#and that no one can ever know what would have happened between them if the circumstances permitted it

[mareestoermers]

i think we are all forgetting something when we talk about how toxic patrick, tashi, and art are — or when we decide one is “worse” than the other. they all have moments of seeing right through it, seeing each other’s toxic behavior for what it is, and STILL want and need each other in this possessive, envious, visceral way.

1. in the way beginning, tashi is clearly flirting more with art than patrick, and patrick is visibly annoyed. art sees right through it and even challenges him like “okay, let’s leave”, and has this little smirk on his face because he knows patrick won’t give up on tashi.

2. tashi immediately sees the visible tension and love between art and patrick, and literally orchestrates their first kiss. she sees right through their repression, and even calls herself a “home-wrecker” but still entangles herself with them, especially patrick because he’s clearly the better tennis player at that point and that is tash’s ONLY true love. tennis. that’s what she desires most in him, and patrick knows that. he even calls her out on it in the dorm room scene. but they have this mirroring fire in each other that neither of them can give up, not until patrick breaks the balance and bails — tashi’s injury is literally a metaphor for the balance shattering between all three of them when patrick leaves her.

3. before this, patrick sees right through art trying to break them up, and even admires that quality — maybe even feels smug and flattered because art is jealous and feels left out from both tashi and patrick. patrick has known this all along, we saw it in the “tick-serve” scene, where he even swears to tashi he won’t tell anyone but he still tells art, who is desperate to feel a part of them and patrick wants that, too — even keeps that close intimacy with art that we see in the churro scene (swoon swoon swoon).

4. haven’t you noticed that arts desire to be great is only ever tied up in patrick and tashi? how he needs to beat patrick to win tashis affection, how he needs to win in tennis so that tashi can live through him, how he lives up to his potential in the ending only because tashi and patrick push him to it, in their little fucked up ways? he knows this — he even admits that he’s playing for tashi, that he knows she’s living through him. he even admits he’s playing a fucked up little game with patrick when they’re in the sauna. yet he still does it. again, he knows what’s happening, sees right through them — still does it, still loves them.

5. when tashi calls patrick to come pick her up he knows it’s not just to tell him to throw the match — and despite how she battles him about it, they still have sex in the car, because he already knows. he’s so fully aware of her and her game and he’s so willing to be caught up in it, the same as art.

just some examples of how they all have moments of clarity and agency and yet they still choose to be entangled in one another because they’re all fucked up in their own, individual ways, and they’re all living through each other for their own specific needs. arts is to be seen as worthy, as great, but only through their gaze. tashis is to have the career that was stolen from her. patricks is truly to be in love and in lust with both of them, because we even see that from the beginning that tashis love alone will never satiate him; it has to be arts love, too. that scene in the sauna when he thinks he’s lost it from art is the most sad and fucked up we ever even see patrick. on top of tashi asking him to throw the game — he’s so defensive of arts feelings.

in short this is an actual love triangle (and i would go as far as to see it as a polyship). you can’t erase one without the whole thing unraveling, and you can’t say one character was the “worst” without picking apart the motivations and pointing to the fact that their bad behavior was never a secret or left unchecked.

even at the end, patrick signals to art that he slept with tashi — art knows and they still have that intimate completion at the end, all three of them. art living up to his potential and embracing patrick fully (id argue this could even be a metaphor for embracing his bisexuality), patrick having both tashi and arts affection again, and tashi playing a phenomenal tennis match through her little white boys — in such a visceral, emotional way that she cries out like she did in the beginning and the last frame is her smiling.

in a fucked up way, they all get what they wanted out of each other.

[luveline]

i would absolutely love a Hotch and stripper reader, him taking care of her after some kind of incident at her club or something? maybe a bit of angry hotch at the beginning, some angst? 💗💗💗

Your throat burns by the time his car pulls up. 

You take the butt of the cigarette from between your lips and ash it next to the first. Your hand is sore between the index finger and thumb from a bad stretch, aching as you press into your pocket for your stolen box of Marlboro golds. You’ll apologise for taking them some other time. 

You press the third between your lips and flick the lighter. You’re not good at lighting them, worse at the first inhale, your throat an agony that rivals the sting of your battered cheek. 

Shoes on the sidewalk, a scratch of loose gravel. Your eyes well with another line of tears that you work hard to hold in, taking another quick, cruel drag. They don’t make cigarettes long enough, in your opinion. They don’t last. 

He stops in front of you. Quiet, Agent Hotchner looks down at you where you’re sitting on the low wall, expression as steely as ever. You meet his eyes, worried your wobbly lip is giving you away, not sure calling him was the right thing to do after all. 

When he raises his hand to the cigarette you let him take it. His fingers wrap carefully around the butt of it, the side of his thumb brushing your lips. 

He flicks it to the ground and steps on it flat. 

You don’t say hello. It’s obvious you’ll cry, he can tell too, and he doesn’t make you. You wince as he raises his hand again, your eyes squinting closed, but he isn’t going to hurt you. His palm is warm where it cups your cheek, turning your face to the light emanating off of the club neons. 

“Do you know his name?” he asks. 

“No.” 

He raises your chin higher still. His frown turns to a glare, the brunt of which is directed elsewhere but intimidating all the same. His touching is gentle at least. 

“What happened?” 

“I told him no.” 

His jaw ticks. “Can I take you home?” 

You sniffle, turning your face out of his hand and down to your lap. He’s kissed you, he’s done more than that, but he knows you’d felt like you had no choice and so he’s giving it to you now. It’s exactly why you’d called him. It’s the man he is, and he should never have ended up looking after you. 

“Sorry I called you,” you say, hiding your face in one hand. Pain flickers behind your eyes as tears mount for the tenth time tonight. 

Hotch gives a sigh, sitting on the wall beside you. He wraps his arm behind your back and with a familiarity you need desperately. You press yourself into his side, sew your arm hesitantly over his stomach, the starch of a pressed shirt crisp on your clammy skin. 

“It’s cold out here,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your arm, one to hold you tight, the other to rub your cool skin. 

“I think I want to quit.” 

He nods into the side of your head. “I think you should,” he says, “if that’s what you want… honey, you can do whatever you want.” 

“I don’t think I can. I’m trapped and it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault.” He encourages your head under his, your face to his neck. When he talks, it’s a quiet, lulling promise. “You’re not trapped. I’ll do anything you need me to do. If you want an apartment, I’ll get it for you. If you want to shut this place down, I will. The last thing either of us want is for you to work here when you don’t want to.” 

“You don’t have to say work here like I’m not a glorified prostitute,” you say hotly, anger turned in rather than out. 

“You don’t really think that.”

Being a sex worker is complicated. You don’t know how you feel about it, and you can’t ever understand why Hotch would bother with you. You’d worried at first that your vulnerability is what attracted him, like a kid with a broken bird, but he’s proved a hundred times that your job is pretty much separate from why he likes you. He thinks you're pretty. He loves your voice. You make each other laugh, and somehow inexplicably he’s the first person you call when things go wrong. 

“Quit your job,” he says. “Even if it’s just to dance somewhere else.” 

“You can say strip.”

He nods. “You shouldn’t have to worry whether your ‘no’ will be met with a backhand. You know that breaks my heart?” 

You blink and pull away from him. He isn’t unemotional, but it’s a surprise nonetheless to hear him talk like this. “Aaron–” 

“Please,” he says. “I shouldn’t ask you to. But there are better places for you. You deserve more.” 

If it were anyone else you might get defensive. Only people who do your job could understand why you do it, it’s a hundred different things to you, but you do deserve more. You’re sick of leery men, sick of wolf whistles and bad tips and other people's hands. Hotch has never asked you to stop, but now he is, it’s to keep you safe. 

You can’t begrudge him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No.” He rubs your arm. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And I’ll make it right.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I’ll make it right,” he promises. “No matter what. No one gets to hurt you.” 

You could quit. You want to. Even if it’s just for a couple of weeks, just so you don’t have to pretend you know what you’re doing. You’ll think about it in the morning. “Could I stay with you for a bit?” you whisper. “Just tonight. Please.” 

Hotch taps your back for you to stand. He stands with you, brushing down your coat, his eyes impassive where they look over your face, your purpling bruise. 

“You can wait in the car,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask a few questions inside before we leave.” 

[getologist]

synopsis: you liked olives while suguru was the opposite.

a/n: the olive theory has been rotting my brain and thought it would fit much better to suguru :')

suguru looked down at his food quietly after the waiter served the plates on the table. you two were in a restaurant where he made a reservation for the both of you.

you noticed him getting quiet, usually whenever you two were on a date, suguru would spout many things like he had countless thoughts running in his mind to talk with you. however, he didn’t say anything for awhile ever since the food was served.

“what’s wrong?” you called him in a careful tone, holding his hand on the table to reassure him.

suguru looked up from his plate to you, guilt washing him like a whiplash when he noticed your worried expression.

he smiled a little and shook his head, picking up the fork to move the olives away on his food, “i… don’t really like olives. well, not that i hate it—i just don’t like it. and it’s really rude to not finish all of this.”

you tilted your head to the side, slowly absorbing what suguru was saying. he didn’t like olives. of course, many people don’t like olives. but people have different taste buds, and thankfully, you like them.

“i’ll eat them for you,” you rest your chin on your knuckles, “if you don’t mind.”

the two of you stared at each other in the midst of a crowded place, sitting beside the glass window with a candle on the side of the table—the light reflecting on your faces as the both of you drowned in each other’s eyes. the food was still steaming hot—you didn’t like eating foods that were newly cooked, and you knew suguru could handle those in one go.

the noise of people talking around the place didn’t work for the both of you to break each other’s gaze, it was like you two have your own little world. you didn’t know what to call it, what was happening between you, but you liked it. you liked this feeling creeping up into your bones—adoration and love.

“you really like olives, huh?” suguru grinned, “alright, you can take them.”

and just like that, the moment you beamed at him, smiling from ear to ear with a chuckle, your eyes shining as the light of the candle reflected with your orbs—his world stopped for a moment. damn, your smile always makes him forget to breathe. he hated it just as much as he loved it.

and the way the both of you stared at each other, it felt like it was the beginning of the world. amidst the rowdy place, the only thing you two can hear was each other—though no one was saying a word.

“are you allergic to olives?” you asked, twisting the pasta with your fork while staring at him.

suguru hoisted his fork with pasta in it to his mouth, the olives were now cannot be found on his plate.

truth is: suguru always liked olives just the same as you. ever since he was young, suguru would always asked his mom to put olives whenever she would cook his favorite pasta, or else, the young suguru would throw tantrums if he didn’t see any olives in it. he couldn’t eat pasta without olives until he grew older—not until he met you.

it was like a part of him changed, a big part of him when he learned that you also liked olives. suguru never told you that he also liked them, he kept it to himself until now.

“i’m not allergic to those, i just don’t like the texture and taste of it.” it was like a poison to his tongue when he said that. nonetheless, suguru always wanted to see you satisfied.

of course, suguru will always be suguru. and he would always pretend disliking olives just to give them to you and see you happy.

[utterlyotterlyx]

ooo i have an idea

just something fluffy where reader loves hugging azriel because he always wraps his wings around her? maybe a little comfort fic after reader and az go on a rough mission together

Your wish is my command x

You Are My Shelter

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - No one can comfort you like Azriel can, and after a mission goes wrong, you need him wrapped around you more than ever before.

Warnings - blood, injury, angst, lots of fluff and comfort, happy-ish ending

It wasn't a rare occurrence for you to accompany Azriel on the odd mission. He would never admit it, but you, his mate, was definitely his favourite partner.

You were quick and nimble, observant, and you held yourself with a feline prowess that had him awestruck each time he saw you prowling through a woodland or the bridge of rooftops clad in your matte black second skin and hugged and kissed ever single curve of your body.

Azriel may have been the Spymaster of the Night Court, the King of Shadow, but you were death incarnate, his Queen.

Though, he and your shared family saw a side to you that no enemy would ever be able to catch a glimpse of. Deep down, beneath that harsh exterior, you were the softest thing any of them had ever encountered, and as Azriel lingered back, watching you stalk along the rooftops of Windhaven, did he know that as soon as you reached the cabin that you called home, would you beg him to hold you, to wrap you up in his arms and furl his wings around your form.

It was your favourite thing in the world, your greatest comfort. Despite knowing of his largest than most wingspan and the certain benefits of it, there was nothing you loved more than to have his wings curl around you and block out all of the negativity of the world. As long as you were with Azriel, nothing bad could ever happen to you.

The situation hadn't been so different that night you had met him and your entire life had changed.

Azriel had been your target once upon a time, the one you had been sent to trail, to learn more about, and the moment you laid eyes on him, the tug you had felt in your soul for your entire life had become unbearable. The feeling didn't stop you from doing what you needed to, sauntering after him down the dark alleys where he stalked, sticking to the shadows of his shadows and going by unnoticed.

It was easy to tell how surprised he was by you the moment he had found himself pinned beneath your body, unable to move as could only watch as his shadows danced to the rich tone of your voice.

The infamous Shadowsinger had heard of you, the assassin whose reputation superseded his own, born in Autumn and the personal spy of Beron himself. Azriel should have been disgusted by you, but as your eyes connected and he saw that gentle fire spark within them, he knew that you had no other choice, no other option but to do what you did best. Kill. Azriel could sympathise with the notion.

Beron's assassin was his mate, and there was no way that he was ever going to let you fall back into the clutches of Autumn, he knew what Beron would do if he knew of the bond between you.

Fond eyes followed you, you could feel Azriel peering upward past the treeline as you hopped from beam to beam, not wavering for a single moment, even when he appeared behind you on that thatched rooftop.

"Don't throw me off of my game, Az," your voice was low and tinted with warning as it sang to him, and he had to reign his shadows in from dancing toward your melodic tone. They had a job to do too.

There was no way that you were going to refuse to stay cooped up in your cabin in Velaris whilst Azriel hunted the males who had took it upon themselves to continue to barbaric act of wing clipping.

Rain pattered against the wooden beams and thatched roofs, the gentle sound of it covering the sound of your cat-like movements as you searched every home, every clearing for a sign of those males, excited to tear them apart for even thinking that they could harm a female and get away with it.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," he purred softly to you, his blue siphons dimly glowing in the night, the rain plastering his hair to the sides of his face.

Azriel ran his callused fingers through his locks and looked to you, "You're extra cold today, my love," he motioned to you, namely to the mask you had put on that evening, a mask that even he found intimidating, so gods help anyone else that crossed you that night.

Damn him.

Twin blades idly twirled in your gloved fingers, you had unsheathed them from your thigh holsters the moment you had landed on the thatched shelter, just in case any Illyrian male was stupid enough to attempt to meet you there. Countless moments had gone by when Azriel had watched you take down men three times your height and build, you were as quick as the speed of light, your agility was something that even he couldn't stand against, and he loved you for it.

He had finally met his match and found his equal in one fell swoop.

The tight coronet that Nesta had styled for you glistened in the moonlight, two thin slices fell over your face and they whipped against the breeze as you turned to face him, "I'm just feeling extra broody today is all."

Azriel cocked his head to the side and smirked, too entranced by you to notice his shadows slithering up his legs and coiling around his thighs, "You're due on your cycle soon."

Your eyes narrowed and you took a single step toward him, the beam creaking under your weight but you didn't falter, you didn't wobble, your balance was pristine, "That has nothing to do with it."

Silly moments like that were what made you happy, how, even in the midst of a mission, he could still find ways to tease you and make you smile. Azriel opened his arms to you, his wings unfurling from the tucked back place behind his back, inviting you in, "Do you need a cuddle?"

You could never say no to that.

The resolve within you fractured and fell, and you wasted no time in sheathing your blades, shrugging innocently, you told him, "It would be rude to deny you the comfort."

"It really would."

Azriel was too focused on you, on your bright eyes and curled lips to notice his shadows darting about in warning, and he didn't realise until it was too late.

A metallic tang tinted the air, and you inhaled sharply, stumbling backward a couple of steps before your foot slipped and you were sent tumbling off the beam. Azriel dove off after you, he didn't waste a second, he saw the pain twist in your features, but he wasn't quick enough, and you landed on the ground with a sickening thud, a soft cry flew from your lips.

Arms were around you instantly, his fingers were flittering around the arrow that was burrowed into your shoulder and the nausea hit you like a horse as all of the fire within you vanished from your body. Footsteps thundered from all around you, but you couldn't pinpoint the exact direction of their origin as your world span.

Muffled words enveloped the world where you lay, "Get out of here, Az. They're coming."

Azriel knew it, he could hear their shouting and stalking footsteps, and he cursed himself and his siphons for meddling with you whilst you were so high up, so vulnerable to their arrows. Azriel had stolen your focus.

Faebane held a putrid scent, it had always made his nose burn and crinkle, he clasped your face in his hands, noting your weary eyes that were getting heavier by the second. The arrow was protruding from your shoulder and he could smell your blood mixed with the poison, there was a lot of it, you were loosing too much too fast.

"I'm not leaving you here," he hoisted you up in his arms, cooing soft apologies as you groaned in his embrace with every turn his shadows barked at him to take, half of them scouting ahead whilst the other half wrapped themselves around your wound, applying pressure and doing their best to keep you comfortable, "Eyes on me, Angel."

The sound of his desperate plea gave you enough strength to keep your eyes open, you fought the darkness as hard as you could until you felt the hope that you'd gotten far away enough for Azriel to stretch his wings and soar into the skies.

It was usually a thing you loved, flying with Azriel, he made any excuse he could to take you flying, just so that he could hold you close to him. Not like he needed any reason at all to touch you, but he would always find one.

You had never felt so weak, or so stupid, or so helpless in that moment. Azriel held you close, pleading at you to keep you pretty eyes open, to stay awake, and you tried, you really did, but it was too hard.

Only when Azriel landed in Velaris did your consciousness jolt, purely due to the sound of his roaring voice shouting for Rhys who had appeared moments later with Madja in tow, commanding Azriel to place you onto the bare table thanks to Nesta's quick sweep that sent an array of plates and glasses crashing to the floor.

Sickly paleness clung to your skin, sweat coated your brow and you were shivering so violently that your teeth were rattling in your mouth, and your gaze shifted to Madja whilst Azriel told Rhys, Nesta, and a newly appeared Cassian what had happened with a strained voice.

"Is she going to be alright, Madja?" Rhys' voice echoed, he felt so far away, but from the stoic hand he had rested on your forehead, you knew he was much closer than you thought.

Madja was silent for a moment, her lips were tight as she pulled the arrow from your torn flesh, sympathy flashing in her eyes at the powerful cry that she had pulled from your lips, "She's lost a lot of blood," that much was clear from the red coating the tabletop, "But she'll be fine," Azriel was by your side, releasing a breath he didn't realise he was holding, pressing his lips to your hairline and stroking the matted hair away from your face.

Gauze become embedded into the wound, coated in a healing tonic that made you hiss and trash in Azriel's grip when it touched the gaping hole in your shoulder, and Madja worked as softly as she could as she wrapped thick white bandages around it. Madja left with strict instructions.

Rest. Fluids. Comfort.

Rhys hadn't even finished thanking her before he saw Azriel cradle you in his arms from the corner of his eye and whisk you to the room you two had shared before you had moved to your little cabin in the woods.

He had never been as gentle with anyone like he had been with you, you placed you onto the bed like a feather, pressing a cold cloth to your forehead to cool you down and rid your brow of sweat before he peeled his own clothes from his body and fell into the comfort beside you.

Weakly, you reached for him with trembling fingers, wincing as he pulled you into the position he knew that you needed. Head on his chest so that you could listen to his heartbeat which was racing in that moment, with your fingers tracing serene circles into the muscles of his pecs as his own hands wound around you, his wings drooping over your frame and binding you in their warmth and protection.

"I'm so sorry," he voice was wounded, strained with guilt, his fingers found the back of your neck and he worked slowly to unpin the coronet Nesta had styled for you, dropping the pins to the floor and unwinding the braids as you sighed softly at the tightness diminishing.

A hoarse hum rumbled at your lips, "It's okay, Az," you shivered again and he pulled you in tighter, being careful not to cause you any pain, and his wings curled tighter around your frame, waves of warmth seeped into you and your relaxed, "I'm here, I'm okay," your voice was a hush above a whisper, laced with exhaustion.

"I love you so much," his shadows grazed over your skin, and for a moment you believed that Azriel's hands were roaming over you, but they weren't, it was his shadows waving across every inch of you that they could, soothing you, cooing to you, "Go to sleep, Angel. I'll be here when you wake up, and we can spend all day like this tomorrow. How does that sound?"

The smile that graced your lips was peaceful, your lips parted to answer and Azriel waited, but when soft snores filled the room, all he could do was rake his fingers through your hair and swear to himself that he would never dare to put you in such danger ever again.

Author's Note

Just a little post-work drabble for you all x

[bunny-yan]

Hi! I'm a fan of your yan! Hero/reincarnated reader and I would like to ask if you could write a scenario where the reader has reincarnated again but this time instead of running away they just stay in the village, and in this life, Tasman doesn't end up searching for the reader because they haven't left the village. Because of this, the reader just stays in the village and just so happens to start a relationship with a kind farm boy.

So while Tasman is out marrying another mermaid/fairy queen/princess, the reader is just having the time of their life on a large farmhouse with their new lover. By the time Tasman finds out it's too late because he's already married and it would ruin his reputation if he ever decided to leave his wife for a (now married to a farm boy) reader because while he will stay a hero he won't be as respected by the kingdom for leaving a kind and respected woman, then trying to go for a married woman.

Reputation? Respect?? What does he care what the kingdom thinks of him when he’s the only thing standing between them and world devastation? The only reason he’s morally “good” in the eyes of the kingdom is because they follow the goddess’s teachings which so happens to be who he’s blessed by. The crimes he commits always have something to do with you so there is a much greater chance that you receive the backlash for his unhero like behavior than he does. They can’t hurt him, both because they physically can’t and they need to remain on his good side so they don’t die. But, you? They can hurt you.  In one of the realities he makes a deal with the king to legally imprison you so others turn a blind eye to his not so moral actions. A deal they’re willing to make if it’s for the greater good, ya know?  Tasman doesn’t care about other people. He barely considers them people. The only reason he plays nice and doesn’t take advantage of his supernatural abilities is because he believes it would be too much of a headache to completely upend life as you know it. He keeps up appearances of the righteous hero so he can comfortably do whatever he wants. The only person whose opinion matters to him is yours, though it doesn’t seem to mean much when your wants and desires stray from a future where the two of you are together or you���re alone. 

TW: suggests death

—

The cicadas always seemed to scream the loudest right before the sun pierced the horizon. 

A feverish kiss was shared right before a frantic embrace as promises of his quick return caressed your ears. You held each other like it was the last time you’d ever get to. 

You promised you’d wait. 

Unwanted tears flooded your eyes and you couldn’t help but feel selfish because you knew why he had to go. To want him to stay by your side when he was destined for something greater, the destined savior that would be revered when his mission was successful, because it had to be successful. Because he was going to return to you. 

So you let him go. 

Waiting long after his caravan disappeared from the dirt paved road, you remembered his words, his vow. It was enough to ease the burden on your heart for now. It had to be. 

Life was never quite the same without him. 

The first year, you’d look to every corner as if he’d appear, every closed door as if you were waiting for him to burst through and wrap his arms around you and promise something new. That he’d never leave you now that his mission was fulfilled. 

It was a hope that was too soon. 

You felt anxious the second year. Attempting to live as if such desperate yearning wasn’t what consumed your mind the minute you opened your eyes. You worked, ate, slept, moved through life as if someone else was living for you. 

By the third, your loneliness had reached a peak. It was suffocating. His memory, the touches that no longer lingered, words that you’d play over and over in your mind to convince yourself to trust him. To trust that he was coming back. To chase away the anger that would turn into guilt, knowing full well why he couldn’t visit you. You’d convinced yourself that sending letters would compromise his position. That he would if he could, but fighting the demon king was already too much of a burden. You didn’t want to strain him further with your selfish expectations. You’d wait. You’d waited this long, you could wait a little longer. 

The fourth was bright with celebration. It rekindled a new hope in you as people praised him, thanked him, worshipped the ground he walked on for saving you from the disaster. Joy was bright in everyone’s faces as they danced and laughed now that the dark cloud had finally lifted. You clasped your hands together, fingers fidgeting as you looked along the horizon, waiting. Almost every day you waited, impatient but understanding that there was probably plenty he had to do now that the war was over. He couldn’t just rush back to you. So you waited. Long after the sun disappeared. Long before the cicadas grew so loud you couldn’t bear to think. 

You were treated like a widow. 

Five years had passed with no word. People tried to be careful whenever they discussed the boy who’d grown up in this town. Everyone knew the relationship the two of you had, which is why they were especially careful when mentioning his marriage. Occasionally someone would slip up and you couldn’t help the flinch that would rip through your body.

You couldn’t understand. You waited. You did what you said you’d do, so why? Did the promise the two of you made mean nothing? You couldn’t help the days you locked yourself in your room, unable to bear the heartbreak drenched in grief. 

The town was quiet on nights like those. Grateful for the cicadas that almost drowned that haunting wail. 

It was too soon to think about a new relationship. 

Sure, it had been six years since you’d last seen him, but you still felt an ache in your soul and it was too new of a wound to hide with friendly smiles. 

He was someone you’d grown up with. He was well aware of your relationship with Tasman. It made it even harder. You don’t know why you accepted his offer to go out on a date. Maybe it was the persistence or if you had grown tired of hurting with no relief. 

You wondered if it would remind you of him. If you’d compare the two, and you were right. But he was nothing like Tasman. The more time you spent with him, the easier it was to recognize he was nothing like your first love. 

It was a relief. 

For the first time you thought, maybe you could move on.

You began to smile again. He pointed it out on one of your dates. The two of you would often camp out wherever the sun shined the brightest, content to feel its ray on your skin as you held each other and talked. His observation didn’t cause the knee jerk reaction you thought it would. 

The raging pain from memories of who you were before. The dull ache you carried that seemed to sting a little less with each passing day. 

You looked at him and finally realized what he meant to you.

The man who brought back your smile. The one who helped you realize your would had scarred nicely.

It wasn’t much. He couldn’t offer you the world, but what he did offer was worth more. He was kind and thoughtful, he listened, and his flaws touched you a lot deeper than you thought capable. There was no question, no hesitation when he asked you to marry him. 

For the first time, you truly began to remember what happiness felt like. 

It happened during the night. On a day you would never have assumed would hold as much importance as it did. 

Your eyes were forced open as a violent cough racked through your body. Sitting up from the bed, you felt a pounding in your skull. 

It was supposed to be night. A strange uneasiness crept in your body at how bright your room was. 

You climbed out of bed when you realized he wasn’t laying next to you, shuffling to the window and feeling your heart stop at the sight of the barn. It was engulfed in flames. 

You screamed his name as you ran down the stairs, knowing he would’ve woken you if he realized something was wrong. Gasping at the sight of flames spreading through your house, you ran to the back door to escape the heat that was dangerously creeping towards you. 

Slamming the back door open, you called for him again, rushing towards the barn before coming to a dead halt when you realized it was too late for the hose. You would have to watch helplessly as his family’s home burned to the ground. 

Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering you? Did something happen to him?

Anxious fear told you  to do something. That you needed to find him. You didn’t know where you would go or who to ask for help, but everything else could wait. At least until you knew he was okay. 

“Lover,” a familiar voice said, causing you to whip around. .

It felt as if time had stopped as a look of realization passed across your features when the stranger walked close enough for your eyes to make out his features. What was he doing here? Standing still, watching you as if this was completely normal.

Tasman.

You couldn’t help the dread you felt at the smile on his face. The familiar smile he always wore. A smile that didn’t ackowledge the dumbfounded horror on your face or the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes that stung from the smoke or the unwilling realization that there was no chance you’d ever see him again. 

His eyes seemed alight with something sinister and the flames that licked the barn behind you only heightened the unearthly glow in them that grew as he came closer. 

This wasn’t the reunion you imagined. It wasn’t one you wanted anymore. Why was he here? Where was he?

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, your body too limp to resist his affections as he squeezed you tightly. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

The cicadas always seemed to scream the loudest right before the sun pierced the horizon, but despite the crackling flames that lit the sky, they were quiet. 

[justporo]

Hi JustPoro! I wanted to share an observation with you. Maybe you can turn this into some headcanon, fanfic or just share your thoughts on it? I just started my second BG run, romancing Astarion again. I didn't really see/notice it months ago on my first run, but now it's so obvious that when Astarion is sincere he always touches his own hands and fingers, like a tell. One moment he leans forward, looks you in the eye, spreads his arms, demanding all your attention. But the next moment he looks to the side, his words become smaller, he puts his hands in front his body and starts playing with his fingers, basically shrinking back into himself, even if he still smiles. It happens a few times and it's such a heartbreaking detail. How do you think the Tav would react when they first catch on to this?

Hi Anon, thank you so much for hopping in my inbox. And oh, this is a very good observation. So I wanted to write a little drabble about it.

If you see any typos: no you don't (it's not proofread, psst)

As a former thief you knew a tell when you saw one.

Because back in your thieving days it was part of your set of skills needed to survive. You had to know when someone was trying to rip you off. 

Astarion had a tell. Quite an obvious one too.

You hadn’t fully figured out yet what it was he was lying to you about or trying to hide from you. But it was clear that something was up, something going on behind these unusual crimson eyes, whenever he started to fidget with his hands.

Admittedly, you probably had figured it out as quickly as you did because you had stared at his hands quite often. They were beautiful hands: quite big, long, elegant and immaculately cared for fingers. You had to admit you had a thing for hands; but Astarion’s especially.

You knew exactly what those hands could do: from lockpicking even the meanest locks and making it look like magic in its own respect to dramatically being flailed around to underline the point the vampire was making; to oh so easily finding this delicate spot between your legs, caressing it, toying with it, making you lose your mind - with nothing but a touch of those fingers.

But the physical intimacy you had shared didn’t mean you were on the same terms in other aspects of your relationship.

And so the first time you noticed Astarion’s small nervous habit you didn’t let it show that you had noticed. It had been a delicate subject obviously. One of those rare moments where the vampire let precious details of his past slip.

From just the few things he had shared with you, you could imagine the horrors he must have lived through.

And from the way his body gave him away, you were sure of the pain it still caused him.

It was when his shoulders fell, his whole body basically folding in on himself from his usual cocksure flamboyant posture and attitude. His ruby eyes seemed leagues and eons away, still lingering agony swimming in them.

Those were the moments where unconsciously he started to nervously play around with his hands, obviously not even noticing. Tugging on the fingers of the other hand, pressing the thumb into the palm of the other - as if trying to give himself at least a bit of reassurance or to pull himself back by the pressure applied. And then the moment quickly passed again. Hands falling to his side again.

And so you took note but remained silent.

Until this fateful night back at Moonrise towers when Astarion had made a confession to you, you hadn’t ever expected.

Immediately it had been obvious how upsetting and strenuous it must have been for him to bring himself to even bring it up with you. So much so that you were sure he must be close to ripping his own fingers off judging by the way he worked while he opened up about his feelings for you.

So if this wasn’t the moment which would it ever be? As Astarion kept speaking you stepped closer, his eyes immediately growing big and round. So obviously afraid. Not of but of what he feared was about to happen. His words died on his lips as the vampire could only stand and watch, positively becoming a statue. His hands froze in position in front of his chest.

That’s where you gently grabbed them from with your own. He let you. Too shocked to react in any other kind of way.

“Did you notice,” you began as you started to gently massage them “that you tug on your hands when you’re upset or nervous or…” You blushed a little as you didn’t manage to finish your question, letting your gaze drop from his to where his hands were mingled with yours.

“I do?” Astarion replied bewildered, fully thrown off his groove and what he had planned to say.

You nodded, still not able to look up at him again, but kept softly soothing his fingers.

Silence fell between you as you kept going, feeling how your warmth spread to him.

After a long while you found the courage to look Astarion in the eyes again. He seemed transformed. A gentle smile was tugging on his lips, eyes full of warmth and kindness. None of that fearful behaviour that made him sink into himself but also none of the cocky performance he so often put on.

Instead, Astarion seemed genuine. Probably more so than you had seen him be this far.

And when he finally continued his speech, you felt more of that. All while you kept holding onto his hands. And - as you felt by the end of it - as he was holding onto yours.

Later, you of course still noticed those moments when Astarion nervously toyed around with his hands. But now you had no good reason to not go and do something about it.

So, whenever you noticed it happening you softly grabbed his hands, untangled his fingers and wrapped them with yours. Or pressed your palm against his. Or kissed his fingers one by one. Until the moment had passed.

And later still, when Astarion had started to learn to rely on you, you found he sometimes came to you, grabbing your hands for a bit of support. You squeezed his in reassurement and let your thumb wander over the back of his hand in these moments - until he squeezed back. A silent thank you, you’ve come to know.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Thinking again about the darknesses that lurk underneath the surface of Sense and Sensibility (I have talked before about how Edward despite being the eldest is subjected to what we can argue is emotional and financial abuse by his family for years, and how the Dashwood women are disinherited on a whim of their great uncle), and this time specifically about the Brandons.

We get so little about them, and what we do get about them is all bad:

This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father... At seventeen she was lost to me for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her... I have never told you how this was brought on. We were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained... My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly.

Mr Brandon Sr is shown to us as being a greedy man, a bad administrator of his estate, and a cruel father. His first son seems cut of the same cloth, and his pleasures were not what they ought to have been is one of the most, if not the most sinister line between all the Austen novels. But there's more about him!:

Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some immediate relief.

The Brandons were married for two years; the colonel returns to England and starts looking for her 3 years later. Young Eliza was then a 3 year old toddler. We are obliquely told that Brandon cut all ties with his brother:

It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford.

Eliza is now 17, so the eldest brother died when she was 14, which is 16 years after his marriage with the older Eliza. In that period of time, he managed to squander the whole of her fortune, and put the estate in debt again, as we are told earlier on by Mrs Jennings:

Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his circumstances now, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.”

We know the Bennets, with five daughters, and without a saving mindset, still manage to live very comfortably with 2000 a year, and if they had had any mind to save money, they could have provided all five of them with decent dowries/money enough to keep them out of poverty when their father died if they were single. It is clearly not that the money isn't enough, or that Delaford is an unproductive estate; in fact, it is described to us as almost paradisiac:

Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for; and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your mother.

One interesting character, though forgotten because only mentioned in passing, is the Brandon sister. On one of the quotes above we get that she's in Avignon for her health, and we know her husband is wealthy (and probably abroad with her) because it is his estate that the planned picnic is for:

A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least, twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.

It is implied that Brandon and his BIL are in very good terms (and we know he's not afraid of cutting ties with bad relatives), and one can safely guess that at the very least he cares enough about his wife as to have her travel for her health. Another guess can be made about her getting married about 10 years before the events of the book. Whether she lived at home before that, or was at school or somewhere else, it isn't said.

But this way you can feel there's a parallel in a way, between the Brandons and the Tilneys: a greedy, cruel father, a son that follows on his steps, and a younger brother and sister managing the toxicity as best they can. Talking about this with @bad-at-names-and-faces, she brought up the idea that in that scheme, Cathy would be Eliza (if it wasn't her not being an orphan, or a rich heiress, and how that connects with Austen's line about Cathy not being born to be a heroine at the beginning of Northanger Abbey). Certainly part of it is the romantic gothicness of the Brandon backstory, united with NA's commentary on Gothic tropes, but to me it drove home with even greater force how such a situation would break a man; losing Cathy that way would have definitely broken Tilney, and if we had met him 14 years down the line, would he have appeared to the unacquainted much different than Brandon appeared to the Dashwood sisters?

[elllisaaa]

loved the bf!beomgyu!!! <3 could you perhaps do bf!taehyun as well? :)

the bf!txt agenda is not doing any good for my delulu hours but here we go !!

BF!TAEHYUN who is not the most talkative, but that is the most caring and observant boyfriend ever.

for example, he knows exactly what your coffee order is, he knows what your favourite snacks are, and he knows which song from your long ass playlist on spotify is your favourite. and these are things you don't even have to tell him, just because he always has an eye on you, and because he wants you to feel like a princess. and that's how taehyun makes you feel everyday. whenever you need something, bet he would hand you his card so you can pay for it. and don't even think about paying something for yourself or the both of you when you two are going out. but that's just because he wants to treat you like the queen you are.

"oh and i left my card for you on the kitchen counter, since you're going out with your friends this afternoon. i know you will do some shopping so get yourself something nice for our date tonight angel."

even if you don't workout, taehyun will bring you to the gym with him. he doesn't need you to do anything else than be there for him. it's maybe not what some would call quality time, but it is for both of you, especially when his schedule is so packed. he steals some kisses between his sets, lets you vent to him about your annoying coworkers, and smiles everytime you take his towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. and yes, he also loves it when you gush over his muscles and how strong he is. he's often the one praising you, and when you compliment him, he always finds a way to turn it back and fluster you. so sometimes, you make it your life mission to make him blush instead. and he lets you do so because you have him wrapped around your finger.

"you're very pretty today angel." - "but you're prettier tae, the prettiest boy in the world." - "what did i do to deserve you ?"

you know that your boyfriend sometimes struggles to talk about his emotions and feelings, and you're always here for him no matter what. but when he finally opens up to you, he's never backing up. everytime he feels bad or tired we would've kept it to himself and stayed alone before. but now, after a long day at work, all he wants is to come back home to you and hold you close to him. sometimes he needs to tell you everything that happened, and sometimes he just needs you to soothe him into your embrace. either way, he feels the most at ease, the most loved when he's close to you. in the mornings after these nights, he wakes up before you to make you breakfast as a thank you, even if you insist that he doesn't need to and that it's your job as his girlfriend. but the princess treatment never ends with taehyun, and he will never take you for granted.

"just eat angel, i did it because i wanted to and because i love you."

BF!TAEHYUN who pays for everything just so he can literally ruin you for any other men when you come back home.

because the reason he let you borrow his card to pay for your hair, your nails and your clothes, has some ulterior motives. he loves it when you're all dolled up for him, when you take up so much time to look even better than usual for him. he especially loves it when you're wearing skirts or dresses, because it gives him an easier access for when he bends you over the couch and fucks you from behind. he loves it when your makeup runs down your face because you're crying from how good he's making you feel. taehyun loves it when your hair are all tangled and messy because he's tugging on them when you're sucking on his cock. and he loves it when he sees the scratching marks your brand new nails he payed for had left on his back.

"that's it princess, cry for me. feels good ? i know it does."

taehyun is always willing to give you everything you want in bed, as long as you're good for him and doing everything he's telling you to. one of his favourite ways to torture you a little is by edging you. you can choose how he's pleasing you - his mouth, fingers or cock, whatever you want, he'll give it to you - but you have to warn him every time you're close, and he'll stop. and when he finally lets you cum, he's telling how proud of you he is, how good you are for him, and how good he's gonna fuck you as a reward. and he does fucks you good, so good you're going dumb and can only whine and cry out for him.

"my good girl, i'm gonna take care of you, hm ? gonna reward my angel."

but when you're not following his orders, or when you decide to be a brat and act out, he has no other choice but to discipline you, right ? his go to punishment is to bend you over his lap and spank you. taehyun makes you count each slap he gives you, finding it cute how red the skin of your ass gets with each new one. he loves it when you stumble over your words, moaning and crying out when he slaps your butt one more time. each time, you take your punishment so well he cannot do anything else than rewarding you with his cock, because after all, you're his princess and he just wants to give you the best. and obviously, he loves it when you're all cute and innocent, but the best moment is when you become nasty and desperate for him and he gets to lovingly degrade you.

"my pretty little slut, acting like a saint and whoring yourself out for my cock."

[kinardscoffee]

Do you think Tommy is here to stay for a while? How do you think is going to evolve his relationship with Buck? Will we get another kiss next episode?

I would love for him to stay forever!! Love him!!

Hey, Anon! Thanks for stopping by! I love talking about anything related to bucktommy, so you've basically made my day with your ask!

This turned into a long ass post, so I'm putting the rest under the cut.

Yes, I really do think Tommy is here to stay for a while because, honestly, he's the perfect LI to become Buck's endgame.

And I know that that thought is the biggest issue with certain stans right now, but like, he can easily have little storylines weaved throughout the series with the main and guest stars. And, if you actually read the interviews that the actors and Tim are doing, it's clear that's the goal. In fact, I was actually going to make a post for that idea, but I'll just add it here:

Hen, Chim, Bobby

Tommy clearly has a connection to Hen, Chim, and Bobby from his days at the 118. We've seen it in S2, so it's a canon fact. Chim saved his life, so that's a strong fucking bond right there. Not to mention they clearly enjoy quoting movies and probably discussing the plot of movies together. (Thank you, Bobby begins for the bar scene) Tommy was there when Kevin died, too, so he understands the loss that Chim has experienced through the job. And let's not forget that he had the opportunity to watch Chim become an amazing paramedic.

When it comes to Hen, he helped get rid of Captian Gerrard when Hen was being put through hell. (And yes, I do believe he said something to the higher ups. He is a military guy, and following the chain of command is very important to them, so I'm not surprised he never voiced his opinions outloud. Add that with the idea that he was very deep in the closet, he was probably terrified of that man.) And he knows that when it comes to Hen, she will never give up to do what's right and I like to think Tommy took a page from her book and applied that to his life on his journey to accept himself.

Then Bobby. Probably the first man in a leadership position that treated him with kindness and respect. When Bobby comes to the 118, there's some resistance, mostly from Sal, but even through all that, Tommy sees that Bobby is fair (transferring Sal to another station instead of fully firing him) and welcoming (by incorporating family dinners).

Athena

I was struggling with how he'd be connected to Athena, but then I remembered: trivia night!

Athena and Bobby used to have game night with Michael and David. Can you IMAGINE Bobby and Athena inviting Buck and Tommy over for dinner and game night??? I can. And I am so here for it!

Teams would absolutely be: Bobby and Buck. Athena and Tommy.

And let's face it. Athena sees Buck as Bobby's un-adopted son, so if Tommy makes Buck happy, Athena is good.

Karen

This one is interesting and maybe a tiny bit of a stretch, but I really believe that Tommy and Karen could connect through their interest for aviation/aerospace. She's a rocket scientist for crying out loud. He'd be like a little kid at the place where she works.

I also like to think that maybe, due to his childhood and being constantly between homes, he can help discuss the trauma that Mara might feel.

Maddie

I mean, the most important thing to her is that Tommy obviously makes her little brother happy and giddy. She wants to meet him, which is something I can't recall Buck or Maddie ever saying before about one of Buck's LI. Maybe Abby, but Buck was living in her apartment soooo... yeah.

I know Lou has revealed the backstory he has set up in his mind for Tommy and after saying his father was an alcoholic, I can't stop thinking that maybe little Tommy unfortunately experienced abuse from his father or witnessed it happening to his mom. Tommy, having a childhood connected to domestic violence, while not in the exact same way that Maddie experienced it, gives them something in common on a deeper level. An understanding of how important it is to accept love and open yourself up to the possibility.

Eddie

Eddie's friendship with Tommy is actually so interesting to me too because I have this crazy "invisible string" theory that includes him.(Platonically) But, moving on...

Clearly, they share a love of the same things. Muay Thai, watching fights, cars, Buck, basketball, the military.

For me, the military is their real connection because of Eddie's breakdown. No one else in Eddie's life can really understand what he's gone through and how it feels to maybe be the only one of your unit to survive. I'm pretty sure Tommy has already gone through therapy, and since Eddie had no one to reach out to with shared trauma like Frank suggested, he found that second chance in Tommy.

Buck

I mean... they connected lips and soon hearts. 🥺 Sooo....

Next question...

I really hope their relationship evolves in the cutest, sweetest, sometimes naughty, way!

I want to see nervousness. I want to see them learning things about each other. I want them to cuddle and laugh and go on double dates.

I want them to worry about the other one during a dangerous call or rush to each other at a moments notice.

I want to see them fall so in love with each other that I can sue ABC for giving me cavities from all the sweetness.

Having said that... I also want to see disagreements. Arguments and vulnerability and then the process of apologizing and making up.

So, basically, I want them to evolve into a healthy, stable, loving relationship.

And hell yeah! There will be a kiss on Thursday. I'd like to believe we'll see more than one just because of Oliver's interview, but for sure, we're getting one initiated by Buck and honestly I cannot fucking wait!!!!

I want him to stay forever, too. You're not alone 🩵

[neoflect]

sharing some of my disorganized jojo musical thoughts now that ive had a week to sit on it and ive rewatched it several times over. i intended to wait to publish something like this until a subtitled version was available, but im not seeing any indication that thats happening any time soon so for now youll have to deal with my loose interpretations from my extremely rudimentary and rusty japanese… so take what i have to say about the finer points of characterization with a grain of salt. gratuitous spoilers below obviously, both for the original source material and the changes made in the stage production

my feelings are OVERWHELMINGLY positive. of course there are things i can criticize or that i would have personally done differently but oh man… i have literally not thought about anything besides this fucking show for a week. im 100% confident in saying this is a better adaptation of the source material than the tv anime. sorry to the davidpro staff, i respect their hard work and their love for jojo and their dedication to what is by any metric a pretty difficult property to adapt off of the page, but i dont know if i can ever forgive them for leaving half of the first episode’s storyboard on the cutting room floor in order to fit a standard half-hour tv slot, especially considering that what they cut is some of the really crucial character-building stuff. happily those scenes are not only reproduced in the stage version, some of them are expanded upon!

with the quick disclaimer that i’ve only managed to get my hands on the final 4/14 performance with shotaro arisawa and yoshihisa higashiyama, from what i’ve seen the casting is perfect. i’m sure there’s a rip of the 4/13 performance somewhere (i’ve seen clips) but i haven’t been able to find one… every single performer knocks it out of the fucking park, the cast chemistry is incredible and even the minor characters are loaded with charisma. and mamoru miyano… my god… mamoru miyano i owe you an apology. i was not familiar with your game. of course hes been killing it for decades at this point but i had soured on him a little bit recently because i felt like he was overcast in everything and i just didnt connect with his dnt reinhard at all, so when the casting was initially announced back in august i was underwhelmed, and of course my standards for the dio role in particular were astronomically high… i’ll go more into detail later in the post because i have so so many things to say about dio’s characterization here but mamoru miyano’s performance is like, life-changing. i had impossible expectations and he exceeded them.

sorry if im gushing. i am a hater by nature. its unusual for me to be so thoroughly pleased with something. im not even a musical theater guy. these are strange new feelings for me.

just to balance things out i’ll talk about a couple of the things that didn’t really work for me: first of all, the music is just ok. my initial draft of this post called the music “bad” but three additional viewings later i have warmed up to some of the songs. i don’t know if this is a shortcoming by dove attia as the composer or if it’s just me, as i said i’m not a musical guy and a lot of the genre conventions of musical theatre are not really the things i look for in music that i enjoy, but like… even at their worst they are serviceable. nothing here is sonically unpleasant to me. high points are “resolve of the ripple” (zeppeli’s hamon training song, a jazzy swing number - it’s simply catchy and fun to listen to) and the closer “phantom blood” (a sweeping ballad that reprises the earlier “light and darkness”/”golden spirit” leitmotifs into an epic duet between jonathan and dio as they join hands and walk off into the darkness together… made me cry! i wont lie! on every single one of my numerous viewings this one got me misty eyed!)

wait i forgot this is supposed to be the part where i’m being critical. ok my most loathed song in the musical is “dio’s world”. sorry dio nation. it doesn’t really work for me. i think this might be a case of my standards/expectations being too impossibly high because it’s not even really the worst song in the whole thing. and of course miyano eats it up so it’s not really his fault. i just find it kind of underwhelming… i find the melody a little grating, it’s kind of just a generic rock number, it’s just missing a particular je ne sais quoi…. the essence of dio isn’t there… lyrically though i am obsessed with the premise of dio recruiting his minions by selling himself as a kind of social revolutionary who is upending and inverting the brutal hierarchy of post-industrial victorian society with zombie blood magic. you win some you lose some.

the second sticking point for me is the costumes. they’re perfectly serviceable… adequate… but i mean when it comes to jojo “serviceable” and “adequate” costume design obviously falls well below what’s expected, right? a lot of the outfits have kind of a boxy, almost flat-looking kind of unflattering fit on the actors, which if i wanted to be generous i could attribute to the challenge of bridging the gap between these frail slender musical theater twinks and the two-meter-tall 250lb roided-out beefcakes theyre meant to be embodying. (bearing this discrepancy in mind a lot of the insane martial arts stuff in the second act doesn’t really land with the oomph that it should, but i also understand logistically why this kind of casting is not practical, and all things considered i think shotaro arisawa does a really incredible job of embodying jonathan joestar even though he kind of looks like i could snap him in half over my knee like a twig. he’s very cute. so i’m not mad about it.) of course, again, logistically, i understand that in a stage musical production, where actors only have minutes to complete costume changes, some sacrifices have to be made to the creative vision in the name of practicality. nevertheless this is jojos bizarre adventure!! i want to see some fucking baubles!!!!!!

which is all to say that… after carefully considering it for some weeks… i still have extremely mixed feelings about dio’s grink ass feather bathrobe look. it’s not that i dont think its something he could wear (the concept of dio lounging around in his gothic vampire palace doing re-animator style body horror experiments on the local wildlife in this “officer i have no idea what happened to my husband”-ass nightgown is nothing short of hysterical to me) but then he wears it into combat and i felt a little disappointed… it has the same unflattering fit issue as the other outfits in the show, and it is just such an un-araki-like design… where are the gaudy color combinations? the bizarre geometric patterns? the tease of an exposed boob/thigh/midriff? erina gets a stage-original dress design that i have fewer issues with because the excessive pleats and ruffles have more of an araki-esque sensibility, but every time i look at dio’s robe it feels like there’s something missing.  i’m going to choose to be nice about it because it’s not at all a deal breaker and, again, mamoru miyano devours the look. it’s fine. it’s always fun to have a new dio outfit. if anything, the fact that the blu-rays are being marketed as “2024 cast version” gives me hope for the possibility of a future production with a new vision for the costume design. (although the fact that this was such a difficult production - with stunts and pyrotechnics and moving setpieces - that its entire first week was cancelled indicates to me that the prospects for a future production from a different company are impossibly slim. i guess there’s always hope?)

in terms of the writing and the changes that were made from the original narrative, honestly i don’t really have an issue with anything that was cut. sorry if there are any diehard stans of Poco’s Unnamed Sister out there who are steamed that their favorite minor late phantom blood character got the axe, i kind of understand how you feel because i’ve been malding over david pro cutting the Danny Lore for eleven years, but i think it was the right choice and the story flows so much better. the real juicy meat at the core of phantom blood as a narrative and the thing that brings it head and shoulders above so much of the rest of jjba is the character-driven drama - that deliciously pulpy victorian gothic family tragedy - and the relationship between jonathan and dio. the musical beefs up the character drama and slims down the action-driven second half by trimming out the extraneous battles. the only real downside i see to this is that the absence of tompetty and his prophecy makes zeppeli’s arc and death feel INSANELY abrupt, but tbf that’s not a deal breaker for me. sorry zeppeli. you were born to die.

okay. okay. i think 1500 words into the post is enough fucking around so let’s talk about the real reason why you and i both know we’re here

musical dio is SO fucking sad. he’s positively wretched, you guys. he was born in a wet cardboard box all alone and forced to eat cement when he was six. he cries even more than he does in the source material and even when he’s not crying he frequently delivers his lines as though he is moments away from bursting into tears. back when the musical first opened i was snooping on the reactions on jpn twitter and one commenter said they could see miyano’s tears and snot from the nosebleeds even without opera glasses, a remark i initially assumed was hyperbole but that i now think probably was not. araki’s dio is certainly tortured and a deeply pathetic crybaby beneath all the cruelty and posturing, but changes in the musical and miyano’s embodiment of the character bring this pathos to the fore. he is literally haunted: dario’s ghost lingers, a manifestation of all of dio’s traumas and insecurities that emerges from the recesses of his memory to taunt him with the reminder that he will always be his father’s son, all the way up until the very minute that jonathan breaks down the door to his vampire lair. i am OBSESSED with this - not only for the obvious reason that i delight in dio’s suffering personally but also because kong kuwata is a delight and he fucking kills it every time. also lends itself to a category 10 leitmotif moment at the top of the second act when dio emerges from the charred ruins of the joestar estate singing dario’s theme and calling out to jonathan - if i had to pinpoint this is probably the moment when this musical stuck for me as the Real Deal. they Get It.

the first solo number in the show is dio’s disney princess I Want song (amazingly, simply titled “dio”) where he weeps for his late mother and his wretched lot in life, and then - in a creative decision that made me clap my hands and hoot and holler at my screen in real life - there is a reprise of this number (delivered, naturally, through tears) when dio is almost arrested for murder and decides to become a vampire instead. so there’s this amazing hopeful uplifting inspirational orchestral music accompanying the onstage action of dio ruthlessly slaying jonathan’s dad and then getting pumped full of lead by a bunch of cops. it is brilliant. 10/10 no notes. it’s moments like this that i think really sell the “softening” of dio in the stage version for me, even though i am historically Not A Fan of fanworks that take a similar angle - like, yes, he is sad, but specifically he is narcissistically obsessed with the spectacle of his own suffering, he is boiling over with bitterness and rage for everyone around him who (by his own estimation) could never hope to have suffered as much as he has. this sensitivity and self-pity he wallows in are not expressions of a guilty conscience or a desire to change - they’re entirely the opposite - every cruel and monstrous deed dio commits is always justified to himself because he is simply the saddest little boy who has ever existed. he has been done wrong by the world and so there is no limit to the depravity he may reasonably respond with. i’ve seen several commenters describe this as a drastically different interpretation of the character from araki’s dio (and someone told me on twitter that mamoru miyano himself has also said this, but i cba to go digging for an actual source so take it with a grain of salt?), but i… dont think thats the case! dio’s obsession with his own weakness and his self-perception as the eternal underdog (as compared to jonathan) are certainly more exaggerated in miyano’s performance, but i don’t think this is an angle to the character that’s been manufactured out of whole cloth. the genre conventions of the stage musical force the melodrama up to eleven and dio’s incredibly repressed angst is the most rich vein to mine for that. hair-trigger sadist dio is still here, it’s the same guy, he’s still killing people mercilessly, you’re just getting to see him sing a big ballad about his feelings instead of confining those to an internal monologue.

if anything, the exaggeration of dio’s pathetic/cowardly/crybaby traits combined with his megalomaniacal aspirations and bottomless well of cruelty is just right. it’s perfect. fucking around, finding out, and then trying to weasel his way out of the consequences with crocodile tears just so you don’t see him drawing his knife to cut you clean open… yeah. thats the stuff. thats my one true blorbo. sad to say i will love him for ten thousand years.

i think that might be all i have to say… or at least all i feel like saying here… most likely ill come back and edit this post later. i certainly have some additional thoughts and some more esoteric/controversial takes but they’re not suited for a public blog. real ones will understand. im keeping my eyes peeled for somebody to translate this thing but to be frank i am kind of enjoying this little corner of fandom as it is right now: just the asians and the true hardcore phantom blood phreaks. i have not had this much fun in jojo fandom in almost a fucking decade. as soon as somebody publishes an english version my timelines going to get flooded with all the most deeply annoying “kono dio da” “speedwagon waifu” reddit guys and 15 year olds and my suffering will proceed. unfortunately this is my lot in life and i am doomed to be here forever because dio put a worm in my brain

[imshii-kin]

Good Luck

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

I made this a bit ago so have mercy :,)

Wattpad

Summary : Y/n, who recently taken an interest in the DC universe, finds themself in that very universe after a little roadkill accident.

Prologue, Chapter # 1 (you are here)

It'd had been an hour since you woke up and gained your past life memories. In that time, you have made four deductions on your current situation.

One, you died.

Two, you hate trucks with a passion.

Three, your memories of your 'current life' are completely gone.

"What do you think could've caused this Lois? She was completely fine yesterday." A man with dark hair and blue eyes was currently pacing around his apartment. The man's name was Clark Kent.

And four, you were part of the Kent family.

You were in the DC universe

__

'...I didn't even get to finish Security Breach.' You thought as you watched your 'parents' talk. They were discussing your current situation regarding 'your' memory's. 

In all honesty you were currently freaking. Out of all the universes to be reincarnated you got one of the most dangerous universes out there. Why couldn't you be reincarnated in a chick

 Lois was trying to talk to you, but you were currently already having an existential crisis.

So, you, justifiably, didn't feel like talking to people.

So now it was Clarks turn to try and talk to you. "Y/n, can you tell us what could have happened? If you can't, I'll have to contact Bruce to see if we can get J'onn to help you out." 

You thought for a moment. How would these people react to the fact that you had a past life. More importantly, how would they react if they knew that it was most likely the fact that you regain your past life memories caused your current ones to be erased. 

But as much as you wanted to come up with an excuse you couldn't think of one.

Clark sighed disappointedly, "I guess I'll have to call Bruce." He cringed when he mentioned Bruce's name.

That's never a good sign.

__ 

"What do you mean 'No' Bruce!?" Clark yelled at the billionaire, who was trying to calm down and reason with the hero. 

"Clark, I just think you're going a little overboard, let me take her back to Gotham. I can use my computers and resources that are stored in the bat cave to figure out what's wrong." Bruce explained. "We don't need to summon the justice league for this." While watching the argument, you notice Bruce's extreme reluctance to meet up with the league. 

Wonder why that is.

Clark runs a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. "Why would I let my daughter go to Gotham, for all I know, you're going to turn her into one of your robins and get her killed, just like Jason!"

Oh damn, this was getting interesting.

You were enjoying the argument between Bruce and Clark, that was until you felt a tape on your shoulder. Turning around, you see it was Jon, and he had quite the troubled look on his face. "Y/n," He started, "if you had the choice, would you go with Bruce?" He asked you.

"I don't know." You say with a straight face.

Obviously, you were lying.

You would absolutely go with Bruce. He's rich, he lives in a mansion, and he has resources that may be able to help you find a way home. 

Also, for all you knew, you could be in a version of the Justice Lords, or Injustice. Bruce's strained relationship with the League sort of pointed to those possibility

You hear footsteps approaching you from behind, you turn around to see an irritated Clark approaching you. "Well, she luckily doesn't have a choice. She isn't going." He huffed.

"..." 

"Clark, do you want her to get the best treatment or not?" Surprisingly, Lois spoke up this time. Sighing, she took Clark's hand.

"Bruce won't turn her into a Robin, plus she'll be in one of the most protected places in Gotham, getting the best treatment she could ever get. I think we should let Bruce take her until we figure out what, or... who caused this."

'...why is everyone in this god damn world so mellow dramatic?' You look at them with a mixture of disappointment and boredom.

"Fine, but if he can't fix this in one month, we'll take her back immediately."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Game scale!!

Rules For Our Lovely Game!! 

Rule number one! Never go above 55%.

Rule number two! If you do go above 55%, R U N

Rule number three! Stay alive.

Clark Kent: 39%

What can I say, nothing beats a parent's love.

Lois: 39%

Seems healthy to me.

Jon: 34%

Yup! Seems like kids are the more sensible ones.

Bruce: 15%

Don't worry it'll go up, but be sensible, you two just met.

[chosokamosbf]

(N)SFW JASON TODD / RED HOOD HCs.

☆ 18+ only/no minors.

WARNINGs: 18+, gn (gender non-implied)! reader, daddy/mommy kink, mentions of abuse (jason nor reader are doing it), minor mention of blood, sub/dom, pain play, fear play, "prey/predator," brat taming, reader is referred to as "prince(ss)" and "sweetheart" once.

WORD COUNT: 900-ish+

Based on canon, I firmly believe he's on the ace spectrum, specifically demisexual. And even then, he rarely experiences sexual attraction at all for his partners. This isn't because he doesn't love them (enough) or any other assumptions similar to that; it just doesn't happen much.

Furthermore, as much as he'll indulge you here and there if you do, (sexual) intimate moments with Jason would be far and few between, making them all the more important to him.

He's a switch, leaning on dom and top. Mostly because he likes the control and is more comfortable that way. Getting him to be submissive instead is a gradual endeavor. He doesn't hate it; it just takes a lot of patience and trust.

First and foremost on actual kinks, I think Jason has a thing for "daddy," both on the receiving and giving ends. He likes the title, and he's definitely the type to whisper something like, "C'mere, sweetheart. Give daddy a kiss." in even private, innocuous moments just to mess with you.

(Note: I don't think he'd have as much of a mommy kink because—y'know.)

Rough sex is a top favorite of his. This goes hand in hand with play wrestling as a form of foreplay, breathing heavily down on his partner just to continue that energy into bed with sweat-slick bodies. It's less about "winning," and more about being allowed to confide in someone in a way and the fun that can come with it. He wouldn't be against being the sub in this situation either, even if his partner is weaker than him, because he knows how important control can be in bed, so he'll let them win. Sometimes. He trusts you, and he wants you both to feel good.

Degradation/praise wise, he'll give either out depending on the moment. He's going to tease and utter dirty shit like, "C'mooon, prince(ss). You're sounding like a real whore for someone who didn't want it a couple minutes ago—" if you tried to struggle against. It depends more on the moment than position because he could be pounding into you and huffing out praise right next to your ear with what little air he's catching, to riding you, telling you to keep up while his head is already thrown back.

He enjoys pegging a lot, but as always, it's going to take some convincing to get him to comply.

Brat taming is another go-to of his, along with sub/dom. On the other end, it seems to be a near equal opposite—he's not into it, and it can get uncomfortable real fast. There's a few times he'll indulge himself, and they're all after more intense days to sort of solidify the trust he has in you. You're not going to hurt him; he's still in control in a way.

He doesn't seem like he'd like being on the receiving end of any sort of pain play. He already deals with chronic pain on a day-to-day basis. To have it overwhelm one of the few aspects of intimacy that he loves and simultaneously take his head off things for once just doesn't seem like it'd be enjoyable for him. No, on the giving end—

(Note: I'm not into pain play myself, nor do I even know what even makes it enjoyable for people, so I'll be segmenting this with fear play and "prey/predator.")

It wouldn't be something he'd ever bring up, far from it, but if it's what you like, he'll gladly take a knife in a steady hand to softly trace it down from your stomach to your underwear. In a smile almost cruel, he'd drag it across just enough so a few drops could be licked back up if you asked nicely enough again.

Jason knows you're just asking for it if you're weaker than him and bring up the idea of a different kind of foreplay. He'd pick a place, somewhere with a lot of spots you could try to hide away and run to (an abandoned office of sorts is the best go; he's not going to risk infections).  Just for him to stalk, pin you down with ease. If the spot he found his little prey in isn't satisfactory (or clean) enough, he'd have no qualms settling you over his shoulder like a sack and manhandling you where he wants it.

He definitely isn't going to go too far, though. As well-trained as he is, he's going to be especially attentive after any scenes involving that. Sadism isn't a big one for him. He'll enjoy it in the moment but then feel real guilty afterwards, so, just as a reminder, aftercare goes both ways.

I don't know why some people think he's into "dark" (ex. pedo stuff such as ageplay and actual rape.) kinks when he's canonically and literally has hunted down murdered several (sexual) abusers before. If you try to break boundaries, he's going to be reconsidering the relationship, and quite possibly if he even knew you as a person.

On a lighter note, consent is a big thing for him, and he's also big on aftercare. A go-to would be a bath for the both of you (stuffing the sheets in the washer right before and bandaging any "scratches" if need be.), then cuddling. Depending on whether he has the energy, he'll pop something in the microwave real quick. (Takeout is usually a last resort because the last thing he wants while enjoying the afterglow with a partner is social interaction with a stranger.)

If you wear make-up and it gets ruined by the end, like in the latter part of the previous section, if he can, he's going to help you wipe off the mess and maybe help you reapply it as a form of care.

[street-smarts00]

I have a request for a drabble or headcannon style thing, whatever you prefer. Where spencer and reader are very close (friends or dating you can decide) and he makes a fatal mistake on the job that gets reader killed 😳 if that is something you will do 🥰 thank you

(Long) Drabble: Doubt Comes in

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!reader

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! Normally I don’t like sad endings lol BUT this request gave me the motivation to write something with this idea I’ve had. I almost made it a full one shot but didn't know how. (if you like Orpheus and Eurydice, see if you can catch the hadestown references)

Warnings!: Sad ending/ANGST, Murder, death of a loved one, mentions of kidnapping, anxiety and questioning reality

Its kinda long for a drabble but not long enough where I would call it a one-shot, i got carried away but hope ya'll like it!

The team was working on a case with an unsub that was targeting couples. The team didn’t realize that the unsub had been stalking them since they arrived. He quickly learned of your relationship with spencer. 

You were leaving the precinct to follow up with a victim's family member when the unsub had snuck up on you. After you went missing the team went into a frenzy and tracked your location to an abandoned warehouse. 

When they arrived on the scene they had the unsub on the phone. He claimed that you were safe and unharmed. 

He said you were free to go but only one member of the team could go get you. He demanded they send in her boyfriend. 

Hotch was hesitant to send Spencer in. He was in shambles ever since you went missing that afternoon. His mind was scattered, he couldn’t think of anything but you. 

They figured while this was exactly what the unsub wanted, it was their best chance to get you out safe. 

Spencer was handed the phone and headed towards the warehouse. The building was dimly lit, it was so dark he could barely see 5 feet in front of him. The place was filled with storage and pallet rack shelves turning it into a maze. 

As he made his way through the building the unsub would give him directions if he strayed too far from the path. It was like the unsub had eyes everywhere, he must’ve either had cameras or was positioned on a hidden upper level. 

While Spencer was walking the unsub would taunt him through the phone. Asking questions about your relationship. 

It made him sick. He never said anything to the man on the other end of the line; didn’t want to give the unsub the satisfaction of knowing he was in shambles.

It felt like he had been walking for forever when he finally reached you. You were curled up in a corner of a dead end. When you saw him you jumped up and landed in his arms. He felt you trembling against him and it made his heart crack. 

“You said you would let her go if I came to get her,” he spoke into the phone with a shaky voice. 

“And I intend to keep my promise. You both are free to go. Except, she must walk behind you. You cannot not turn around under any circumstance until you both are out of the building.” 

“What will happen if I do?” 

“Let’s just say you’re wearing a kevlar vest and she’s not. If you turn around, speak, or hang up the phone, I shoot.” Spencer's stomach dropped. “And don’t even think about being a hero and giving her your vest.” 

“That's all we have to do? And we can go?” You asked, voice horse from not speaking in hours. 

The voice on the phone spoke again. “You’d be surprised how many men can not resist the temptation. The worst temptation you’ll ever meet, the one that lines between your ears and behind your eyes.” 

It seemed like a simple enough task. To walk out of the building. Spencer trusted you to be there and you trusted him to keep his eyes ahead. 

He placed a hand on your cheek. “I promise I-“ 

“I know. I love you,” You interrupted. 

“I love you,” he spoke softly before leaning forward to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was desperate, like he was trying to savor every last bit.

You both separated from the kiss and started your journey through the warehouse. This time the unsub wasn’t giving him directions to find his way back. At first he didn’t need them, with his eidetic memory he could recall the pathway he took. 

But as he kept walking the anxiety started to eat away at him. The darkness was messing with his eyes and the silence was deafening. He started to make wrong turns, forgetting which path to take and doubting himself. Either he was getting lost or the building was getting longer. 

The only thing that brought him comfort was the sound of your footsteps behind him. Or was that his footsteps? He didn’t know anymore. 

It felt like his senses were working against him. He already felt like an idiot with his mind not being able to think straight due to your disappearance. But now your life was in his hands and they’ve been trembling since he walked in. 

The logical part of his brain told him there would be no reason for you to not be behind him. But the anxiety running around in his head was questioning if you had ever been there at all. Or why would he let him win? Why would he let her go?

He had thoughts pounding in his mind of “Is this a trap that's been laid for me? Is this a trick that's been played on me?”

After what felt like a lifetime he made it to the front door. His footsteps picked up and he grasped at the handle to feverishly push the door open. 

Spencer walked outside as a wave of relief washed over him. They finally made it. 

He turned to face you as the corners of his mouth perked up. He met your eyes, shining with glee that you made it out safe. 

Then it got loud. He heard gunshots vibrating against his eardrums. Your eyes went wide as saucers. You grasped at your abdomen before you crashed into Spencer. 

How could this happen? They made it out. He said he would let them go. And Then Spencer saw it. 

You hadn’t made it out yet. 

He turned to look at you before you crossed. You both didn’t make it out. You got hurt, and it was his fault. 

He held you close to him. The surrounding sounds all blended together. Morgans screams for a medic, the officers breaking into the building. That all fell on deaf ears. 

It seemed as though his whole life fell apart when he saw you mouth his name as the light disappeared from your eyes.

Your life was in his hands, and he let you slip away.

“Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?” ― Ovid, Metamorphoses

[nunalastor]

Hi! next part of Snow White + Tangled AU (still taking suggestions for a name, I'll probably end up writing a whole fic)

Alastor was losing his patience.

He never really cared about the "King of Hell", but ever since the little man arrived at the doors of Charlie's hotel, it's just been one disappointment after another.

And, of course, he trusts Roo not to give him valuable information! It's always the same with her, she will only give you enough information to work with, only to punish you if she doesn't like the results, or take credit if you somehow end up doing exactly what she wanted.

At least Charlie wasn't a relevant project for her. But it really would have been useful to know her origins, he could have gotten a lot out of that information. Anyway, it's not that that's important now, he's not going to be bitter about it. After all, so far the results of his decision have been satisfactory.

Honestly, there was a time when he thought Roo could be Charlie's mother, but he ruled it out as time went by. It's a relief, motherhood isn't for everyone, and Roo definitely shouldn't be on that list...just like Queen Lilith apparently.

The first time he saw the king was interesting, he tried to attack him as soon as he saw him after a brief conversation with Charlie. It was so fun to see his daughter putting the little man in his place. But then she explained who she had just kicked out of the hotel and it was just disappointment after disappointment.

In their second meeting, the king was no longer going directly to try to kill him, but that did not make him any less calm. He just kept accusing him of Charlie's kidnapping, which is fair, the king doesn't have to believe him and he doesn't have to justify himself.

He suggested to Charlie that, when the king returned with the supposed evidence he had gone to look for, it should be just her and the king. Charlie was just worried that this situation would change something between them, but he dismissed it, nothing has to change.

From that moment on, Alastor's patience has been tested. The king turned out to be like all the rich men of his time, buying people with trinkets, trying to dazzle everyone with their wealth and power, pampering their legitimate children and only throwing a few coins to their bastards if they remembered that they had.

Alastor has kept his distance. Not only does he want to respect Charlie's limits and her possible relationship with her biological father, he also wants to show her that, unlike the king, he can behave like an adult in this situation. On the other hand, the king, every time he sees him, has to make a conscious effort not to attack him either physically or verbally, and that makes Charlie nervous, which amuses Alastor a little, but mostly makes him uncomfortable. He knows that this whole situation makes Charlie tense, and the little king is not helping with his childish attitude (according to his height, honestly).

What ended his calm was seeing how the little king simply seemed to lose his patience just a couple of months later, dismissing Charlie's ideas and trying to take her away. Simply telling her that her whole idea of a charity hotel would be counterproductive because sinners would only take advantage of her, and anyway, it's not like sinners deserve better, they do horrible things after all, like kidnapping innocent babies and taking them away from them families.

And Alastor simply had enough. He doesn't really care what the king thinks of him, he doesn't want to meet him, and the feeling really is mutual at this point, but after all that talk, saying how much he missed his daughter, he hoped the king would take the time to meet to Charlie instead of just pretending like nothing had happened. As if Charlie had not spent almost 100 years, all of her life, living with sinners, as if she had not spent her entire life learning from him and from those who have surrounded her until now.

The king is not entirely wrong, many of those in hell deserve to be there, it is supposed to be punishment for their decisions, in fact, there are those who deserve worse, but he cannot just so easily dismiss the ideals that Charlie formed by seeing sinners up close.

And, of course, he is not a good person, he has never pretended otherwise. In fact, if he had found any other sinner the day he found Charlie, he would have put them in an oven with the same ease that he put Charlie in her crib every night. If he had found any other sinners, he would have boiled them in a saucepan with the same ease with which he put Charlie in the bathtub when she needed a bath. With any other sinner, he would have written a recipe book as easily as he wrote children's stories he remembered so he would have something suitable to read to Charlie. But the truth is that it was not just any other sinner, it was Charlie, a baby that he decided to take care of with the memories of his mother always in mind. The one he found in a basket was a baby, whom he accompanied, stayed by her side, held her when she screamed and cried because of a nightmare or a minor injury. Whom he educated and guided, who he encouraged to make her own decisions, who he taught how to be respected. Who he took to his friend Rosie to make sure she always had a safe place to go. Whom he watched from afar when she played with other children in the Cannibal Town square. Whom he saw grow up while being just as feared and respected as him by her own means. Who tried to defend him when someone who was his friend for 30 years betrayed him and tried to attack her, which immediately ended their friendship.

It is when he feels the presence of his daughter, hugging him from behind, that he realizes that he said all that out loud. It is when he realizes that the king is there, looking at him with a look that reveals confusion, surprise and horror. The king has not moved from his place next to the portal he opened when he tried to take Charlie, but he notices that he is shaking, while he seems to think of something to say.

Alastor sighs, regains his composure as he walks away from Charlie and approaches the king, and with a snap of his fingers he makes two thick books appear. They are copies of a photo album and a scrapbook. He also makes the basket in which Charlie came into his life appear, with the blanket and clothes included. He gives everything to the king and is firm when he tells him to take the time to get to know Charlie, to stop being a king (if he ever was one), to stop being a wallet and start being a father if it's what he really wants.

The king leaves without saying a word, with all the items held firmly in his arms. If among the pages of the books the king finds the note that told Alastor to take care of the baby, with a characteristic signature, well...no one can refute that Alastor could have simply forgotten that it was there.

Two weeks pass, and Alastor feels a chill down his spine, a chill that is supposed to be a caress, supposed to be a reward for a job well done. He's confused, but at least it didn't backfire on him.

A month passes for the king to appear again. He literally just appeared in Alastor's room, looking haggard, exhausted. Alastor supposes that he can let the impertinence slide just for the pleasure that such a pitiful image brings him.

"Can you tell me about my d...can you tell me about Charlie? Please?"

👀

[thosefuzzywordfeelings]

i hope i'm not too late for the smutty weekend!!!! but i need to know how the boys (Steve, Baron and Gator) would react being caught/walked in on having sex

(also i love your writing)

Never EVER too late baby! I’ll write smut always in all fairness, i’m just a fan of alliteration 💁🏽‍♀️✨

CW; exhibitionism, bar the first one the people catching you have no idea whats happening 🤍, handjob (m receiving), oral (f receiving), car sex, being caught ofc ✨

i’m into getting caught writing this one 😮‍💨

Gator;

The dirt track. Right underneath the willow tree tunnel. Meeting place with Gator when things got tough, boring, late, needy, heated, whatever. He’d pick you up in his SUV and take you there immediately, knowing you’d drop call him specifically twice and he’d be on his way for you.

For it to end up the same every time, windows steaming - keeping them shut in fear of anyone listening. Though as Gator bent you overloaded the middle console from the backseat, the noises falling from your mouth were often loud enough to hear through soundproof glass.

“You needed this, hm?” Gator grunted, pulling your ass back against his hips; fingernails indented into the folds between hips and thighs. You’d nod, moaning out a weak “yes, sir”. This would always make him pick up the pace, rocking the car and forcing you to balance your hands on the front seats just for stability. You’d feel it climbing, the perfect ache forming in your lower tummy and he knew it.

“Can feel you baby, you close?” He’d breathe out, grinding his hips forward. With a quick tug of your hair, he pulled your head up and you immediately gasped.

“Yeah? Right there?” Gator grunted.

“Gator stop - it’s -“

“Not too much baby, you can do it -“ He carried on, too lost in you. But you reached back and pushed him off you, sitting in the furthest corner of the backseat.

“What’s wrong? You were right there -“

He quickly shut up when you pointed towards the windscreen, the low headlights illuminating none other than Roy Tillman, hat and all. He stood relaxed, hands on his hips as he waited for the two of you to realise.

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit.” Gator mumbled, pulling up his camo pants and scrambling out of the backseat door, hoping he could either make it up to his dad or at least save you from a lecture. After what looked to be the most awkward conversation ever, surprisingly Roy looked towards the car, tipping his hat and walking away. Thank god.

Steve;

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were going to hear the pitchy ding of the door bell, scared that a customer would walk in and see your head thrown back against the counter. Supposedly if they did, they’d have no idea that their video store sales assistant was tongue deep in his girlfriend. On his knees and whining against her clit as his arms wrapped around her thighs.

“What if -“

“Nobody’s coming in, honey.” He’d pull off just to say before diving back in again, somehow hungrier than before. He could stay there forever, blocking out the world and only tuning into the sounds tumbling from your lips. His mouth left you again, hands spinning your hips so your top half faced and collapsed against the Family Video desktop.

“Now you can keep look out while you come.” He growled, shuffling so he had his back against the counter so he could find comfort in your core again. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter as you felt that knot grow again, hips grinding back against his face.

With each ‘mhm’ he muttered against you, you throbbed in response. And just as that crescendo reached its highest peak, you saw her. Robin, jumping out of Vickie’s car and waving her off as she headed right towards the store.

“Steve - Steve - stop, Robin’s here, Robin’s coming - fuck -“ You mumbled nervously, trying to buck away from his mouth but he just chuckled.

“So act naturally then, Miss 4.0 Drama major.” Steve whispered cockily, mouth wrapping around your clit again as you tried to regain composure.

“Oh hey, didn’t expect you to be here so late, ignore me - Keith said he’d called nine times and no answer so I had to get my ass outta bed and come and stock check quickly. Do you know where Steve even is?” Robin rambled as she usually did, not even looking over at you as she headed straight to the first row of tapes and checking them.

You were already on the brink, but as Steve slipped two fingers inside you. “I - I uh, he was in the break - break room when I got here, I’ve just been - waiting -“

You could feel Steve smirking against you as he curled his fingers harder inside you, bringing you right over the edge as you closed your eyes and let it happen. Robin stood up.

“Oh, I’ll check. You okay?” Robin asked kindly, looking at you for a moment as you gritted your teeth and smiled softly. She headed towards the break room and Steve got up with a smug smirk, lips glistening as he giggled and wiped your mess away with the back of his hand. You fixed your skirt, hopping up on the counter and giggling with him. Robin came back out of the break room confused, sighing in relief when she saw Steve.

“Idiot, Keith’s been calling and calling you - why do you bother coming in if you don’t do anything?” Robin sighed as she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed towards the front door again.

“I got caught up.”

Baron;

Needy. Baron’s new middle name. He’d call you throughout the day, mumbling that he was just ‘checking in’ but he wanted to know where you were and how long it would be till he could see you again.

Now here you were, pressed against his chest as his back was against an incredibly wide oak tree on the outskirts of town, civilisation a short bike ride away, but away nonetheless. His head was back against the bark, brown eyes looking up at the sunlight through the trees as he felt like he was ascending.

“Still with me, darling?” You’d say softly as your lips carried on pressing to his neck, one of your hands cupping his face and the other stroking the outline of his arousal through his shorts.

“Mhm.” He mumbled sweetly, tilting his head back down to meet your gaze, his eyes hooded immediately as he saw how beautiful you looked in the afternoon sun. Mischievous twinkles in your irises as you smiled almost innocently, before your hands were unzipping the shorts and pulling them his mid-thigh.

“Oh honey - are you sure? We’re, well we’re outside and -“

“I can stop, I thought that’s what you wanted, you said on the phone and I quote, ‘if I don’t feel your hands on me, I’m riding this bike into Ron’s shop window’ end quote.” You’d say with a giggle, halting your movements.

“I did - I did say that, you’re right,” He mumbled, his drawl thicker as he grew more and more needy for you now he knew you met him just to give him the pleasure he begged for, “I want it- want you.”

Pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, you pulled away only centimetres, cupping your hand underneath your mouth and spitting crudely into your palm before gripping his cock softly.

“Now just focus on me, okay darling?” You’d reassure him, matching his smile as he nodded eagerly back, his knees almost going slack as you stroked him. Unfortunately for the pair of you, the intense and thrilling moment came to a halt as you heard a dog barking loudly, followed by the sounds of crunching leaves and women’s shrill voices cackling.

“Shit - who - why is there -“

“Baron, pull your damn pants up and kiss me.” You whispered hastily, wiping your hands on your clothes and almost screaming with shock as Baron did what you said and spun you round; your back hitting the bark as he kissed you hard.

“Ow fuck-“ You giggled against his lips, kissing him back as you opened your eyes and looked over his shoulder. A familiar face with a friend walked past with her dog and the two women clocked you both.

“Oh young lovers - Baron?” One of the ladies spoke, pulling her dog on its leash closer to her and picking it up into her arms. Baron turned halfway around, hyperaware of the heavy erection straining in his shorts as he smiled and waved haphazardly at the ladies.

“Hi. Hi Biscuit.” Baron mumbled awkwardly as he waved at the dog. Nudging his elbow into your ribs playfully as you giggled at the situation.

“You got yourself a lovely girl there, huh? I remember those days.” The two ladies stood not that far away from you both as they started reminiscing together. Baron turned his head back to look at you before looking down at his…predicament, before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, shouting a ‘we’ll catch y’all later’ to the women and running away, Baron almost limping with the need for relief.

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 6: beginning

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev

chapter synopsis:

'“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be shy and scatterbrained, or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen, when in reality it’s just what I want to happen. But this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.”

You haven’t told her you love her too in years.'

'And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

---

You and Megumi set out to prevent an emergency involving Yuuji and a cursed object. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. But at least everyone is fine in the end, even if it means you'll have to walk away from almost everything (or maybe it's the other way around).

You're going to be all on your own. Still, now it seems like this will hurt less now.

word count: ~8k; tws: none for now :)

17-6-2018 

The two of you walk down the lane. It’s midnight. There’s a loitering silence in the air, no words exchanged between you and him, and it twists your heart in brief moments of hurt when you’re not trying to keep your mind occupied with other things. Your legs move subconsciously without you caring to think of them, the route to the hospital ingrained in your mind as if intrinsically there. 

At some point, you think your hand with its sweat and its grip is going to leave imprints like a marring on his skin, but it’s of your own selfishness that you choose to hold onto his wrist anyway. 

There’s a million things you could say to him right now, things you’ll forcefully push to the very back of your throat, things you’ll keep under lock and key in a mangled mix of quiet anticipation and sombre anxieties. Right now you’re holding his wrist and that’s enough for you, to have him walking behind you if not beside, to be two people near each other— not together— in silence since any conversation is not an option; any conversation could lead to the last spark needed to be fanned into the flame for it to erupt bigger and brighter than ever before. 

If you asked about Tsumiki right now, or why either of them never bothered to speak to you since 2016, it could break you apart, of that you’re sure. And even without words it threatens to do so to you like a chandelier of melting wax candles hanging above you being suspended precariously from the ceiling or light lightning soon to be thrown down mercilessly from the sky. 

“The turning to Sendai Hospital is on the right.” 

“I know the routes better,” you let out, and rather disappointingly it sounds brasher and more derogatory aloud instead of the unobtrusive tone you were aiming for— you hope it doesn’t hurt him but then wonder why you still even cared that much about how he felt about what you said or did anyway, “I got myself accustomed to taking the one on the left that leads you through. Quick shortcut and all.” 

You’re not looking back, but the light pull of his hand from the hold of your wrist seems to suggest his slight reeling back in a small sense of surprise and an equal amount of shock, as if suddenly remembering the fact you were your own person, that you had your own autonomy as one, because somehow everyone thought you weren’t. 

It’s strange to look back at how you were before: meek, timid. Too shy to speak up. Too innocent to be angered by anything. Always dreaming, mind bleary as if on a cloud in blurred skies, hiding behind the backs of others like a petrified forest critter. 

And now you’re this— this person who frowns and disagrees and retorts at every little thing, and as much as you have to, as much as it was nearly inevitable the way you turned out, all you can think you share with the person you were when you first met Megumi and Tsumiki was your need to be useful— and even that has been exacerbated by how you’ve grown, how you’ve become this person you grew into. And a part of you— no, just you as a whole— doesn’t like yourself at all. 

Your father was right. That little girl was hopeful, obedient, kind, caring— you don’t know why even then you were dissatisfied with the way you were, or why your dissatisfaction would matter because at that time you’d cared so little about everything besides caring for people and having fun with the pair of siblings that you were so rarely bothered by it, that it was still just a slight whisper from the back of your head that could be shushed or tuned out with library visits and nights in front of the TV and the glow of old cartoons. Your father was right and this is proved even more by the fact that the whole situation just infuriates you on the surface, and just makes you feel like an empty, hollow shell left behind when you reach deeper into yourself. 

That little girl had potential, potential to be useful but kind, obedient and close to the people who raised her even if it meant abandoning her own ideals. But you’d been so devoted to them, you think, that she was killed and destroyed in the world she grew up in, and now there’s a space for her that’s left vacant due to the way she wasted away. You miss her, the girl you once were, you miss being her, how easy and lighthearted everything was and how all of you felt so content in every sense of the word. But you don’t want her back. Now that’s just what makes you miserable sometimes. 

Self-reflection just made you feel revolted by yourself. You keep your eyes on the road. 

“It’s here,” you state, pointing at the building in front of you. 

Sendai General Hospital is an institution made out of bare concrete. Its walls are yellowed and close in on its wards like a prison, coloured using old paint that hasn’t been repainted over and is as pallid-looking as the skin of the people sitting on the beds it is inhabited by. Just being in it feels like a hit to the body and the brain and the senses, too. There are old-fashioned tiles on its floors, their pale beige hue muted yet the blinding shine on them harshly mopped clean. Inside it reeks of an imminent presence of sickness or death or illnesses and conditions never to be able to be defeated and sterile sanitisers. Looking at the latex-blue curtains in it feels like a blindfold unwantedly, forcefully pulled over both your vision and your ears. 

“You and that Itadori seem close.” 

“We are,” you say, then you add, not really knowing why, “He’s my best friend.” Maybe you’re trying to make him jealous, rile him up a bit. But even then you wouldn’t want him to be riled up, nor would you be satisfied if he were to keep silent. Maybe you just wanted to hurt him, to hurt him back or something, if only for something small, even if you’d already resolved not to do so. 

You’ll make sure not to do that again, though. 

Instead he does something else, takes another route instead. “Then it seems you visit his grandfather often.” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod as the two of you enter the hospital, and you have to blink a few times as always in order to adjust yourself to the light and how it reflects off the detachedly clean floor. “My mother’s here, too.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry— is she alright?” 

“She’s okay, I… think. She… she got sick a while back and stays here now,” you explain, “Let’s not talk about that…—I mean, I… don’t really want to.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” It just makes people feel worse. 

He doesn’t push further and you suppose that’s okay. Your chest hurts a bit, like phantom pain on a wound that’s still there. There’s not really a way to explain it but almost everything makes you feel that way these days. Everything makes you feel horrible to some degree. Maybe it’s being a girl, maybe it’s being a teenager, but it’s not quite either, you guess. 

“He won’t be here for a while,” you say, “He’s either still in the room where his grandfather is or he’s buying flowers for him.” 

“Then I’ll just contact them and let them know the whole situation first.” 

Who’s ‘them’? 

“Okay.” You turn your back on him, “—wait.” 

“What?” 

“Do you have any emergency contact or something? Like, a trusted adult who could help you with any of this? In case things go really bad?” 

“...why would you need one?” he questions. 

You roll your eyes, “Just give it to me, damn it… if there’s anything I have nowadays, it’s probably foresight for stuff like this. For emergencies.” 

He gives you the number, albeit a bit begrudgingly. Why’d he have to be so pissy about anything and everything? 

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to visit my mother now.” 

The air and the colour from it seems distant as always, the ward she was basically imprisoned in smelling of the indistinguishable mix of sanitiser and sickness. There her body chains her to her bed, and there is little she can do besides rely on and weakly cling to the nurses who assist her, a frail shadow of what she once was. 

“Hi, Mummy.” 

She turns to you, and your chest constricts. Her hair, once much longer, the type that you dreamed to have as it billowed in the wind, the type that invited you caressively to bury yourself in and take in that heady scent of roses that emanated from it— that hair is now replaced with a cloth wrapped around her head. Radiation. Chemotherapy. 

The wrinkles on her face make the difference between her now and her years ago all the more stark. Every visit you come back here, you’ve forced yourself to be acclimated to this new reality, one where she isn’t waiting at home no matter how tedious the fights get or how exhausting it was eating with someone who remained silent, someone who chose to continue suffering if it meant she could hurt and turn her daughter to guilt (as if that would change anything). At least she was there. 

Cancer is a terminal illness, especially the type your mother is facing— regardless of how much chemotherapy she would struggle through and how much you didn’t want to acknowledge a truth so plain and conspicuously bare, she would be confined to this bed until her final days, her illness like gyves tying her limbs and forcing her earthbound; the bed a cage she could never be liberated from. 

Sometimes she made it a point to you that she didn’t want to liberate herself from it anyway, and you’d never been so depressed yet irked by anything else. (You’d regret everything— not spending time with her, not appreciating her nearly enough— except for your decision to be involved in the Jujutsu world, if not as a sorcerer then as a doctor. That was, and is— your ultimatum. Your end all be all of this whole situation.” 

“Hello. Where’s that Itadori boy?” 

“Not here today, he’s still with his grandfather— maybe later.” You swing your bag over your shoulder, rummaging through it a while before pulling it out. “I’ve something for you, by the way.” 

“Oh! These,” she exclaims, and she smiles faintly, bits of colour rushing back to her face like watercolour dots on moistened paper. “I used to make them for you, sometimes. They used to be your favourite when you were really little.” 

“I know,” you explain, “That’s why I made them. I don’t like them anymore, but… I can’t remember your favourite food or if I ever asked, and I know you don’t like the food they give you here as much as… I don’t know. Your own cooking, I guess.” 

“It’s not my favourite,” she states, matter-of-factly, bluntly, “But thank you for the effort. My favourite will always be my own mother’s cooking.” 

Silence.��

“Now that I look back at everything, there are so many things I regret. Things I should have done but never did out of fear; things I should not have done and never apologised for out of pride. I’d like it if you could be different. Your grandmother went out the same way. At least, even if you had the same illnesses as we did, which I hope the genes for which have been curbed by your father’s— at least you would not leave the world with regret,” she looks down at her hands, staring down at them solemnly like a shadow, an excluded figure. “But it was a good life.” 

“...then maybe you can tell me more. While you— while we still have time. What was your childhood like? What was your mother like?” It feels strange, imposturous, maybe— to be referring to someone basically a stranger as “grandmother”, to name someone so far away from you so intimate, even if the only generation between you, tying the two of you together, was your mother’s. If you had a daughter it would be the same for her, most likely. There’s a part of you that would find honour in becoming your mother once you’d grown, but there’s a part of you that would think being such would accost you horribly, for all time. 

She sighs, “I’ll tell you later. There would be so much to say, like compressing all my words into one tiny paper. The stories have weight in them the same way letters and words in handwriting can be firm and large. But if I were to start,” she begins, “I’ll say that I was born as the daughter of two very powerful sorcerers. Now, I know how much this would sound like some nonsense spouted by your mother, but I think you should listen anyway. 

“My parents loved each other a lot, but my mother had come from an obscure clan whose name I can’t remember, but who had high hopes in them having a child with a powerful cursed technique as their last resort, since, if I recall correctly, there had been a crisis within the clan for it to keep surviving. 

“I still remember when they found out I had no cursed technique and how terrified they were. In me I had a bit more than the relatively normal amount of cursed energy most people have, and so I was expected to have techniques as powerful as they did. They loved me and treated me preciously, like a fragile object, so long as I was quiet and demure— and I guess to some extent I still was and still am today. They wondered what they could do to run from the clan, as if they didn’t have enough power when they were supposed to protect me despite my father’s bullheaded industry and my mother’s patience-formed strength. They lacked grit to grapple against them, and only in this did they lack it, I think; only against my mother’s family did they not have the ability to resolve things whether peacefully or violently. And eventually they just gave up and thought they would just… surrender me over when I entered my adolescent years. I was their daughter. I… suppose they didn’t love me enough. I know it sounds awful— thinking that they should have always protected me, through and through—” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“—when it could have been the clan itself that would have been mostly to blame.” 

“But they were still supposed to protect you! They were your parents—” 

“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be a shy and scatterbrained or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen when in reality it’s just what I want to happen, but this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.” You haven’t told her you love her too in years. 

“But then when I was an adult I met your father, who was a bit like a country bumpkin, but a formidable sorcerer and a kind, honest person, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the person he was both inside and out. And for the next few years we struggled to have a child until I found out I was pregnant with you,” she continues, “Even though by that time I was well into my late thirties, we were overjoyed and decided to keep you.” 

Suddenly you wish there had been more time before things were ruined. Time for you to know her better, the beginning of your existence. You would have begged her for old photos, stories, mementos of her and your father. 

“And now the clan’s faded into obscurity, finally. The younger members left and the older ones passed away peacefully. Happy story, right?” 

“...yeah.” It all ended well, but you don’t know if you can say the same for your mother’s. At least, you hope, when she goes away, it can be swift and peaceful like the way her relatives did. 

Then suddenly there’s a buzz in your pocket. An inconvenient one, out of the blue. 

“You should go get that first,” she says. 

“...okay.” 

You lift it up to your face and feel like crushing the damn thing. Old number. Stupid number. Number you haven’t called in months because you’d given up on that bastard— oh. The two of you were working together now. 

You turn away from your mother, creeping to the edge of the room. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just talked to him, but I think it would be easier if you came back and was there with him too since you know him better than I do. And he… doesn’t seem like the brightest. He may think that it’s not important enough to hand over unless you ask him to or something.” 

You muffle your voice with your hand and whisper, “Hey, you shut up, you know nothing about him. He’s way smarter than people give him credit for. But I’m— I’m with my mother right now. Wait for a second. Just ask him to wait for me first; he wouldn’t need any of my help for all of this yet. Make a friend or get a life or something.” 

“...fine. But you’ll have to join us later. He’s bound to ask about you.” 

“Then just tell him I’m with my mother!” you snap, still whispering. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Wh— you little— oh, don’t you hang up now—” 

Weird thing is, he probably wasn’t even being so infuriating on purpose. And you wouldn’t have burst out at someone for being that way anyway. It was only because it was him, specifically. 

You’d sworn to put that past you. 

Your immaturity strikes once again. 

“If you have to go now,” your mother says, “You should. Just come back again next time. I can tell you the rest. Thank you again for the food, [Name].” She doesn’t call you ‘darling’ anymore, doesn’t she? Just your name. 

“Okay. Sorry.” 

You swing the bag back over your shoulder, wearing it this time instead of taking it off, easing your way out of the room. 

“It’s okay,” she assures you, “Goodbye. I love you.” 

“...I love you, too,” you say, but it’ll mingle with all the other sounds in the hospital, and it’ll be drowned out like a ship in the middle of nowhere, your voice soft and thoroughly soused by the cacophony of bleak noises like telephone rings and beeps from electrocardiographs outside of her deafeningly quiet hospital room. 

“Hi, Yuuji,” you greet them in the dimly lit waiting area, “...and Megumi. Sorry to keep the two of you guys waiting for so long.” 

“Oh, hey; it’s okay!” he goes, although in his voice it seems that there’s been some of his usual energy seeping away from him. “Didn’t know the two of you knew each other until just now or that you were a part of some magic curse society. Are you guys childhood friends who met because of all that cursed stuff or something?” 

“Something like that,” Megumi explains. 

“It’s a long story,” you say, not exactly denying him nor conceding his words anyway. Once again, there’s a trace of anger despite your promise to be untethered to your puerility like this. “Anyway, are you okay, Yuuji? How’s your grandfather?” 

He pauses. “Oh, about that… he just passed away.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Yuuji…” you hold the fabric of his jacket (sometimes it still feels wrong to try and hold his hand— it just makes your heart ache again like a scab being clawed at) and pull him into a brief caress, patting his back as gently as you can manage. 

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he smiles as you pull yourself away, “Grandpa wouldn’t want me to be crying right now anyway. So don’t worry.” 

“Okay, I won’t. But if you’re sad, just know you can always talk to me.” 

He laughs, softer than the boisterous manner he usually does so in, “Yeah, I know.” 

Megumi clears his throat, pointedly trying to make a sound, “Anyway. Itadori Yuuji—” 

“Just call him Itadori. You don’t have to be so uptight.” 

“Nah, [Name], I’m fine—” 

Megumi sighs. “Anyway, we need you to give the cursed object now.” 

“Oh, yeah, that,” you start, “So, Yuuji, do you have the thing that Megumi would have explained to you? The cursed object? We need it for everyone to be safe, and all.” 

“Yeah! Hold on, let me get it. I told you I didn’t have it already, but here’s the box,” he says, tossing it over to Megumi. 

He retrieves the box. It’s ancient and wooden, the craftsmanship behind it elite and adroit, and the paper on it has the words for a buddhist sutra written on it like an inscription. You’ve heard of it before, the kind of curse it was meant to seal, but it definitely couldn’t be— 

He opens the box. 

Holy shit. 

“Where is it?” 

“It’s empty…” Megumi panics, “Wait— hold on!” 

Things are bad— as in, they couldn’t get any worse— not only was the school doomed by the loss of its cursed object, the cursed object was Sukuna Ryomen’s finger itself. 

You blame your inadequacy, your inability to have stopped everything sooner— if not for that nobody would have gotten hurt. If not for that there wouldn’t even be a risk of anything happening anyway. You should’ve tried harder to sense it, and you should’ve focused more on it to keep the student body safe and sound. 

It was your fault. No one else was to blame but your useless self, and even if that were wrong, you’d still have the most to be blamed for. 

Megumi has a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, keeping the other boy from moving, his breathing erratic and his eyes wide in frantic shock. 

“...well, they were saying, ‘let’s open it up to see what’s inside it tonight’,” Yuuji clarifies, standing a few centimetres away from the door, “Why? Is that bad?” 

Sasaki and Iguchi? 

The air in the hospital feels particularly chilly tonight, gooseflesh terrorising your skin all over, and for all the kinds of reasons that would cause anything like such. 

“It’s way worse than bad,” Megumi declared, fear and grim so thick in his voice they were tangible enough to be cut through with a knife. “Your friends are going to die.” 

“We’ve got to go,” you rush, “Now! Quick!” 

It passes by like a blur, as if you’re in that moment and out of it simultaneously. Your mind has been bombarded with and pressed so thoroughly onto the moment, like tissue on a wet surface, that it seems it’s being blanked out, while your legs continue to run despite your mind nearly forgetting, at this point, why you’re running— as if your legs moving so frantically to help them was something intrinsic, something you didn’t need your mind for. 

Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. 

You didn’t know them all too well, really— just through Yuuji, and Yuuji himself wasn’t as close to the two of them, being their junior and all. And although a part of you was doing this just because you could, like the way you did when you first discovered your cursed technique, you knew that another was doing this for Yuuji. If in any way they were hurt or could not survive, he would blame himself to no end. He possessed such a kindness within him, so much that it hit the depths of your soul sometimes; shattered your heart so gently a million times over or heated it in the kindly way mothers heated pans on stoves despite the heat of it being greater than that of blue flame. If anything happened to them, no matter how much or how little he knew of them, he wouldn’t be able to live after that. 

The two of them are near the barrier separating the school from the street before you (you struggle with catching up to them— one’s a star athlete and another has been training for much longer than you, you’re sure), the gates tall and enveloped in darkness. You didn’t think much of school except for when it came to your grades and being with Yuuji, thinking of these gates— the ones that you and Yuuji use when you’re running super late— in particular as just a shortcut entrance you paid little attention to, just something treated with indifference as you passed through them whenever you were late. Yet now they echoed denial, refusal, and slim chances— it was unlikely that they’d be alright, especially since this cursed object in particular was the finger of Sukuna Ryomen. 

“Is that the building?” Megumi questions, “Where are they?” 

“Fourth floor— guh!” Yuuji seems to come to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming into what seems to be an invisible wall. A veil. 

“Yuuji!” 

“I’ll handle this,” Megumi declares, hopping onto the metal wires, more directed to Yuuji than you. So even he can tell how selfless Yuuji is, even after only having just met him. 

“I may not know those two that well, but—” Yuuji starts, “But they’re friends! I have to help!” 

“You’re staying here,” Megumi commands, “[Name], if you could— get your father or any sorcerers you know to come here and help.” 

He climbs over the gate. 

He’s going away from you again. Slipping away from your grasp. And now, all you can do is watch. There’s nothing else— nothing else you can do, at all. If you went inside now, you wouldn’t be able to help except— what?— tend to their injuries? Manipulate your own cells into weapons? The former wasn’t possible with how much you’d strained yourself from running so quickly earlier, and the latter was too dangerous: you hadn’t even started with the basics of that yet, on your father’s obstinate insistence that even if he’d let you play doctor he wouldn’t let you manipulate any of the cells in your body into any kind of usable weapon. Any simple wrong move could make things turn south in the most drastically terrifying of ways. If you went in there, you’d just die, and there’d be more casualties, more trouble, more problems caused by you and you alone. 

You can’t even call your father, either. That would always be your last resort— because even if you fought, you still needed him to rest. You didn’t want him overexerting himself by using his cursed technique at all. 

(You were selfish. You didn’t want to lose your father. You didn’t want to have to visit not one but two parents lying sick and tired and grey in matching hospital beds.) 

“Yuuji?” you start, turning to him. “You’re…deathly quiet. Are you okay?” 

His lips quiver slightly, a faint whimpering noise coming out of him. Is he crying? 

“Yuuji, look at me. Are you okay?” you ask, as gently and softly as you can right now, despite your ragged, unsteady, unathletic-addled breaths. You place a hand on his shoulder, slowly rubbing up and down from his shoulder and crook of his neck to his back. “It’s okay. …Megumi’s a good and… capable, strong person and jujutsu sorcerer. He’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay too. Just… just put your trust in him, okay?” 

“I’m sorry, [Name], but I’ve got to go,” he tells you, “You stay here, and call for help or something. I’m sorry, but I’ve just really got to do it!” 

He hugs you, quickly, deftly. And then he crosses the gate, leaving you all alone like Megumi did. You wish he’d hug you longer, that you could take care of him for a little longer— it was your last way to be useful now. 

Still, there’s someone you could call, now that you remember him.

The emergency contact. 

You snatch your phone out, resolute. 

“Hello! Gojo Satoru speaking,” the voice on the other line says. 

You’ve heard it plenty before by accident. 

When Gojo and Megumi are back, Yuuji’s in the form of a figure slung over Gojo’s shoulders like he’s been reply entrenched into slumber, his body seemingly limp and his torso completely bare. There’s barely an ounce of movement in him, except for slow exhales and inhales you can see on his chest. Sasaki and Iguchi are both nearly the same, the former covered in bruises and in a deep, panicked haze, and the latter as asleep as Yuuji seemed to be while harbouring injuries he may never recover from. 

The only non-roughed up one here is Gojo, it seems; Megumi has a stream of blood running from the top of his head in rivulets, staining his sweaty, scraped forehead. 

“Wh— you two, what happened? Why are they all asleep? What happened to Yuuji? Are they okay? What—” 

“Calm down, kid,” Gojo says, “They’ll be fine. I mean, there’s a 100% chance that your friend can be executed, but…” 

“Executed?” you almost scream, “What the hell happened? You said things would be okay!” 

“Uh-uh, again, calm down. I mean, we don’t even know when they’re gonna make him kick the bucket! He ate Sukuna’s finger, by the way.” He holds his arms up in faux surrender. 

“Gojo you ignorant slut! Don’t you fucking dare tell me to ‘calm down!’ He ate Sukuna’s finger? Why weren’t you able to stop anything? What’s going to happen to him now? You know what— give him to me!” 

“You know, it’s not like I’m scared of being hunted down by your father if you use your cursed technique— I mean, I’m leagues stronger than him— but the stuff was too strong. It’s not like you’ll be able to get rid of the finger in your little boyfriend.” 

“He’s not her boyfriend!” Megumi interjects.

“Thank you, Megumi!” Your face is going hot like a campfire fanned by the wind. 

“Oh?” Gojo adds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Anyway, we’re going to get him to a place where we can cover everything with talismans to surround him.” 

They’re going to execute him at Jujutsu High after.  

“I’m coming with you.” 

“You sure?” Gojo asks, “Your father isn’t going to like you travelling so far away without telling him.” 

Megumi shifts, a little sombre. “[Name], you don’t have to.” 

“...I’m doing this for Yuuji, not for you.” 

“You okay?” Gojo asks while the three of you are back in the hospital. (You hate this building so much.) Iguchi’s been transferred to a ward, Sasaki having woken up and insisting on staying with him. “I’ve got kikufuku if you want some. You must be really tired since it’s so late, huh?” 

The whole situation is so incredulous you’re unsure of whether you want to burst out laughing or dismember someone. 

“...nothing. Wait, let me see Yuuji again.” 

Everyone is asleep, it seems— all except for you and Gojo. Yuuji’s been knocked out, and Megumi’s stuck in the world of his dreams. 

You can’t sleep. There’s just nothing to put your mind at rest. 

At least if there’s one thing you can do it’s this. 

Gojo picks him up by the sides of his torso (now temporarily clothed with a spare white shirt) like a child with a heavy book. “Woah— he’s pretty heavy for a fifteen year old kid.” 

You lay Yuuji face-up on the line of hospital chairs. There are thin scarlet marks right under his eyes— Sukuna’s eyelids, you’ve been told. 

You should’ve done more to protect him. 

Slowly, reticently, you kneel by the side of the chairs. You press your fingertips onto that pair of thin tiny lines. 

Nothing happens. You can’t picture his cells being able to grow back. It’s as if there’s been a slit on his face and its outline has been replaced with brand-new skin. His cells don’t budge. 

“Why don’t you help Megumi? I bet he’s got plenty of healable injuries.” 

“…I don’t think I’ll be able to help much. I could faint if I try helping him now. It’s better to leave it to Dr Ieiri or something.” 

“Pft,” he scoffs, “Shoko? She’s definitely not going to heal all of him. It’ll just be a waste of her time. You can just help him with the tiny scrapes and bruises first. And I’ll even tell her that you did it. She’s really fond of you, you know.” 

You give him a shy, modest smile. “Thanks, then.”

It’s time to get to work. 

Megumi’s skin is smooth like a baby’s just like the last time you felt it, though the frown on his face, ever-present, is bound to cause wrinkles there in less than a few decades’ time. You place your hands on him, bruised and bloody, watching in your mind and directing his cells as they work. 

Once the smaller injuries have been dealt with, you stop. “I can’t really work on the one on his head, since then you’d get another fainted person to carry around, but he should be fine with some bandages and patching-up there, because I’ve already kind of catalysed the start of that area’s healing process a little. Other than that, he should be completely fine. I’ll give it, say… two weeks or so for it to get better completely.” 

“Good work!” he smiles, the outline of his cheeks visible on his blindfold. 

“By the way, Mr Gojo…” 

“You know, I appreciate the respect you’re giving me now, but just Gojo is fine.” 

“Okay, Gojo. Do you think Yuuji will be okay?” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. And I’m going to ask them to suspend his sentence. I’ll just see whether he wants that or not once he wakes up.” 

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure if he even will.” 

Gojo laughs. “Don’t worry. He was really strong, and able to switch between being possessed by Sukuna and being himself at will. We haven't seen that kind of talent in a millennia! I’m sure they’ll listen to me, anyway.” 

“Thank you,” you sigh. Thank goodness. “If you need any type of payment, um… teleport to my house whenever you get inconvenient little cuts like bruises and stuff. I can help.” 

“Nah, reverse cursed technique’s got me covered.” 

“Oh, wait— I forgot about that— um… I can…”

“Just leave it to me! No payment required,” he exclaims, holding both thumbs up. “And for the record, the one who wanted to save Yuuji was actually Megumi.” 

You wouldn’t have imagined that would happen. Megumi— pragmatic, serious, unkind when he needs to be (no matter how kind of a person he actually is— no, was— at heart), different from Tsumiki in so many ways. There was no way he would have been the one vouching for Yuuji, someone he’d only just met, to be spared. 

“Really?” you ask, “I… wouldn’t have thought he was the one who would do it. I thought, maybe, you were just… really kind tonight or something…”

“Well, maybe it was because he saw how much you cared about Itadori and did it for you, or maybe he had met Itadori, liked him, and just wanted to save a good person,” Gojo suspects, “But if there’s one thing for sure it’s that your old friend saved your new one.” 

“...oh.” 

You’ll have to bring it up with him next time— maybe, if he’s still there tomorrow…

“I know you’re mad at him, but a lot has happened,” Gojo states, voice lower, softer like a schoolteacher’s, “Still, I won’t tell you that you have to give him a chance or any of that. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to thank him or anything. I’m sure he did it out of his own volition without expecting anything from you. He knew he probably didn’t deserve to if it were you.” 

You pause. “No, it’s just… I’ll talk to him again the next time I see him. Alone, most likely. And I can figure something out. I think that would be the best way to go around things. Thank you, Gojo.” 

18-6-2018 

The aftershocks are still there, although you’ve come out unscathed. 

Last night was a mingled mess, a blur. You’d tried your best to help Iguchi by the time Yuuji was placed in the room of talismans and you could come back to the hospital and visit, but in the end he still needed better help than that. His injuries were too large of scale for how you were at that moment, already tired after healing some of the numbers done on Megumi. 

(You were useless. You couldn’t help anyone. You couldn’t prevent Yuuji from being hit with such soul-striking guilt., couldn’t help Sasaki from being traumatised, couldn’t help Iguchi enough for him to be back at school soon—) 

Sasaki’s injuries were limited to bruises and scrapes, but though you could help her physically, there was nothing you could do to assist her emotionally. 

You stayed with them for a few hours in the ICU and then one of the hospital wards (a floor under your mother’s), your father calling you once the sun had risen. 

“Gojo Satoru told me about everything that happened.” 

“Yeah. I know you’ll scold me, but… not now. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” You hang up. 

For all you spoke of wanting to be useful, the night when your powers were needed the most was when you were at your most useless— you couldn’t help them, you couldn’t help attack the cursed spirits, and the only thing you could do was call for an adult’s help like a little, scared and helpless girl. 

You needed to train, and train harder than you had been doing for the past few years. 

There’s a knock on the door, a dot-dot-dot-dot-dot. dot dot. It’s Yuuji, you know it is. How ever could you not? 

Timidly, movements quiet like the room itself, you pull the door knob, seeing him there, relatively unscathed. You sigh in relief, a moment’s respite before you return to the panic you had been living in before since you deserve the respite less than other people do— no, you don’t deserve such a break at all, you’re absolutely sure of that, not after what you pulled, how horribly and utterly useless you were, you’ll remind yourself of that again and again and again— the heart-piercing guilt and the worry and the constant need to care for the people around you, almost like a mother, maybe, but you don’t like that thought as much as you think you should. Maybe if your own mother knew, she’d disagree— maybe she’d tell you that you should be a mother, maybe she’d ignore that you were also a child at certain times— the most convenient ones, probably. When she thinks it good that you, a child, were someone’s caretaker because women should take pride in and appreciate that, she would encourage you to be one; when she thinks it bad that as a caretaker and a so-called ‘adult’ you can have your own autonomy, agency and opinions, then maybe she’d remind you that in her eyes you knew nothing of the world. But maybe, just maybe, there was also a chance that she wouldn’t be like that in any way. 

But you wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Yuuji, are you okay?” There are questions about to spill out of you, tears about to fall like gushing rivers, but you’re just happy he’s alive at this point. 

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. Your chest twinges; it hurts like an awful, intransigent little bruise. “Hi, [Name].” It feels so unignorable, the way it’s filled with such sorrow and worry that it weighs his usually loud and boisterous voice down. 

“I thought that—” you start, lips trembling, “I thought there was a chance I couldn’t lose you. The only thing I could do was—” you sniffle, “Hope that they could delay it or something.” 

“Yeah. I’ll explain it later,” he says, his voice sincere. 

You squeeze the wrist of his sleeve. “Don’t do things like that ever again,” you plead, “Promise me that at least.” 

“I promise.” 

“And keep your promises.”

“I will.” 

“...want to come inside?” 

He walks inside, and you step back to make way for him. 

“Sorry I came so late,” he says to you and Sasaki, who shakes her head in reassurance. “Hello, Sasaki,” he greets, “Is Iguchi okay?” 

They speak for a while— you don’t feel like it’s much of your right to join their conversation, since you did nearly nothing at all when they were most in danger, so you leave them be for a while. It would be better not to bother them right now, anyway. They’ve both been traumatised until it reached beneath their bones within the past twenty-four hours. 

When you leave the hospital, Sasaki tells you that she’s going to stay. You tell her to take care, squeezing her hand one final time. 

You let her, patting her on the back. You’ll call them later— she’d given you her contact— just to check on the two of them. 

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask Yuuji. 

“Oh, Fushiguro? I’m not too sure, but that Gojo guy said he’ll be there soon.” 

“Where, though?”

Sheepishly, in peak Yuuji fashion, he scratches the back of his neck. “Actually, another reason why I came here was also because… I mean, I know you and him weren’t close, but I’m going to the place where they’ll keep Grandpa’s ashes, and I think… you know, you could come with me. I… I don’t think I’d be able to do it really well alone, even though he had definitely made it clear he seriously didn’t want me moping around after his death and all. Gojo and Megumi will probably be there, but I thought it would be better if you were there because I know you better than those two, and you’re my friend. So… could you come with me? I know that he never really showed it, but I think he had always liked you a lot. Like, he was happy we were friends and stuff.” 

“...mhm. I’ll always be happy about that,” you tell him, before pulling him into a hug. The guy must need one right now. You’ve never hugged him before. Your heart hurts. 

The air is hot and humid with the breath of summer, bundles of mosquitoes bound to be breeding new ones these next few weeks. Up in the sky is the sun, bold and bright, glaring down harshly at the two of you. 

“Before he passed away, Grandpa actually said something. He… kind of cursed me, if I’m being honest,” Yuuji starts. “He said I was a strong kid, so I should help people. And I’m going to do that. So that was why when Gojo asked if I wanted to be executed immediately or just eat all the fingers before dying, I chose the second option. I… I think I want to help people that way.” 

‘You’ve already helped people enough. You helped me,’ you almost tell him. 

You frown, because that’s the only thing you can do right now. You search for words to say the same way you do looking for dog books in libraries chock-full with those of other genres. “I’m… disappointed, I— I know I should be grateful, grateful that you’re still going to be alive and all, but… you’re still going to be in danger, and you’re still going to be executed one day. I mean, again, I know I should be happy you’re going to have more time alive and that I can still see you, but what if things don’t go as planned? What if you lose control of yourself once you reach, like, the fifth finger or something?” 

You’re selfish like that. In a way, you’re just the way your mother is. You should’ve always known— you were her beloved daughter after all, and the people you know would be loved the same way she did you since the day she knew of your existence, and maybe even before that. 

“Don’t worry,” he grins, wide as always. Even in an over-enveloping darkness he still manages to be the light. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a strong kid, after all. And we’ll always be friends!” 

Gojo asks if he and Yuuji can talk in private for a while. You wonder if this was how your mother felt as she had to give the person she loved most away (but you will have to go away, one day), because you can briefly tell what Gojo is going to ask. You wonder if she felt this twice. 

Yuuji can’t stay with you forever. In the same way you can’t remain by your mother and father’s sides for all eternity. 

This won’t be the last time you’re here, you think. For a place of death, it’s quite a bit beautiful how there’s such large masses of grass and plants surrounding it. 

Megumi nearly walks past you, his eyes on the old photographs of the deceased all around him. 

“Megumi.” 

He turns around. 

“I just wanted to thank you for wanting to save my friend, even if you may not have wanted to do it for me, specifically… um… I didn’t expect that you’d still be here. Are your injuries okay?” 

“I’m okay,” he answers you. “And also, I…” he hesitates, the first time he’s talked to you for something actually related to the two of you in a long time— nearly two years if you’re counting correctly, but the thoughts in your head are a bit too jumbled to count at the moment. “I didn’t really do it for you, though. It… it was for Tsumiki.” 

“Oh.”

“Wait! I’m sorry, that didn’t… come out right. But I should also apologise for something else. You wouldn’t have been thrown into this world anyway if not for my own demon dogs years ago.” 

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault. And I would have wanted to be in it anyway. There’s not many who can heal other people and all, so I just thought… even if I can’t do as much yet, since I don’t have reversed cursed technique and the drawbacks that come from mine are really bad, I can still help people sometimes if they’re dealing with relatively minor injuries. I can, um… make things easier for people. I can be useful like that. I’d keep to it anyway, because I’m stubborn, but… yeah. It wasn’t your fault, really.” 

“Okay. That’s good to hear.” 

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m happy to know that Tsumiki is okay.” 

Silence again for a while. The air turns a little more sombre, and a lot more awkward. 

“She is. And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.” 

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.” 

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says. 

“I do. He’s a really good friend. If there’s something I’ll always know I know that, at least.” 

“I can see that. It doesn’t seem like he loves you back in the same way, though.” 

“...wow. Way to be blunt, Megumi. And yes, I do know that, too.” 

“Let’s just… change the subject.” 

“You’re the one who introduced it in the first place.” 

“Okay. How… how are you?” 

“I’m good. Wait, I think you should… go back to them. Maybe they’ll need you there right about now. He’s probably going to have to go to Jujutsu High, right?” 

He pauses. “Yeah. I’m sorry, [Name].” 

“No, no. That’s okay. I expected it. It’s just that I’ll miss him a lot,” you tell him, “He took care of me, kind of. You know I’ve always been a bit of an awkward or shy person, but he still approached me since I was new and we ended up hitting off as friends, kind of. We did a lot of stuff together.” 

Sounds pretty familiar, huh. 

“If you want I can make sure he’s safe for you.” 

“...you should be able to do that regardless of whether it’s my wish for you to do so or not…” you state, “But that would help, I guess. And I’m sorry for my attitude towards you for the past few hours or so. Thank you again.” 

“...I’m sorry I never spoke to you for so long, by the way,” he says abruptly. ‘By the way’? Classic Megumi… 

“I could tell you were. It’s… it’s okay. The two of you kind of have a habit of doing that.” 

All your rage, your loneliness, your feelings of abandonment— and this is all you can do. This is all you can say. You can only just let it go, in the end. 

“I’ll explain it all one day.” 

“You don’t have to if it’s hard.” 

He stays. “No, I will. I promise. And I promise I’ll start to talk to you again, as well. I was just… scared of a few things, maybe.” 

“That’s okay.” 

The two of you aren’t quite friends again yet, but it’ll happen soon. Maybe. And even if it doesn’t, you’re finally able to say, with an open, honest heart, that that doesn’t matter as much anymore. 

“I guess this is goodbye again, then.” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh, right— promise to keep in touch, okay? My patience is running thin with you,” you chuckle at that last part, attempting to joke and make things lighter again. 

“Promise.” 

“I’m going to go home now, by the way. Please tell Yuuji that I wish him the best and I’ll visit when I have my own money to visit Tokyo and all.” 

“I will.” 

“And help me say goodbye to him for me,” you add, “Hope that’s not too much for you to do. Sorry for the trouble. It’s just that I’d actually just about cry if I had to do it in real time right in front of him. Be good to him and be good friends, okay? Keep that promise, at the very least. That’s the one thing that I wish for the most.” 

“Bye, Megumi.” You turn back in the direction opposite of his. 

“Wait—!” 

His hand is on your wrist. Now you’re in front of him, like yesterday, and he’s holding your wrist, albeit a bit gentler than the way he used to pull it a whole eight years ago. 

His eyes are cast away from you, slightly avoidantly and in a way that’s a bit abashed. “I’ll miss you, [Name].” 

“It won’t even feel like I’m not there,” you say. Though his grip is slightly tight, he loosens it as soon as you try to slide it up, as if he’d let you be free of it if you want him to. 

You squeeze his hand instead, turning to face him. It feels warm. It feels like there’s blood coursing through you, the sensation more tender and tangible than it’s ever been. 

“Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, [Name]. I’ll… I’ll call.” 

“Thank you.” 

Now you’re the one slipping away from his grasp. You move your hand away and walk back. The door slides open. 

2010. Springs, summers, autumns, winters. Hands on wrists, a back faced to your eyes, wide with innocence. Warmth and laughter and happiness and love. Days coloured with vibrant hues and time spent with dog books and in libraries. Frowns were greeted with smiles. Hesitance was non-existent. You didn’t feel a need to compensate for your uselessness. You were a child. You didn’t feel useless at all. You just felt this: a constant leaping in your heart, the corners of your mouth twisting up into a juvenile grin, braiding someone’s beautiful brown hair and tying it with a pretty cherry hair tie. 

You want to cry as you walk back home. 

You’re pretty sure you do. 

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