#hozier reference

[33misc]

for the girlies who understand, I’m out here tying to turn a Almost (Sweet Music) situation into a Would that I situation, but failing and getting myself Francesca’d

[midnightanxietytm]

He takes his whiskey neat

A/N: Look, I think i was possessed while writing this one /j. It was like 1 am and I was procrastination on college work, I dunno what happened but this is the ungodly spawn of my imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, caffeine and stress. Enjoy and don't question it too much

Contents: Ford Pines x reader, pinning (lots of pining), I pictured reader in their late 40s to early 50s so there is an age gap but nothing extreme. There's some plot in those holes. uhhh lots of tension and no payoff because im pretty sure I passed out before I got to that part.

Word count: 996

There’s this look on his eyes now that you can’t quite figure out.

Ever since Stanford Pines came back from the portal, ever since weirdmageddon and the end of that fateful summer, something about him fundamentally changed. There’s contempt, relief, sure, but there's more to it, something that he keeps deep in that rattling metal-protected brain of his.

And god forbid sometimes you just want to pick him apart entirely, figure out every detail, note it down, absorb it, maybe then his mere presence won’t entice you, mess you, so goddamn much.

It culminates, as all events are bound to do, right before that year’s summer vacation, you blame the heat. 

Soos and Melody took a vacation for themselves, entrusting the shack back to Stan’s less than trustworthy hands, just like old times. Ford slips back into the basement so easily you almost follow him; your mind briefly longing for that nostalgia of being freshly out of college, when you and Ford were easily impressed by the oddness of the world.

You were a prodigy; a good ten years younger than him yet still doing your masters while he did his doctorate, and in the same area with similar themes! Back then, you two were just bright-eyed yet very tired academics… Then Gravity Falls presented itself on a silver platter, and Bill followed through.

You were there, on the day of the portal, or at least, almost there, going back for the thousandth time, expecting no answer to your knocks at the door as usual, only to be met with the fallout of something far worse than refusal.

And then he was back, less jittery, less paranoid and less sleep deprived than he was before at least. But there was that thing in his eyes, that inherent distrust, detachment…? You struggled to find the words and if there’s one thing that you as a scientist can’t deal with is a question that goes unresearched.

So it began; your “research” depended on experiment and to experiment, you firstly decided to get close to your unwilling subject. And you go down the rabbit hole.

You find him in the basement, of course. He’s drawing on loose sheets of paper, some of the discarded pieces lay on the floor, and the cd player by his side is playing just loud enough to muffle your footsteps as you approach him by his right side. “Updating the journal?” You ask, nonchalantly, as if you hadn't obsessively turned each page of his journals before, as if your own handwriting wasn’t squeezed in the first ones before his old muse took all the space left.

Ford just hums, raising his chin slightly, but not his eyes, just to acknowledge the question. “Not really, just trying to get some proportion practice. Looking back, some of my work on the first journal was… Not the best.” 

A chuckle leaves your mouth; “If you say so…” You hum, picking up one of the filled out pages that were pushed aside in the table and pretending to look it over as he places his pen down and looks up at you.

“Any advice?” He asks, and once again you pretend to be paying attention to anything but him and his every movement.

“Not really… I think you’re good.” You place the paper back at the table, leaning against it. “Thought you’d be going through your abstract phase by now, honestly.” And you smirk down at him.

He leans back, crossing his arms; “I fear I’m too logical to have an abstract phase, even my craziest dreams have math and science behind them.” And you both laugh, and your curiosity itches more and more every millisecond.

The next words that leave your mouth were planned and inwardly rehearsed, but they come out natural as a summer breeze. “Every tortured artist has an abstract phase, get on with the times, sixer!” It comes out as a joke, it's a test. And suddenly you’re too nervous to stay there, staring at him and waiting for a rebuttal. You push yourself off the table and zipline to one of the bookshelves, reaching towards the back of it, you pull the ‘eureka whiskey’ and the two cups.

He just watches you for a second, then accepts the cup as you pour him one, then one for yourself. 

And it’s truly the eureka whiskey, because goddamn you just found something in those eyes. 

He takes a sip; “Yeah I guess those portal days would do for some good surrealist pieces at least.”

“I can’t even imagine.” You say.

He smirks, lips inches from his cup. “You can’t…” He takes a sip. “That’s the point of surrealist.” You want his brain under a microscope, you want his breath mixing with yours, you want to never see him again, you want to wake up near him every day.

The curse of science is that in the endeavor to figure out the world, the scientist often loses sight of themselves. 

The witty remarks, the planned lines, the psychological strategies, all fly out of you head and you lean back against his desk. He’s leaned further back now and his chair is turned diagonally towards you and he watches with a smile and those eyes. “What did you see?” It’s almost a whisper, because you think he might actually tell you, and that scares you more than anything.

“Too much…” He swallows, sighs, takes a swing of whiskey and rests the empty cup on the desk. “It was very chaotic, honestly that’s all I want to say…” You sigh, pushing yourself up to sit at his desk, and his head tilts as he watches you. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You settle, even though it doesn’t even come near to all the things you want to express. He smiles, and his eyes travel down, landing on your hands, holding your barely touched whiskey glass. You follow his gaze, and chuckle. “I’m more of a whine person.”

“I know…”

[deadskink]

“what caused the wound? how large the teeth? I saw new eyes were watching me.”

[iskabunni]

soulmate au where aziraphale felt every bit of pain crowley felt when he fell

(a burning sensation, starting at the tip of her wings, going all the way down to the depths of what could be called "a body"

searing pain behind her eyes, so intense she thought she might be going blind

and then, a sudden emptiness, like everything inside him had just turned into antimatter)

and then everything went quiet.

there was seemingly no explanation (the term soulmate dates back to the 1820's, after all, and even after its invention, what it entails is still up for interpretation), but aziraphale still mourned a loss.

the subject came up eons later (a conversation tucked away in a bookshop's backroom, where a demon lounged on a couch while an angel kneeled on the floor next to him, idly tracing patters onto the back of said demon's hand)

"does this mean..." crowley asked quietly, hand trembling in aziraphale's gentle hold.

aziraphale nodded. "i felt everything, my dear boy."

"oh, angel," the demon mumbled, sliding down from the couch and onto the floor.

crowley's hands gripped aziraphale's shoulders, and soon enough, they were tangled in a mess of limbs and warmth, holding onto each other like that, heaven and hell were nothing more than words.

("i'm sorry you had to go through that" hanged heavily from both their tongues, but they both knew, deep down, it wasn't them who needed to apologize)

[zarasaurus-studios]

beta luz takes her whiskey neat

[apomegranatepearl]

tell me your sins, and i’ll sharpen my knife.

[web-archives]

i finally caved in and rewrote parts of my marauders fic from five years ago 😭 it’s basically my take on remus lupin and how being a werewolf has affected him mostly centered around the prank in 6th year

here’s the link :333 ao3 and the summary ⬇️

summary:

The symptoms before the dreaded glow of the full moon will heighten and intensify to a degree so indescribable the older he gets that he will be nothing but flesh by the end. But for now, for this lanky skinny twelve year old boy all he will have to worry about is the turning up of his six senses.

[niamhthefae]

tempted to write a Good omens fic despite not really being in the fandom rn just so I can include this.

aziraphale looked appalled at his suggestion "but what about their innocence!"

crowley chuckled "innocence died screaming,in their souls" aziraphale frowned and fiddled with his bowtie. he found himself wanting to reassure aziraphale "trust me angel, I should know"

"alright" breathed aziraphale after a minute giving a small nod crowleys way.

I dunno but i thought this up and now I wanna use it somewhere

[fawnforevergone]

"I remember the view, streetlights in the dark blue, the moment I knew I'd no choice but to love you."

[fishsticksart]

Francesca - Hozier

If someone asked me at the end, I'll tell them put me back in it

[Francesca, Hozier // The Ghosts of Paolo and Francesca Appear to Dante and Virgil, Ary Scheffer // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Francesca (Official Video), Hozier // Francesca, Hozier // Ship on Stormy Seas, Ivan Aivazovsky // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Paolo and Francesca, Mosè Bianchi // Francesca, Hozier // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Gustave Doré // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca, Frank Dicksee // Francesca i Paolo, Ludwik Wiesiołowski // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Dante Gabriel Rossetti // Francesca, Hozier // Francesca (Later with Jools Holland), Hozier on BBC Music // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // tumblr user @handgf // The Kiss, Auguste Rodin // Paolo e Francesca, or Morte di Paolo e Francesca, Gaetano Previati // Hozier // Hozier // Hozier]

[33misc]

what I have learned from Hozier is that, as a lover, I will carry the weight of past relationship trauma for me and my partner, but just don’t expect to do it silently

[mcondance]

MDNI 18+

spencer kisses so hungrily it’s beyond you to try to understand. he kisses with intents to devour, to consume and partake until you’re both gasping for air and going back in anyway. he kisses overbearingly deep, mouth slipping over yours with misplaced spit and swollen lips and a laving tongue. his hands are on the sides of your face the moment his lips are on yours, another aching urge to be one, to consume until you don��t know where he begins and you end.

[pierperian-leisure]

I'll Take My Whiskey Neat

The saloon was dim and lively, with the warm lights casting a molten glow over the villagers inside. Shane and Sam sat in the corner by the fireplace, with the younger man lively gesturing to the older in conversation, with Shane secretly smiling at the boy's gesticulations behind his beer mug. Leah and Elliot sat next to each other on the other side of the bar, each artist gently swapping pieces of conversation from the day and the progress on their respective crafts, and hollering could be heard from the next room over as Abigail, Sebastian, and Alex competed around the pool table.

Harvey sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey neat that Gus had stocked away for the doctor specially. The amber liquid was a warm rush down Harvey's throat, a rich yet ultimately fruitless distraction from his wandering mind. Lewis and Marnie sat only a few stools down from Harvey, and he hoped desperately that they wouldn't pick up on him eyeing the saloon door every few seconds.

The doctor sighed, swirling the remaining whiskey in his glass. He wasn't waiting for the farmer, no more than anyone would wait for any of their other friends, Harvey tried to convince himself. No, it was normal to anxiously watch the door until one's friend entered the bar where all the other town's people were gathered, normal to anticipate the way the ambient lights would glow in the farmer's eyes, how her hair would curl gently around her face, loosened from the day's work. These were all normal behaviors, completely, the doctor told himself, as a flush rose on his cheeks not just from the drink in front of him.

If he were honest with himself, though he rarely was, Harvey wasn't entirely sure when his friendship with the town's farmer became something more. Harvey could recall her first week in town, taking over her grandfather's farm, and running about the town introducing herself to the town's people. Harvey would never forget how the sun light glittered off her hair as Penny shyly opened up to her, or the sound of her laughter with Alex and Sam running outside. But most of all, Harvey would never forget the simultaneous peace and butterflies that filled his chest when the farmer made her way into his clinic for the first time, like being faced with one's future all at once. The farmer bounced into his waiting room, chatting with Maru and Evelyn, asking so sweetly how even cranky George was doing, that Harvey stood struck in his spot. There was no time though, as soon Harvey stood face to face with the energetic young lady. Her beaming smile and citrusy scent had Harvey enraptured at once, and warmth flooded his chest even more when the farmer grinned and extended the black coffee to him. She had found his favorite from Maru, and the two had left him none the wiser. Harvey didn't recognize the butterflies in his stomach at the time, determined after years of medical school and cultivating proper doctor patient relationships to digest the feelings before they could grow. But with every weekly coffee shared, each wine testing for the farmer's burgeoning winery, Harvey was swallowed up into friendship and eventually, the infatuation that had him in his predicament that night.

The doctor wasn't used to romantic feelings, having never been the recipient of them growing up and too busy and professional later in life to act on them. He felt like a school boy struck dumb with his first crush, and even worse, on his closest friend. Harvey stared into his glass, torn between waiting for the farmer and sorting through what to do about the bubbling feelings in his chest.

It was at that point that the farmer finally burst through the saloon doors, laughing alongside Maru. The two had become fast friends, and Harvey both loved and cursed that fact as it made even more of an excuse for the farmer to stop by the clinic often, a problem as the doctor's feelings grew.

He had been right, though. The bar lights twinkled in her eyes, highlighting the glow on her cheeks given to her from days working the farm in the summer sun. The farmer was wearing her hair back in a braid, customary to keep her hair out of her face on long days on the farm and in the mines, with wisps kissing along her temples. A pair of shorts hugged her hips, strong from hard work, and a white blouse made her look absolutely ethereal. Harvey was dumbstruck at her beauty, desperately trying to hide the fact behind his whiskey glass.

The farmer made light conversation with the other villagers, laughing through the crowd and playfully swatting at Elliot's overly verbose flirtations. Eventually, she made her way to the bar, plopping into her usual seat beside Harvey. His breath caught in his throat, had she always smelt that nice? Warmth practically radiating off of her? The tall doctor hunched his shoulders, trying to remember how to breath with all of those thoughts about the farmer running through his head.

The farmer called Emily over, chatting with the other woman and ordering a drink for the night. A whiskey on the rocks, inverse from Harvey's own. The farmer had tipsily confessed to him one night just like this that she couldn't handle the straight whiskey the doctor preferred, but wanted to at least try. It had sent a loving flush to the doctor's cheeks then, flattered and touched by the woman. Harvey didn't hear her call over another drink for himself as well, jostled out of his reverie when the two glasses were set down before them.

The farmer grinned up at Harvey, a teasing glint in her eye. The doctor simultaneously loved and slightly feared what that glint may bring. The farmer chatted with him as usual though, asking how his models were going, how the work at the clinic was treating him and if he was eating like he should. The flow of conversation eased Harvey into their usual repertoire, with Harvey eventually comfortable enough to tease the farmer about her latest risky excursion into the mines, chiding her to be more careful, that he didn't want to stay in business that badly. The giddy peace Harvey usually felt with the farmer settled into his chest, though he couldn't help but notice the farmer slinking lower and lower on the stool beside him, eventually resting her head against his shoulder.

Harvey did his best to stay as still as possible, flushed with the current position he and the farmer found themselves in and determined not to startle her off and break their shared moment. The farmer must have felt Harvey turn into stone, as she titled her head up, eyes sparkling, and asked the doctor to walk her home. Not an usual practice between the two, but something felt different about it tonight.

The doctor stepped down from his stool, holding his hand out to the farmer, and led the two of them through the saloon's crowd and to the door. Harvey could feel the eyes of a few of the more observant town's people on his back, but told himself nothing should appear out of the ordinary, and focused on the feeling of the farmer's smaller, but tougher, palm in his. The pair made their way through the summer night, a gentle wind ruffling their hair and giving the air a pleasant, playful edge, the only sound the doctor and farmer's footsteps on the path's cobblestone. The silence was comfortable, and Harvey glanced down at the top of the farmer's head, gently resting on his arm as they walked. If he didn't know better, Harvey would have sworn he felt a smirk from the farmer pressing into where she gripped his arm.

The two finally reached the farmer's property line, soon stepping up onto her porch. Without warning, the farmer stopped dead in her tracks, using Harvey's forward momentum to pull him to turn and face her. He had been right, a smirk attempting to appear innocent played at the farmer's features, as she tried to school them into something nonchalant and unassuming. The summer air turned heady and promising, an electric current zipping its way through Harvey's gut. The farmer gazed up at him through her eyelashes, sweet and playful, before swinging to her tip toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of Harvey's mouth. His mustache bristled at the movement, and the doctor's knees nearly gave way beneath him. While he was still in shock, the farmer giggled. Before Harvey could come back to his senses, the farmer thanked him for walking her home, slipping into her cabin, a pleased look on her face at the stupor she had left Harvey in. Harvey stood on her porch, shocked, hand gently brushing his lip and facial hair where the farmer's lips had pressed.

It was a small gesture, but a sweet one. Nearly too sweet, but maybe, just maybe, something for Harvey to pin his hopes on.

[junosmindpalace]

may i request a gojo x reader one shot where y/n is gojo's former student, after she graduated she went out of the country then after 5 yrs she comes back to work at tokyo jujutsu high as a teacher like gojo. y/n used to have a crush on gojo back then (maybe she still does 😋) and now that y/n's back after a long time gojo kinda missed her so they often spend time together. y/n keeps convincing herself it's just some kind of friendly reunion, nothing more but one day during the sister school goodwill event she gets jealous when she sees gojo teasing utahime and interacting with her. gojo wonders what got y/n into a pissy mood and y/n is like "why do you even care? just go back to your flirting session" then that's where gojo finds out she's just jealous. he'll tease her and idk maybe a confession between them will follow? i'm rlly sorry i suck at explaining things but i hope you get most of it and this gets accepted 😭 thanks! 💓

UNKNOWN / NTH

hi anon! thank you for your request and patience! i changed a couple of details in this request and it turned out soo weirdly angst but the main idea is still there! i hope that’s alright!

3.2k words. a little all over the place.

“call me every single day, you hear me? you can’t leave me all alone with this guy.” 

shoko doesn’t even look over her shoulder as she jabs her thumb toward the white haired teen standing behind her shoulder, who drops his mouth open in disbelief at her insulting tone. the tension in your chest eased up as you laughed.

“of course.” 

leaving your friends so soon after graduating was hard to wrap your head around, even with a car waiting to take you to the airport outside the gates of the jujutsu tech building and the occasion bump into your suitcase as you shifted your weight between your legs. 

with the assassination of the star plasma vessel and the suguru incident that made your worlds turn upside down, it seemed reasonable that you’d want to stay; immerse yourself in something familiar. but staying at jujutsu tech--in japan all together--was overwhelming. you needed time to figure and sort yourself out; cope without having to relive painful memories every time you passed where the incidents took place. 

leaving the two people who helped you cope during the ordeal with suguru was difficult, but though they too were pained to part from their friend, they also understood the importance of your leave. they weren’t too stressed, though. you’d stay in touch. you promised. 

shoko stepped forward to give you one final departing gift, wrapping her arms around your neck as you immediately reciprocated, and in shoko’s arms did you mull over whether this was the right choice for you for the nth time. 

a couple moments pass before the two of you pull apart, with shoko whispering a threatening “you better call.” one final time, jabbing an accusing finger at you as if you had already broken your promise, before stepping off to the side to allow satoru to get his own affairs in order. he stepped toward you with a roll of his eyes. 

satoru gojo has been an insufferable ass ever since you met him in your first year. to you, he once came off inconsiderate and ill-mannered, and to satoru, you once came off stuck up and uptight. yet somehow the mutual distaste you two had for each other upon first meeting turned into a friendship filled with teasing.

it felt weird leaving satoru behind especially, because somehow along the bumpy road the two of you took to get to where you were now, something yet again shifted in the way you viewed him, a shift you were still unfamiliar with. it felt strange leaving without it figured out. but you’d get a chance to, you hoped. like with everything else in your bizarre life. 

your usual banter insued as satoru took hold of the handle on your suitcase, swinging it back and forth before loading it into the open trunk. you threatened satoru to look out for himself and not be too much of a nuisance while you were away as he did so. he clicked his tongue as he brought the trunk down with a thud! and waved off your false threats. 

”don't miss me too much, y/n.” he smirked over his shoulder, tinted glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as he stepped back up on the sidewalk. cerulean eyes shone under the morning sunlight, fixed on you with an intense gaze in contrast to his easy smile. you looked over your shoulder as you opened the rear car door, mimicking his expression. 

”won't be a problem.”

the first couple of months went strong. you upheld your promise of calling shoko frequently, and satoru would often squeeze himself into the frame of shoko’s camera to tease or hurl an insult toward you. she’d shoo him off or laugh along, because she too missed the playful banter you all once immersed yourselves in. and though you were far from the paths you once trekked with your friends, only ghosts of those moments lingering on them now, at least there was no trace of your dying friendship.

more time passed and contact became less frequent. life went on, and keeping in touch as regularly as you once did became increasingly difficult. only on occasion were you able to organize a chat, so much yet so little to be said. each new life event shared left you to ponder over even hours after you had hung up the phone. 

and soon enough, a decade had passed. ten years you thought you’d spend in agony over being away from the people and places you considered home flew by considerably fast, and the thought nauseated you slightly as you reminisced on memories from your youth. 

the nostalgia of your teenage years lingered like a light fog in your mind, always finding some way to trace even the most mundane of things back to your old friends, especially satoru gojo. even after ten long, busy years, you still found that annoying white haired friend of yours lingering in the back of your mind. 

though so much time had passed, you hadn’t gone cold turkey with your communication from your friends; only infrequent. you knew of the important things: the promising new students at jujutsu tech, satoru becoming a teacher, the curse that was rika, the night parade of a hundred demons, toji’s son that satoru was now looking over—suguru’s death. all things recollected to you from your texts with shoko and gojo. though neither of them were quite big on details.  

ten years has definitely granted you time to think, to organize, to consider and try new things. you worked through complicated feelings, you met new people, you saw and experienced new things, and certainly had all those things teach you a couple of important lessons. 

and ultimately, after over a decade, you made the decision to return to japan as a teacher at jujutsu tech. 

around this time, you felt a consistent nagging as if there was still a missing, unsorted piece of your life. you believed that perhaps the decision to return home was spurred by the growing intensity of it. it built up slowly over your less frequent phone calls and text conversations with your old friends and the ever growing amount of changing of their lives back home. though perhaps suguru’s death compelled you to return as well. 

you returned the following year after the night parade of a hundred demons. you convinced yourself it would just be a friendly reunion like with the rest of your old friends, but the second you were standing face to face with satoru, your heart said otherwise. 

it wasn’t unusual to feel anxious when reuniting with someone, but the painstakingly long pause that followed upon being reunited after so many years made you suppress a shudder. It was hard to believe the man in front of you was the troublemaker you used to go to school with. It was hard to believe he was even real. 

you used the silence to get a good look at him, just to make sure it was truly him (and you think satoru was doing the same, regardless of his six eyes.) he had gotten even taller, and he now wore his messy locks of snow white hair up. his uniform was still fitted as it used to be, always just a bit baggier than his tall frame. 

but the most prominent difference was his new defining feature, and so you decided to comment on it first. satoru was still in a sort of trance (of shock you guessed; your only indicator were his slightly parted lips) when you broke the ice with a smirk and the words he had parted with you over a decade ago.

"hope you didn’t miss me too much, satoru. what's with the tacky blindfold?” 

and the grin that followed on his lips stretched from ear to ear.

satoru your coworker wasn't all that different from satoru your classmate. he was still as childish as ever, irritated by the higher ups and an irritation to all those around him. you found that out rather quickly when reuniting with yaga and nanami. you made a dramatic fuss over how much they both had changed, nanami shyly looking down with a slight frown reminiscent of the signature one he wore when he was younger. you didn’t feel it was appropriate to bring up haibara or suguru at any point. 

but your relationship with satoru your coworker was off from your relationship with satoru your classmate. It had been years, and you’ve fallen into your normal rhythm with satoru pretty quickly and easily on the surface. but the passage of time was still evident in your conversations as it was with the changes in your appearances. time matured him (or most likely his ordeals with suguru). even his manner of speaking was so serious sometimes that it caught you off guard. it felt even worse than having him hate you, treating you as if you were a stranger hurting that much more.

so much yet so little had changed. you were taken aback by the amount of maturity in his reasoning for wanting to become a teacher, even if it was so out of place for him, over a catch up brunch. it almost made you feel as if he were a stranger, with a new sense of maturity coupled with his new, more distant look and behaviour.

he’d tease you like he always did, but it didn't have as much bite. he'd show you around tokyo, treating you to desserts and jokingly gifting you funny souvenirs; but because satoru had become so unfamiliar, it didn’t feel as comforting as you thought it would. 

and that nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite put your finger on arose again.

you reunited with mei mei and utahime during the sister school goodwill event, with the latter enveloping you in a large hug reminiscent of the ones you received when you left them over a decade ago. they had all stayed relatively close, with utahime becoming a teacher like satoru at the sister school in kyoto. 

you were good friends with her, always defending her from satoru’s insults and indulging in her (in your case, faux) hatred toward satoru. you two had also stayed in close contact, appreciating all the emotional support she provided and her updates on the events in her life and the jujutsu world (with complaints about satoru tossed in here and there). 

which is why your jealousy was irrational, you thought to yourself as you watched satoru and utahime in the monitoring room. you knew satoru and utahime being the last two people in the world wouldn’t make them fall in love. even if they were, your jealousy was still out of place. if anything, you should feel happy for your two old friends.

but perhaps it had more to do with the distance and familiarity satoru and utahime were able to maintain, even if it was their regular quarreling and distaste for one another. perhaps the way they were able to slip into the routine they’ve kept up for so many years, no matter how ruthless it was, ate at you, reminded you of how different things were between you and satoru. you weren’t two teenagers who’d sometimes catch each other’s stares from across a room. you weren’t attending school together and going on missions. 

and the distance was bound to strain your relationship. but you figured that if there was anyone you’d be able to break back into routine with, it was the troublemaker you had known since the two of you were fresh faced students like the ones he now mentors. 

it was all those little things stacked atop each other, that casual and distant demeanor satoru treated you with as if you were a stranger, time staring back at you in the mature way he, shoko and utahime carried themselves, and satoru slipping into a routine that you were sure you and him would be able to maintain with someone else, made that whole tower of unease fall apart with that final crack. 

he had walked off after you after you had excused yourself from the room, feeling sick the more you thought about the large gap in memories, in time, in knowledge, between you and the others. 

“jealous?” he smirked, clearly amused by your sudden outburst (and deeply curious, since it was so out of character for you). 

“not a chance.”

not in the way he was suggesting, at least. you waved him off. “go back to your flirting session.” 

and Satoru stopped in his tracks, recoiling in disgust over the mere implication. because even he knew that you would never think such a thing of his relationship with utahime, even if he were to one day tell you that something was going on. 

perhaps it was the distance, satoru thought to himself sadly. because while to you satoru didn’t seem to be all that affected by your return, he still saw in you that old classmate of his that made his face burn with simply the strength they exhibited, with only a short meeting of gazes from across a room as a teenager, and his heart ached at emotional distance. there was no way that classmate that knew which treats to bribe him with and what games were his favorite would ever assume such a thing about him. 

getting through to one another was never easy, both of you equally stubborn in your resolve. and when you throw this terrible distance, these horrible feelings of insecurity and confusion, it made the miscommunication between the two of you that much worse. 

but satoru remembers the day you left as if no time had passed at all. he remembers the rising lump in his throat as he watched you say your goodbyes with shoko. he remembers the wave of fear that washed over him as he watched you turn your back from him, reminiscent of the event that took place when his best friend left him for good. he remembers the confession on the tip of his tongue as he looked down at you and into your sharp gleaming eyes, words he’s debated with himself for years over whether or not he was a coward or a hero in not saying.

and right now, as he stares at your confused and hurt expression, your back turned to him yet again, all those feelings wash over him and he feels as if it may be the former, because now he’s let his insecurity hurt you. but he also knows that whether he was a coward or hero then doesn’t matter now. he wouldn’t allow a repeat of what happened all those years ago. he wouldn't let himself hesitate.

he reached to grab your wrist, and you harshly recoiled, shooting him an angry glare from across your shoulder. “what the- hell, satoru? would you just-”

“i wasn’t flirting.” 

“whatever. I don’t-”

suguru knew him better than anyone. shoko knows him better than anyone. you know him better than anyone.

“utahime? really? i would think that you know me better than that.” 

the pout on his face seeped into his voice, and you further struggled in his grip. “things change with time, satoru. you can’t expect me-”

the distance was fine. satoru could do distance. but it was this misunderstanding that made his stomach churn uncomfortably. it was the fact that he seemed so unknown to you. that you seemed so unknown to him. who knew that such a minor misunderstanding would carry so much emotional baggage, invoke such strong reactions from the two of you? 

“can’t use that excuse if i’ve always been in love with you.”

you immediately stopped fidgeting, staring at satoru’s serious expression with wide eyes. his pout settled into a deep frown, and you’re absolutely despising the fact that you can’t see his eyes with that stupid new blindfold. stupid time. stupid change. 

“i’m in love with you,” he said again with a shrug. “and that never changed.”

silence. all you could do is continue to stare at him as he held your wrist. but then you inhaled sharply and satoru released his grip. you took another deep breath, and then…

“how the hell am I supposed to know something like that? it’s been over ten years, satoru gojo. everything feels different- you look different!- and you expect me to know you’ve been in love with me for how long?”

you ranted all your anger toward him as you jabbed a finger into his chest, while he continued to stare down at you with a frown and his hands now buried in his pockets. his lack of a reaction only added to your frustration, and you still felt as if you were staring at a stranger. 

“take off that damn blindfold.” 

his mouth drops into a small o for a moment, before he brings a hand to his face. it feels as if an agonizing amount of time passes as satoru slips the blindfold down from his eyes to hang over his neck. his hair falls into that familiar disheveled heap, and you’re immediately met with a familiar rush of anxiety rushing through your veins as you make eye contact with his blue ones. 

big and bright, and staring down at you with so much longing. his hand stays on his blindfold, and the frown stays etched into his face, but you can finally see those eyes. the ones that sent a wave of warmth over you when they connected with yours. the ones you found yourself gazing at as you leaned your head against a desk, admiring them from a sideways angle as they glistened in a ray of sunlight. one’s you knew you could rely on, not because they belonged to the strongest or because of the power they held, but because they belonged to your best friend, to the boy that made your heart stutter. 

and you’re too emotional finally seeing your satoru gojo to care about the fact that you were now sobbing into satoru’s chest in relief over something familiar, and you cried even harder when his arms wrapped around your frame, head resting sideways into your hair. and you felt stupid for breaking down over something so childish, so minor.

but maybe some things didn’t change and maybe some change was for the better. because you’ve had over ten years to figure yourself out and so did satoru, and with your decision to return home was your decision to return to satoru synonymous with it. 

and you felt satoru finally smile a genuine and childish and familiar sort of smile, into your hair, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about how stupid you felt in that moment. 

and that final unsorted piece of your life finally stopped nagging at you, as if satoru had exorcised a curse that lingered on your back these past ten years. those confusing and unidentifiable feelings you felt for satoru way back when. together, you’d be able to rebuild your relationship with satoru into the way it used to be all those years ago, not a single detail unknown, so you could put all those insecurities and fear to rest. 

[chilly-weirdo-in-a-tomb]

Alecto Prediction #7

On the Ninth, there is a very specific face paint design that is only used when you’re gonna go fuck someone. Harrow wears this one day in front of Gideon. And the scene goes as thus:

Gideon: “huh. Never seen that design before. Lame.”

Harrow: “if you ever attended to your studies of the Ninth’s traditions, you would know that this, the Skull of the Penitent Taken to Church, has a very sacred and specific purpose.”

Gideon: “wow, so interesting. Maybe you go tell Paul about it and let me get back to polishing my sword.”

Paul, who recently read the Ninth’s new postulant hand book and has popped up out of nowhere: “it means she wants to fuck.”

[hungryslothwrites]

Francis Forever by Mitski / Presumably Dead Arm by Sidney Gish / Naked, the Night Falls by The Crane Wives / Presumably Dead Arm again! / Against the Kitchen Floor by Will Wood / Iris by Goo Goo Dolls / Francis Forever again! / This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone / Take Me To Church by Hozier / Iris again!