#My god she’s manifesting marriage

[poisoned-pearls]

✨📣 Cheerleader Azula!! 📣✨*

*please note NRC has no official cheer team and Azula Ashengrotto is not a sanctioned cheerleader in any capacity. None of her cheers are approved by the school board and her actions do not reflect the schools as a whole

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread

warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T) they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.

“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.

Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek. 

He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles. "I'm sorry, my love."

“You’re going to make me late.”

It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.

Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.

“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.

She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.

The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.

“Divine Flame.”

The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips. "Gods Blade."

A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat. Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.

The sky?

What happened to the roof?

The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.

“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.” Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.

“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.

“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”

Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.

“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.

The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.

As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.

Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.

Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.

“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”

The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.

“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,

“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.

Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.

“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.

“You used — “

“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”

How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.

Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.

“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.

“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “

“Kiyotaka,” you huff.

“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”

It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.

With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.

You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.

‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.

Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!

They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.

It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).

You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.

“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.

“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “

“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.

“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”

The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.

Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.

“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.

“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.

“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”

“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.

It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.

“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."

The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.

"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.

Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.

"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.

"My dearest husband was injured in battle."

Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.

Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”

“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.

“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.

"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"

“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.

“Mr. Gojo is married!?”

Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.

“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”

“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.

“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”

Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.

“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”

They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.

The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.

“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”

“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”

Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.

“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.

Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”

Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.

“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.

“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.

‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.

“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”

Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.

To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.

“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.

“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.

Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.

“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.

For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.

It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.

“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames." Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.

“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.

Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in. "A good read?"

“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.” “What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.

As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now. “It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.

Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.

‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘ “It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink. "Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.

He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.

Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed. “Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!

To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.

“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”

Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.

Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.

Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.

After his death, nobody called you that anymore.

If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.

You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.

That was a dark summer.

“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.

This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.

An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.

What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.

He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.

A Grade 1 sorcerer.

It hardly required a duo.

‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.

A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.

“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”

You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.

(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.

But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.

He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.

“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.

You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.

“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.

He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.

He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.

“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.

As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.

“I apo — “

Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.

‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘

The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.

He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.

But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.

Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.

He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.

“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression. You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.

It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.

“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.

“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.

“Oi. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.

“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.

“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.

“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.

But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.

' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '

The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.

“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.

“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.

Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.

“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”

The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.

The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.

Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.

“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.

It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.

Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.

Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?

Was it your father?

He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.

In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.

“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.

“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”

“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.

Too great some would say.

Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.

The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.

But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.

It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.

Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain? Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?

If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?

Why would they dare take more from you?

From Satoru?

Had they not have their fill?

Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.

“...You would tell me if it was, right?”

Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.

What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;

' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'

“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”

“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.

You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.

Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.

You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.

“I can do it by myself.”

He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;

“I can do it by myself!”

The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.

His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.

Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.

Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.

He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.

Why the fuck is he crying?

But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.

He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.

He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.

He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.

Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.

His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.

‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.

“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.

He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.

Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.

“Why do you call me that?”

Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.

“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.

His eyes are still so dark.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.

He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.

“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.

“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.

“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”

You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”

You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.

“What did you call Suguru?”

You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.

If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.

“I called him my one and only.”

He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean. You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.

“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.

“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”

“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.

Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."

He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.

“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”

“Beloved, you’re not.”

You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.

“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”

Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.

That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.

“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”

“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.

“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."

He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.

So why the fuck was he crying?

“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”

These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.

“Stop, Satoru.”

“I knew too.”

“Please, stop!”

“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.

“My beloved — "

“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”

Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?

In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.

“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” "You keep saying that, Satoru!"

You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.

Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.

Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.

He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?

Why must he love this way? You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.

"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."

That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.

From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.

How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?

The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.

So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.

"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.

Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.

Just.

Just once.

' Come. '

His eyes are still so dark.

' Inhabit me. '

So are yours.

' Let me show you. '

They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.

' Bare your soul to me. '

His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.

' I have. Now fall with me. '

He kisses you.

It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.

' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '

You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.

Just once.

He needs to hold you like this just once.

To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —

"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.

His godhood is forgotten.

The strongest kneels.

The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.

"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.

His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.

"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.

It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.

This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.

"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."

Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.

He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.

As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.

Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.

There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.

He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.

Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.

He's not entirely at fault. You let him.

It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.

Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?

What were you worshipping?

The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.

"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.

"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...

"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.

Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.

He likes kissing you.

Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.

That endless void; it reflects only you.

"(Y/N)".

It's your name that leaves his lips.

"(Y/N)."

He's pleading for you.

"My beloved."

You're dear to him.

Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.

When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.

His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.

It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.

"I'm right here, beloved."

"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.

"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.

"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.

"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.

"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.

"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."

When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.

"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.

"Satoru."

With his name on your lips.

"Please."

Begging for his mercy.

"Satoru."

You ____ him.

The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.

It was baleful.

The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.

"Satoru, you've come home."

His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.

If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.

"Yes, I have."

Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.

It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.

It'd be his mother.

"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."

"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science." "It wasn't because of young Itadori."

"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."

She sniffles prudently.

"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."

"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."

She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.

"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.

"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "

"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"

"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"

Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"

"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."

The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.

"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"

"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"

"How are you doing, my love?"

Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.

“Is she going easier on you?”

“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”

The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.

“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.

“Losing someone?”

You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.

The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.

You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.

It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.

There is no honour in a child dying.

“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.

“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.

But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.

“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.

“I loved him, dad."

Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.

Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.

He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.

"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.

"I'm here, Megumi."

Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.

The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.

Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.

To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.

As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.

There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.

Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.

"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.

Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.

The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.

It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.

When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.

The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.

You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How could your father not feel the same for you?

"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.

"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"

"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.

There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.

"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"

You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.

"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!" The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.

This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."

Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?

He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.

She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.

He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.

What a foolish man.

"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."

He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.

Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.

The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.

It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.

He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.

The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.

"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice. "I asked you a question, boy!" The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.

"Here is my sacrifice!"

The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.

There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.

Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.

Had he always looked so weak?

His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.

"Savour every drop of it, father."

It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.

The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.

The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.

Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.

"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."

The title brings a smile to your face.

He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.

It serves him right. The bastard.

You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.

The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.

"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.

"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."

Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.

A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.

"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.

"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.

The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.

Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.

Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.

This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.

Suguru had that same look.

"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.

"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."

"They think you made us insane."

"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.

"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.

"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."

"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"

' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.

"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."

"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"

Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."

"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.

"Speak plainly."

"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.

"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."

Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.

"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"

The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.

Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.

The windchimes still.

The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.

"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."

"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."

She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.

"Do not do this to me, my beloved."

"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"

His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."

He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.

But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.

Suguru chuckles coyly.

"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."

"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.

"Fuck off."

"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.

"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."

The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.

"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.

The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.

"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.

"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.

Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.

There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.

"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”

The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.

“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”

Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.

He does.

He pouts as you walk out from the room.

Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.

“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.

“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”

“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.

Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “

Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.

“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.

Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.

“Mr (Y/N)!”

Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.

“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”

“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.

“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.

The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.

As you turn, it slips close.

Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.

“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.

Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.

His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.

Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.

People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.

How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?

You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.

Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.

“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”

There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.

After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.

“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.

Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”

“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.

“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.

Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.

Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.

Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.

“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.

“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.

The strongest.

Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.

“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”

“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.

“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.

“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.

Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.

Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.

The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.

None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.

So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.

The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.

“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.

“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.

Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.

“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.

“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”

“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”

What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.

“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”

You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.

The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.

He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.

“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”

Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.

“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."

You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.

"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.

"S'guru..."

"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"

Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.

"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"

When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.

How shameful.

You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.

Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.

"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.

"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.

Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.

As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.

"Ken, I - "

Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.

His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).

"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.

His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.

"(Y/N)..."

Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.

"(Y/N)".

"Kento."

Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.

There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.

"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."

"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.

"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."

He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.

"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"

Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.

How pervertedly kind.

The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.

"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."

The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.

A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.

"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."

A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.

"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"

Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?

"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.

"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."

"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."

"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."

He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.

"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.

The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).

But it was too convenient.

Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.

The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.

If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.

"I'm sure you do."

"The divorce barely made a dent?"

"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."

"And if he faces me?"

Satoru grits his teeth together.

"Run."

Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.

Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.

The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.

“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”

“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”

He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.

Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.

“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.

"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.

"Have you..."

The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.

"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.

The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.

"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.

"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.

"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.

"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."

Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.

He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.

"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."

"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."

She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.

"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.

"The rumours, of my clan."

Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.

Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.

"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."

Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.

"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."

"I messed up."

The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.

Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.

"Things are not looking good."

"Yo, Satoru."

The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.

"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."

' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.

You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.

He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.

"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone." "Sealed...?"

Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.

"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."

"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.

"NA-NA-MIN!"

His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.

"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."

"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.

"Let's be quick about it then."

This feeling...

"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"

"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."

"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.

"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.

"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."

"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.

"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."

You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.

"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.

Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.

But then.

"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.

"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.

Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.

' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.

"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.

Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.

Megumi —

You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.

Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —

Dagon is exorcised.

The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —

"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.

Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.

The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.

His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.

"Gojo (Y/N)."

"Divine Flame."

He lifts his hand just as you do.

"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.

"God's Bl — "

"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.

"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.

"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"

You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.

"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."

He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.

"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."

That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.

"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."

"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"

Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.

"Divine Flame — "

A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.

"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.

"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.

Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.

The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.

Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.

"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.

"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.

"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.

"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."

"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."

Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.

"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"

Reincarnation or divine coincidence.

Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.

"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."

Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.

He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.

With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.

"Na..."

The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...

Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.

"Nanamin..."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.

He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.

Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).

He should have introduced you to his family.

He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.

He should have given you everything you deserved.

Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.

He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).

What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?

Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness... "I'll leave the rest to you."

"My husband."

Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.

"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;

"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"

"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.

"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."

"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.

Or is that denial talking?

"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"

"Maybe he's already with Nanami."

"Shoko."

"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.

"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?

"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.

"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"

"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"

"I have every right to be."

"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.

"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.

"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."

"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.

"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"

"Yuji."

Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.

"You leave (Y/N) to me."

"Does this form please you more?"

Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.

Satoru's corpse.

It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.

"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.

"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."

The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.

"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."

Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.

Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —

They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.

Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.

The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.

This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.

Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —

Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.

What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.

What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?

Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.

Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.

Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.

"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"

[verstappurr]

𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ; 𝐦𝐯

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: max verstappen x fem!reader

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: max and prompt “i never wanted that divorce.” please

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and max are divorced and max is getting married again.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of divorce, sad reader, angst, not proof read

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hiiii! welcome to my blog! my requests are open so please submit your requests! we’re not using kelly because we’re not manifesting that <3 hope you all like this!

you were going through the mail when you saw a white envelope with “y/n verstappen” written in golden letters. you frowned in confusion but carefully started to open the envelope. you swore you heard your heart break when you were able to see what was inside. it was a wedding invitation, more specifically, an invitation to max’s wedding.

max and eleonor request the pleasure of

your company to celebrate their wedding

you felt your eyes water and closed the envelope. this could not be happening, you thought.

it’s not like you and max got divorced yesterday.

you and max got divorced because of racing. he wasn’t as present as you and the kids needed him to be, which lead to endless arguments, fights, and tears, until one day your marriage was terminated. but this was over three years ago, and despite that, you didn’t understand how he was capable of moving on so fast. maybe the reason why you didn’t understood how he did it was because you weren’t able to move on yourself.

you had tried everything, and by everything you mean everything. meeting new people, going on dates, god you even tried online dating, but nothing seemed to work. none of those men were him. some of them were good hardworking and loyal men, but something was always missing.

“mama, why are you crying?” a soft voice snapped you back into reality, “hey, i’m not crying, i just have an allergy” you chuckled and hugged leon, one of your seven year olds, “julian and i are ready. now julian is helping emma with her bag” he smiled as he hugged you back.

leon and julian are twins… more like max’s twins, no joke. same face, same eyes, and same cheeky smile. meanwhile emma is a carbon copy of you, but blonde with blue eyes, just like her father.

the twins were only four when you got divorced, and emma was 2. of course it wasn’t easy, but you both managed to make the divorce process as least traumatizing as possible.

“mama! we’re ready!” julian and emma ran out of their rooms with bags in hand, “hey, be careful!” you laughed, “we’re ready!” julian exclaimed and emma giggled, “that’s good, oma will be here in no time” you hugged your children, or like max likes to call them, your cubs.

the doorbell rang, meaning that sophie had arrived.

about a week ago, sophie had asked if you’d let her take the cubs on a little trip to a lake a she went to with one of her friends near the city. after looking at the pictures you couldn’t say no. your babies would love it and you knew how much they loved spending time with their grandma.

when you got pregnant, max suggested that it was better to move back to the netherlands so the babies could be surrounded by their family. you didn’t think twice and agreed with his proposal. you loved monaco, you really did, but there was nothing that could compare to having your family near you.

when you look back at those memories, you’re thankful you chose to come back, because you don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to go through the divorce all alone in monaco.

you walked over and opened the door, “hey!” you smiled, bringing sophie into a hug, “how are you doing, sweetheart?” she hugged you back and came in, you knew exactly what she was talking about, “i’m good” you smiled softly, she nodded giving you a sympathetic look.

“oma!” the three mini verstappens ran over to their grandma and hugged her legs, making her laugh, “who’s ready to go to the lake?” she asked, “me!”

you said your goodbyes and helped sophie get the kids in the car.

“i’ll let you know when we get there” she told you, “sounds good, and send pictures, please” you smiled, “i will. and honey, if you need anything, just give me a call” she pulled you into her arms and hugged you tightly, “i know, thank you, soph” “no problem”

—

being the momma bear you were, or the lioness like max would refer to you as, whenever your children were gone, you found yourself extremely bored… but also really productive.

you had been able to organize weeks of work and even clean the house. after you were done with your chores, you went up to your room and took a shower. after a while you walked downstairs into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat.

while cooking, you the doorbell rang. weird, you were not expecting anyone today besides sophie. you put the knife a side, quickly washed your hands and made your way to the door.

“uh, hey?” you said when you opened the door, “hey, how are you?” max asked, “i’m good. your mom already left with the children so…” “i’m here to talk to you, can i come in?” he asked, “sure…” nodding, you opened the door for him to come in.

“are you busy?” he asked after you closed the door, “not really. just cooking” you walked to the kitchen, max followed.

max sat in one of the stools and watched you chop your vegetables.

“what did you come to talk about?” you looked up, his blue orbs finding your (insert your eye color) eyes, “i wanted to know if you got the…” “the wedding invitation? i got it today in the mail” you nodded, your tone coming out a bit dry.

“are you mad?” he asked, “why would i be? congrats, by the way” you said, adding your favorite vinaigrette to your salad, “don’t be like that…” he sighed, “like what? am i not supposed to congratulate you now?” you looked at him.

“you know exactly what i mean, y/n” he said, “i don’t know what you mean and i’m not in the mood to fight. i’m tired and hungry, so can i please enjoy my salad?” you asked and he scoffed, “i can see it in your eyes, y/n. there’s something you’re not telling me and i want to know what’s going on” he sighed, “we’ve been divorced for almost three years, but remember we were married for four before that”

you felt your eyes water but quickly wiped the tears away.

“i’m okay, max” you said while grabbing a glass and pouring some juice in it, “you’re about to cry, tell me what’s going wrong, i want to help” he softly said, and that’s when you broke.

“i don’t know max, maybe the fact that once again i’m the one who’s going to be all alone?” your voice broke, “the fact i’m the only one who’s going to come back to an empty home when the kids are spending time with you? or maybe it’s the fact that for some reason i can’t move on with my life but everyone else can! you did, why can’t i?” you were a crying mess by now.

move on? he never moved on. his family knew it, his friends knew it, everyone knew it, he knew it.

he was never able to move on from you, the love of his life. the woman who was there to lift him up when he was feeling down, the woman who would cry almost every race because of how proud she was of him, the woman who showed him a new type of love when he became a father, and the woman he lost because he messed up.

seeing her a crying mess broke his heart, but it also gave him hope. hope that the woman he deeply loves, loved him back still, even if it was just a little bit of love left.

he liked eleanor. she was nice with the kids and very kind to you, but she wasn’t you and she’ll never be you. eleanor was younger than him and wanted to get married, so he agreed. he had nothing to lose, until that very moment in which you poured your soul out to him.

“i never wanted that divorce” he spoke as walked over to you, “and you think i did?” you sniffed, wiping your tears away, “you asked for it…” “because i got tired of giving you signals and second chances that were never taken, max” you sighed.

max felt like shit, to say the least. how could he be so dumb? how could he be so dumb to throw away his family and the love of his life just like that?

“please give me one last chance, i promise i’m not going to fail you and the cubs again”, he sat next to you on the couch, grabbing your hands and squeezing them softly, “max, you’re getting ma-“ “if you don’t want me to get married i won’t. all i need to hear you say it”, he interrupted you.

you were in shock, was he serious?

“i am serious. you know it” he said, almost as if he could read your mind, “please baby girl, i need to hear you say it”, he pleaded, staring into your eyes.

you took a deep breath.

“maxie… please don’t get married” you softly said, eyes watering and lips trembling.

max sighed in relief and hugged you tightly, “i’m never letting you go, ever again” he grabbed your face and kissed you softly.

“i hope you stick to that promise” “you know i will, schatje”

[lovecanyon]

HARRY X Y/N X PEDRO INSTAGRAM BLURB!

*a love triangle*

MASTERLIST & PATREON

-

Y/N AND PEDRO PASCAL ARE REPORTEDLY SPLITTING AFTER SEVEN YEARS OF MARRIAGE

It was revealed this weekend that Y/N Pascal, 30, was planning on divorcing husband Pedro Pascal, 47. No one knows exactly why since the two had looked very happy together. The couple originally met back in 2011 at an Oscars event. Pedro reveals in an interview once he had found out Y/N was a hairstylist he immediately hired her to be his.

“I had no money in my pocket and I had hired this amazing woman to do my hair.” - Pedro Pascal in Wired’s Autocomplete Interview with Oscar Isaac.

Both of them share two sons together, Jude, 1 and Elias, 5. The two had Elias right after they got married in 2016 in Pedro’s home country, Chile.

Read More

liked by user21, user26 and 326,108 others

pascalupdates Y/N and Pedro are reportedly taking a break! We wish them the best and hope they get back together soon. 💕

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pedrofan24 LOVE ISN’T REAL

pedrofan29 crying and throwing up

pedrofan22 i seriously can’t do this anymore 😭

pedrofan31 what the hell…they were so in love with each other

pedrofan25 not our mother and father 💔

pedrofan33 screaming into my pillow

pedrofan36 i’m never believing in love anymore

pedrofan30 PEDRO PASCAL IN HIS SINGLE ERA?

pedrofan23 it’s going to be a hot girl summer for him

liked by yourinstagram, bellaramsey and 3,618,940 others

pascalispunk Me and my wife have decided to take a break from each other. We will be co-parenting our two boys, making sure their needs come before us. Please give us our space during this time.

(Comments on this post have been disabled)

liked by pascalispunk, hunterschafer and 5,138,125 others

yourinstagram ❤️.

(Comments on this post have been disabled)

liked by harryfan40, harryfan43 and 626,910 others

harryflorals HARRY AND Y/N PASCAL IN AUSTRALIA RECENTLY!

view all comments

harryfan42 this is my joker

harryfan46 TWO TICKETS FOR BARBIE PLEASE

harryfan49 y/n is winning…first pedro pascal and then harry styles

harryfan41 she’s still married to pedro btw 🙏

harryfan47 well this was not on my bingo card

harryfan44 PEDRO I AM COMING FOR YOU

harryfan48 i just want to be her.

harryfan50 harry and y/n…i like the sound of it

harryfan53 NOBODY BETTER SEND Y/N ANY HATE OR I WILL GET YOU

harryfan56 @yourinstagram teach me your ways fr

yourinstagram via stories

liked by harryfan51, harryfan54 and 472,185 others

dailystyles Harry, Y/N Pascal, and friends out in Tokyo a few nights ago!

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harryfan58 someone kill me

harryfan55 THIS NEEDED TO HAPPEN TO THE WORLD

harryfan57 #teampedropascal

harryfan61 my heart can’t handle y/n and pedro both being seen with other people…

harryfan59 PEDRO AND Y/N ARE SOULMATES 💔💔

harryfan62 manifesting y/n and pedro again

harryfan64 LET THEM LIVE THEIR LIVES HOW THEY WANT TO

harryfan60 crying and throwing up

harryfan65 i am jumping off a cliff btw!

harryfan63 Y/N FANS RISE

liked by pedrofan66, harryfan68 and 201,573 others

ynpedroupdates PEDRO LAUGHING WHILE TELLING A STORY ABOUT Y/N AND THEIR SONS ON THE GRAHAM NORTON SHOW!

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pedrofan70 i cried the entire interview

harryfan73 YOU CAN TOTALLY TELL HE’S STILL IN LOVE WITH HER 😭

pedrofan69 harry who???

harryfan72 i just fell on my knees in a walmart parking lot

pedrofan74 i need a man like him…

harryfan76 HARRY IS DONE FOR AFTER THIS

pedrofan71 pedro is such a family man 🤞

harryfan75 when will it be my turn

pedrofan77 THIS IS ALL I WANT

harryfan79 god really has his favorites

pedrofan78 currently screaming

liked by pascalfan80, harryfan82 and 457,281 others

pascaldaily PEDRO AND Y/N WERE OUT IN LA TODAY WITH THEIR SONS!

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pascalfan84 THIS IS SO CUTE

harryfan88 someone run me over please

pascalfan81 i love my favorite dilf 🤗

harryfan83 sooo harry and y/n aren’t together then…

pascalfan85 y/n and pedro are working on getting back together so she’s probably done with harry… i think…

harryfan89 the pascal family is thriving!

pascalfan86 ngl pedro and y/n were meant to be together so…

harryfan87 @harrystyles

pascalfan93 you’re so 😭

harryfan91 THE CUTEST FAMILY

liked by pascalispunk, harrystyles and 6,130,947 others

yourinstagram surrounded by love!

view all comments

pascalfan90 I MANIFESTED THIS

harryfan92 why is this seriously the best instagram post ever

pascalispunk I love you mama ❤️

yourinstagram i love you more mr. mandalorian

pascalfan94 I’M NEVER RECOVERING

harryfan97 i am sorry harry but…this is so cute omggg

luxpascal my cuties!!!

pascalfan93 y/n and pedro are still in love…you can clearly see… 😭

bellaramsey You and Pedro are my parents.

yourinstagram couldn’t have asked for more 💕

harryfan99 harry liking this is so?!?!?!

liked by yourinstagram, luxpascal and 5,127,408 others

pascalispunk Elias and Y/N, the loves of my life ❤️

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pascalfan91 pedro really is the best father ever…i’m sobbing

harryfan95 MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER

yourinstagram i appreciate you so much darling

pascalispunk You complete meeee.

pascalfan98 GOING CRAZY OVER THEM 🧎‍♀️

harryfan96 y/n seriously needs to teach us her ways.

ana_d_armas the cutest humans on earth

pascalfan100 i need someone to be obsessed with me the way pedro is obsessed with y/n…

florencepugh forever loving the pascal family!

harryfan104 y/n is living out our fantasies one by one 😭

nicoparker SO ADORABLEEE 💕

harryflorals via instagram stories

-

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @seguin-styles1996 @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @kaitieskidmore1 @cherryfragrancx @ssuziess @milkiane @golden-hoax @flwrmuse @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia @b-reads-things

[phddyke]

I know I mentioned in a post before that someone on Twitter said Lute gives them religious fanatic vibes and I couldn’t agree more.

One interesting way that manifests is her fascination with Adam. Many fans have suggested she has some kind of one-sided crush on him, which I tend to agree with as well. But still, he’s basically the opposite of Heaven’s claimed ideals—he’s a complete and total asshole, curses and has casual sex all the time, and is a flagrant misogynist on top of that. And he’s not even that nice to her—he’s called her a bitch and a dumb bitch before, so it’s not a case of “Oh but he treats me nice.” Nope! He treats Lute as trash as he treats the rest of the women he’s in contact with.

Lute also expressed disgust at Vaggie and Charlie’s relationship, calling it “vile and blasphemous”—classic homophobic language which she makes sure to repeat in the courtroom when mentioning all the “cocks in his mouth” that Angel Dust had. She’s the epitome of a homophobic Christian woman who has a terrible marriage with a man-child husband, but yet still thinks herself superior to queer relationships because it’s “God’s design.” Meanwhile, Charlie and Vaggie have one of the healthiest relationships you could see onscreen. They’re well past the honeymoon phase into established domesticity, live together, share a room, share their lives, are partners in every sense of the word, and more importantly, how did each of them prepare for this life or death fight? Charlie and Vaggie affirm their love for each other in a sweet duet, stating that they love each other “more than anything.” Adam starts by telling Lute to “cool it.”

My brother mentioned that Lute would probably say “Well, no relationship is perfect”—which is exactly the kind of rhetoric these women use to explain away their useless husbands or why their marriage is miserable when they were promised it would be great. I think he’s absolutely right, and no relationship is perfect—Charlie and Vaggie just had a big conflict, but they worked through it lovingly together. Charlie affirmed that she loved Vaggie even though she was angry with her. Neither of them treat each other with the sexist, hierarchal disdain Adam treats Lute with. So it’s a really excellent comparison, and I’m impressed with how the show pulled it off.

[sylvies-chen]

ok started the episode a little late but I just finished it so here’s the weekly recap folks…

TED LASSO 3.04 THOUGHTS:

holy shit this episode was FANTASTIC there was so much going on!! so much goodness!!

roy seeing jamie butt ass naked at 4 am… who had this on their bingo card? anyone? no?

I’m SO glad we got that sassy & ted mess out of the way, I hope ted stops the casual sex and realizes it’s not fulfilling his needs

nate picking up the little lasso figurine and ted still having the picture of him and nate feels like a third act breakup montage of a rom com moment please I feel sick 😭

dani befriending a 108-year-old man just makes so much sense to me. that’s my friendly husband right there !!!!!

OKLAHOMA. motherfucking… OKLAHOMA??? oh my god this is insane I’m foaming at the mouth like the way she laughed at his pun when sassy called them insufferable the way he told her she was better off without rupert the implications of her using a term from his marriage counseling to coax the truth out of him THE WAY SHE INSTANTLY KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH HIM

it’s also so good because that certainly wasn’t THE long awaited office chat or else they would have made a comment about “same place same time” so that means we have YET ANOTHER office chat coming up and I don’t doubt they’ll bring up “oklahoma” again

nate… ugh, what a guy. lonely is the only word for him. there’s something so sad and pitiable about where he’s at right now, getting all the fame and credit but no support. there is a good person inside him just banging to get out, you can feel it

ooooooof yeah shandy messed up BIG TIME and keeley, babe, it’s not your fault for trying to see the good in people and believing in them!! she’s probably going to have to make the tough call to fire her if she wants to get in jack’s good graces

the team getting angry and violent over seeing nate destroy the believe sign actually made me cry. it’s just beautiful to me, even if they reacted wrong in the context of the game. they’re saying, “we made something good here. we have something beautiful. how dare you defile what is sacred to us, something that has bettered us as people. feel our wrath. feel our hurt.” I love my richmond guys 😭

it’s so wild to me that rebecca dealt with rupert having an affair in a mature and restrained way but she lowkey went maniacal with ted at half time like girlie has range i guess wow 😂

TED’S FIRST ATTEMPT AT CONFRONTATION OH MY GOD FUCKING FINALLY and it went pretty well too!! he flat out admitted he was angry, and did so in a respectful way. the baby steps of growth that we see happening here are beautiful I’m so proud !!

can we get that sports commentator who said he kept predicting things too often to manifest a tedbecca endgame?

[butlervol6]

the moment you knew | dad(to be) austin x reader

pairing: austin x fem!reader

summary: you weren’t sure if you were ready to start a family with austin…until you watched him interact with his friend’s baby

warnings/notes: no warnings, just austin with a baby fluff. this is my first writing piece (other than papers for uni) in years so take it easy on me. i would love to make this into a little mini series, following y/n and austin through starting their family, so if anyone is interested lmk!! thank you sm for reading, hope you enjoy :)  

words: 2.1k

It was no secret Austin wanted to be a father. After 4 years of marriage, and many more years before dating, the subject was brought up often by him. Whether it was a casual remark about how cute you would look pregnant or a detour into the baby clothes section of any store you visited together, he was very obvious about his desire for children with you. 

You wanted children as well, especially with him, but there was something holding you back from making it a reality. Being a few years his junior, you knew you had the time to wait until the timing felt right to begin that journey with him. He understood this and felt exactly the same way, you should be completely ready before embarking on such a life-alterning path.

It was the day you went to meet Austin’s friend Ashley’s daughter for the first time since she was born during the midst of the pandemic and the filming of ‘Elvis’, when you finally felt that last shred of apprehension melt away. From the moment he woke up that morning, he was absolutely giddy with excitement. He spent the morning running around the house trying to complete all his daily tasks so you could leave as soon as possible. Of course he was excited to see Ashley, but you could tell there was just as much anticipation to meet his new ‘tiny best friend’ as he so sweetly referred to her.

The drive from your place to Ashley’s was just over an hour, and the whole way he was buzzing with nervous-excitement. This nervous-excitment manifested in Austin not being able to stop rambling,

“I wonder what she’ll look like…I mean I know I’ve seen tons of pictures of her but she’ll probably look different now, don’t you think? I mean, babies grow so fast and it’s been a couple weeks since I last got a picture or FaceTimed them.” He looked over at you, one hand on the steering wheel and the other between yours rested in your lap. His question so genuine and his excitement so apparent you couldn’t help the smile that spread across you face when you met his eyes,

“Babies do grow fast but I’m sure she’ll still look the same.” You brought your intertwined hands up to your mouth to press a quick kiss to the back of his hand, “You know, it’s very sweet, and irrationally attractive, that you’re so excited to meet her Aus.” He softly chuckled under his breath with a shake of his head, removing his hand from between yours to squeeze your thigh.    

                                                            …

As Austin pulled into Ashley’s driveway, you too started to get excited to meet the baby and see your friend after so long apart. You sent a quick ‘here!’ text as you unbuckled your seatbelt after the car was safely in park. You got out and Austin followed suit, closing his door and rounding the front of the car to take your hand,

“Ready baby?” You asked him, interlocking your fingers and falling in stride together. He beamed at you, his blue-eyes sparkling,  

“So ready.” You came to a halt when you reached the door and you raised your free hand to knock when you saw Ashley through a small window walking up to let the two of you in. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you waved wildly at her. She jogged the last of the distance, waving back enthusiastically, and flung the door open,

“Oh my god, hi!” She threw one arm around your neck and the other around Austin’s middle, pulling you both into a group hug, “I’m so happy you two are finally here!” She pulled away from you both to embrace just you. You spoke into her hair as you wrapped your arms around her middle,

“Oh, I missed you so much. How have you been Ash?” After the many years you had spent with Austin, you and Ashley had become fairly close almost immediately after meeting the first time. Nowhere near as close as her and Austin, but there was definitely a sisterly bond there,

“I’ve been so good, even better now that my favourite people are here!” She pulled back, and took a step over to Austin who wrapped her in the biggest hug, speaking softly to her as they rock back and forth in their embrace. You gave them their space, it was clear this was an emotional reunion for the two of them, though you did grab phone from your bag to take a sneaky picture to show the two of them later. 

As you locked your phone and put it back in your bag a shrill, happy scream and babble of a baby made you snap your head back to the door. You looked over at Austin, who was taking a step back from Ashley to peer in the door too. Ashley laughed as she looked between the two of you,

“Ah yes, Jupiter has recently found out she can make that sound and she does it 24/7. Used to scare the shit out of me every time, but now I’m finally getting used to it,” She laughed again, shaking her head softly in amusement, “You ready to head inside and meet her?” You nodded excitedly and followed Ashley as she led back you through the foyer, toward the living room. 

As always, her home was extremely well decorated, with tall ceilings and nice furniture, but there was organized mess everywhere–a highchair pushed against the wall and blocks on the floor–that let you know there was a little one roaming around. Austin slipped an arm around your waist as you entered the living room to find Jupiter standing, with the help of the coffee table, with her back to you. You felt Austin’s sharp inhale, as his chest was against your back, when his eyes landed on the little girl, 

“Jupiter, what are you making all that noise for silly girl? I told you, I was just going to answer the door and I would be back.” Ashley bent down, swept Jupiter into her arms, making her giggle wildly, and set her on her hip facing you and Austin. “Now say hi to your Uncle Austin and Auntie y/n.” She pointed to you and Austin. Jupiter looked away from her mother, following the direction of her point, and her eyes fell on your first. You were immediately taken with how beautiful she was in person, all the photos you had received and blurry FaceTimes since her birth were nothing compared to her in the flesh. She was all big cheeks and stunning blue eyes, you think she can’t get any sweeter and then a semi-toothless smile spread over her little face. You couldn’t help but to take a step toward her, Austin’s arm dropping from around you.

“Hi sweetheart, oh my god aren’t you just the cutest little baby ever?” You extended your hands in her direction, a silent invitation to hold her, as you cooed gently at the child. Jupiter momentarily looked between your hands and your face, not yet convinced of her safety with this stranger in her home. She turned her head toward her mom, a small frown overtaking her features, who looked at you and begins to speak, 

“She’s so shy, don’t take it personal. That whole ‘pandemic baby’ thing is no joke,” You lightly laughed, “It’s alright baby, go see your Auntie.” Ashley spoke softly to her daughter and– after another moment of hesitation–Jupiter turned back to you and reached out for your hands, suddenly deciding that you were safe. 

You hooked your hands under her small arms and lifted her gently from Ashley’s grasp, hitching her onto your hip and rocking side to side to prematurely calm any lasting insecurity she may have. She grabbed onto the neckline of your shirt, kicking her little legs at the rocking motion and looked up at you, face overtaken by a large smile once again. You realized that Austin was still standing back a few steps–having not yet closed the distance to see Jupiter–so you turned around to face him, eyes still on the little one,

“Aus, come here and see her. You were right about her looking different in pers-” You looked up at him and were shocked to see his eyes red-rimmed. Instantly concerned, you took a step in his direction and gave him your full attention, “ Are you alright?” He cleared his throat, smoothing a hand over his jaw to collect himself, before offering you a small smile and speaking, 

“Yeah, I’m alright baby. Just- this is kind of crazy,” He looked to Ashley just beyond you, “She’s so perfect Ash. God, I’m just so in awe that you actually made her.” He sniffled once and Ashley was quick to walk over and wrap her arms around him, tears in her eyes as well. It was a tender moment between them, two lifelong friends who had been separated by forces outside of their control during one of the more important moments of their lives. All the emotions–love, admiration, sadness, happiness–were so raw that it made your breath hitch in your throat. You thought the moment couldn’t get any more meaningful, when the pair of them collected themselves and Austin finally made his way over to Jupiter. He placed a hand on the small of your back as he moved to stand in front of you, his head tilted down closer to the height Jupiter sat on your hip. She blinked up at him as he gazed at her, both in awe of each other, and instantly you could see the bond between them materialize. Without any coaxing, from her mother or Austin, she reached out for him and the look on his face when she did was what did it for you. 

There was no doubt in your mind that Austin loved you, he reminded you–in big and small ways–every single day but the love radiating off him for this little girl was overwhelming to witness. It was felt it in every cell of your body, so deeply and profoundly that tears immediately sprang to your eyes. You looked between the two of them, completely enamoured with each other, as Jupiter was lifted from your grasp. Austin made his way over to the couch, his eyes never leaving hers, and sat. In that moment you thought before you could stop yourself, I want to have a baby with him so badly. You were momentarily disarmed by your own thought, but after a moment of quiet contemplation you realized that witnessing Austin so in his element, with a child that wasn’t even his, was the last push you had been needing all along. This realization, coupled with the the way he continued to interact with the little one in front of you, and the next comment from Ashley had you absolutely certain that it was time to revisit the ‘baby talk’ when you got home that evening. 

“God y/n, he’s literally perfect with her. If this is how he is with my kid, he’s going to be absolutely infatuated with yours.” She spoke lowly as she passed by you, making her way over to the armchair beside the couch and sitting down. For a moment, you watched Austin lift Jupiter high up in the air and down again, the two of them laughing at each other, before you walked over and sat next to him. His eyes flicked to your face quickly, flashing his wide smile your way, before falling back to Jupiter who was now reaching out for his face. Before he could lift her up again, you leaned over and kissed the side of his head, 

“I love you, so much.” You couldn’t help the assertion, you were absolutely overflowing with love for the man before you and excitement at the prospect of soon having this for yourself. He looked at you fully then, semi-confused at your sudden declaration but happy nonetheless,

“I love you more.” He leaned in to kiss you sweetly and Jupiter let out her signature scream the second your lips met. You both pulled away and laughed, Austin turning back to the baby and jokingly scolding her, “Excuse me little miss, I will kiss my girl if I so please!” 

Jupiter laughed and reached out for Austin’s face again, happy to have his attention back. Austin leaned back against the couch, lifting Jupiter up with her hands pressed to his mouth, he pressed loud kisses to her tiny palms in an attempt to make her smile. In that moment, he was completely content to be surrounded by his favourite girls, and also entirely unaware of the way his life would change forever when he got home.

next part here!!

[i-am-the-oyster]

The total insanity of the Mills years and their immediate fallout is highly underrated - possibly Paul's most unhinged period, or second-most after 1968. Engagement ring hurling. Putin! Sporadic relationship cuteness that results in some certified bops but overall incredibly bizarre vibes. Celebrity Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? still completely blows my mind. He is charming, competitive, and viscerally uncomfortable with the whole enterprise. David Blaine being a cunt in a box!! Agreeing to aver on her website that it is 100% his own decision to dye his hair and that nothing has ever been HM's fault ever in her entire life. Unsatisfactory office space!! Paul randomly whipping For No One, Fixing a Hole, and Too Many People out of the vault while touring in '05! Whatever the fuck was going on with Riding to Vanity Fair!! Arguing about seal pups with the premier of Newfoundland on Larry King Live and then almost immediately afterwards bailing on the Entire Marriage!! Alleged Paul inexplicably being annoyed about breast-feeding. (Don't buy that one - largely bc I think Linda would have punted him directly into the sun if he'd tried that shit with her and it seems weird that he'd Forget how such things worked.) Alleged wine bottle shiv. (Again, I don't believe that actually happened, but Insane notwithstanding!!) That summer in the Hamptons when he got together with Nancy but first apparently shagged - or at least dated - every other available woman there. Rosanna Arquette clearly not holding anything against him for this, so I guess that ended well. HM's total meltdown live on British television that happens to coincide with the Nancy relationship getting serious, though no one put that together at the time. The mysterious "box of evidence" whose existence fluctuates, seemingly, with HM's moods. The entire divorce judgment (not a self-plug I swear it). HM attempting to defraud MPL via phony mortgage??? Exorbitant flower budgets!! HM insisting she only guest-hosted Larry King Live once and trying to gaslight me specifically, I guess!! (It was three times. I swear to god it was three. I watched them all out of an attempt at loyalty.) Lavatory Lil suddenly manifesting a decade later!!

It was relentlessly cuckoo bananas! No one remembers it! No one talks about it! I alone, seemingly, must bear all this cursed knowledge!!

Ahem. Sorry. The Fidelity advert triggered something in me. I'll hush now, lol.

This poetry requires no additions from me.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

I'm On Fire (Chapter 2)

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Word Count: 2470

Warnings: older Hotch/younger reader, cheating, daddy issues, a little bit of angst

Taglist: @littlepeanut03 @rosaline-black @moonmark98 @yuly @jazzymariexoxoc @frogoko @morgthemagpie

You're staring at the kitchen sink, a full glass of water on the counter to your left. Alone again. It's been days since you've seen your dad.

You let your head rest in your hands as you prop your elbows up on the counter. Aaron had left his number in your phone when he dropped you back home after your late night drive. You were using every ounce of strength not to call him.

It had been a week or so since that night, or morning, you supposed, since you'd watched the sun rise together, when you teased him for his Spartan taste in coffee and breakfast food. You hadn't heard anything, and you were starting to think it must have meant nothing to him. You were nothing but his friend's daughter. Another thing to take care of, like the unmown grass, or filing taxes.

Despite how little you seemed to mean to him, you couldn't stop replaying your conversations in your mind. Although you'd been sleeping for much of the time, when you were awake, you'd talked about everything. He'd opened up about Haley, the way that their marriage was slowly disintegrating because of their different goals, his difficult work schedule. He'd hesitated before telling you another piece, unsure if it was even appropriate to mention it to you.

"She's started..." He sighed. "She's started trying to tamper with the birth control we use. She hasn't refilled her prescription for the pill in a while and..."

He turned away from you as much as he could, fixing his gaze on something on the left of the horizon. His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"The other night when we were... You know what I mean. She tried to pull off the condom. A week ago I was looking in my bedside table for one of my watches, and the condoms were all over the place. The drawer was sticky, so I picked up one of them," He paused again. "It had a hole in it. I thought okay, leak, I'll just throw this one out. But I looked at one of the others, just in case, and..."

"Oh my god," You said softly. "Aaron, that's not okay. If someone I was dating did something like that..."

You felt your jaw clench. How fucking awful was that? Trying to trap him with a baby? It was one thing to try and convince him, to try and save their marriage, to talk about why he was hesitant, but it was a different thing entirely to start taking matters into her own hands. It would obliterate the last of the trust between them. It was sick.

He'd talked a little about his college years, but his playful smile told you there was a lot he was holding back.

"C'mon, Seattle in the 90s? You must have gotten up to no good," You said, trying to eke out some information. "Concerts, weed, girls?"

"I focused on studying," He said, and pressed his lips together.

"You're lying again. That's one of your tells," You pointed at his lips. "You go like this."

You mimicked his expression, the physical manifestation of withholding information or some emotion.

He looked over at you and laughed. "You'd make a good profiler."

"Profiling," You said dreamily. "And you get to travel all over the place. What's it like?"

"It's hard work," He said slowly. "A lot of the time it's unpleasant. But I like to think we make a difference."

"Could you profile me?"

He looked over at you, his expression serious.

"It's not like astrology, or palm-reading" He said. "You might not like what I have to say."

"I won't hold it against you," You replied. "I'm sure none of it will really be new to me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who I am and how I got here."

"You're independent, probably more than you should be, but that says more about your father than it does about you." He paused, taking a breath, and looked over at you again, sadness in his eyes this time. "You're constantly reading the people around you, or at least me, trying to figure out what they're thinking."

You nodded. "It's not just you."

He pulled into the drive through, joining the long line of cars queuing for their morning coffee. For a moment, you thought about how the two of you must look to anyone who took a second to look through the windscreen or one of the windows. You, in a salt-starched button up shirt. Aaron, in a faded blue t-shirt and the joggers you'd been wearing a few hours before. A strange pair of lovers, or maybe just a strange pair.

"The reason you read everyone is because you use it as a pre-emptive defense mechanism. If you know how everyone is feeling, you can adjust your behaviour to avoid making anyone upset."

"Oh," You said. "So that makes me... a psychopath, or something?"

Aaron chuckled and shook his head, looking at you properly now that the car was safely stopped. "No. It makes you like a lot of other women."

"Oh," You said again, somehow feeling even more dejected. "Just ordinary."

He shook his head, reaching across the centre console to wipe some salt from your cheek. "You're far from ordinary."

"Next in line," Came the staticky voice from the speaker. "How can I help you?"

"What do you want?" He whispered.

"Something sweet," You replied. "And a bagel."

He relayed the information to the disembodied voice.

"Is that all?"

"No, could I also get a black coffee? No cream, no sugar, and do you have a bacon and egg sandwich?"

"Sure. Drive up to the next window."

"Thank you," Aaron replied, shooting you a conspiratorial smile. Why did you feel like you were getting away with something?

"Mr. Bacon and Egg," You teased.

"What?" He replied, reaching for his wallet. "Nothing wrong with the classics."

There was a knock at your door, and you jumped. Your dad?

You took a big sip of water before making your way to the door, then peered through one of the little glass windows to see who it was. With a sigh of relief, you undid the deadbolt. Aaron.

"Is your dad home?" He looked you up and down, but there was no hunger in it.

Your brow furrowed. "No."

"We need to talk," He said, letting himself in, locking the door.

Your stomach dropped through the floor. Here it comes. He's going to tell me that I've been coming onto him and it needs to stop. Head heavy with shame, you let your body fall to the couch and looked down at the rug. He's married, how did you think this was going to end?

"Haley's leaving me."

You looked at him, waiting for the next sentence. None came.

"Aaron," You breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"I went for a drive," He said. "To the beach. In Delaware."

There was a long silence, and he walked to the kitchen and back, bringing you the glass of water you'd abandoned.

You took another sip, looking down at the floor again.

"I..." He took a seat beside you.

You looked at him, searching his face.

"I can't read you," You said softly. "You need to tell me."

He looked deep into your eyes, no doubt seeing the feelings you had for him. You couldn't put words to them yet, but you had a feeling your eyes were telling a story your heart hadn't yet been able to commit to. "I didn't like the beach."

Agony tearing through you, you broke the eye contact, rubbing your face with one of your hands. What had you expected?

He took your hand in his, pulling it from your face. His grip was rough, but it was nothing compared to the confusion and pain radiating through your body.

"No," He said insistently. "I didn't like the beach because... It wasn't the beach. It was you."

You looked at him hopefully, praying to every god whose name you'd ever learned that your heart was right to start beating wildly, full of anticipation.

He whispered your name, his hand coming to the side of your face as the space between you seemed to shrink.

"Haley wouldn't mind," You whispered.

"She wouldn't," He replied, his face close enough to yours that certain syllables sent his lips brushing against yours. He rubbed his nose against yours, waiting to be seized by a sudden rush of morality. It didn't come.

You closed the gap between you, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, sealing your lips to his. For a moment you stayed like that, just pressing your lips together, not moving, hardly breathing.

Then it was like lightning- his lips moving against yours, his weight starting to shift on top of your body as you slipped beneath him, your hands moving to cup his back, hips dropping open to accommodate his body in this new position. The harsh noises of your breathing between frantic kisses, the wet sound as your tongue just barely left your mouth, tracing over his lips. A thud as his hand met the arm of the couch, supporting his weight. And if that all was lightning, the electric lick of light across a bright sky, the rest was apocalypse, the hounds of hell breaking loose as your bodies settled against each other, his tongue snaking across your lips, testing the seam of them, whether you'd let him in. You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, running your tongue across the slightly swollen skin as you released his lip.

You settled into a rhythmic tempo, swaying against each other like the waves on the shore, the push and the pull like something divinely inspired, driven by the moon, something of a greater magnitude than mere magnetism. Something like gravity.

When you broke away, it was all changed. Even from this distance, hardly an inch away from him, you knew the world had tilted on its axis. You became aware of the sound of children playing outside, the ring of a bicycle's bell. You were certain that if you walked outside, you'd see them riding their bicycles straight into the sky, or the birds would be flying upside down. The warmth of the sun would radiate from the ground, and the tickle of the grass would rain down on you.

Your eyelashes seemed like monuments as you blinked slowly, attempting to clear your vision. When you opened your eyes, nothing had changed. There he was. There you were.

The sun warmed your bare skin as you curled into Aaron's chest. Something about the kiss had been draining, as beautiful as it was, and you'd led him upstairs to rest. He traced shapes on your back.

"That was intense," He said, finally.

"I'm tired," You said, suddenly feeling like you might cry.

"I shouldn't stay."

You tilted your head to look up at him, taking a moment to appreciate the way that he looked in your bed, his short dark hair contrasting with your cream-coloured pillow.

"You could," You said.

He shook his head.

"I thought you said Haley left?"

He nodded. "She did. But your dad could come back any minute."

It was your turn to shake your head. "He won't be here until Tuesday. He stays at her place from Thursday night until Tuesday morning so they can have weekends."

"Generous definition of weekend," He scoffed. "He should take better care of you."

"He makes sure there's food when he comes. And besides, I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't have to," He said softly, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. His voice was filled with fondness, and you broke his gaze so you could rest your head against his chest again.

"You take care of me," You whispered.

"I could," He whispered. "You deserve to know what it feels like."

There were butterflies in your stomach. You lay like that for another hour, waiting to decide what to do. There was no clear path forward, you knew that much.

"I should go," He murmured. "I have some errands to run before everything closes for the night, and work in the morning."

"What are we going to do?" You said softly, sitting upright.

He sat up too, swinging his legs out of the bed.

"What if this is it?" He replied. "The simplest thing to do would be to leave it here."

"Aaron," You said, your voice breaking. "I couldn't live."

You reached for your phone.

"Can I take a photo of us? So at least I know it wasn't a dream?"

His mind flicked to Penelope, and her incredible capacity for unearthing files from anywhere. Your phone was far from secure, and he just couldn't risk a photo like that ending up somewhere it shouldn't.

He shook his head. "It's too risky. No one should find out about this."

You sighed, looking over at the wall, the last of the day's light filling the room with light, although it was limited to a square in the shape of the window.

You took him by the chin, pulling him gently into the light.

He laughed.

"What?"

"Hell of a metaphor," He said, shaking his head with a small smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head. You dropped the subject and gestured at his shadow on the wall, the silhouette of his head.

"How about this?"

You leaned into the light, leaving your silhouettes facing each other.

He nodded. "That works."

Careful not to let your phone cast a shadow, you framed the shot and looked at him while he looked at you, both of you fighting back wide smiles. Your phone clicked softly, and you checked to make sure the picture was okay. You nodded and showed it to him. He smiled and kissed your forehead, wrapping an arm around you.

"This isn't going to be easy," He said.

You took one of his hands in both of yours, and looked at him seriously. "I don't need easy. I do need you."

You both sat there for a moment, letting your words hang in the air and permeate your skin.

"God," You breathed. "I can't believe you said what if this is it? I couldn't leave things here. I'd die."

"How about this?" He said, echoing your words from earlier. You followed his gaze as he looked down at his hands. He slipped off his gold wedding ring and placed it on your bedside table.

"My promise this isn't it."

You looked at him, tears forming in your eyes, and nodded.

He took your hands in his, and pressed a kiss to them before enclosing them completely in his.

[aglaias-blog]

"Kindred Spirits" Chapt. 2

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Author's note: The definition of marriage in this series is not my own, I’m just describing what the faith of the Seven would define as marriage. My blog is a safe space for people of all different sexual orientations! <3 Also, the poem at the end is "The Song of the Seven", it is not my work

TW: afab!reader, soulmate AU, talk about religion/piety, arranged marriage

Summary: Being a highborn lady, a love match is out of the question for you, much less a match with your soulmate. You're not even told about the intricacies of what meeting your soulmate entails. When you are tricked into a betrothal to Aemond Targaryen by your parents, you don't know how to handle things. The Prince's cold demeanor is off-putting, but he is also the only one who is willing to help you, the only one you can depend on. Just how is all this going to play out?

"Kindred Spirits" Masterlist

Marriage was always of the highest significance to Prince Aemond. A most sacred bond between man and woman, woven between the altars of the Mother and the Father, in the gracious gaze of the Seven. The importance of the faith, and obedience to the Gods was instilled in him by his Septons and Septas, as well as his mother. Throughout his young tumultuous life he turned to the Gods whenever he was faced with difficulty, having no one else to talk to except his mother. And it was her who taught him how to pray, how to confide his worries to the Gods, how to entrust his deepest darkest desires and sins to them.

The first time she came to him with talk of marriage, he was sixteen years old. „A good age to give matrimony some thought“, she had said then, following orders from his father to get the boy on the proper path. Aegon and Helaena had been married for a few years by then, their children were already walking around the gardens with their nursemaid. High time that the second-born son fulfilled his duty. Seeing as Aegon had kept the Targaryen blood pure through his marriage to Helaena, Aemond had the privilege of choosing his bride from the selection of young ladies his mother presented to him. It was indeed tradition in the Targaryen House to marry one’s kin, but Aemond had hoped that he didn’t have to go that path, as the faith didn’t look kindly upon it.

His mother had suggested marriage to one of the daughters of the many gentlemen at court. He knew that she meant well, he had an unshakable trust in her, sure of her support. Nevertheless, he had come up with some polite excuse then, not wanting to name the true reason why he refused them. There was no use in whispering in the Red Keep, no, in all of King’s Landing – the rumours were spread in hushed voices, yet they might as well have screamed the insults and gossip about his appearance in his face. Aemond knew about the prejudice, felt the gazes of the young ladies on his face as they tried to hide their giggles behind their hands.

By the time he was eighteen, he was standing tall, always keeping a stoic expression on his face, or that smug half-smile that made people think that he was haughty and cold. But under the surface was a raging current of emotions, feelings of being wronged that he could never express – except to the Gods, or in a moment of indiscretion in a heated dispute with his brother. This tension he could never shake, it manifested in his body, always standing perfectly straight and still. The little boy that had his eye taken was still inside him, not only being physically wounded but also in his innermost core. He had never felt safe again after that scarring event. The walls of the Red Keep may have been tall and massively built, but they were insignificant if the threat was already inside them. He had built walls around himself then, walls meant to protect him from the poisonous arrows that could come from every direction, walls even higher than the ones already around him. He only allowed his fierceness to show, only strength - never weakness.

Aemond remembered clear as day the first time he had gone without his eyepatch. After waking up earlier than usual, he had been desperate to get to the dragon pen, excited to show his older brother a trick that had taken him months to learn. Back then, when he still looked up to Aegon, despite the bullying, despite the constant hurt. In this thrill of anticipation he had forgotten to put on his eyepatch; hells, he had almost forgotten to put on his trousers, so the eyepatch was a negligible mistake.

Running through the corridors, he had nearly reached the outside when he almost bumped into a young girl from the kitchens. He could still hear her shrieking scream ringing in his ears, as if it happened moments ago. At the time, the young boy didn’t immediately understand her horrified expression that wiped his wide joyful smile from his face right then. He had looked around for the threat, but he couldn’t perceive anything that could have caused such a strong reaction. It was only then that realization had struck him with icy terror - hurriedly he had pressed his hand to his left eye, frantically feeling for his eyepatch. The feeling of humiliation, of rejection had been too much - he couldn’t help the tears that sprung to his eye and immediately spilled over, they had never stopped flowing, even when he was back in the safety of his chambers.

Thinking back, Aemond knew that this was the moment he subconciously decided to never let somebody see him without his damned eyepatch again.

So, he came to the conclusion that he would never agree to marrying somebody from court, he’d rather be burned to death by Vhagar. His mother had cast a wider net then, selecting a few young ladies from Houses further away, from regions that weren’t bordering on the Crownlands. Usually, his mother wouldn’t have accepted his general refusal of the ladies she picked, but she was aware of his reasons. He didn’t have to tell her, she had noticed that for weeks after the incident he had slept with his eyepatch on, never taking it off. She had known then that something had happened to make him so protective of his eyepatch, so insecure about his scarred eye. She also knew about the gossip and of the court’s general opinion of her second son’s appearance.

And one day, while talking to Lord Barryn on one of his many trips to King’s Landing, she couldn’t help thinking that one of his daughters would make a good match for her second son. Lord Barryn’s family resided far away enough that his children would have been taught the basics on the House Targaryen and its history, but would know no details of the inner workings of court, wouldn’t have heard any rumours. A marriage would also mean securing an alliance between the two Houses that already shared a good friendship. The commercial relations between them would be strengthened, too.

Lord Barryn was delighted, of course, that the House Targaryen would consider one of his daughters as a prospective bride.

Immediately, he started off with his most extroverted daughter, but he noticed quickly that her qualities weren’t what the Queen was looking for, she also didn’t care for other talents like embroidery or singing. Instead, she was asking about piety and innocence, almost offending the Lord, as he insisted that all his daughters were living sheltered lives and were brought up with reverence for the Gods.

The Queen was much focused on character: she wanted the silently strong type, a maiden that had no need to boast her qualities, stable, calm – tame…docile.

Lord Barryn may have withheld the intensity of his daughter’s stubborness as he offered the daughter whom he thought matched the Queen’s description the most, however he thought that this was better than having no chance at an alliance with the House Targaryen at all. No matter, when they would find out about his daughter’s true character, the couple would already be betrothed.

To the Queen’s relief, Lord Barryn had volunteered to send some portraits of his daughter, as soon as he returned to his residence. She hadn’t dared to require some visual aid in making her decision, as she thought that it would be contradictory to her focus on character, faith, and devotion.

Meanwhile, the pressure on Prince Aemond had become unbearable to him. His father insisted on a marriage, by now he would have agreed to his son marrying a peasant, if only he got married! The Targaryen House could not allow itself to take any liberties with the line of succession, it had to be secured!

But Aemond was just once again reminded of his role in the royal family: the backup, the spare, just in case anything happened to his brother - so close to the throne and yet so far away. His brother who was wholly unequipped to be King. His brother - always in his cups, seeking pleasure in some whore’s arms, studying nothing, learning nothing, being capable of nothing! His useless brother - whom he loved despite everything, in his own twisted way.

Prince Aemond was aware of his duty, however. As much as he hated his position, and wished fervently that his brother and him had been born in a different order, he knew that his only chance at the throne was marriage. A successful marriage - for what was a King without an heir.

He knew immediately what his mother wanted when she sent for him first thing in the morning. King Viserys must have been insufferable with his demands that she find their son an agreeable wife. Aemond already felt hounded by his father, he didn’t want to envision what it would mean to live in close proximity with that man.

A new sense of urgency was laced in the Queen’s voice when she showed Aemond the portraits of his prospective brides. She tried to be as neutral and matter-of-factly as possible in her description of their character and family background, but it was obvious to him that she wished for him to pick a specific one. Lady Barryn. It should be easy enough. The way his mother described her to him, he thought that she would be sufficiently acceptable. Pious, sheltered, calm - pleasant.

Prince Aemond knew that his father would make good on his threat to marry him to a bride of his own choosing, if the Prince didn’t come to a decision quickly. So, he heeded the King’s warning, and when he made his pick, the delight in his mother’s eyes told him that he made the right choice. He had thought then that having done his duty, he would go back to his habits of studying, training, sitting in council with his father and brother, and riding and taking care of Vhagar. He’d thought that the next time he would bother thinking about marriage would be when his betrothed was presented to him.

But once he was in bed at night, when he couldn’t push away the thoughts anymore that he banned to the back of his mind during the day, he wondered what she would be like. For even if he thought of this as his duty, marriage was still something sacred in the eyes of the Seven, and thus should be considered sacred in the eyes of man.

During the many hours he had spent in the libraries as a boy he had also read stories, fairytales rather, about love, about soulmates, kindred spirits, but even then he instinctively knew that this was not what awaited him. When he had asked his Septon about it, his honest boyish curiousity was brutally doused with reality. He was told that this might exist for the lowborn folk, but that he shouldn’t bother himself with it. Aegon had simply broken out into a fit of explosive laughter, then, teasing him about his girlish flight of fancy. Aemond had just felt fury that he had given his brother yet another thing to bully him about.

In the following months the Queen exchanged many missives with the Lord and Lady Barryn in preparation for the couple’s betrothal. The young lady’s dowry needed to be dealt with, all sorts of contracts needed to be prepared and signed, and most importantly, a date needed to be picked to present the young couple to each other.

Meanwhile, Prince Aemond’s curiosity plagued his mind for weeks after he took his pick, and finally he gave into it. He knew about his mother’s correspondence with the parents of his intended. And as embarrassed as he was to ask his mother to do this, he couldn’t bear not knowing. So, he requested the Queen to ask the young lady’s parents about more details. What she occupied herself with during the day, her habits, her relationship to her siblings… He tried to play it off as a most warrantable inquiry, stating his request especially indifferently, but his mother saw right through him and couldn’t help the knowing smile that snuck its way onto her mouth.

It brought the Queen happiness to see her son reading the letters more eagerly than she was, although he sought to keep his carefully built facade of inaccessibility, saying that he was just preparing himself, as he prepared for everything else in his life.

-

Prince Aemond had awoken unusually early the day the young Lady Barryn was thought to arrive. Tossing and turning in bed, he hadn’t been able to sleep properly – it felt like no time had passed when the first rays of sunshine crept through the curtains.

What was a bad start into the day became worse when he was called to council. He couldn’t stand the sympathetic smiles from the council, when his thoughts had drifted off - due to fatigue! Not because of what they had thought. But explaining himself would have made everything worse, they wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

He knew that Lady Barryn’s arrival unsettled him, lying to himself was of no use. He also was aware that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything today, apparently his mind that he usually was very much in control of, was set on letting his thoughts run in circles. So, he contented himself with withdrawing himself to the library, seeking out the one window niche that he had thought to be his favourite when he was a little boy because his brother had never been able to find him there.

He picked out The Seven-Pointed Star from the shelf, the well-thumbed book weighed heavy in his hands. The Seven had often offered him solace and comfort, especially on days when he couldn’t bear his brother’s merciless bullying anymore. Now, Aegon had mostly stopped the maltreatment of his younger brother, he wouldn’t risk seriously angering the younger Prince, Aemond stood much taller now than he did then.

The problems he had then seemed so small compared to the ones he was facing now, Prince Aemond thought. Somewhere in time, his most serious worries gradually went from frustration and sadness about his brother’s teasing to, well, whatever this was. Anticipation, curiosity, anxiety, dread? This marriage would greatly influence the course of his life. He worried that he hadn’t put much thought into his choice of bride. His father had told him to expedite matters, and, the dutiful son he was, he did what he was told. His mother had shown which young lady she wanted him to pick, and he did as he was told. He was already given the privilege of choosing his own bride, yet he had always done as he was told! There was no use in blaming himself though, it was too late now anyways.

The young Prince wondered what she would be like, truly. Was she really as pious as his mother had said? Would she resemble the young lady in the portraits? Would she find him as repulsive as the rest of the Lords’ daughters at court? He quickly felt for his eypatch on his face at the thought. He didn’t want to scare her off at the first chance that he got, if this was to go well. But - what if his worry was misplaced? Perhaps they would get along perfectly fine - knowing how things in life had turned out for him this far though, he seriously doubted it. He didn’t allow himself to think that a happy outcome was possible. Getting his hopes up was the last thing he could afford right now.

Calming down was of the essence, he couldn’t present himself all dishevelled and on edge. He remembered a little song his mother had sung to him to comfort him whenever he had been upset about something – mostly Aegon’s bullying.

The Father's face is stern and strong,

he sits and judges right from wrong.

He weighs our lives, the short and long,

and loves the little children.

Slowly, he began skimming over the familiar pages of The Seven-Pointed Star, continuing to quietly hum the melody to himself.

The Mother gives the gift of life,

and watches over every wife.

Her gentle smile ends all strife,

and she loves her little children.

Immersed in the book of faith, he was rudely ripped out of his thoughts when he heard the heavy doors to the library open, and a servant calling his name. As if stung, he shot up, the book falling from his lap and landing on the floor with a loud thud.

The Warrior stands before the foe,

protecting us where e'er we go.

With sword and shield and spear and bow,

he guards the little children.

He had an inkling as to what this was going to be about. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his thoughts and courage, before taking long strides to where the servant was standing in the door.

The Maiden dances through the sky,

she lives in every lover's sigh.

Her smiles teach the birds to fly,

and gives dreams to little children.

She had arrived.

Chapter Three

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 1

Propaganda Under Cut

Nyota Uhara

She's Spock's canon partner in AOS, and I get it because they're not a great couple, but she gets villianized in fic so much. They constantly make her an asshole (which totally has nothing to do with her being black /sarcasm) and abusive just for the crime of dating a man headcanoned as gay. And I mean, I think Spock is gay and her being a love interest was unnecessary but still! She's cool!

Oh my god so in the Star Trek reboot she’s Spock’s girlfriend and the fandom has no idea what to do with her??? Like she is ALWAYS either such a bitch or like the mom friend? And there is so much more to her character than that? But they always break down her character AND find a quick and easy way to break up her and Spock. I’m not even mad at that but at least treat their relationship with some weight instead of just being like ‘it never mattered’. People can love multiple people throughout the course of their lives. You know that right? Just because you loved someone before doesn’t make your new love any less special. And even headcanoning Spock as gay… you realize he doesn’t need to be attracted to Uhura for their relationship to have mattered, right? Even if he confused friendship for romantic attraction, him feeling such strong friendship and openly expressing it is so monumental for him!!! 

she's dating Spock, who people ship with Kirk, so fans have decided that it's horrible writing and "really, they're just defending her, the movies turned her into just a love interests," which is not at all true. The movies do so much more for her to the point that the fans who have only seen the movies think that the main characters are Kirk, Spock, and Uhura instead of the Kirk, Spock, McCoy of the original series. Also having a black women being shown as being desired and loved in mainstream media, particularly by one of the most popular characters of all time, is a good thing, not making her "just a love interest"

Keiko O'Brien

Certain People I Could Name insist on shipping her husband with the annoying twink doctor Julian Bashir because of the friendship they develop over the series. I maintain that O'Brien would never cheat on his wife, let alone with another man, and the response is often "they're in a polycule together!!!" which is even more out of character. Everyone please show my girl Keiko some more respect 😤

Wife of chief engineer Miles O'Brien, who is shipped with the chief medical officer, Julian Bashir. Show itself veered into misogyny regarding her and her marriage, manifesting as Miles constantly complaining about her and her encouraging him to go hang out with Julian and leave her and their daughter alone. Fandom responded to this by creating the "O'Brien polycule" including Keiko, Miles, Julian, and first officer Kira Nerys (who has another strange semi-romantic subplot with both O'Briens). Really, though, it just exists to have Julian/Miles without reckoning with Miles having to cheat to get there. I, too, was guilty of this in the past. Keiko had the potential to be a very interesting character (and started to be, early in the show) but it was never realized. She deserved better :(

keiko is a lovely lady and astrobotanist who had a whole romance with and married the more main character miles obrien but now frequently people sideline her to (semi-jokingly?) ship miles with his friend julian. she’s not the best written character and she deserved so much more from the narrative, but it still feels weird that the fan joke about her is always how much she is constantly encouraging her husband to cheat on her (which to be fair does happen a few times but not That much)

[burningvelvet]

do you think heathcliffe can be seen as the devil (or at least the manifestation of the archetype) who loses his eden (cathy) to humanity (linton)

I LOVE THIS QUESTION! I've thought about this a lot in recent months and much has been written about this subject as you probably know. I studied a bit of Paradise Lost in a class on the Renaissance era in my last semester this past autumn, which is also when I had my Brontë class. I did an essay focusing on Edenic myth for my Ren class and now I notice it everywhere, & I've really been seeing the Miltonian Hero & themes in the Brontë works, & especially did in my re-read of Wuthering Heights about two months ago. But instead of just regurgitating all that's been written about the subject, I will discuss things simply as I understand them, although I do borrow a bit from professor Rodger Wilkie's lecture which I link below (I'm not affiliated with him in any way, I found his videos on my own when I was researching the Brontë novels).

Edenic Myth from the POVs of Cathy I & II as Eve:

I've been seeing the Edenic theme from Cathy I and Cathy II's lenses. I believe that the plotline of Cathy II being lured by Heathcliff into his "wolf's den" so to speak reminds me not only a lot of Little Red Riding Hood but also of Eve and the apple. I think there is a seductive undertone although I don't think Heathcliff is really attracted to her or vice-versa; he still attracts her using his son Linton Heathcliff. There is an essay I've been meaning to post excerpts from but haven't bc the material is triggering, but it's Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" and discusses the weird dynamic between Cathy II, Heathcliff, & Linton II.

I find it very interesting that nature is so tied to Heathcliff that it's by disobeying her father's (God's) wishes that Cathy II meets him and ends up ensnared by him. As I see it, Cathy II "takes the apple" like Eve, because it is her overwhelming curiosity that leads her to the Heights, and Heathcliff does play the trickster with her, manipulating her and lying to her more than he does to any other character. He was upfront with his intentions to Isabella and everyone else he ever associated with. But with Cathy II, although he is partly honest about some things, he deceives her by forging Linton Heathcliff's letters to her, causing her to fall in love with "Linton" (Heathcliff pretending to write as him) — I'm glad I found McMaster's essay & that it talks about this point, because I find it to be one of the most fascinating plotlines in the whole story, and think Cathy II is the most underrated character & hate how Linton is often forgotten (I feel McMaster, like most readers, isn't as sympathetic to him as she could be). The description of Cathy I and her hair reminds me of the descriptions of Eve in Milton, and I believe both Catherines are meant to look alike.

I also think young Heathcliff and Cathy could be said to be like Adam and Eve in Eden (the moors) — the "I am Heathcliff" & other soulmate allusions are very much like Eve being made from Adam. I of course hate that aspect of this patriarchal myth perhaps more than any other aspect because it is in direct opposition to actual scientific biology with all males starting with the X chromosome of which females have two of — but I digress from my eternal feminist/atheist/evolutionist rage. When Heathcliff tells Cathy that she's damned them both, killed them both, this is very much like Adam and Eve being killed by Eve's decision (in this case, Cathy's choice to marry Linton). However, in this framework, Heathcliff would be both Adam and Lucifer, and Linton would be both civilization and to some extent a version of Lucifer, with the apple being marriage and normalcy, or maybe you could argue that Cathy also has a bit of the devil in her in that she came up with this decision herself and still wants to rebel much like Lucifer. The Fall is written all over this novel, however one may view the intricacies, which Emily was surely going off of intuitively and not racking her brain with explaining through any one official framework.

Heathcliff as Satan, Cathy as Eden or Heaven:

Yes. The metaphor works best with Heathcliff being the Miltonian Hero aka Satan, and I believe Emily was very influenced by this, especially seen by Heathcliff's exile, and the quest for vengeance which necessitates his return. However, I have never considered Cathy as being Heathcliff's Eden until now, but this works very well — what maybe works even better would be Cathy representing Heaven, which is what Satan is also barred from. However, Cathy's house is certainly like Eden, with Heathcliff having to sneak into it to escape Linton (who again, is sort of like God/a Godly, patriarchal figure). This is exactly like Satan sneaking into Eden — he's caught by the angels sort of like Heathcliff is caught by Nelly and the servants. But Cathy does die, and so she is lost, and Heathcliff can only hope to get her back one day like the promise of Paradise returning with the Second Coming or whatever (I'm not actually well versed in Christian literature). But I have read that apparently in the Bible, "paradise" can refer to both Eden and heaven, so it may be better to say that Cathy represents not only Eve but also paradise in both senses of the term. Note how both Heathcliff and Cathy say that they aren't going to Heaven, and indeed they both become ghosts damned to wander Earth -- yet ironically, that Earth is their paradise on the moors, and so they actually have gone to their own personal Heaven although it is not the Christian one.

On Linton representing humanity:

I wouldn't say that Linton represents humanity as much as he more accurately represents civilization/society as opposed to Heathcliff who represents the wild (and as his name indicates, the Heath/Moors specifically). But this fits with what you're saying as the post-Edenic world is society/civilization/humanity all at once and the distinctions between these heavy concepts are all blurry.

I find in much romance novels featuring love triangle dynamics, there is a Freudian triad of superego/ego/id going on. One love interest will represent the id (natural instincts/subconscious desires) and one the supergo (properness/upholding the status quo) to the main character's ego. To some extent this can be seen in all media ("the human heart in conflict with itself" as GRRM put it) but imo it's a great way to look at things categorically. The id and superego must be reconciled for the sake of the ego.

Example: in Titanic, Cal & her mother are the patriarchal/societally proper superego whereas Jack & the poor immigrants represent Rose's id of wanting to be free from high society women's standards. She ends up with neither Cal & co. nor Jack & co., but on her own with a newly refreshed ego that has learned not to repress the id side so much. Jack's whole role was to teach her (ie the spit practice scene) to unrepress her id, but as she demonstrates in the wild Irish party scene, she will always keep some of her high-bred characteristics (like ballet as a party trick).

Anyway, Cathy has to choose between Heathcliff and Edgar. As we learn from her speech which Heathcliff walks out on, she planned that her marriage to Edgar would benefit Heathcliff by allowing her to financially support him. She thought that by marrying Edgar she could have both men. As Nelly sort of tries to tell her, this isn't possible. In marrying Edgar and being a "proper lady" to him, Cathy has symbolically repressed her id; Heathcliff runs away as soon as he hears she makes the choice. By becoming a housewife and then a mother, she dies inside of that house, when all she wanted was to be free on the fields. It is specifically after Heathcliff comes back that she dies because he reminds her of what she's been missing.

Recommendation:

There's a professor named Rodger Wilkie who has a Brontë lecture series from one of his classes available on Youtube — I've seen them all and they're all amazing, 10/10 recommend every single one. In his second Wuthering Heights lecture he talks about the influence of John Milton's Paradise Lost in reference to Heathcliff: (https://youtu.be/WF3DDu2cH3Q?si=yM3mNXaVgQkOqVS3)

[leitereads]

Poor Things, and how God died

“God is dead, and we have killed it”, more than a century and a half later, Poor Things materializes Nietzsche’s concept with such intensity that I have had moments throughout the film where I simply couldn’t help but to watch it open-eyed and with my mouth opened.

Today we talk a lot about women liberation and gender equality, and we see media representing these topics more and more, and yet it’s disappointing to see that such representations don’t go over what we already know: gender inequality is bad, and women should be as free as men are.

Poor Things doesn’t simply tell us that, it shows us that. We follow the life of Bella Baxter, a reanimated corpse whose brain is the one of her unborn child. With her second chance at life, Bella goes through the several states of development, in a self-discovery journey, always slipping away from the grasp of men, who try to claim her as their own, and cage her in their own little cages, designed by their expectations, desires and traditions. Bella breaks away, finding herself throughout the process. Firstly, as she explores her physical/sensory world, and then as she takes in the meaning of her experiences.

We see the many faces of men, their motivations for controlling women, and the ways in which they do so: marriage, sexual intimacy, fatherhood, you name it. And we see how Bella slips away which and every time, by remaining true to herself, and reclaiming what should be hers by default: her Humanity and freedom.

Although the film focuses on freedom and self-expression, there are other underlying themes, such as redemption and the manipulation of Nature. This story’s setting is the Victorian age (by the looks of it the late 19th century), a pivotal time for advancements and a passage to a more modern world. A time that mirrors Bella’s experience in life.

Redemption manifests right at the end of the film, with Alfie reclaiming the body of his dead wife (Victoria, now Bella) as his own, deeming her “territory”. According to the information given by Alfie, Victoria herself had a sadistic sense of humour, and she wasn’t exactly welcomed to her old home by her servants. By being reborn with the pure brain of an infant, Victoria is given a new chance at life, a change granted by “god”, who shapes the world around her, so she can grow up in that Eden that he created for her specifically.

The film culminates with the death of God, Bella having killed it by expanding her Eden and letting in a whole new array of life experiences, determined to help others finding their own Edens, by giving them power over their own mortal flesh. Being a doctor allows her to help others finding their own way, but it also allows her to explore the human being through many different lenses, right to the core of Humanity.

As a Portuguese, I couldn’t help but notice that Bella’s journey started in Lisbon, Portugal, the country that initiated the Discovery Era, an era in which we also experienced what the world had to offer. And instead of taking it in internally and use it to improve ourselves, like Bella did, we forcefully tried to dominate the freedom of others, much like in the fashion of Duncan.

Aside from the poor representation on how to eat pastéis de nata, the story is perfectly weaved, showing us the intricacies of equality and power dynamics in our society.

[agentrouka-blog]

It took me some time to realize but while both Jon and Sansa are romantics at heart, Jon's most basic deepest desire is having a legitimate marriage with a lady, not necessarily love. For Sansa it is having a love like in the songs, not necessarily marriage. They manifest their wishes in various ways:

Jon fantasizes about marrying Val and having a son with her, but trying to have her love is an afterthought to him.

Sansa thinks if she gives Willas children, he might come to love her for herself.

Jon's fantasy about making love under the heart tree is another way to express his longing for a legitimate approved certified marriage.

Sansa thinking she could enjoy being undressed at her wedding for a man she loved by friends they both loved.

Now I am not saying, Jon doesn't want to love or be loved but it comes after marriage in his wish-list, vice versa for Sansa. Because love is much more accessible for Jon than a highborn marriage as he is a bastard. And since Sansa is a highborn lady, love is not really a factor in an arranged marriage she is bound to have some day. God, they complement each other so well! I wish more people realize the beauty of them as a couple.

Hi anon!

I know I have seen these sentiments about their relative accessibility of love or marriage in a meta before.... Ah, here! (I hopped onto a post with a very similar anon question given to @butterflies-dragons in 2021.)

I would amend my thoughts a little in that Jon absolutely does want romantic love within the context of that legitimate marriage. He has explicit romantic fantasies swirling around his head - all tied to Winterfell. He's not fantasizing about parading his legitimate Lady in front of the other lords, or watching her mother his six trueborn heirs, or about her diplomatic refinement (though he really does value those skills!). His romantic fantasy is all about romantic gestures and mutually desired sex. In Winterfell.

He's even less flexible about it than Sansa. Sansa will not give up on the hope of being loved, even if she will bend to the necessity of marrying for duty. She will move the KL, she will move to Highgarden, she will try to charm Harry the Heir, trade her claim and her body, all good, long as she can at least hope to be loved for herself eventually. But it's only a hope, not a precondition.

Jon? Will not budge an inch from where his romantic and marital fantasies are centered. In Winterfell. He is not fantasizing about love with Ygritte, he is fantasizing about love in Winterfell. Legitimate marriage is no temptation for him in an of itself unless it is tied to Winterfell. He's like one of those shape sorter toddler toys, but there's only a Winterfell-shaped hole and nothing else will fit. Probably because it's the place he associates with love and belonging the most. He has no concept of legitimacy unless it's tied to this place, no sense of how to be truly loved for himself outside of this context.

I think it's very important for this reason that when Jon and Sansa fall in love, accept their love, potentially marry, it must be for love alone. Divorced from any claim to Winterfell. For Sansa and for Jon both. They need to be empty-handed so it's clear they are each loved for themselves alone, before the castle can re-enter the picture, to rebuild from Snow at her hands.

[dyemelikeasunset]

So did you two got married? If so congrats, if not congrats anyway your relationship gives me good vibes and joy

Not officially yet, we just decided that like... after 14 years together we were a little tired of calling each other girlfriends lol

((The answer gets a little angsty from here, so feel free to stop reading! I'd put it under a read more but mobile Tumblr is honestly absolute shit I'm bout to throw my phone lol))

EDIT: I"M ADDING THE READ MORE LMAO

We've denied ourselves a lot of official titles because we kept getting pulled apart by life and well, to a degree I'm still a little closeted bc of unaccepting family and Bee's side downplays our relationship a lot even if they accept and love me. We're always being treated less "official" even though everyone knows we'll be together forever so we wanted to start manifesting it. Even if we haven't gotten the paperwork done I've sincerely known she would be my forever girl about a year into the relationship so I decided not to wait on a shitty government to tell me it was true. So yes, we're married.

((And now THIS part of the answer gets spiritual and if that makes you uncomfortable please feel free to stop reading))

I'm Muslim and traditionally a lot of Muslims are more used to arranged-ish marriage and you basically have a bunch of talks with your marriage candidate and decide if they seem reasonable enough to commit to your whole life. A lot of non-Muslims find it inhumane or whatever, but sincerely for me, I understood after meeting Bee that yeah that's completely possible. I made that commitment to her a couple months getting to know her and I made that vow to my God and my religion a long, long time ago. I hope Allah accepted it, but I already made the decision that I would approach my relationship with her the way other straight Muslims do, and quietly dedicate to give the rest of my life to her. On my end and in my heart and soul, we've been married 13 years now