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angel-kyo · 4 months

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Pay it no mind

Part XV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a mention of reader being treated by Shoko and some self-pity, and I guess everyone is ooc here as usual, but thank you for bearing with me.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV

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“Where is [name]?” Yaga asked, eyes noticing your empty seat between Gojo and Ieiri.

It was the first class of the day, and although soon-to-be Principal Yaga did not appreciate your camaraderie with the Gojo Satoru, who in his opinion was a terrible influence in his year, you were not such a corrupted student to just skip his class without notice.

Satoru had his chin on his palm, and his eyes widened slightly when he noticed Suguru was looking between him and Yaga intently as a cue for Satoru to speak. He understood what his friend meant; even if Yaga had asked about you for everyone to hear the question, under normal circumstances, Satoru would have been the one to know of your whereabouts. But this time, he did not, so he sat up straighter as his eyes flickered to Yaga and back to your desk.

Satoru had noticed you were not there when he first entered the classroom that morning, but he had just thought you were running late. He was about to open his mouth to tell Yaga that when…

“I think they were not feeling well this morning.”

It was Shoko’s voice.

Satoru heard Shoko and Yaga briefly speak some more about how you should have gone to the infirmary if you were not feeling well, and Shoko saying something about it being just a common cold and that she would check in on you later.

It made Satoru feel like a bad friend.

He had paid you for that collectible piece he had broken by accident, and unbeknownst to him, you had also returned his money to Haruki; but despite accepting Gojo’s apologies, you and him had not spent much time together in the days that followed, and the previous day, he had not seen you at all, so he could not really tell whether you were sick or not.

Satoru ripped a piece of paper off his notebook and wrote ‘Is [name] sick?’ He then threw it to Shoko.

He saw the girl read the paper and roll her eyes at him.

Well, was does that mean?

He threw another one. ‘Yes, or no?’

Shoko shrugged and went back to focusing on the board, where Yaga was writing something, unaware of the paper war about to unfold behind him.

Satoru threw another one. ‘You have not seen them???’

He swore he could hear Shoko sigh when she read that one and she shook her head no.

Satoru thought they should at least make sure you were okay.

‘Then how do you know they are OK????’

He was waiting for Shoko to respond to that when Suguru tapped his shoulder. “You should really note that down.” He was pointing to Yaga’s writing on the board that say something about the final exam for his class.

Satoru completely missed how Shoko had formed a paper ball out of a full page and was aiming for his head.

He leaned back in his chair just quickly enough to dodge it by the skin of his teeth, but the paper ball that Ieiri had formed had hit Suguru, who was now looking not so kindly at them.

“What was that for?” the dark-haired boy half-shouted half-whispered looking at Shoko and then at Satoru, pressing his hand to his cheek where the ball had hit.

He had reason to be upset. For a sorcerer that was not that specialized in physical combat, Shoko sure had a good throwing arm.

“What is wrong with the three of you?” Yaga had turned around and was frowning at the three students that had become rigid under his gaze.

Seriously, youth these days…

After being scolded for about half an hour on how passing notes during class showed lack of respect for their teacher, the school and the environment, Yaga dismissed the group as he ‘did not have it in him’ to keep lecturing them for the day.

Only then, Suguru passed the ball Shoko had thrown to him to Satoru.

A full page. Only four words.

‘Better go see yourself.’

***

“Good news?” Haruki asked watching you smile at your phone.

You put your phone down and smiled apologetically at him.

“Huh? No, sorry… It’s just Gojo. He was on a… Business trip, but he is back now.”

“A business trip?” he asked.

Shoot.

You should have chosen some different wording.

“Uh… Not exactly. More like…”

Now, what would be a good reason for a normal teacher to be sent away from the school?

“Like a teachers’ retreat or...?”

His curiosity seemed sincere. After all, how many teachers are sent on business trips?

“Yes, that!” you agreed too quickly, somewhat glad he had helped you reinforce your own lie “I was not feeling great, so I could not go,” you added, averting his gaze.

Ikeda had come to visit you after you told him you were a little under the weather. You could not tell him you were taking a day off because the last mission had been especially harsh and despite Shoko’s treatment, you were needing some rest. And of course, you could not tell him Satoru had been away on a mission of his own. That was a world he did not need to know of.

“Well, I can’t imagine that they are much fun anyway, are they?” He looked at your coffee table, where you had mindlessly placed the bag of oranges he had brought for you.

He was a nice guy, really. Sometimes you felt bad telling him all these little white lies and you wondered if he ever picked up on them. After all, as perceptive as he was, he always let you stir the conversation away from your job.

When you were younger, you also had to throw in a few lies here and there to cover why you could not always meet with him or how you had gotten a bad bruise on you arm or a cut on your face. If you could not cover it up with clothes or makeup, some days it was easier to just not see him.

Right, it had been one of Satoru’s many arguments against Ikeda back in the day, that he was a non-sorcerer, so he was not really like you or like him.

“You know he will never get it, right?” Satoru had told you once, watching you silently look for any piece of clothing that could cover a set of bruises on your arms, courtesy of Suguru’s martial arts training.

“He doesn’t need to,” you had told him.

It had seemed right to you back then. The things you and Haruki had in common outweighed those you did not, but the fact that there was a side of you he should not see always bugged you once in a while.

He’s not that skeptical, but would it be okay to tell him about curses?

Maybe you were doing him a favor by not telling him; it was not a pleasant reality, and not many wanted to face it, not even many sorcerers.

A quizzical look was on Haruki’s face when your eyes returned to him, probably because you had gone quiet all of a sudden.

“I…”

You both smiled sheepishly at how you had chosen to speak at the same time.

“Sorry, you go first,” he said.

You shook your head. “No, you go ahead.”

“Okay, then…” You noticed some hesitation on his tone. “I probably have no right to ask, but are you in love with him?”

Oh. Maybe I should have gone first.

Your eyes widened.

What a question…

“I... Well...” your throat felt dry all of a sudden and your eyes landed on the oranges, then on Haruki, and then behind him, on a small, framed picture of you and Gojo when you were younger that was resting on your bookshelf.

There were also couple pictures of you and Shoko, and other loved ones that you did not see much of anymore, but your gaze was fixed on Satoru’s face when you finally said “I… I am. I do love him.”

Your eyes lowered to Ikeda’s form, who was looking at you with his ever-present smile.

“I see. I think understand it. I would say I missed my window again, but…”

Was there ever any? he wondered.

“He doesn’t feel the same though.” The words were out sooner that you could stop them.

Why were you telling him that?

Different possibilities crossed Ikeda’s mind: 1) that either you were assuming Gojo did not feel the same or 2) he truly did not return your feelings and had made it a known fact to you, or 3) Gojo did like you but was still holding back for some reason.

He decided not to say more about the subject for now and just enjoy a warm cup of tea with you.

But before leaving, Haruki turned to you, who were holding the door for him, and asked “Remember what I said that last time we met before leaving for Aomori?”

He was referring to the last time you had met at the coffee shop before he left Tokyo, the day he told you he was leaving. He had told you different things that day, how unexpected his departure was, how frustrated he felt, but you thought you knew the part he was referring to, and the light blush on his cheeks served as confirmation.

You gave him a light nod.

“It still holds true if you would like to give it some thought.”

With that, he left.

***

‘Better go see yourself.’

That is how Satoru ended up at the dorms, knocking on your door.

At first, not a single sound had come from inside, but after he knocked for the third time, he heard your muffled voice.

“I’m okay, Shoko. You can leave.”

“It’s not Shoko,” Satoru responded hoping you would not tell him off again.

There was a brief silence before you said in the same muffled tone “You can also leave, Satoru.”

Now, Satoru knew when to give you space and when to suck it up, and he was positive this time called for the latter, so he knocked again.

When you opened the door, he noticed the tiredness in your eyes.

Someone had a bad night of sleep.

“Did you catch a cold?” was the first thing he asked.

You took in his form, lifting your head a little to have a better look at his face. Sometimes it was funny to think you had been as tall as him when you first met as kids, and he was only becoming taller with every passing year.

“No. I said that to Shoko so she would have something to say to Yaga.”

Satoru just kept looking at you through his sunglasses.

“If that is all…” you started closing the door, but he stopped you by placing his hand on it.

“What was she supposed to say to me then?”

You sighed. In truth, you had not anticipated Satoru worrying that much.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you told him.

Haruki had told you the previous day that he was leaving Tokyo, and what had been his departure gift to you? Telling you that he liked you, that he could even have loved you, but there was no fighting against his father’s will. He was sending him hundreds of miles away into the country to live with his uncle.

“Tell me anyway.” Satoru’s hand found yours and you let him in.

He listened to everything you had to say, both of you a bit unsure at first, but he was a good listener when he wanted to, and you let out everything. You told him that Ikeda was leaving; how it was unfair to him that his father hated him; how, on a more selfish level, you felt it was unfair to you too, even if you had no right to be so affected, but you had not felt like attending class that day.

Satoru did not judge you.

“You can stay in touch with him, you know?” Gojo found no joy in his heart making that suggestion, but he wanted to give you any comfort he could at this time.

“Maybe I’ll just miss the attention he gave me.” A bittersweet smile was on your lips, but Satoru could see the first tears beginning to form in the corner of your eye as you looked at the ceiling of your room.

At some point, you both had laid down on your bed and Satoru was laying on his side so you could both fit. The dorms’ beds were not meant to fit two people after all.

A broken, low laugh came out of you. “Your friend is a sucker for attention. What do you make of that, huh?”

You were looking at Satoru’s clear eyes as he had removed his shades to lie down more comfortably. He wanted nothing more than to wipe away that tear that was running down the side of your face, but he did not move.

It had been years since the last time Gojo had seen you cry, and he had certainly never expected to see the day when you would cry over a boy; he had not expected to feel so conflicted about it either.

He had never liked Ikeda, that much was true, so he should be glad he was exiting the stage, right? However, he could not bear seeing you upset like this.

He remembered the question you had asked him months ago.

“How do you know you like someone romantically?”

It would probably be insensitive of him to ask if you had found out the answer now, and the knot in his chest indicated he might not have an easy time hearing your response if he asked.

“You are not a sucker for attention… I think you just care about him, that’s all,” Satoru said finally.

His voice was too soft, maybe to match your tone, as if he was afraid that speaking any louder would break you.

Your eyes went back to the ceiling above you. “What’s the point of caring too late?”

Unfortunately, Satoru had no answer to that, so he resorted to wiping away your tears.

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Note: I'm sick lol (no, like I actually have a bad cold). Hope that does not reflect too much here, but sorry for any typos, etc.

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XVI

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader #satorugojo #pay it no mind

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inkskinned · 2 years

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i. so 2 days ago, i think i almost got kidnapped.

ii. there's this line in mitski - okay, so i'm a stereotype but - she says i've been big and small. sometimes i think she means physically. and sometimes i think she means like how it feels small to be alone in a grocery store.

iii. i'm babysitting my brother's dog. my dog is much bigger than his; goblin's 70 pounds and comes up to my hip. but his dog (an australian shepherd) - she's tiny. like 30 pounds or something.

iv. i called my sister before i called the cops. it felt like a big move to call the cops. i didn't like doing it, either. i felt like, embarrassed this happened.

v. it was getting dark, right. and the rain had really started in earnest. and we were coming off a trail we'd seen a guy on, deep in the woods. this white unmarked panel van was just sitting there, at the trailhead, lights on, engine on. i had to squeeze past it to get to my car. i kept telling myself - this is fucking stupid to be freaked out by. it's just a guy. it's just a van. it's not a movie. move along.

vi. sometimes i think about those chain emails that used to go around. you know, the ones with "survival tips for women" in them. in the age of the internet, where did all of those go? where is the masterlist of holding your keys in your fist? did anyone print that up and put it on their wall. do they sleep beside it.

vii. the van started to move while i put the dogs in the car. very slowly, he turned and backed up so he was blocking me in. i felt my heart racing. the rain was in my eyes. he opened his front door, just stuck a foot out. my brother's dog immediately freaked out. i had to physically restrain her. he closed his door. i got into the car with the dog, through the passenger side. i locked everything. the van stayed behind me for a little bit. when he finally left, i found him parked at the edge of the road. he waited for me to turn, and then followed me for a few intersections.

iix. i just couldn't stop thinking - this isn't real. this isn't something that happens. you're making this a bigger issue than it needs to be. this is the way it would play out if you were on tv. i didn't want to be that person, you know? jumping at shadows. freaked out about nothing. you know, a hysterical woman.

ix. my friends and i joke over dinner that i would be the first to die in a horror movie. then we go around and assign death warrants - who dies first, who is the serial killer. there are times in my life i have been jokingly folded to fit into the trunk of a car. every time someone picks me up, even in a friendly way, i have the sudden, horrible thought: oh. i couldn't really stop this from happening if things got too far. that feels small and big all-at-once. like breathing in glass particles.

x. i didn't get the license plate. the cops were not helpful. i didn't really expect them to be, but i didn't want anyone else to get hurt, just-in-case something bad would have happened. not that i get to assume something bad would have happened. it feels small and stupid. i feel like an idiot. what if calling the cops causes more hurt than good? maybe calling them was foolish. the first thing i said when they picked up was - uh, so i don't really know if this is a big deal or not but i think something weird just happened.

xi. in the last 48 hours i have gone to work and done my laundry and walked the dogs some more. i didn't even bring it up with my therapist. on the phone with the police officer, she said - you're actually being very calm about this. it is just something that can happen, i guess. i think i'm probably not the only person walking around with something that should-be-big rattling around inside of them. since nothing did happen, i don't really get to be upset. bad things have happened to me. i am statistically speaking extremely lucky.

xii. sometimes i think about all the diary pages that exist. and all the places where people hide the things that are too horrible to look at, even if it's a memory. it feels big-and-small to know that my diary knows the worst of me. it feels big to know someone else probably has the same diary. like - ha! same trauma. how endearing. i told my sister - well this is just part of being femme presenting isn't it.

xiii. on wednesday i saw a bunch of warblers and last night i had a dream about a girl with red hair. that felt big. that felt poetic. it's thursday today. i almost got kidnapped on a tuesday. in between the rest of me, i have no idea where to fit that moment.

poem where everything is true unless it makes you uncomfortable and then of course it's all made up for attention // r.i.d

#whatever this is #poetry #prose #warm up

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smallerdelusions · 3 months

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DEATH (THE REAPER) major change, mortality, legacy (reversed): inertia, anguish

TriStamp Tarot: XI, XII, XIII

"It is uncommon that this card represents physical death, but rather implies an end: often moving from old ways to new ways. The sun rises in the background to show this rebirth. The card depicts either a reaper or a rider on a pale horse, who is shown over prone bodies to show that no one can stop change."

#trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #nicholas d. wolfwood #tarot #trigun tarot #listen its an easy card to guess but it fits him very well #sorry to everyone who follows me for dragons lmao #it will happen again

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reputationbarbie · 10 months

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❝sweetest pie❞

posting on weekends, other joel fics

─⋆♡ summary: Gordon Ramsey has nothing on Joel Miller. The owner and head chef of a Michelin Star-worthy restaurant couldn't have predicted anyone would give him a bad review. But, the baker who hates his food saw a perfect opportunity to bring him down a notch.

─⋆♡ main tropes: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader, Chef!Joel x Baker! Original Character, Chef x Baker, Grumpy x Sunshine, Joel x Black FMC

─⋆♡ series warnings: smut, fluff, angst, 18+ black!writer, language, mentions of death of parents, fighting, alcohol, physical descriptors (brief), rip sarah, characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression.

Faceclaims ෆ Spotify Playlist.

Tracklist:

prelude I II III IV V VI

VII - coming soon VIII IX X XI XII XIII

Singles:

The first date - between III and IV

some of my characters are clearly affected by symptoms of anxiety and/or depression. because i want y'all to be healthy and take care of yourselves while reading, here are some resources

take care of yourselves, plz. xoxo, barbie ⋆˙ᵕ˙

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creatingnikki · 5 months

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things to remember in 2024

i. more quiet time, more silence. more shavasana, more stillness.

ii. keep promises you make to yourself. everyone else can be disregarded — the promises they make, the promises you make to them.

iii. there is no "should do this" or "should be that way" as a universal rule book. your experiences and lessons teach you what are your values, preferences, and takes on life and people. you don't need to convince others of them, you don't even need to most times articulate them to follow them and do as you please.

iv. things that increase your risk of chronic health (mental and physical) issues: sitting, smoking, and situationships. your legs, lungs, and love life deserve much better.

v. 'the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment'. fight the instant gratification, the fomo, the yolo. do the healthy thing for you in the moment, every moment.

vi. go to the salon, the bookstore, the train station, the beach, the bakery more than you go to the bar, the boy's house, and self doubt/loathing.

vii. travel even if you don't have a big budget and cannot do everything you'd want to in that destination because you do now want some travel experiences and stories while you're still in your 20s. make it a priority now, you don't want to feel bitter later.

viii. stop trying to frustrate and confuse yourself so much. you are both the vivacious, warm, kind, person and the somber, detached, pensive person. it's not one betraying the other. it's both you — the sunflower and the black orchid.

ix. ask people of things, it's no virtue to only give and not take. however, don't be so sensitive or shattered if not given or denied. people don't have as much power over your heart as you believe. your heart is happily vacationing on the moon most months of the year away from this worldly chaos. it's your ego that cannot take it. acknowledge the role of your ego, learn to understand it so that you can work with it.

x. do the cringe things. post a hundred reels on Instagram even if you get five likes on each. cringe at that part of you that cringes when you do the things you want instead of cringing at yourself. when you do that you're viewing yourself as a third-party judging yourself and honestly love aren't there thousands out there to do that job already? so then you stick to your job — support yourself no matter how you decide to live your life.

xi. love and romance are not the centre or purpose of your life. you are. the genre of your life is neither rom com nor tragic passionate romance. it's slice of life. love and romance will happen when it happens and will be one part of your life. but all the other parts? they belong to you — to your art and writing, to your joy and exploration of yourself and this world, to your family and friends, to food and cats, to travel and music, to peace and sleep. live a full life.

xii. set processes for your routine that streamline everything and make it easy. your morning work commute, your night skincare, going over your monthly budget, saving and investing for your goals, how you organize your life and time. and when problems show up, simply problem solve. don't take it personally, try to not feel dejected and doomed. and for the times you do, don't try to fix anything. take a shower, eat a good meal, go to sleep.

xiii. when setting boundaries, and when those boundaries are crossed, you don't have to break your head trying to get the other person to change their behaviour. instead, you should change your behaviour. if they cross a boundary, then that should be your cue for a behaviour change, a decision. don't be at the mercy of another's understanding and compassion to have your life be aligned to your needs and values.

xiv. three steps taken > three hundred steps planned. pausing for three months > abandoning for three years. three people you love and who love you > thirty people who are fluff. idk why three is the magic number here but you get the gist. moderation, my love, and balance. regulation and removal.

xv. cut out the noise. you'll figure out more of what that means as you begin to do it. it's social media, yes. it's societal conditioning, yes. but it's also the things your loved ones say despite having the best intentions at heart for you. it's the things the younger you believed and thought and wrote. it's the friends and lovers who come and go and don't really know you well. it's all of it. you have to cut out the noise. build noise-cancelling headphones for your soul over time and carry them with you everywhere.

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thiniceofeternalyouth · 1 year

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MISLEADIN' ME [series masterlist]

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Minors do not interact.

eh, sorry for any grammar or punctuation mistakes, eng isnt my first language

Summary:

«Don't take me for an idiot. Maybe I’m a fool, but I’m not stupid. I knew about my position from the very beginning”.

From the moment you were born there was no right or wrong way for you. There was only a way forward. The truth is that no one warned you that if you blindly follow a person you can even get off the straight road.

A story about pure love that began with betrayal.

Genre: HEAVY ANGST, fluff, slow burn, adventure, cosmology, sci-fi, mutual pinning, smut

Warnings&tags: ooc, sorcerer!reader, badass!reader, violence, gore, physical abuse, manipulation, mentions of weapons usage, blood, smoking, non-con (not Gojo towards to reader), explicit smut, mentions of psychopathy, family drama, cursing, murders, changing an entity, moral gray, psychological abuse, minor original characters (more to be added).

Please, be aware.

IMPORTANT WARNING:

Canon universe. Non-canon events. Almost every arc of the manga has been altered through reader intervention.

Fans who are faithful to the original story are not recommended to read this work.

The original story and all characters of JJK belong to Gege Akutami.

This work was not created for commercial purposes. Just for fun. Please, enjoy!

ONGOING.

I. WORLDS COLLIDE: A FOOL AND A THIEF

II. WORLDS COLLIDE: A WALK TROUGH THE FOURTH DIMENSION

III. WORLDS COLLIDE: HATARAT

IV. WORLDS COLLIDE: VOIDRUNNERS

V. WORLDS INTERTWINE: SHADOW BEHOLDER

VI. WORLDS INTERTWINE: WISH UPON A PAPER PLANE [1 pt.]

VII. WORLDS INTERTWINE: WISH UPON A PAPER PLANE [2 pt.]

VIII. WORLDS INTERTWINE: COLD WASTELAND

XI. WORLDS INTERTWINE: ROAD HOME

X. WORLDS INTERTWINE: MY BEST FRIEND

XI. WORLDS INTERTWINE: A RUNAWAY AND A DEADMAN

XII. WORLDS INTERTWINE: THIEF OF THREE DESTINIES

XIII. WORLD'S DESTRUCTION: tba

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ichijager13 · 1 year

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Teach Me How to Be Loved

Pairing : Eren Jäger x reader, Reiner Braun x Reader (past relationship), Jean Kristein x Reader (past relationship)

Characters: Eren Jäger, Annie Leonhart, Pieck Finger, Jean Kristien, Reiner Braun, Carla Jager, Sophie Jäger

Tags: Unhealthy copping mechanism, unhealthy relationships, childhood trauma, physical and verbal abuse, self-esteem and trust issues, domestic violence, implied/ referenced cheating and a touch of sweet, lovable and non fuckboy Eren Jäger, German-speaking Eren.

This work is brought to you by Lana Del Rey’s songs

I found this illustration on pinterest, credits to the artist

Updates on mondays and thursdays

Playlists : Reader’s POV, Eren’s POV

Summary

“I explained my hurt and still got hurt so I learned to stop talking”

They say you can’t break a broken heart, but how many times should a heart be broken to become immune?

Believing she had her share of suffering; reader decides never to expect a tomorrow from her one-night stands and to close her heart for good. everything goes according to her plans until one day, she wakes up in his bed.

His name is Eren Jäger and he is more than determined to pierce the hard rock ice covering her heart.

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted something, it was because of this fic. I came up with the idea over a month ago and started a draft but was too afraid to engage.

This work contains a detailed description of physical and verbal abuse, please read the tags.

Also, if you are a victim of any form of domestic abuse, please seek help. I know it’s not easy but it’s better than being stuck in this endless vicious cycle.

I also would like to thank you for all the support you give me and for the reactions. I hope you like this story because it means a lot to me. Stay safe please.

List of chapters

Chapter I Cold heart and hands and aptitude

Chapter II Cause I’ve got monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off

Chapter III Your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head

Chapter IV For a little piece of haven

Chapter V I've got much more than that, like my memories, I don't need that

Chapter VI I’m not looking for true love tonight

Chapter VII Fuck yeah, give it to me, this is Heaven, what I truly want

Chapter VIII Are you gonna tell me now? Are you gonna tell me later?

Chapter IX Don't cry about him, don't cry about him

Chapter X Cause there's a man that's in my past… there's a man that's still right here… he's real enough to touch in my darkest nights

Chapter XI What’s the worst, that could happen to a girl who’s already hurt?

Chapter XII When I'm in your arms, feel like I have it all

Chapter XIII Heaven is a place on earth with you

Chapter XIV I've got a burning desire for you

Chapter XV Who am I to sympathize when no one gave a damn

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

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not allowed, interlude | breathe

drabble: ‘not allowed’ series (myg+jjk), idol!BTS, based on real time pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of jungkook x reader

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; all the serious feels heart eyes and super soft and so suga sweet you might get diabetes, sorry; occurs around the time of Japan dates of Yoongi's solo tour (when he's coughing and still giving the best performances of his life)

Min Yoongi, the man outside of SUGA and Agust D, calls you to tell you he's fed up and wants to break company rules. But mostly he calls you to confess and make you fall even more in love with him.

You could see him in the phone screen. Busying about in his hotel room, getting unready, not saying anything because all the basic pleasantries had already been said and, besides, Min Yoongi didn’t call you to tell you shit he could hear from anyone else. You heard him pour himself some water and sigh tiredly, the elation of the brightest smiles and shining eyes finally slipping away when all the adrenaline was now being processed and broken down.

Yoongi was glancing at your image on his phone every chance he got.

You didn’t say anything.

Just kept typing away until he was done and ready to say what he wanted to say. Occasionally, you would tilt your head and your eyes would connect at the exact same time, through miles and pixels and the magic of technology, and you could see the small smile touch Yoongi’s lips, just for a moment, and that expression would be mirrored by you, a moment as concrete as it was fleeting. Even after hours of pushing himself to the physical brink, Min Yoongi still looked perfect.

Samsung made good cameras.

Also, you were biased, so there was that.

It wasn’t like Yoongi to ask for a video call though. You didn’t ask for them either – you could simply do a quick search on Twitter and see how he was doing on show days. Everywhere he went, if it was public, you could see him, so there was no need to bug him about seeing his face. And Yoongi was used to closing his eyes and only seeing you that way when you couldn’t physically be there. That was usually enough.

Had to be enough.

Already not allowed to have you number, be your boyfriend, and all that shit.

You halted your typing and rested your chin in your palms as Yoongi sat down on the couch, puffing out air as if he was decades older than he was.

There was reasons Yoongi always booked himself so full when he was working, after all. You were the same way.

Better to be busy than to feel alone.

He looked up at you.

Pushed back his long, damp, black hair that was definitely slick with dried sweat and half a can of hairspray, but you weren’t there to scold him and drag him to the shower. All the hard work of the makeup artist had been sweat off or splashed off, not that it mattered when Yoongi had such a good dermatologist. You smiled at him and there was a flicker in those dark brown orbs, noting your expression. He could read you like you could read him.

The warm lamplight made his cheekbones glow.

Yoongi sat back and sipped his water.

You waited, patiently impatient.

“How’s Jungkook?”

…

Right. Caring about anyone else before himself. A signature Min SUGA move. “He’s working hard. Got tired of loafing around,” you hummed, bouncing the Shooky pancake plush keyring on your desk offscreen. “We all knew he would eventually suddenly go running off doing whatever he wants, when he wants. He’s in his own world.”

Yoongi coughed into the sleeve of his oversized grey t-shirt. “And we’re just living in it.”

“You have to admit, it’s nice here.”

He was chewing on his lip now. Breathing deeply. His voice had a rougher rasp to it due to the cough. Pretty awesome if it wasn’t for the visible wear of the edges of his demeanor. You could see the slump in his shoulders, the darkness under his eyes. His right hand wandered and rubbed up his left collarbone, up to his shoulder, and Yoongi was not quite looking at you but you could tell that he was seeing you just fine.

You didn’t need to tell him to take care of himself. He had plenty of staff that loved him enough to scold and care for him. He was still doing the concerts because he felt he could push though and because he didn’t want to disappoint ARMY that had paid their hard-earned money and blocked out their precious time to see him. He didn’t call you to be nagged at. He could call his parents for that. Still, you almost wondered, maybe, if that was what he wanted right now. Maybe he just wanted a moment of typical ordinary in his very special life.

He placed his glass on the table and looked into the image of you.

And then at the lens.

“Sometimes I forget,” Yoongi whispered softly.

You removed your palms from your chin, staring into dark brown orbs that held an ocean of emotions along with secrets he only told you. In these hotel lights, those eyes still held points of light, dancing ARMY bombs gleaming in the dark. Fresh and old memories.

“It’s only the stage, me, and the fans, and I forget everything else.”

There was a ruefulness in his honesty.

“I forget I’m tired,” he breathed out, elbows on his knees, looking down and away from the screen but you knew he was telling you because he wanted to. There was no one else he wanted to know things like this. “I forget I’ve got this annoying cough. I forget the worries I had before stepping on stage. I forget that I come back to an empty hotel room and I forget that I’m seriously considering breaking company rules, even if the only reason is so that I don’t have to turn on the lights myself.”

The way Yoongi looked into the lens, and you found yourself biting your lower lip.

A small sting of pain rather than saying anything before he was done, doing everything you could to listen because he wanted you to listen.

“I forget everything else and I think, I need to do everything I can to be here again.”

You knew your eyes were telling him so.

You can.

And his eyes were telling you something else.

I’m sorry I love this so much.

You exhaled and it came out in a light chuckle. Stupid. That’s why I love you. You shook your head, small smile ghosting your lips.

"The place you hold in their world is more special than you or I can even imagine. ARMY saved you as much as you saved them."

The shadows of black strands framed his dark eyes. You watched him and he watched you, saying the things he always said with his gaze alone. BTS couldn’t exist without ARMY. He wasn’t who he was without BTS. He couldn’t stand on stage confidently without ARMY and without BTS. He could find the strength to walk forward because of them. No questions asked.

“But, when I look at you,” Yoongi murmured, staring at your image on his screen. “It’s like I can breathe again.”

Fuck.

You hated it when Yoongi did stuff like that because you could feel the heat rush to your cheeks and no good reply was coming to mind.

His expression softened.

“I’m doing everything I can to prepare.”

Yeah, I know, you wanted to say, but Yoongi kept gazing at you like that, with faded lights in those dark brown orbs. It must have been the angle or the lamps in the hotel room or something like that. He coughed slightly, hiding behind the back of his hand. The side of his mouth ticked upwards and you knew he read your reply from your expression.

“I just wanted to see your face so I could finally breathe.”

There was a tightness in your throat and it was not connected to any physical ailment.

“Don’t make me love you only to miss you,” you managed to get out.

The smirk was playful. His usual self.

“Sorry.”

Some (n)-ice guy.

Your eyes followed the length of his black hair, the angle of his jaw, and you wanted to hold him in your hands. Maybe shake some sense into him until he played dead. Maybe press your forehead to his and not say anything at all. Anything but… Yoongi could tell you now when he cried. He admitted it to remind everyone he was human.

You breathed in and you saw the tension in his features lessen as you do so.

“I can’t believe you,” you scoffed.

The tip of his pink tongue darted across his lower lip as he smirked, tucking into his cheek. “Hm?”

You still couldn’t tell Yoongi when you cried.

You also knew he appreciated it. Yes, it was selfish of him and selfish of you, and maybe that would change one day, but for now there were moments like this, despite the miles and pixels and with the magic of technology, and you, too, could finally breathe, really breathe, a feeling that was past physical constraints.

Nothing like this.

“A soul drawing a breath is different,” you sighed, placing your chin in your palms again, fanning your fingers over your cheeks, seeing him on your phone. Right beside you, always there.

Yoongi smiled softly, the way he always did but people always forgot.

“I’m lucky to have you.”

You flicked you head as if to say, I know, and he laughed, the action mixing with coughs, but it was a fun intermission, not a worrying one.

“Ah, can you ghostwrite my songs?” he snickered. “A ghost taking my place so I can zone out.”

You stuck out your tongue. “You made those promises, Min Yoongi. You. Just do it.”

He let out an aggravated sigh that sounded a bit too much like Jeon Jungkook.

Hm.

Might explain the rise of duck-face photos.

I just wanted to see your face so I could finally breathe.

You thinned your mouth into a line, puffing your cheeks.

Eyes shifting and found his at the same moment his head lowered from flinging it back to be dramatically childish. You smiled and he mirrored you and it was so stupid that it was so simple but it was so simple that it was so stupidly right. You act like I don’t know, Yoongi. Like I didn’t watch you from fearing the stage to loving it. Like I don’t want you to love it with your whole heart. Isn’t anything worth doing worth your whole heart, my love?

He said your name, only that, and it meant a million things.

There was more than one way to say I love you.

You said his name back to him, in the same tone, and he knew.

Min Yoongi, I would give up on loving you if it meant that you would stay this happy on stage with BTS and ARMY for the rest of your life.

He hummed thoughtfully, shrugging. “Should I break company rules and fly you over here using the company card?”

You laughed. “Just so I can turn on the lights before you get back to the hotel? Will you list me as most valuable light master?”

“Can’t list you as most valuable dick sucker or they would get quite mad.”

It was not going to happen but you found Yoongi said these kinds of things more often lately. Maybe you and him were now at that stage where you could joke about it freely without feeling any pressure. Maybe he was getting older and noticed how fast time was moving. Maybe he had no more fucks to give.

Probably the latter.

“You know it’s not that impossible for us to meet, right? Since you’re on this side of the world again.”

Yoongi turned his head and half-frowned, carelessly ruffling up the back of his hair with one hand. Casually sexy with his unintentional intentional cough and raspy reply.

“Yeah, but I feel like causing trouble.”

That was your Min Yoongi, all right.

drabble. 'seven' days a week | jjk

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts drabble #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook x you

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oceanlipgloss · 5 months

Text

26.1.2024

—nsfw + chapter 5 spoilers

Valefor's H-scene it is! The CG in the update announcement looked preeetty promising, so let's see what lies behind the door it

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ´ˎ˗

intro:...no

update I: *inhales* right...here's the deal. He's very happy and turned on that she's comparing him to Mammon, but I'll be honest and say that I don't like what she's saying or how she's going about this at all. He likes it, but that doesn't make her approach okay—to compare two individuals in a manner that makes it seem as though one of them is a copy of the other (and in turn isn't being recognised as their own person). Gusion deserves someone smarter than MC, yo But from an objective point of view, WHB is a lot about logic twisted backwards, so I can sure as hell definitely enjoy and respect how the concept is being maintained because that's how it's supposed to be: adopt a concept, stick to it till the end

update II: I am sorry, Bimet. My condolences. Time to collect some condolence money from you Kinda hot how Valefor just replies with "I know" aka code for "I want this to be risky and I'd like it if I could scrape your nerves" tho go for it, boy

update III: ughhh yes I like how they're in sync

update IV: the language in this H-scene is stronger—more direct and explicit than it was in earlier scenes cock oooo PB, have ur writers been reading fanfics? :D I don't see hot object anywhere I will never let them live that down

update V: not bad, Valefor, not bad at all. I love how he's intent on wringing her nerves lmao

update VI: "shaft" lol they've definitely been reading fanfics I haven't seen this word in forever. Then again, I just write fanfics and barely read any, so...yup, the word is probably still used but I'm not there to see it

update VII: YEAHHH NOW FLAG IT, TUMBLR🖕🏼I'm still salty about how I wasn't able to post Belial's CG in his H-scene reaction post

update VIII: nice move, monsieur

update IX: ...how is he going to cum STAMINA AND PAST H-SCENES SAY THEY COULDN'T

update X: GRAAAAA HOTTT IT'S THE HORN AGAIN AND IT'S TRICKLING DOWN HER HEAD THIS TIME also, PP FINALLY GOT RIGHTS! PP IS 'HOT OBJECT' NO LONGER, REJOICE! But I am once again asking: HOW. DID. HE. CUM? And why wasn't anyone other than him and Bimet able to cum/orgasm? Is it a blessing superpower God bestowed upon Tartaros men only? Is that it? I demand need answers pls

update XI: sort of appreciate the semi-angsty injection at the end "although that would be very rare" that's what he said

update XII: probably fiddling with them nip nops anatomically speaking, referencing some laws of physics

#whb #whb valefor #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #what in hell is bad diaries

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notyour-valentine · 1 year

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A Fair Exchange ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader Masterlist

[Navigation] [Moonboard Masterlist] [House of the Dragon Masterlist]

Summary: History has come to accept that there would always be more questions than answers about that fateful night in Storm's End when Prince Aemond demanded the eye of the Prince Lucerys in payment of his own in the presence of the boy's sister. 'tis undeniable though that what passed in that hall, started the avalanche of happenstance which shaped the Seven Kingdoms as they are today

Warnings: This is an 18+ series containing physical and sexual violence, death, mutilation, and eventually smut. There will also be direct spoilers for S1 of HOTD and potential hints to the dance as the story continues

Part I ~ Part II ~ Part III ~ Part IV ~ Part V ~ Part VI ~ Part VII ~ Part VIII ~ Part IX ~ Part X ~ Part XI ~ Part XII ~ Part XIII ~ Part XIV ~ Part XV ~ Part XVI ~ Part XVII ~ Part XVIII ~ Part XIX ~ Part XX ~ Part XXI ~ Part XXII ~ Part XXIII ~ Part XXIV ~ Part XXV ~ Part XXVI ~ Part XXVII ~ Part XXVIII ~ Part XXIX ~ Part XXX ~ Part XXXI ~ Part XXXII ~ Part XXXIII ~ Part XXXIV ~ Part XXXV ~ Part XXXVI ~ Part XXXVII ~ Part XXXVIII ~ Part XXXIX ~ Part XL ~ Part XLI ~ Part XLII ~ Part XLIII ~ Part XLIV ~ Part XLV

Continued in Ao3 - you can find it here

Picture of Aemond was found on Pinterest. I tracked it back to Elizabeth Pyre

Also, please check out this incredible artwork by @endlessartpumpkin showing our Princess! The details are absolutely incredible and they have truly captured the essence of her character!

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raccoonfallsharder · 7 months

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Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

masterlist

18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | COMPLETE | word count: 235,940.

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies).

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon back to main masterlist.

so many amazing sweet wonderful readers have drawn fanart of this fic??? ♡♡♡♡♡ jolie is written without much physical description so you can imagine whatever you want but if you'd like to see how i and others imagine her, i've linked them below. thank you for being the absolute sweetest.

jolie's painting of rocket by @hibataao3 makes me cry every time i look at it

very first portrait of jolie by @raccoonmybeloved ~ so fucking cute i died

sims of jo by @evolvingchaoswitch ~ particularly love her paint-spattered outfit

an absolutely drool-worthy nsfw of rocket & jolie by @lazarel-3000 that permanently has altered my brain chemistry and lives in my mind forever ♡♡♡

adorable jolie sketches by @moonnpiie that truly capture what i mean when i describe jo as having “everywhere-hair.” plus her lil art-glove! (and a really cute rocket)

the cutest jo by @frostedwitch in her chapter xxvii sweatshirt. she is so cute with such shiny eyes and cute freckles and i love her so so so much! ♡♡♡

this shiny-haired jo by @miinsie! i love her hair so much in this one - it almost looks iridescent. i swoon. thank you for taking the time to read and to share this lovely interpretation of jolie with me!

and here are my jolie character concepts (complete full-color illo & rough doodles) and an illustration of one of my fave scenes from window ♡

✧･ﾟ:*collects Chapters I-XXVII (below the cut) & a holiday special && a silly epilogue

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be .in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. * in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI. I Very Still. ❤︎❤︎ in which our heroes get fucked. In the good way, this time. Finally.

Chapter XXII. Got There Worse. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket does not say "I love you."

Chapter XXIII. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Table. ❤︎ in which the galaxy just keeps spinning.

Chapter XXIV. Space Would Be Better. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket ~ discreetly ~ claims the title of boyfriend.

Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. in which both of our heroes learn a little about themselves. ❤︎

Chapter XXVI. Other Side of the Window. in which old friends are reunited. ❤︎

Chapter XXV. The Most Beautiful Thing in My House. in which our heroes finally get what they deserve.❤︎

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ a holiday special *

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short, silly fluff.

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

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verona2314 · 9 days

Text

Judgment of the Damned (translation) Chapter 17

Link Chapter 16

Summary:

In the realm of Limbo, where souls deemed too good for Hell but not virtuous enough for Heaven reside, Victoria finds herself thrust into an unprecedented mission. When a notorious sinner, Sir Pentious, achieves redemption and ascends to Heaven, it sends shockwaves through all realms. Tasked with unraveling this mystery, Victoria, a minor judge of souls, is sent to the infamous Hazbin Hotel in Hell. For the first time, an emissary from Limbo steps foot into the fiery depths, tasked with observing and judging the denizens of Hell for their potential for redemption. As Victoria navigates this unfamiliar territory, she captures the unrequired attention of the enigmatic Radio Demon, Alastor. Amidst the chaos of demonic antics and the pursuit of understanding redemption, Victoria must confront her own beliefs and judgments. As she delves deeper into the secrets of the Hazbin Hotel, Victoria uncovers hidden truths about sinners, redemption, and the ultimate fate of souls caught between damnation and salvation. With each soul she encounters, Victoria's journey becomes not only a quest for answers but a personal voyage of self-discovery in the heart of darkness.

Chapter 17: Confrontation

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you very much for reading and following this story. What has been your favorite chapter, scene, or dialogue?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry LeMat, 1922. New Orleans.

That scent was familiar to him, but no less unpleasant for it. The sting it caused in his nose was habitual, but the grimaces of disgust no longer managed to distort his face, and, over the years, he had learned to contain the gag reflex. The buzzing of the flies no longer bothered him; it even seemed somewhat reassuring in the macabre scene.

Swinging monotonously from one of the trees in the swamp was a body in a considerable state of decomposition. It struck LeMat as curious that it still had quite a bit of skin considering the number of animals present in the area.

"Do you think it's suicide?" Sallow questioned him as he covered his face with a handkerchief.

"It's too early to tell. Besides, if it's Bertin, I doubt it very much," LeMat responded, furrowing his brow as he tried to spot a wallet among the unfortunate's dirty clothes. For a moment, he diverted his eyes to his new partner. Sallow was a young man of barely 23, in excellent physical shape and with great energy. He was easygoing and very friendly, unlike LeMat, who was known for being serious and calm. Despite being only 35 years old, many called him the old man because of the gray aura he seemed to emanate. Detective Sallow had black hair and pale white skin. His green eyes made him stand out even more. There was no doubt he had a memorable face. In contrast, LeMat had a fairly common appearance. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, and good but not comparable physical condition to his partner's youthfulness. The experienced detective truly couldn't understand what Sallow was doing there, trying not to vomit over a corpse, when he could be trying his luck as an actor.

"Why do you say that?" Sallow asked, trying to disguise a gag when LeMat used the tip of a pen to move what was left of the jacket away from the body, still trying his luck to find a wallet.

"Because that daddy's boy has too big an ego to commit suicide. He loves himself too much. Also, look, there are also traces of rope on his wrists. That already makes you question things."

Sallow merely nodded. LeMat felt a slight tingling in his back. There was something about this scene that didn't convince him. The ropes on the wrists, the absence of the wallet, the presence of skin even though the body was definitely not fresh. His eyes focused on those patches where the dermis was damaged, possibly by scavenger bites. LeMat couldn't understand why they caught his attention so much.

"The rest of the team has arrived," Sallow informed him.

"Good. Have them take photos of the scene, look for bullet casings, fingerprints, and carefully bring down the body," LeMat replied with his usual calm as he moved away from the body. He felt the need to light a cigarette again until he remembered the scolding he would receive from his wife at home upon smelling tobacco on his clothes. He struggled internally for a moment. The vice had won. He was about to take out the lighter when his companion interrupted him again.

"Look, your dear friend has arrived," Sallow said, pointing with his chin in the distance. LeMat immediately recognized the figure and couldn't help but roll his eyes. That boy again lurking around his scene. Didn't he have anything better to do than look for news? No, of course not. That was his source of income. Human morbidness. LeMat walked towards the boy, with a straight posture, always maintaining his calm.

"And here I was, just about to celebrate your absence," he greeted with a hint of irony. The boy simply smiled. He always smiled.

"Detective LeMat! I'm sorry to disappoint you with my presence, but the rumor of a new discovery reached my ears," the young man replied.

"As always, your anonymous source surprises me. Will you ever tell me who it is? I'm sure it must be some infiltrator," the detective replied, finally lighting his cigarette.

"I don't think your wife will appreciate you still smoking," the boy pointed out mockingly.

"Don't get involved in my affairs, Alastor," the detective warned.

"It was just a friendly piece of advice disguised as an observation. Isn't she expecting a child?" the radio broadcaster continued. "I imagine your wife must be sensitive to such… intense smells."

LeMat couldn't help but give an ironic smile. "And what would you know about marriage or pregnancy? You're just a kid. Don't think you're so wise at only 24 years old. Ugh, whatever. Just take what you need for your radio show and go."

The boy looked at him a little surprised before tilting his head "Are you really going to let me... gather information?"

LeMat simply shrugged as he took a deep drag on the cigarette "I don't like you meddling in my scene. But you have to make a living somehow. I heard your mother's health is delicate but that your radio show has been gaining popularity, and your situation has improved because of it. Look, Alastor. I don't wish you ill. But be careful. One of these days you're going to get into serious trouble, and I won't save your ass."

LeMat turned on his heels and headed to his car. He could only hope the team would take the photos and carry out the other diligences. He watched as Alastor surveyed the scene without showing a hint of disgust. LeMat couldn't help but think that perhaps the boy should have become a detective, but it was still not a profession he recommended. On the other hand, he was glad that Alastor's show was gaining fame. He felt a bit of sympathy for the radiohost, as he had lost his father at the young age of 18. A supposed hunting accident.

"LeMat! They found a ring in the victim's pocket," Sallow shouted in the distance. "It matches Bertin's."

Henry LeMat simply nodded. Finally, someone had had the balls to give that son of a bitch what he deserved. Then, right at that moment, the detective felt that strange sensation in his back again and thought again of the wounds on the skin... scavenger bites in general are irregular... So why did some seem smooth as if produced by something... sharp? He furrowed his brow. For some reason, those marks seemed familiar to him. He would have to check the photographs of past cases, but what it implied to find that same pattern made his stomach turn "Shit."

Victoria

Rosie's basement was spacious, with a light wooden floor, well-lit, and had a small area with two pairs of armchairs and a round table. It was likely that the Overlord also used this place as a meeting area for more private or serious business. Of all the places she could have been locked in, this one was quite pleasant… except for the company she had at the moment. The silence was oppressive, loaded with a palpable tension that Victoria could feel even at her fingertips.

Alastor was sitting across from her in one of the small seats with his arms crossed, in absolute silence. She could sense that he was annoyed with the situation, which was understandable, but in her opinion, it wasn't worth getting so irritated over. To distract herself, Victoria diverted her gaze to the replicas of paintings hanging on the wall. She recognized some of the most famous works of art history, reproduced with surprising precision. It was a detail that revealed Rosie's fine sensitivity.

"So, judge. Your week has been quite busy, hasn’t it?" said Alastor with a neutral expression.

Victoria turned her eyes to the radio demon, a bit surprised that he wanted to converse. She hadn’t had time to interact with him since the interview. The judge recalled the sensation of the Overlord’s hands on her shoulders while he spoke to her with unsettling sincerity. She decided to push the thought out of her mind before responding kindly.

"In part, yes," she replied."Thanks to your idea for the interview, I’ve been able to learn fascinating stories from various inhabitants of hell. For example, a sinner told me how he ended up here for a crime he claims he didn’t commit. He was abandoned to his fate at sixteen and fell into drugs. By nineteen, he was already condemned to death. Undoubtedly, child protection laws have progressed a lot in recent years."

"Oh, dear. Poor innocent soul," responded the radio demon sarcastically while crossing one leg over the other, making no attempt to hide his disdain.

"I’m not saying he’s innocent, Alastor," Victoria replied serenely, "nor that he doesn’t deserve to be here. One can sympathize with someone’s story, but that doesn’t stop me from being rigorous. His past and bad experiences will never justify him killing someone in a robbery. He is responsible for his actions. And in the end, he’s still a person. I’m not here to judge him for those acts; I’m here to determine if there are possibilities for redemption."

Victoria thought about the young man for a moment. He had been one of the many sinners who approached her after the interview to ask more about redemption. Some lost interest when they learned she couldn’t confirm or deny its existence, but others wanted to continue the conversation. Among them was that young man. Perhaps that was a positive sign, wasn’t it?

After that first wave of interested sinners, invitations soon followed. It was no surprise that several influential figures in hell wanted to forge some kind of connection with her. Victoria wasn’t offended by it, as it allowed her to delve into their world and, subtly, make them talk about themselves. Patiently, she unraveled the depths of their souls to, little by little, formulate more intimate questions and, hopefully, understand them better. Most of them were people who had made wrong choices. There were also plenty who simply had no interest in other people’s feelings or the pain they could cause. The minority, however, could be considered truly evil. Victoria knew what true evil looked like, as she had faced it head-on in her past.

"Of course, I suppose I forgot that you’re here to judge the already condemned monsters," said Alastor with a mocking laugh as he shrugged.

"I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of a 'monster'," Victoria responded with a thoughtful expression as she rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. "Sometimes, I think society labels them as such because it’s uncomfortable to think that someone capable of committing such vile and despicable acts is an ordinary human. Stripping them of their humanity makes them different from the average person and hides the fact that they are still members of the human species who walk normally, breathe the same air, were born like everyone else, and also cannot escape inevitable death. However, I can also understand it. It’s shocking to look into a person’s eyes and see absolute evil."

"Ah, humanity," said Alastor lightly, "always seeking ways to evade the uncomfortable, right? Well, it’s not very hard to understand, judge. No one wants to acknowledge that, at the end of the day, all humans are capable of doing evil under the right circumstances. Everyone likes to pretend they’re better than the rest, but the reality is, with the right media involvement, any of us can end up being called…monsters. Judged by public opinion before a process has even begun. But evasion is so pleasant and simple. That’s why you shouldn’t trust anyone, dear," he concluded with a hint of cynicism.

Victoria reflected on Alastor’s words. His logic was twisted, but it wasn’t devoid of some truth. Humanity was capable of great acts of kindness but also of unimaginable cruelty. The line separating the "good" from the "bad" was often blurry and largely depended on each individual’s perspective. But in the end, a crime is a crime.

"I understand your point. But assuming we all have an evil nature is simplistic. What makes us good is not the absolute absence of evil, but choosing good despite the circumstances. Though I agree that sometimes the notion of good is complex, and in certain cases, drastic measures must be taken that will be poorly judged…Believe me, I understand that," Victoria responded, finishing almost in a whisper. Her mind automatically went to that turning point and the emotions related to that moment. Despite the consequences, to this day she believed her decision had been the right one, the only way out. Many would think that the sacrifice she had to make was immeasurable. Even absurd. Drastic.

Victoria's gaze met Alastor's, and for an instant, it seemed as if a spark of understanding shone in his eyes. But the demon's expression quickly hardened, and an uncomfortable silence once again took over the basement. Victoria decided to get up from her seat to contemplate the paintings more closely. She walked slowly along the wall, feeling Alastor's gaze on her, but the radio demon did not speak. Victoria pondered breaking the silence when her eyes fixed on a particular painting. Her steps stopped abruptly, and her eyes focused on the work in front of her.

The dark theme made her hold her breath. The painting focused on the cruel and gruesome act, unlike Rubens' version. The range of whites and blacks applied in thick, barely diluted ochre patches contrasted drastically with the white and red of the victim. The blood dripping from the protagonist's fingers spoke of the excessive strength of his grip, penetrating his victim. The play of light and shadow added intensity. But the most mesmerizing aspect was the distorted gaze of the main actor in the painting.

Victoria was so absorbed that she didn't notice Alastor's presence, who had risen from his seat to join her in contemplation. Only when he was beside her did she notice.

"Art lover?" asked the radio demon.

"You could say so. Goya has always managed to capture my attention. But this particular painting is... impactful," she replied, pointing to the painting. "Saturn Devouring His Son."

"It seems you have a penchant for the macabre. The god Cronus tearing apart and devouring one of his children doesn’t seem noble, unlike your ideals, dear judge."

"It's not about that, Alastor," Victoria responded, looking at him intently before returning her attention to the artwork. "It's Cronus's eyes. That terrifying gaze of madness, chewing a nearly deformed mass, pierced by his own fingers. His son. There's no emptiness in that gaze, no absence of feelings. He is as terrified as we, the spectators, are. One could even feel the shame that invades him for his own aggression. Anxiety, panic, desperation, and terror. It's as if he understands his own macabre nature, but his voracious appetite, that longing for power, prevents him from stopping. It’s a beautiful work."

"Beautiful?" questioned the radio demon, incredulous. "Dear, I'm surprised that you, of all people, see beauty in this scene."

"Goya painted this during a period of great personal anguish. He was suffering from severe health problems, his political influence had diminished, and the socio-political context of the time left him with a pessimistic view of the future. This work doesn’t tell a story but shows a state of mind. In other words, Goya had the courage to bare his emotions and expose them to the world," Victoria explained, directing her full attention to Alastor, whose eyes didn’t stray from hers, as if he was completely absorbed in her words. "I believe the individuality of each being is irreplaceable. It's authentic. The authenticity of each one of us can never be replaced, and that’s why it’s unique and, therefore, something beautiful. However, exposing that authenticity requires being willing to show our vulnerability, to bare our soul, and that demands a lot of courage. Goya did that; he was willing to show his authenticity to the world through this work, and that’s why it’s beautiful."

"Authenticity, you say. A noble concept, without a doubt. But in this imperfect world, authenticity can be a double-edged sword," responded Alastor, taking a step towards her, leaning slightly in her direction. Victoria could smell the earthy scent emanating from his clothes. It reminded her of a forest soaked after incessant rains. "It can be liberating, but it can also be painful. How do you balance the need to be ourselves with the consequences that it may have?"

"Consequences? The fear of being ridiculed? Of being left aside? Of feeling that your essence, creations, art, ideals are worth nothing?" Victoria said without being intimidated by the radio demon's proximity. There was something new in his gaze that she couldn't decipher. "All our actions have consequences, Alastor. And only we can take responsibility for them. Vulnerability is a risk. That’s why it requires courage. That's why Goya’s work can manifest that real anguish. It’s not something he tried to emulate. He impregnated part of his essence in every brushstroke. That’s why I see beauty in his work."

"Beauty is subjective, dear judge," said Alastor, stepping a little closer. "What you call beauty, I see as a reminder of the cruelty and fragility of existence. But in that abyss, there’s also a strange fascination, don’t you think?"

Alastor's gaze was intense and penetrating, as if he was searching for something inside her. Victoria felt a shiver run down her spine at Alastor's proximity. His presence was both unsettling and captivating, like the painting they were observing. There was something about him that always challenged her and invited her to question her own beliefs. The radio demon had a depth of thought that called her to delve deeper, to continue speaking while her spirit felt joy in debating opposing but not exclusive thoughts. Each word from the radio demon allowed the judge to understand more about the nature of her interlocutor, and she could perceive a pain she already knew. However, the exchange wasn’t free, as he was also seeing beyond her facade, and that terrified her.

"Cruelty and fragility, two sides of the same coin," she said, slightly raising her chin. "Both within us, fighting to define who we are. In this painting, Goya, like many artistic works, invites us to contemplate that struggle, to face the darkness that resides in each of us. And in doing so, he gives us the opportunity to recognize our own humanity, with its lights and shadows."

"An interesting perspective, dear judge," continued Alastor, placing both arms behind his back. "But tell me, what happens when authenticity is corrupted, stained with blood and pain? Is it still beautiful then? When cruelty becomes the only truth... Is there beauty in that too?"

Victoria couldn't help but smile. For some reason, she felt as if Alastor was partly referring to himself. "Those questions are among the many that remain unanswered. For some, there’s no light left in their souls. There’s no hope."

"Hope," Alastor interrupted with a dry laugh, placing one of his hands on Victoria's shoulder. "A fleeting and hollow concept. It drives foolish decisions and clings like an insatiable parasite even when all logic shows the desired result is impossible. Dear Victoria, hope is a source of pain. What do you think happens when hope is extinguished? What remains then?

"Despair," Victoria replied without trying to deny the truth. "However, even in despair, there is a spark of rebellion, a longing for something better. Isn’t that why you desire to challenge the status quo? Aren’t we both looking for something better? Perhaps you see yourself as a lost cause, Alastor. But behind that mask of cynicism, I see someone who wants to have hope. Why do you seek power? Why do you enjoy the disappointment and failure of others? Is it a kind of confirmation of your fears? A way to excuse yourself from seeking a light? Are you waiting for something to prove you wrong?"

Alastor let out a laugh, his laughter echoing in the room like a sinister echo. His eyes shone with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, as if Victoria's words had awakened something within him.

"Ah, dear Victoria," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Always so insightful, so challenging. I like that about you. Perhaps too much. But you're wrong on one crucial point. I don’t seek power, nor do I enjoy the disappointment and failure of others for mere whim. It's more... a matter of entertainment. In this chaotic and twisted world, I find pleasure in the irony of situations, in the way people face their own illusions and disillusions."

"Don't try to fool me into believing that all your actions have the sole purpose of entertainment. I came here to understand the insides of as many sinners as possible, and that includes you," she said, unable to measure her words. It wasn't like her to let herself go, but she felt she was very close to discovering something profound about Alastor, an opportunity she wouldn't waste. From the beginning, Victoria knew that the radio demon would be a tough nut to crack. Every decision made by each person had a motive, a reason, even if it was unknown to the actor himself. Victoria knew that the subconscious was complex, dark, and mysterious. However, it was her duty to navigate those waters. For the first time in her existence, the core of a person was essential to her judgment.

Alastor looked at her with wide eyes. His pupils moved frantically, studying her face while the grip on her shoulder intensified slightly. Why was her heart pounding? Victoria pushed the thought aside. Her goal was within reach. She had to press on. She cursed herself for not having studied more about the radio demon's life. She thought that with a superficial reading of the file, she would be more than prepared. She had been arrogant. She would have to play blind. Her only tool at the moment was logic.

"Alastor," she whispered, calling more of the red demon's attention. "Your name is quite particular. Uncommon."

"Where is this going?" her interlocutor questioned, completely confused.

"A name can reveal a lot about a person," the judge continued in a gentle voice. "I'm sure your mother spent weeks searching for that name."

To Victoria's surprise, Alastor placed both hands on her shoulders, squeezing them firmly before pushing her against the wall. His pupils glowed intensely while his sclera turned completely black. The claws on his hands grew larger, slightly digging into her skin as the antlers on his head grew. It was a terrifying image. Victoria knew she had angered him, but despite the fear, she didn't look away.

"I recommend, Victoria, that you shut your intrusive mouth," Alastor said with a guttural and distorted voice. But the judge didn't want to stop. She had touched a nerve. She had to take the risk.

"Yes. She definitely must have spent a lot of time searching for a different name, something special for the son she longed to meet."

"Victoria," the radio demon warned her again. But she was determined. "I can imagine her smiling when she found your name. All that effort and dedication can only mean one thing."

"VICTORIA!" roared the radio demon, gripping the judge's cheeks tightly between his sharp claws.

A little more pressure and the tips of those claws would start to dig into her skin. Victoria breathed heavily, her legs beginning to tremble. She remembered Goya's painting and how Cronus clung so tightly to his son's torn body. But the judge's stubbornness was greater than her fear. As it always had been. Wasn't that stubbornness what led her to Limbo in the first place?

"It can only mean that... she loved you. Very much," she said almost in a whisper. "More than anything else. And by your reaction, I can see that you loved her too. So, Alastor... At some point in your life, you were capable of love. And that, is never completely lost."

Alastor's face was impossible to read, but Victoria could feel his breathing becoming more rapid and the pressure of his grip deepening. She closed her eyes, ready to face the consequences of her actions. She was perfectly aware that she had crossed a line, shaking a very delicate and sensitive fiber. The judge was aware that such a transgression was not free and that Alastor must be very angry with her for her audacity. She was exposing him mercilessly. Her body began to tremble involuntarily, expecting to feel some pain, but it never came.

On the contrary, against all odds, and to Victoria's absolute astonishment, Alastor sighed and pulled her towards him. He was hugging her, and in an almost imperceptible whisper, Alastor asked:

"What the hell are you doing to me, Victoria?"

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Here is an image of the Goya painting described in this chapter: Saturn Devouring His Son:

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