manga, hell, in all of fiction today.

Given the strong similarities, I wonder if the author/artist are possibly aware of this. They do have queer characters in terms of Gero’s sister (and arguably Kinosaki). So there’s a chance they may have heard of asexuality or aromanticism as well. …But also the chances seem low. A mainstream shonen publication? How much more queer content can they push. A battle manga based around romance? Wouldn't help much to make your main character incapable of certain kinds of attraction. And yet…god I wish. The more time goes on and the more chapters stay within these bounds, I keep wondering if there could be a chance.

Anyway each chapter that we’ve seen so far has only reinforced and continued these traits, so. <3 Asexual Gero is canon to me now thanks y’all can jump onboard!

#marriagetoxin #hikaru gero #mei kinosaki #marriage toxin #asexuality #asexual #manga #kinosaki #anyway Gero is aspec and that’s that #even if he does develop feelings in future chapters…GUESS WHAT THAT’S GRAY-ACE OR DEMI LETS GOOO #i s2g if they’re actually pulling the ‘oh hes just traumatized and awkward’ card…nuh uh what bull #dont post this right before a new chapter in case it gets jossed I told myself #posts it the night before a new chp anyway #i have so many more thoughts and feelings about this so brace yourselves #he can be ace and still want a good marriage!#kinosaki professional seducer teaming up with gero professional asexual what will they do #mt manga creators plsss give us a miracle here #I would be forever grateful #my posts

84 notes · View notes

revasserium · 1 year

Text

狐と蛍の物語 (the story of the fox and the firefly)

harrison; 4,064 words; fluff and angst a/n: for @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978's summer days, sultry nights event -- prompt "fireflies" (obviously); i'm also gonna say this counts for my 31 days of au prompt -- reincarnation!au; inspired by hotarubi no mori e and catheryn m valente's deathless and honestly, i'm so proud and happy with this one that i'd encourage you to read it even if you have no idea of the fandom/character. u__u i would love, love, love to know what you guys think!

once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a girl who only danced to the firefly’s light and a fox who could tell nothing but lies.

01.

for as long as you can remember, there’s always been the wood. and it has always been behind your house, it’s leaves and branches foreboding in the winter wind, and somehow less so in the simmer of mid-summer afternoons, when the sunlight dappled light across the soft, forest floor. it isn’t a very large wood, but it’s a wood nevertheless, and deserves all the respect and fear afforded to bigger woods in faraway places. woods that warn of teeth and terrors, woods that hide both dreams and monsters.

you’d been wandering the wood from when you were a little girl, and to you, there’s not a single rock you don’t know, a single tree you haven’t tried to climb. and the forest knows you, as forests do the people who frequent them, and it welcomes you with open arms, it cradles you to its chest, whispers stories into your ears, carves itself open to show you it’s secrets —

“you’re late.”

you crinkle your nose at the familiar voice, letting out a huffing breath as you drop your picnic basket in the middle of the small, sun-lit clearing, taking your time with laying out the checked picnic blanket and two cups and saucers for tea, and finally, pulling out a tray of confections, covered by a thin, linen baking towel.

“no, i’m not! you just want me to think i am so i’ll give you more than half of the sweets.”

a boy settles over the picnic blanket, cocking his head at you before you narrow your eyes.

“well? isn’t that true?”

“ahh… i wonder if it is…” he says, but you can hear the grin in his voice, even through the material of his fox-faced mask, which, after a few more seconds of posturing, he pushes up onto his forehead. he shakes out his milk-tea hair and slates you a poison-ivy grin. you know that grin like you know the woods— and you know the woods like you know the backs of your own hands. better, even, you think sometimes.

because for as long as there’s been the woods, and as long as you have wandered it’s depths, the boy with the fox-faced mask has always been there.

“there were fresh strawberries at farmer’s market today,” you say, setting up the tea service as you nudge the opened picnic basket towards the boy with a foot. he peers in with wide, curious eyes before letting out a soft noise of contentment as he reaches in to pull out a slice of freshly baked strawberry cream cake.

“your grandmama makes the best pastries in the world,” he says, and there’s such sincerity in his voice that for a moment, you almost believe him.

but you nod and take the compliment in stride, “she sure does!”

he digs in with gusto even when you tut that the tea hasn’t steeped properly, but you laugh as he smears a large dollop of whipped cream across his cheeks. you point it out to him with a dainty finger, and as always, you fight the urge to reach over and wipe it off for him. instead, you hold yourself still and sigh as he finally gets to it, smudging a bit into his hair in the process.

“clumsy fox,” you giggle, pressing a hand up to your lips.

“picky girl,” he snipes back, but there’s that full, sated grin on his own lips as he leans back, his elbows propped up on the soft grasses of the clearing.

after a moment of pleasant silence during which the leaves sang on their trees and the grasses swayed beneath the breeze, the boy turns towards you.

“so. no dancing today?”

you turn your head towards him before casting your eyes up towards the still bright blue sky.

“you know it’s not time yet.”

the boy heaves a melodramatic sigh, sound much bigger and larger than his 14-year old body should be able to hold.

“ah… right, right — because you can —”

“— only dance by the fireflies’ light — yep!”

the boy regards you with an imperious sort of look before breaking into a fit of bright, open laughter.

“you’re the strangest girl i’ve ever met!”

“just you saying that tells me it’s not true,” you stick out your tongue at him, even as heat washes up into your cheeks.

the boy shrugs, lying back down on the picnic basket, “i don’t always have to lie, y’know.”

and it’s your turn to regard him with the imperious look, and, a the cock of a singular eyebrow, his lips tug into a lopsided grin. his eyes flash, the color of budding spring.

“liar,” you say, but you’re smiling too as you lie back down to watch the clouds pass.

he makes no sound to correct you.

02.

once, you’d asked him what his name is and he simply shook his head and said —

“call me whatever you’d like.”

“but i want to call you by your name.”

“what’s in a name anyway?”

“uhm… nothing’s in it but…” you’d frowned then, your eight year old mind spinning to try and catch up with this strange, strange question and this strange, strange boy.

“see? so why should it matter what my name is? just… call me whatever!”

but you’d only frowned hard enough for him to roll his eyes.

“fine then — uhm — what’s the name of the current prince?”

you’d blinked, “harry.”

“then call me that.”

“but is that your name?”

“well, now it is.”

you hadn’t been convinced but you liked it better than not calling him anything at all.

“harry, then,” you’d said, smiling. and the boy — harry — had smiled too, slipping his fox-faced mask back in place as he led you further into the forest.

03.

“y’know…” harry says, his voice light as the sun dips beneath the horizon line, leaving behind a blaze of reds and pinks. you turn your head, eyes catching on the shape of him, inked out against the dying light.

“you’re the only person i’ve ever met who’s wanted to be cursed.”

you take a long breath and turn your eyes back up to the bleeding sky.

“well. you’re cursed, and you seem just fine to me,” you try to keep your voice strong, resolute and steady. grandmama had always said that if you keep your voice strong, people are more willing to believe your words. you wonder if that’s why harry’s voice is always soft, always lilting, his words slippery as moss-covered stone.

“yeah, but you can’t even touch me,” he says, and for once, his voice is harsh, his words sharp and hard as broken glass.

“that’s okay though — once i get my own curse, i’ll be able to touch you, right?”

harry fights back the urge to turn, to take you by the shoulders and shake you till you push him away. he wants to scream, to howl at the moon like the mother wolves and the hungry cubs that live in the heart of the wood. he wants to run through the woods, crash into things, climb up the trees and shake off all their branching leaves.

but he can’t, and so he doesn’t.

instead, he turns to look at you and look at you and look at you.

he wonders if it’s a strange thing, to like looking at someone so much, to find something new about a face every single time it’s looked upon — the wisps of hair fallen loose to frame your face from the velvet ribbons holding it back, the curve of your button nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow. he wonders if this is a normal thing, the thick weight of it in this chest, the truth of his curse sitting heavy on his tongue.

“yeah… probably,” he says — and the lie is smooth as milk, sweet as just-spun sugar.

“good. then we won’t have long to wait, hm?”

04.

there’s a story, so you’ve been told, of a fox that lives in the woods — and the fox can tell nothing but lies, lest the truth cut open it’s throat. and when it bleeds, because even monsters bleed (oh especially monsters), it will bleed in blue and silver, which everyone knows is the color of magic.

“but why would telling the truth kill it?” you’d asked, your eyes wide and round as the full-bellied moon.

your grandmama had sighed, rocking you in her lap as the forest outside shivers and shakes with the steps and breaths of creatures unseen.

“that’s what curses do, my sweetest… they’re unfair things, they are. and they don’t like to make a lot of sense.”

and that had been that. she’d moved onto a nicer story, a sweeter story, a story that was not so much truth and mostly lies — because the truth, as your grandmama had said, is sharp and unfair and makes so very little sense.

lies are much, much the better for the makings of stories.

05.

he has never complimented you on your dancing, not even once — not in all the years you’ve been dancing for him, by the light of a million and one fireflies.

you’d been eight when you made the promise, it’s been ten years since then.

and at eighteen, you wonder how many more years it’ll be before the moon or the forest or whatever it is that chooses people to curse will take pity on you.

it’s just after sunset, and you’d just finished your customary sunday afternoon picnic. harry is sprawled out on the picnic blanket, his fox-faced mask lying in the soft, long grasses, an arm thrown over his eyes. you wonder if he’s asleep, though you don’t think you’ve ever seen him fall asleep, not in all the time you’ve known him.

“music, please…” you announce to the clearing, and after a long pause, as if the forest itself is coming to life, the wind picks up — the leaves rustle on their branches, the birds sweep up into a twitter wingbeats and song, the grasses around the clearing hish and hush the thrumming baseline to a music that only you and harry and the forest can hear.

slowly, harry pushes himself up, making a show of rubbing his eyes, and in the darkness you can only see the shape of him.

you don’t see the prickle of tears at the edge of his eyes as he wipes them away.

instead, you close your own eyes and wait.

and wait.

and then — at the first flicker of a firefly’s light, you lift your hands and start to dance.

06.

once, you’d asked him how he’d gotten cursed in the first place.

“it’s a long story,” he’d said.

“i’ve got a long time,” you countered.

he’d crinkled his nose, pursing his lips as the pair of you hopped over a narrow stream, him watching as you teetered on the edge of the water.

“hm… well, if you do something a ton of times in the wood… the wood decides that that’s all your good for, and it becomes your curse!”

you’d blinked up at him from over your shoulder, a soft smear of mud on your cheeks.

“oh… it’s that easy?”

“easy?”

“i mean, to get a curse.”

he’d narrowed his eyes, “why would you want a curse?”

you’d straightened up, pressing your palms down your rather sullied dress.

“because — you said that i can’t touch you cause i’m human, right?”

“uh-huh…” harry had nodded, uncertain of where your child-logic had taken you.

“but other cursed things can touch you, right? like the wolves and the shadows and the queen of ravens.”

harry bit his lips. but you seemed to have taken his silence for consent and happily skipped off further into the forest. he’d never corrected you even as he heaved another world-weary sigh and followed after you. because technically, you hadn’t been totally wrong.

and his curse was only that he couldn’t correct you.

07.

your mind wanders as you begin to dance, and these days, it’s been doing a lot of that — wandering. so your grandmama says that it’s a part of growing up — learning when to let your mind wander and when to reign it back in, hold it on a tighter leash and tell it to wander no more. it’s a blessing to be able to let your mind wander, and so you do.

it’s just that these days, you can’t help but notice that it’s less of wandering and more of… well, a straight-shot descent to a well-known destination. and you know from a whole childhood of actual wandering that if you know the way and you know what you’ll find at the end, then it’s not wandering at all.

it’s just going.

but still, you let your mind go where it wants, and lately, it’s been going and going and going... to harry.

harry and his soul-soft laughter, harry and his knife-edge smiles, harry and his loose, lethargic movements, unhurried and always so certain. back when you were both still children, he’d led you through the forest with nothing but his voice, spouting out random facts that were much too outlandish to be true, and later, when you were both a bit older (and you’d long since memorized every bit of forest there was to memorize), he’d walk alongside you in companionable silence.

you knew his favorite trees, his favorite flowers, his favorite birds and colors, his favorite season, his favorite sweet, his favorite fruit and so many others.

and still, it feels as if you don’t know him at all, even though you’re certain he knows everything there is to know about you.

except…

you spin out on the long grasses, the light of a million and one fireflies dancing across your skin, dancing with you, singing with you as the forest does. and above you, a crescent moon cuts a sinister smile into a lonely, starless night.

years later, you’d wonder if the night had known — if the wood had known (of course, of course it had known, because there are no secrets the woods do not know, no secrets the waning moon doesn’t keep from the sleeping earth), if the entire world had conspired against you and for you that night.

when you finish dancing and the last of the fireflies flicker down to rest on the long, soft grasses, you’re breathless with exertion, luminous with exaltation and drunk on the song of the forest and a million and one lightless stars.

in the middle of the clearing, harry is smiling, you can see it even from here, and for the first time since you’d danced for him the very first time, he brings his hands together and claps.

“that was… beautiful,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, supple and sweet with the night air.

“th-thanks! phew — i really think that might do it,” you say, plopping down on the picnic blanket next to him, spreading wide your arms and staring up at the velveteen sky above you.

08.

once, you’d been told another story, though you don’t quite recall who you’d heard it from. maybe your grandmama, and maybe the old man who sits in the village square after all the longest days of the year, smoking his pipe and telling his stories.

“do you know why the cursed forest creatures can’t touch humans?”

“why?” a village boy had asked before you had the chance to.

“because… if a cursed creature touches human flesh, the cursed creature will die.”

“oh…” you said, clutching your hands to your chest, and you’d never really thought about dying. because really, what ten year old in their right mind would? but you knew of the concept from when grandmama talked about grandpapa — how he was there one day and then the next day he just… wasn’t.

“he died in his sleep,” she’d said, a tone of sadness in her voice that you’d never heard there before and wished you’d never have to hear again, “it was the best way to go.”

you’d wondered then if there’s really such thing as a “best” way to go. wouldn't the “best” thing to be not going at all?

“then… do the cursed creatures get to live forever?” you asked, before the village boy could cut in.

the old man took a long sip from his pipe and blew out a few concentric rings of smokes before coughing and waving it all away.

“no… you see, if the cursed creatures get to pass on their curses, they’d get to be reincarnated into being a human once more.”

09.

“do you… really want to be cursed?” harry asks as the pair of you share in the silence after your dance.

you suck in a long breath before pushing yourself up to sit in front of him, careful to keep your knees from bumping his.

“of course i do! it’s… it’s what i’ve been trying to do since i was like — eight!”

“but… why?” and harry’s voice is small, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, even though now, his eighteen year old body should carry a much heavier, harder sound.

“because,” you say, resolute as you’d always been, “once i’m cursed, i’ll be able to touch you.”

“and why… is that so important to you?”

harry casts his eyes towards you; you catch his gaze with yours, holding it steady. and in that moment, you mind lets go of the story that the old man told you. because it was a long time ago, and the story was so, so far away. and sometimes, the mind chooses which truths it wants to listen to, which truths it wants to believe in.

sometimes, it chooses truths that don’t look like truths from the outside in, but from the inside out — they’re the truest things to ever be true.

like this one —

“because i want to touch you. because… it’s what i’ve wanted since i was a little girl. because… sometimes, i think i want to do more than touch you — sometimes —” your voice catches on a hitched breath, lost somewhere in your chest, somewhere between your heart and your throat.

but then, darkness descends over your vision and it takes you a long moment to realize that you’re staring at the inside of a mask, thin but solid — the fox-faced mask that harry always wears.

and then pressure, and warmth, right where the fox’s dagger-carved grin usually is, so close to your own lips you can feel the heat.

it holds for a long, long moment, and then it’s gone.

the light returns as harry tugs the mask from you, grinning that teasing, lopsided grin of his, though there’s something about it tonight that makes your heart seize.

“tell me, one more time…” he says, and his voice is jagged with something that sounds painful and true and so, so terrible.

“i — i want the curse…” you say, before you really realize what you’re saying, and it takes you a moment to realize that this too, is the truth.

“okay then… it’s yours.”

and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

the truth, harry realizes, is always bitter, and harsh, and much too sharp. when he pulls back, he presses his palms to yours and lets the moon wash the clearing in blue and silver. you gasp as you feel the magic creeping into your bones, tugging you under, dragging you through the cracks in the world even as harry is tugged away from you back to the world of the living.

“w-was this all a lie?” you ask, because inside you, your heart is fighting for it’s last few beats.

“no,” harry says, his voice is pained, and his expression even more so, because every truth he tells cuts him a little deeper, and he feels his throat constrict over the words, “your dance really was beautiful… and…”

he swallows hard, feeling the knife-edge of this one final truth slicing through him, sharp as moonlight, sweet as the lightless stars.

“i love you. please… don’t forget me.”

and already, you can feel the truth starting to hurt, starting to constrict inside you like a curse. but still, you force it from you as harry flickers and fades along with the light of a million and one firefly lights.

“i — i won’t.”

10.

“but how exactly do you transfer a curse?” the village boy asked, his voice loud and jarring.

the old man takes another long sip of his pipe, puffs out a few more smoke rings.

“through a kiss,” he said.

you blinked. a kiss?

“ew!” the village boy recoiled then, shrinking back from the thought of kissing — because that’s what children are taught to do at such grown-up concepts as kissing.

you, on the other hand, you stayed right where you are, but a frown has creased your tiny, child-like brow.

“and the trick,” the old man continues, his smile going wide and a little lascivious, “is getting someone who will take their curse willingly… to accept the kiss.”

01.

for as long as harry can remember, there has always been the wood. and in the wood, there’s always been a girl with a fox-painted mask who danced to the light of the fireflies.

once, when he’d gone exploring (even though his grandpapa had warned him time and time again about going into the wood by himself), he’d nearly run into her and she’d cocked her head when he’d fallen face-first near the bank of a tiny stream, smearing mud across his cheeks.

“you’re strange little boy,” the girl said — and she could be no more than his age, harry thinks.

“and you’re a weird little girl,” he counters, his eyes catching on the bright red of the fox’s painted mouth.

there is magic at work here, harry knows, though he doesn’t know what kind, and all he really wants is to explore the woods behind his house, to know all there is to know of the world, and perhaps — he thinks as you turn and make your way deeper into the forest — to one day hold the hand of the girl with the fox-faced mask.

but that’s a wish for another day, he decides as he follows after you, jogging to catch up and ask for your name.

“ah… what’s in name,” you say, you voice light and languid, even as he frowns, “you can call me whatever you like.”

02.

once, harry had asked his grandpapa what the truest feeling in the whole wide world is.

and his grandpapa had answered —

“that, harry, would be falling in love…”

“falling in love?”

“yes, my dear boy — and the thing about love is that it’s like a curse… but it’s also like a blessing.”

“but… how can a thing be a curse and a blessing?”

then, his grandpapa had smiled, a smile that is starlight and wolfsong and all the secrets the forest ever has to tell.

“because we are doomed to always, always fall in love, my boy — and it will always, always be like handing someone and knife and asking them to cut open your throat.”

#harrison gray #ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil harrison x reader #ikevil harrison #harrison gray x reader #ikemen series #summer days sultry nights ccc #angst mcgee #floofy floof floof #uHM i refused to apologize hoLY shit you guys i fucking adore this story.#fUCK goddamnit i am so high rn on having written this u__u but like PLS dear god tell me what you thought i have SO MANY THOUGHTS AS WELL #here are some concepts that i rly fucking adored: the ease of lies and the difficulties and harshness of truths #the fact that loving someone will always be the most painful thing you'll ever do #and that sometimes a thing can both be a lie and a truth -- or a lie that becomes the truth #and GOD it is not a sin to want things because sometimes the world wants us to want things that we shouldn't want #and sometimes the world wants us to want things because there are stories carved into the grooves of the world #stories so old that the world would end before it stopped telling these stories and children have been getting lost in the woods #since the inception of humanity itself u__u and that's a story that always needs to be told #because isn't that what growing up is about? the realization that not all truths are true and not all lies are all the way lies #and that most things actually live in between? uGH #anyway u__u im emotional and tired #pls read this <3

64 notes · View notes