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[safetyall]

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[theladyofthevarioussorrows]

In honor of Lestat de Lioncourt's 264th birthday, I present to you...

Written in Blood, or the Play in which The Brat Prince Ties the Knot

Part I (of IV)

Fandom: The Vampire Chronicles (Gothic horror novel series, 1976-2018); Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (TV series, 2022-present)

Pairing: Lestat de Lioncourt/fem!reader; Lestat de Lioncourt/You

Word count: 3,900+

Characters: Lestat de Lioncourt (Sam Reid, the best version…­­­the only one that matters, obviously); fem!reader; The Vampire Armand (lol ouch); Nicolas de Lenfent (even bigger ouch, RIP); Santiago; Estelle; Celeste; Eglee; Sam; Gustav; Quang Pham; pretty much the entire Theatre des Vampires.

Summary: Fem!reader is the newest addition to the Theatre des Vampires, and Lestat becomes smitten with her (of course he does, the little whore!). Lestat’s allure, charm, beauty, and viciousness are not lost on the reader, and she falls for him (I mean, who wouldn’t, let’s be honest). With fem!reader being the freshest member of the Coven, Santiago “initiates” her (similar to how he brought Claudia in) by casting her as Lestat’s co-star in the next play as his love interest. The play, overseen reluctantly by Armand is about a wedding (in the vein of The Taming of the Shrew, As You Like It, or something similar but accurate to the time period, that is the vibe…Lestat, little miss Lady Macbeth himself, “barely Balthazar” Armand, “too old to play Hamlet, too young to play Polonius” Santiago, and I are all Shakespeare girlies, so I thought it would make sense); fem!reader and Lestat are actually getting legally married, unbeknownst to the mortal audience. Fem!reader and Lestat are to be the bride and groom, Santiago is the Justice of the Peace, and the rest of the TDV are the wedding party. While Armand is still the Coven leader, he “directs” the play and Nicki leads the orchestra. Things do not go the way they were planned to go (in Armand’s case); a story of love, sex, and vampire drama unfolds.

Warnings and additional tags: New/eventual relationship, established relationship, smut (P in V), fluff, mention of sex, mention of masturbation, (F and M), oral sex (F and M receiving), all characters (except the reader, duh) are written to be as close to the way they are in the books as well as the show to the best of my ability, reader-insert, reader-interactive, use of Y/N, Lestat gives the reader pet names in French (this is Lestat, after all), mutual pining, flirting, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism (is anything Lestat does really a secret? No, not really), blood drinking, blood sucking, bloodletting, biting, gore, violence, murder (feeding on humans is the only instance of this), both Lestat and fem!reader are bisexual, age gap (fem!reader is younger than Lestat by at least a bit but it doesn’t really matter as much because he himself is a new-ish vampire; Lestat would still be somewhere in his thirties in mortal years by the show’s timeline), Lestat is very seductive and persuasive (fem!reader doesn’t need much persuading, so it’s not a bad thing), a bunch of mentions of Shakespeare, lines from As You Like It are in italics and dialogue from vampires using the Mind Gift are in bold italics.

Notes: This story takes place while Lestat is still performing with the Theatre des Vampires and is newly a vampire himself. Magnus is obviously dead by now (thank God). The events of this fic take place after Lestat breaks up with both Nicki (he is still alive at this point in time) and Armand, but before he meets Louis de Pointe du Lac and later Claudia. I don’t have anything against either character (I adore both greatly!), this is just a “what if?” kind of situation. This is a basic idea I had had for literal years ever since I read the books, but I didn’t do anything with it until the second season of the show started, specifically episode 10. I wasn’t immune to Harlequin Lestat, and I was FERAL about it. Sam Reid only made that worse for me (God, I am so in love with him…that man IS Lestat. He doesn’t just play him, he BECAME him, and no one else has come close. Tom Cruise and Stuart Townsend could NEVER!). The premise of the fic came to me while listening to “Written in Blood” by She Wants Revenge…one thing led to another, and here we are! Also, yes, I KNOW the vampires don’t “have sex” in the novels, but they do in the show (a LOT). I might make references to things that have happened in the books (mostly Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat, possibly a bit of Queen of the Damned) but might not have been shown in the TV series yet, so reader beware of that. Let this be the spoiler warning if you are not familiar with the books or haven’t watched the show. I am completely ignoring both movies, because they mean absolutely nothing to me now that the (far superior) show exists. The piece that fem!reader uses for her audition comes from Shakespeare’s comedy As You Like It…she is reading as Rosalind while disguised as Ganymede, and Lestat reads with her as Orlando. I thought the parallels were a nice touch. I obviously do not own the rights to As You Like It, I merely used the one scene for Y/N’s audition, and to add romantic and dramatic effect. Special shout out to my best friend Riley for their contribution and ideas!

Language: English (except for a handful of pet names and expressions used by Lestat in French, hopefully I did it correctly. I took 4 years of French in high school, but I am not fluent)

_________________________________________

It was a cool autumn night in Paris, and while mortals slept, the undead were busy welcoming their newest member to their coven inside the old auditorium. The Vampire Armand stood proudly in front of the stage, looking up at the Theatre’s founder and poster child Lestat de Lioncourt, giving him notes and stage directions he knows full well Lestat will not listen to. Next to Lestat was Y/F/N Y/L/N, a freshly turned vampire herself.

Today was Y/N’s audition to join the Theatre des Vampires, and although nervous, she felt at home already among the other thespians in the room with her. With her lifelong love of theatre and literature that only intensified in her newly immortal life, Y/N knew she was in good company. She caught herself stealing glances at Lestat, as if against her will, but she knew she couldn’t help herself. Of all the vampires in this room—the stage director and Coven leader Armand, fellow company members Eglee, Celeste, Estelle, Sam, Gustav, and Quang Pham in the seats, as well as the gifted violinist Nicki hiding in the wings—there is something captivating and enchanting about this charismatic blonde actor. Y/N felt immediately attracted to this man, and she was both alarmed by and pleased with this sudden revelation. Lestat could feel Y/N’s attraction to him, something he found adorable, endearing, distracting, and quite arousing. Lestat gazed at her, a charmingly wicked smile on his face as he admired the young vampire in front of him. Armand, annoyed but pushing the uneasy feeling down, turned to look at Y/N.

“Welcome to the Theatre, dear Y/N. The Coven and I are interested as to how you found yourself in Paris, and how you found us. Please, enlighten everyone,” Armand said, with a slight air of both curiosity and mild arrogance rolled together. Y/N quickly moved her glance from Lestat to Armand and shivered slightly before she answered.

“Hello all, my name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, and I was visiting when I was given the Dark Gift. I have been in Paris ever since. I heard about the Theatre through my maker, and through discovering the Theatre, I found out about the Coven.” As she told the truth, she felt Santiago staring daggers at her, full of amusement.

“So, little miss Y/L/N, it seems as though you enjoy the arts, is that right?” said Santiago, with a slithery snark. Y/N nodded her head. “A birdie told me that you’re auditioning with one of Shakespeare’s lesser works, yes?” Y/N nodded again. Lestat’s blueish violet eyes widened as he grinned a little bigger.

“Yes, I will be reading as Rosalind disguised as Ganymede. I hope you find it suitable,” she said politely, trying to stifle a small tinge of laughter. Santiago exaggerated his giggle to mock her slightly before speaking again.

“Hmm, I assume you would like to have someone read with you. I wonder who that could be…” Santiago’s voice trailed off as he shifted his glance from Y/N to the left of her.

The slender, blonde, and devilishly handsome vampire beside Y/N spoke before she could even have the thought to respond. Watching from the wings, the violinist Nicki put a hand to his forehead with a quiet groan.

“I volunteer myself. I know the play by heart,” said Lestat. He shot Y/N a soft but sly grin as he placed his hand on his chest, reeling in the blush that appeared on her face. Armand had to hold back a scoff as Lestat offered to read with her. “I’m quite curious to see how she does, if I may.” Lestat gently bowed as he spoke to her, with a smile on his face and intrigue in his heart. Lestat was many things, and subtle was not one of them. Y/N nodded, smiling slyly back at him.

“You may,” Y/N said, bowing slightly. Her cheeks cast a rosy glow upon them as she smiled. Santiago chuckled to himself, and Armand choked down another scoff as he looked back to Y/N and Lestat.

“As you wish. Lestat, you will read with Y/N as Orlando, starting from his entrance after Jaques exits the scene. Y/N, you will follow.” Armand crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the two vampires in front of him on the stage.

“Yes, maître,” said Y/N, slightly nervous but strangely excited about reading alongside this hauntingly tempting creature next to her. She got herself into character quickly, trying to fight off the thought of how sweet Lestat’s blood might taste on her tongue and how soft his full lips must be, among various other salacious and primal things that she wasn’t aware of that she needed or wanted. It wasn’t an unwelcome thing—Lestat had something disarmingly attractive about him. Y/N felt drawn to him somehow, but she tried in vain to hide it. Lestat cleared his throat and prepared himself as well, his own pale skin turning a faint pink as they moved to the middle of the stage. Butterflies fluttered inside their bodies as they began their scene. After a few seconds of silence passed, Lestat launched into character.

“My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.” Lestat said, remembering the lines from memory as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Despite her nervousness and giddiness, Y/N began herself.

“Break an hour’s promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ th’ shoulder, but I’ll warrant him heart-whole.” Y/N matched Lestat’s intensity and focus as she spoke her lines. Astonished by her delivery, he carried on with his own lines.

“Pardon me, dear Rosalind,” continued Lestat, feeling a rush of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach, the pleasant sensation only growing stronger as she went on. Lestat watched her as she moved effortlessly through her audition, overcome with awe, very nearly stumbling on his own lines as a result. Armand and Santiago watched from the bottom of the stage as Y/N and Lestat kept going.

Armand watched from the front row and noticed Lestat’s immediate and oddly natural chemistry with Y/N and was well aware of the subtle attraction and quiet infatuation she felt towards Lestat. Armand could feel it through her, and it bothered him. He couldn’t help it; he began to feel his face turn green with envy. Santiago, however, was greatly amused at what was unfolding in front of them—and he relished the drama of it all. The rest of the Coven watched from the seats intently, some engrossed, some unbothered. Nicki leaned up against the wall backstage, a pained expression etched on his features. Looking on at his former lover floating across the stage with a woman whom he had only met mere hours ago and watching her fall under his spell just as he had, Nicki shook his head, a grimace forming on his face.

With all due respect, maître…maybe we should keep an eye on the new one, said Santiago, filling Armand’s head with his thoughts without moving his mouth. It’s only a matter of time before our dear founder tries to take her to bed with him…you know as well as I do how he is. And seeing how she’s looking at him—Armand did not want to hear this. Lestat and Y/N were too immersed in their scene and lost in each other to hear them through their own minds.

Armand cut him off. Enough, Santiago. I know very well how Lestat operates. Let them finish. I’ll allow Y/N to continue, for now. We shall decide what measures to take when the time is right… As Armand and Santiago sized Y/N up, she breezed through her audition.

“Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now an I were your very, very Rosalind?” Y/N continued as she blushed and smiled at Lestat. Anything he did in his impromptu performance, she followed with masterful skill.

Lestat slowly walked closer to her, his gaze never leaving her eyes. Lestat looked at Y/N, smirking as he brushed some of his long blonde hair behind his ear. He let the silence expand for a second before he continued.

“I would kiss before I spoke.”

Lestat and Y/N gazed at each other as if they were the only beings in the room, amusing Santiago morbidly and annoying Armand profoundly. A mixture of admiration and a deep hunger formed inside Lestat’s chest, and Y/N’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She gulped quietly as she tried to keep up with Lestat. Determined to give the best audition she could despite having to act opposite the most gorgeous creature she has ever laid her eyes on, alive or dead, Y/N tried to fight off her own desire building within her. Soft gasps could be heard from the other vampires watching them from the seats.

“Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking—God warn us—matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.”

Sensing Y/N’s struggle to maintain her composure, Lestat met her energy with his own words. “How if the kiss be denied?” He looked at her for a beat, cocking his head to one side quizzically. Y/N answered him with a playful shrug.

“Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.”

Lestat continued his teasing, delighted by the thrill Y/N gave him. “Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?”

Y/N pretended to scoff. “Marry, that should you if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.”

Lestat looked at Y/N with a look of mock surprise. “What, of my suit?” he said, his voice harboring a more sensual tone this time.

“Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am I not your Rosalind?” Y/N floated across the stage like a ghost, every single movement calculated and carried out so smoothly.

“I take some joy to say you are because I would be talking of her.” Lestat’s face reddened slightly as he noticed how Y/N’s jaw dropped, but only for a second before she kept going.

“Well, in her person I say I will not have you.” Y/N let out an exaggerated giggle as she playfully spun around slowly.

A dramatic sigh escaped Lestat’s lungs. “Then in mine own person I die.” He looked back at Y/N as she turned to face him again.

“By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come; now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will, I will grant it.” Y/N gazed at the vampire in front of her, only inches separating them now. Lestat reached out to gently caress Y/N’s cheek as they looked deeply into each other’s eyes, making her blush even more obvious in her face now. He has her right where he wants her, and as fate or some other mystical thing would have it, Y/N is right where she wants to be. Once again, Lestat drew the silence out for a beat too long before he spoke.

“Then love me, Rosalind.”

Y/N’s voice trembled a little as she leaned into Lestat’s touch. His unbroken focus on her made her feel slightly faint just from the way he looked at her, but she kept her cool as best as she could. “Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.” She shyly smiled up at him, trying and failing to hide her quiet swooning.

Lestat hung on to every word that left her lips as if he had never heard such language spoken before. Of course, he was no stranger to the stage himself, having been the Theatre’s main selling point for a few years now. The act of performing on a stage in front of an enamored audience always thrilled him, but she…she was different. This new and sudden but pleasant feeling cut him way deeper, hit him harder—he knew that she was something magical. And Lestat wasn’t quite sure where to put that desire and hunger, so he decided to do the thing he does best: he needed to have her all to himself, by any means necessary. Lestat was delighted to find that the feeling was so clearly mutual.

Santiago watched Lestat enchant Y/N as they continued with their performances. He gasped quietly as he saw Lestat become smitten with Y/N, rolling his eyes. Just look at those two! Can you believe them? They’ve made eyes at each other from the second she came through the door. They’ve only just met a few hours ago and he’s looking at her like Venus de Milo herself…and she looks as if she’s about to melt through the floor. Armand found himself becoming more and more annoyed as Lestat and Y/N carried on like they were, and Santiago took notice. Maître, you’re grinding your teeth…

Armand huffed quietly. I said let them continue. Y/N is smarter than we realize. If she doesn’t know who she’s getting herself tied up with, she will. I can guarantee that. Armand maintained his mildly annoyed expression as he crossed his arms over his chest. I see potential in her. We can use that potential.

Santiago, ever the drama queen but also the suck-up, tried to push Armand’s buttons. How shall we do that, maître? I wonder what our violinist has to say about this…I can’t imagine he’s especially thrilled about—

Armand cut him off once again. Be silent now, Santiago. Nicki is the least of my worries right now.

Now mildly aware of the growing discomfort in the pit of Armand’s stomach and Santiago’s antagonizing of him, Lestat continued to read with Y/N. He was enraptured by her, this was true—but he also found quite a bit of amusement in making Armand uncomfortable. Y/N, less aware of the effect her performance is having on the Coven leader and his all-too-willing sidekick, matched him masterfully.

“And wilt thou have me?” said Lestat, sultry and low.

Y/N nodded her head and smiled. “Ay, and twenty such.”

Lestat felt his heart flutter in his chest as he moved closer to her. “What sayest thou?”

Y/N gently bit her lip then let it go with a smirk. “Are you not good?”

“I hope so.” Lestat rolled his eyes in a sassy manner.

“Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?” Y/N went on, closing the small space between herself and Lestat.

The vaguely pained expression did not escape Armand’s face. Still wanting to maintain some sort of order and power over his Coven, Armand kept his focus fixed on the two vampires on the stage in front of him.

Santiago, an evil grin taking shape over his features, watched Lestat and Y/N’s bond become deeper by the second as Y/N continued. “Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando.” Y/N gently reached for Lestat’s hand, and he placed it in hers, tangling their fingers together. She looked to where the audience would be sitting. “What do you say sister?” Y/N looked back up at Lestat as he gazed back at her, their vampire eyes blown out with love and desire for each other.

After what felt like an eternity, Lestat put his finger under Y/N’s chin and gingerly tilted her head up. He started to move down to press his lips to hers, and she moved up to meet him. He closed his eyes, and her eyelids fluttered shut as his lips gently—

A groan could be heard from Armand as Santiago abruptly rose from his seat and applauded loudly. Lestat and Y/N snapped out of their trance and pulled away from each other, no longer able to hide their blushing. The rest of the Coven began to applaud as well. The vampires Sam and Gustav were enthusiastic in their encouragement of the new potential member of the Coven and her undeniable and palpable chemistry with their Theatre’s founder. Celeste looked on with a proud smile on her face, while Estelle clapped wildly. Eglee rolled her eyes before eventually joining in with her applause. Backstage, Nicki shook his head again as he quietly left the auditorium, quietly cursing under his breath.

“Very well done, Y/N. Very well done indeed,” said Santiago, sounding giddier than he probably should. He looked at Armand. “What say you, maître?” he asked with mock amusement.

Armand once again did not listen. He looked up at Y/N as Lestat released her from his gentle but bold embrace. “Exquisite work, Y/N. Exceptional. While we evaluate your performance, you are welcome to remain here with the Coven. We have provided a coffin for you near your maker’s.” Armand started to dismiss everyone before he turned back to Y/N. “We do expect you to keep our hours, curfew is three o’clock sharp.” He shot a subtle but menacing glare at Lestat. Lestat rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself as he turned his back to him. Armand looked at Y/N again. Lestat smiled warmly at Y/N as he winked at her.

Still reeling from everything that just occurred, Y/N nodded and bowed. “Yes maître, I will. Thank you all.” Armand dismissed Santiago and the rest of the Coven, and they all left the auditorium.

It was then that Y/N heard a sensual and seductive voice inside her head.

Très bien fait, ma chérie. I’m impressed.

Y/N turned around to find Lestat leaning against the piano on the stage, his arms crossed over his chest, looking her up and down, dripping with genuine curiosity and insatiable desire. She blushed and smiled as she met his gaze.

“That’s very sweet of you to say, Lestat. It really means a lot to hear.” Y/N walked over to him, slightly nervous but not at all deterred. “You were amazing yourself.”

Lestat rolled his eyes playfully at her compliment but accepted it. “You flatter me, mon amour.” He stood up straight and walked over to her, looking down at her with that softly sly smirk again. “I must say, my dear Y/N, you are quite the actress. Many have come and gone from this theatre, but none have bewitched me so like you have, ma petite fleur.”

Y/N swooned at his words, slightly taken aback by the sincerity in them despite the obvious attraction. “Oh, you’re too kind. It’s not often I’m in the presence of someone so…” She caught herself getting lost in his eyes again—something she has by now realized is very easy to do—before she continued. “So…enchanting as you.”

Lestat chuckled lowly. “Is that so? Well, you have captivated me too, love,” he said, pausing briefly as he took the sight of her in. “I haven’t seen such talent on this stage in quite some time, Y/N.” She blushed deeper as she took a second to gather her thoughts. Y/N sighed softly before speaking.

“Thank you! I’m just happy that I can finally do what I love to do. Up until today, I thought it was unfortunate that I couldn’t do this kind of thing when I was mortal, but I don’t have that feeling now that I’m here. In an odd way, it feels right like this.” Y/N chuckled lightly.

Lestat listened to her words intently. “I know that feeling very well, mon coeur. For what it’s worth, I’m quite glad you wandered into our midst. I can see already that you’re passionate about the Theatre, and it’s refreshing. You’re simply lovely.” Y/N smiled at his words of admiration and encouragement. “I cannot wait to see what other talents you possess, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he said with a smirk, appreciating the slight drop of her jaw. Noticing the positive tension on her face, Lestat spoke gently to her. “Oh, and don’t be nervous, chérie. There is nothing to be afraid of. I have no doubt you’ll fit in here, I am sure of it.” He traced her jawline affectionately before tilting her head up to bring her eyes to meet his, just like he did during her audition. “And, if I may be so bold, I would love to get to know you better. If you’ll have me, of course.” Y/N’s eyes widened as she swooned. She nodded as she stuttered slightly.

“I’d love to, Lestat. I would be honored.” Y/N felt her heart jump into her mouth. The gorgeous blonde vampire in front of her reveled in how flustered she looked as he spoke to her.

“Very well then, dear Y/N. We’ll continue our little conversation after your initiation tomorrow.”

Y/N gulped. “My…my what?!”

Lestat giggled slyly. “You heard me correctly, ma chérie. Welcome to the Theatre, darling. You’re one of us now as far as I’m concerned.”

“But…Armand said—” Lestat gently placed a finger over her lips to shut her up as he spoke lowly to her, sultry and dripping with desire.

“Shh, ma jolie fille…never mind what that manipulative gremlin Armand said.” Lestat let his finger gently drag across her bottom lip before letting it go. He brushed some of her hair behind her ear as he continued. “I’ll be seeing you backstage afterwards, yes?”

There was no way for him to be coy about his appetite for her any more than he had earlier. The vampire Lestat de Lioncourt, the Brat Prince himself, was anything but shy about his unquenchable thirst for Y/N; it only grew exponentially in the few hours since he met her.

Y/N felt as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs as she nodded. “Of course, Lestat. You will.” She smiled at him, trying to regulate her breathing.

Lestat smiled wickedly at her again. “Très bien, mon amour. I’ll see you then.” He caressed her face again before turning to walk away. “Bonne nuit, ma belle. Sweet dreams.”

Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her throat as she smiled. “Good night, Lestat. I hope you sleep well.” Blushing, she beamed at him, and he smiled back, a blush of his own on his face.

With that, they left the room. As she lifted the lid to her coffin next to the others to crawl inside it, Y/N gasped as she heard Lestat’s voice in her head again, stopping her momentarily.

Remember what I told you, ma petite fleur. There is nothing to worry your pretty little head with. And know this too, my darling: I don't bite...hard.

[mononijikayu]

too sweet — ryomen sukuna.

His gaze did not waver as he leaned in, the intensity of his eyes locked onto yours, communicating a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey. You felt his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, before his lips met yours in a soft, exploratory kiss that spoke of a thousand unspoken promises. The gentleness of the kiss was a stark contrast to the fierce battles and harsh realities that both of you faced daily; here, in this moment, there was only gentleness, only love.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: too sweet by hozier

note: i was distracted writing this because my mother came from thailand and brought home the best sandwiches from 7/11 thailand. i just??? i think i fell in love. other than that, they've grown up and fallen in love for each other!!! let's see how their love story <333 mwah <333

HE’D NEVER THOUGHT HE’D EVER BE IN THIS POSITION SEVEN YEARS LATER. As the wind caressed his face, Sukuna's stern gaze took in the increasingly familiar landscape unfolding before him. The languid rustle of cherry blossoms caught in a spring breeze, their petals scattering whimsically, began to ease the tension in his shoulders. The lively calls of fisherfolk, a harmonious chorus that had once been foreign to his ears, now beckoned warmly from one end of the bustling docks to the other.

Approaching the land, the sight of double herons embroidered on rich, silken purple flags fluttering against the wooden decks of the patrol ships struck a chord within him. A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth—a rare, involuntary expression of contentment. For years, the concept of home had been an alien idea to him. As an orphan boy, he had never known a consistent backdrop, nor had he felt a compelling need to root himself in a place that promised permanence.

Yet, here he was, years later, feeling the weight of reformation. Ryomen Sukuna had wrestled with the need for a place to call home for many moons, and now, as he stood on the precipice of return, he found it waiting for him. Home, once a strange and elusive notion, had slowly woven itself into the fabric of his existence, coloring his world with a sense of belonging he had never dared to imagine before.

The familiar sights and sounds that he had once observed with detachment now welcomed him with the quiet affirmation of arrival. Home was no longer just a place, but a living tapestry of experiences and memories that, against all odds, had claimed him as its own.

Sukuna hadn’t anticipated that his mission would stretch out so long; after all, the curse wasn't particularly formidable. However, as time passed, the whispers of his prowess in jujutsu began to permeate far and wide. You had always cautioned Sukuna to maintain discretion in his work—reminding him that a Ryomen does not boast nor seek glory in fulfilling his duty.

He vividly recalled the countless times you made him write those words repeatedly whenever his confidence edged into arrogance. Hiramu had ingrained this principle deeply, reiterating it time and again, especially when Sukuna found himself kneeling in penance for any youthful misdeeds.

Despite this, the enthusiastic accolades and expressions of gratitude from those he helped, intertwined with your praise, had become a secret indulgence for him, a reward he guiltily cherished. He was well aware that his rising fame likely irked other clans.

They were losing clients, gifts, and, most crucially, influence—a fact he was sure had not escaped the ears of clan leaders who probably complained to your father over the past seven years. Yet, Sukuna remained indifferent to their displeasure of these foolish, pitiful clans; his primary allegiance was to you and your interests. And to you, it was the prestige of the clan. 

Thus, he continued unabated, accepting mission after mission. To prove himself. To hone his jujutsu. To serve you. Even though he disliked being away for extended periods, he still did what he must. He felt you needed him more than those he aided, but you smiled at him each and every time, telling him to go.

You told him you were proud of him, even before he left. Each mission must be impeccable. Your name was on the line, as much as your honor was. He was a part of you. And so, he had to do well. He had to be stronger. He had to be greater. 

The thought of disappointing you was unbearable to him. He couldn't risk drawing your ire, not when he yearned so deeply for the comforting touch of your hand in his once more. It was as painful as to see you harmed in the field, doing the dirty work of the elders who can’t be bothered to exercise curses themselves. His devotion to you dictated his actions, guiding him through a tangled web of duty and desire, each task performed a step in the dance of his allegiance, bound by the intricate threads of loyalty and love.

As Ryomen Sukuna approached the end of the pier, his silhouette was etched sharply against the setting sun. His white and red haori flew against the wind, the herons dancing against the exquisite silk. His stride was purposeful and his presence commanding, causing a stir among the few who lingered in the vicinity.

He supposed the town’s folk will never get used to the intensity of his presence. But he did not care. A lone servant dressed in Ryomen silk wool waited there, his head bowed respectfully as he anticipated Sukuna’s arrival. The moment Sukuna's footsteps halted before him, the servant looked up slightly, maintaining a posture of deep respect.

"Sukuna-sama," the servant began, his voice steady yet imbued with a palpable tension, aware of the importance of this encounter.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the servant. "I was expecting someone else to wait for me." he stated, his tone cool and imposing. He did not say your name, for risk of your reputation. “But it seems you were on time. Unlike last time.”

The servant swallowed, a hint of anxiety flickering across his face. "My apologies, Sukuna-sama. It would seem that Mikoto-sama was preoccupied accompanying Gojo-sama and Lady Hiromi on their ride. They were—"

Sukuna raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence, his displeasure evident on his features. As time went on, his annoyance of Gojo Suzaku had turned into hatred. "Why is clan leader Gojo in Hida? And did you say it was now Hiromi–sama accompanying him?" His voice grew colder with each word, and a shadow seemed to cross his features.

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the servant hurried to explain, sensing the growing storm. "They were engaged in matters of the clans, discussing important matters. But Hiromi–sama seemed uneasy and went for a ride. Gojo–sama came along, to continue their conversation.” Sukuna's jaw tightened, and he took a moment to compose himself. The thought of Hiromi spending time with Gojo, in such intimate discussions concerning such intimacy, stirred a tumult of feelings within him.  His voice was controlled but sharp when he finally spoke. "I see. And was this meeting arranged?"

"It was planned, Sukuna–sama. Gojo-sama is here for business with Isamu–sama," the servant replied, his eyes downcast, wary of Sukuna’s reaction. ”The annual clan gathering will be hosted here in Hida, after all. Gojo–sama thought that he would discuss the matter with Isamu–sama and Hiromi–sama.”

Sukuna processed the information, his mind racing with thoughts of Hiromi and Gojo together, the implications of their meeting stretching beyond simple preparations. A surge of possessiveness and an unspoken fear gripped him—emotions he wasn't accustomed to confronting. Jealousy, he was certain, among them. But he would not let them be expressed out loud.

"Very well," Sukuna said tersely, his demeanor calm but his eyes betraying a storm brewing beneath the surface. "Make certain to inform Hiromi–sama that I had returned. Have a rider sent out, if you must.”

"Of course, Sukuna-sama," the servant responded, relieved to have been spared Sukuna's wrath but noting the undercurrent of tension.

As Sukuna turned to gaze out over the water, his mind remained on Hiromi. The servant, recognizing the dismissal, bowed deeply and retreated, leaving Sukuna alone with his thoughts. The tranquility of the scene before him contrasted starkly with the turmoil within, as he grappled with the complexities of his feelings—a mixture of protectiveness, entitlement, and a burgeoning realization of deeper emotions towards Hiromi that demanded his attention and perhaps, his action.

He purses his lips and crosses his arms.

It was not easy to feel all these at once.

But he thinks it's just what it truly was, to him.

The madness of love, that’s what it truly is.

With you, love was the unknown bountiful sea.

FATHER’S WORDS RANG OUT YOUR EARS OVER AND OVER AGAIN. As you rode atop your horse, the weight of recent events hung heavily upon you. The shock of your father's firm decision still clung tightly to your mind, refusing to dissipate. You felt a deep sense of unease; even the horse’s steady gait beneath you and the surrounding sounds of clan leader Gojo's voice failed to draw your attention or stir your passions. It seemed inevitable, this moment.

For the first time, your father had exerted a true force over your decisions, and as his vassal, he had treated you with an uncharacteristic lack of deference. You pressed your lips into a tight line, realizing it was perhaps overdue for him to assert his will over yours. You were no longer in the flush of youth, yet remained unwed and without an heir to carry on your father's legacy.

Most women of your age in your position would already have children; indeed, your mother often joyously remarked how your Fujiwara cousins had dutifully fulfilled their roles, providing heirs for their husbands. But your situation was far more complex. You were not merely your father's daughter; you were his chosen heir.

Your life and choices were inexorably tied to the clan's future. Whether in sickness or in the throes of war, your existence was a matter of clan continuity. Now, with the pressure mounting over your lack of a spouse and an heir, it seemed your father could no longer shield you from the council's increasingly pointed discussions.

Each council meeting, you knew, brought with it brooding deliberations over your future and the future of the clan. The need for you to marry and produce offspring was not just a familial expectation but a strategic necessity. What good was a clan, after all, if there were no descendants to continue its legacy? The question haunted you, echoing the stark reality that your personal desires were secondary to the clan’s needs.

As you contemplated this enforced path, a mixture of resignation and defiance took root within you. You understood your duty and the importance of your role within the clan, but the thought of a marriage arranged solely for strategic purposes—devoid of affection or choice—chafed against your deepest desires for autonomy and respect.

The landscape around you blurred into a backdrop for your turbulent thoughts, each hoofbeat of your horse a reminder of the relentless march toward a destiny chosen not by you, but for you.

This imposition on your personal freedom was a stark reminder of the sacrifices demanded by power and position. As the future clan leader, your personal happiness was intertwined with strategic alliances and clan survival. This realization did not come easily or without resentment, but as the land stretched out before you, you knew you must find a way to navigate these complex waters, preserving both your father’s legacy and your own integrity.

Lost in your own thoughts, Hiromi barely noticed the scenery changing as they approached the heart of the clan territories. It was Gojo's voice, gentle yet tinged with concern, that pulled her back to the present.

"Hiromi, are you alright?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress. “You seem lost in thought there. What's on your mind, little heron?"

Startled, you blinked, refocusing on the man riding alongside you. Suzaku Gojo had always been more than just a clan leader; he had been a mentor and, at times, a confidant. You had grown up with him as much as your brother had. He was a thankful constant in your life. But his presence too was comforting.

He was your better in such concerns of life, one who had experienced them more readily than you had. He was, if anything, someone you trust, on the same level as you do with your uncle and Sukuna. Perhaps, even more. 

"Yes, I'm just... considering everything that's happening," You responded to him, blinking slightly. His eyes did not waver in that concern. Your voice steady but your eyes betraying the turmoil inside. “Father had never been forceful about the idea of marriage before. The council of elders was another thing, but well, father was always another.”

Gojo nodded back at her, his eyes softly gazing at you. “It’s understandable. Your father has thought to give you the same freedoms as that of a man, to choose your intended. It is your right as heir.”

“It is my right.” You gently reiterated back to him. “But to see him fold like that….”

“I shall say this, I do understand your father’s concern.”

You raised a brow at him. “In what way?”

“You are his only heir now—”

“Sukuna is one of his heirs.” You retorted back to him, urging your horse forward again. “He is my uncle’s son. He has a name. He has the power, the strength. He can be my heir.”

Suzaku sighed, “But he will not be inheriting the blood of your father. Sukuna is one of you but–”

You turned to him sharply. “There are no buts, no ifs. He is one of us. He is my kin. That is why this is preposterous.”

“It is not truly as preposterous as you think.” 

“Says the man who is a bachelor by choice.” You snickered back at him sharply. Suzaku laughed. You sighed. “How do men have more choices than women?”

Gojo's laughter faded into a knowing smile, an acknowledgment of the sharpness in your words. His gaze, still filled with a mixture of respect and understanding, remained fixed on you as your horse picked up pace alongside his.

"Indeed, I have chosen to remain a bachelor," Gojo conceded with a nod, the lines around his eyes deepening with his smile. "And you're right; men often do face fewer constraints in these matters. It's an imbalance, rooted deep within our traditions.”

Your frustration was palpable, the reins tight in your hands as you navigated the uneven path. "And yet, here I am, expected to marry not for love or even respect, but for alliance and convenience," you said, your voice tinged with bitterness. "Is it so wrong to want more from life than strategic marriages?"

Gojo's expression sobered, his horse slowing to match the contemplative pace of your own. "It's not wrong at all," he replied sincerely. "In fact, it's a sign of your strength and your understanding of what true leadership involves. It's about merging duty with personal happiness, which is a difficult but not impossible balance to achieve."

“How would you know?”

“I was a child born out of love.” Gojo retorted back to you, with a prideful smile. You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not entirely impossible for you to find some poor piss sod of a  second son with good blood as your consort.”

You glanced at him, the setting sun casting shadows across your path, mirroring the complexity of your thoughts. "Certainly not the Zenin second son, if that is who you imply," you murmured dismissively. “At the very least, they should let me choose. They handed me a list, but they must ‘access’ him if he is indeed worthy of me.”

Gojo took a breath. "Your father is in a difficult position. As much as he values your freedom, your choice, he also faces the burden of ensuring the clan's future stability. The council made him realize that. Your marriage isn't just about you or him; it's about the entire clan's lineage and the alliances that will sustain it into the future."

"The weight of legacy," you sighed, the realization settling in like a cold blanket. "And what of Sukuna?" you asked, turning to your friend. "You say he cannot be the heir, but he has the strength and the respect of many within and outside our clan. He has the Ryomen name. Isn’t that worth something?"

"Sukuna is indeed capable," Gojo agreed, "and his contributions are invaluable. But leadership of a clan as prominent as yours, involves more than personal strength. The council will never approve of putting you aside. Woman you may be but you are their kin. And most blessed of the gods, with your powers. They’d not risk handing that over to another bloodline. Sukuna, while respected, will never gain the approval of the council. You know that too well, Hiromi."

You did know that well. 

But you did not wish to believe it.

You wished that it was all too easy.

As you rode alongside Gojo, the silence stretched between you, filled with the distant sounds of nature and the soft thudding of your horses' hooves against the soft earth. Your mind churned with thoughts, particularly of Sukuna, and the complex web of emotions that his potential marriage stirred within you. The idea of him choosing a partner, possibly from outside the clan, and the resulting distance that it might create, unsettled you deeply.

You had always relied on Sukuna, not just as a cousin or a fellow warrior, but as a pillar in your life—a constant presence whose strength and understanding had often been the anchor in your turbulent role as heir. The thought of him being tied to someone else, of sharing the bond you valued so much with another, felt like a quiet threat to the stability you depended on.

In the reflective quiet of your ride, you realized how much you needed him to remain close, both physically and in loyalty. "If Sukuna were to marry," you finally spoke, breaking the silence, "I hope it would be someone from within our clan." Your voice carried a mix of hope and a subtle plea, laden with unspoken reasons. Suzaku did not say anything, if he had noticed.

Gojo glanced at you, noting the undercurrent of concern in your tone. "Keeping him close would certainly be beneficial for the clan, and for you," he acknowledged. "Sukuna’s talents and his loyalty would be best served within the clan, continuing to strengthen our core."

"Exactly," you agreed, feeling a slight relief at Gojo’s understanding. "His marriage within the clan would ensure that he remains integrated in our affairs, accessible, and involved. It’s not just for personal reasons," you added, though your voice faltered slightly, betraying your personal stake in the matter.

Gojo nodded, recognizing the dual layers of your concern—both for the clan and for your own connection with Sukuna. "It’s a strategic and personal hope then," he observed wisely. "But remember, Hiromi, as much as we plan and hope, some things will ultimately be Sukuna’s decision to make, just as some of yours are yours alone. Even as his lady and he your servant — you will always be two separate souls.”

You absorbed Gojo's words, feeling the gravity of their meaning settle heavily upon you. Yes, Sukuna had his own will, his own life to lead, and while your paths were intertwined by blood and duty, they were also distinctly separate. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the acknowledgement, a reminder of the individual journeys you both must undertake, regardless of your desires for closeness.

You purse your lips in resignation, eyes casted off to the ground. “I suppose you are right. If he wishes to continue to serve me….that is up to him.”

“Don’t worry about your pretty little head too much, you’ll end up with Hiramu–sama’s wrinkles.” Suzaku jokes at you as you pout at his words, glaring at him. “Besides, ‘tis not too late to find a man to boss around, other than Sukuna–dono. There’ll be eligible bachelors at the clan gathering waiting to be bossed around like him, I’m certain!”

You gasp at your friend. “I don't boss him around! Take that back!”

Gojo's laughter trailed into the distance as he galloped ahead, leaving you momentarily alone with your thoughts. His jest, though light-hearted, sparked a mix of irritation and amusement within you. You couldn't help but smile slightly, despite the seriousness of the conversation. There’s a reason your brother had loved Suzaku like his own brother. He let the weight fall off, with one laugh. And you are, you supposed, are fond of him in that way too.

You nudge your horse forward, catching up to Gojo who had slowed down, allowing you to ride side by side once again. "You know, it's not about bossing anyone around," you began, your tone playful yet carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. "It’s about having someone who understands and shares the burden, someone who can stand by my side not just as a subordinate, but as a partner."

Gojo nodded, his expression turning thoughtful as he considered your words. "True partnership is rare, you need only look at my parents, Hiromi." He whispers back to you "but it's not unattainable. And you, Hiromi, deserve that. And I hope you have it. But such a talk of marriage, that is for life. You bound your homes, your family, your souls for all eternity. You must pick well.”

You gave him a small nod. "I shall bear it in mind.”

"As you should," Gojo responded, his tone confident. "Take this opportunity, this clan gathering, to access the suitors. Take mind of what you want — companionship, friendship, strength, mayhaps even love. Look into their souls. And pray to the gods on it.”

“I know.”

"You're not just choosing a husband, Hiromi," Gojo said as the estate’s gates came into view, silhouetted against the twilight sky. "You're choosing someone to support you as a leader, someone to stand with you against whatever challenges the future might hold."

Gojo's words carried a weight that resonated deeply within you as you neared the grand gates of the estate, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows over the grounds. His advice was not merely practical; it was a call to introspection and discernment, a reminder of the profound implications your choice of a partner would have—not only for your personal life but for the future of the clan you were destined to lead.

"I understand, Gojo–sama," you replied, your voice tinged with the gravity of the decision that lay before you. His eyes changed, became more guarded, now that you were both returning to the world beyond the two of you. Servants bowed as you passed them by. He sighed. “I take your words into mind.”

As you passed through the estate gates, you felt the weight of your responsibilities more acutely than ever. The upcoming gathering would be a pivotal moment in your life, a time when the personal and the political would converge in the faces of the suitors presented to you. Each candidate would need to be evaluated not just for his lineage or his alliances but for his ability to be a true partner in every aspect of the word.

"Pray to the gods, indeed," you murmured to yourself, echoing Gojo's earlier advice. You knew that divine guidance, if such a thing were inclined toward your plight, would be most welcome. Yet, you also knew that the ultimate decision would come down to your own judgment, your ability to see beyond the surface and discern the true nature of those vying for your hand.

"Thank you, Gojo–sama, for your guidance," you said, offering him a sincere smile as you approached the main house. "I will take everything you’ve said to heart. It was good advice for me to ponder on.”

Gojo Suzaku returned your smile, a sense of pride evident in his eyes. "That's all I can ask for, Hiromi–sama. Know that whatever decision you make, I, and many others, will support you. You are not alone in this, nor will you ever be."

As you dismounted your horses at the stable, you parted with Suzaku, who had returned to his own quarters in the far hedges of the estate. The very best was offered to him — lest your pride would sooner give it to the Fujiwara. As you approached the main house, the fading light cast long shadows across the courtyard. 

There, standing with a poise that commanded attention despite the casual lean against a stone pillar, was Ryomen Sukuna. The sight of him, so suddenly before you, caused a small hitch in your breath—a mixture of surprise, then a flood of relief and tension. All those around you were lost in the blur as you approached him. You felt your chest tighten in joy as you looked at him. He was back home. He was safe. And he’s in here, in the flesh.

You turned to your servants as they bowed to you in reverence. You smiled at them, ordering them away. As they backed away, leaving you both to your privacy, Sukuna straightened as he noticed your approach, his expression unreadable at first, then warming slightly with a reserved smile that seemed exclusively reserved for you. His bright red eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned your demeanor as if trying to read the thoughts swirling behind your composed facade.

"Hiromi–sama," Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a calm strength that often reminded you why he was not only respected but also deeply integral to the clan. 

You smacked his hand. “Ever so formal. They’re gone. Talk to me as you usually do, you brat.”

Sukuna's expression tightened subtly at your playful smack, a brief flash of something unspoken passing through his eyes before he masked it with a controlled smile. "Of course…night flower," he replied, his voice holding a trace of coldness that wasn't there before, as if maintaining a careful distance even in his informality. “As you wish.”

“It is my wish,” You nodded at him. “Now, tell me. What has gotten you to such a state?”

"You always preferred plain speaking," he continued, his tone smoothing into something warmer, though it still held an edge that you couldn't quite place. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to read your thoughts or perhaps gauge your mood.

As you looked back at him, trying to decipher the layers of his demeanor, you noticed a tension in his posture that was unusual for Sukuna. "What's the matter?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern. "You seem... different. Has the trip fatigued you?”

Sukuna shifted slightly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "It's nothing," he said, a bit too quickly. "Just the usual clan pressures, you know how it is." His smile was back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, leaving you with a sense of unease.

You frowned at him, looking up to him as his height towered over you. “You are displeased. But what about? Tell me. Is it something I’ve done?”

Sukuna paused, the conflict evident in his expression as he weighed his words carefully. The usual confidence that characterized his demeanor seemed momentarily shaken as he grappled with his internal struggle. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was a mix of resignation and sincerity. His red orbs take a good look at you, the beauty of you, as you stand there, waiting for him to speak. Even now, you’re more concerned about him. More desiring to please him, to see him warmly smile. To be joyous when he’s with you. 

“It’s….” He takes a moment as your eyes plead with him, you move to take his hand into your own. He looks down as you wrap your palm against his. It moves him, how your hand and his seem to fit each other like a glove. After all this time, he thinks the touch of your hand on his is the warmth that touches his soul the most. The very touch that makes his heart beat in his chest. “It’s nothing.”

Sukuna's voice trailed off into a whisper, his usual resolve crumbling slightly under the weight of his unspoken thoughts and feelings. The contact of your hand in his, gentle yet firm, seemed to anchor him, providing a silent reassurance that words alone could not convey. Despite his initial protestations, the simple gesture encouraged him to open up, to share more than just the superficial concerns that had been allowed to surface.

"Night flower," he began again, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a hint of vulnerability flickering behind his steady exterior. "It's….I heard about the council.." His words hung heavily in the air, charged with an emotion that had previously been masked by his stoic facade. "I know it's what's needed for the clan. I know it's your duty. But," he paused, searching your eyes for understanding, "It doesn't make it easier to know that….you and another man…”

Your heart clenched at his confession, feeling a surge of empathy for the struggle he faced. Sukuna had always been the pillar of strength, the steadfast protector, rarely showing any signs of personal desire or conflict. To hear him express such raw, personal sentiments was both startling and touching.

"Sukuna," you responded, your voice soft but filled with conviction, "You are irreplaceable to me. No political alliance or marriage can change what you mean to me, to the clan. To us. You are my confidant, my steadfast supporter. My….my dearest follower." You squeezed his hand, reinforcing your words with the warmth of your touch. Your cheeks turn scarlet at your words.  "This decision, while necessary, doesn't diminish us. It doesn't diminish our bond."

He listened intently, each word you spoke seeming to ease some of the tension that had built up within him. The warmth of your hand in his served as a tangible reminder of the connection you shared, one that went beyond mere familial duty or clan obligations.

"I know," Sukuna finally said, a small, grateful smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. "And I'm here for you, little night flower. Always." He squeezed your hand back for a moment. Next, they touched your cheeks.You leaned against his touch. “I only live for you.”

“I know.” You responded in a small whisper, feeling his hand squeeze your own. You smile at him. “You had just gotten home. This conversation should not be what we welcome you home with.”

Sukuna's smile softened at your words, a mixture of affection and reassurance lighting up his features. "It's alright," he said gently, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. "There's no one else I'd rather talk to about these things, no matter the day. But you're right, let's not let this be the shadow that greets my return."

He dropped his hand, though his eyes lingered on you a moment longer, conveying a depth of emotion that words could scarcely capture. "Let’s focus on the now. I’ve missed this—us talking, just being together," he added, his tone warm and inviting.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful for the shift towards lighter conversation. "Then tell me about your journey," you suggested, stepping back but keeping the warmth in your smile. "What tales do you bring from afar? Any new challenges, any triumphs?"

“I shall tell you later, when we have both recuperated.” He whispers to you tenderly, a small grin on his lips. “Will you sup with me tonight?”

“Of course,” You responded with elation, smiling at him. “I would be happy to be your guest tonight.”

“As am I, little night flower.” He gently lifts your joint hands under his lips, and lets his lips brush against your fingertips. “I shall let the servants know.”

Sukuna released your hand with a final, affectionate squeeze and let it go, as soon as he turned, his sharp eyes piercing towards one of the nearby servants who had been discreetly waiting at a distance. You turned to where he stood and he nodded at the servant. With a few quiet words and a nod, he instructed the servant to prepare for the evening meal. As soon as he showed himself, the servant too fled.

As he finished, he turned back to you, his expression one of quiet anticipation. "It will be just us tonight," he said, his voice carrying a hint of something more personal, a shared intimacy that was often veiled beneath the formalities of clan duties. "A chance to relax and speak freely, away from the ears of the clan. You need not bother with manners.”

“As you like.” You laughed, turning to your side as you watched the sun go down. “We have much to talk about. I suppose. With you being gone so long.”

“Hm.” He nodded at you as he turned around, as though to inspect your surroundings. You were stunned at his sudden touch, tickled as he pressed a kiss against your cheek, his arms wrapped against you. You slowly descended into his touch, your face as scarlet as the scarlet sunset. You leaned against him, comforted in the familiar touch. “I had missed you.”

You slowly looked at him.

You smile at him tenderly.

Your heart skips a beat.

You see the world in him.

“I missed you too, Sukuna.”

YOU HAD NEVER INTENDED TO FALL FOR SUKUNA. He was younger than you, he was not at the same rank as you. You were his better. His superior. You were his master, he your follower. You did not know how it truly began, where it began. But you knew it started subtly, and felt that slow shift in your relationship with Sukuna. In the early years of your youth together, it was all about duty and the responsibilities that came with your roles within the clan. You were the mentor, guiding him through the nuances of life and jujutsu sorcery, preparing him to make the banner of the Ryomen clan stand firm. He was eager, a quick learner, and his dedication to his role within the clan mirrored your own. But most of all, he was eager to serve you in all ways you wanted him to. He declared his purpose to live — to be you.

Over time, however, the lines between duty and personal affection began to blur. More so when your uncle had made him your retainer, as an extension of your uncle’s service to you. It was the small moments that began to weave a deeper connection between you two—the late-night strategy sessions that turned into long conversations about hopes, fears, and dreams.

The way he looked at you when you taught him something new, a look of admiration mixed with something you hesitated to define; the quiet comfort of his presence on a difficult day, and how naturally you began to seek out his company.

You found yourself noticing little things about Sukuna—the way his eyes crinkled when he truly smiled, how he'd always make sure you had the first cup of tea during your meetings, or the way he'd stand just a little closer to you whenever you were in a crowd. How he would walk with you night after night until your body finally tires enough to bid nightmares in the dark.

These were trivial, everyday occurrences, but they built up a tapestry of affection and care that was hard to ignore. They built up admiration, they built up devoted trust and then they built love — one that lingers in your heart then and now today, even stronger.

The realization that you were falling for him was sealed to you during a particularly perilous mission. Sukuna had thrown himself in harm's way to protect you, and the fear that gripped your heart at the thought of losing him was a wake-up call. He had been cruel to that curse that had nearly taken your life.

But he did more than ever, because if he hadn’t, then life would be gone.  It wasn't just protective instincts or camaraderie; what you felt was deeper, more personal—a tangled mix of love and devotion that you no longer could or perhaps even wanted to deny.

Admitting your feelings to yourself was one thing; acknowledging them to Sukuna was another. The night you both finally spoke openly about what had been silently growing between you was filled with a mix of anxiety and relief. Under the dimly lit kiss of moonlight, the blossoming of those queen of the nights all around the ponds. Your eyes had never seen clearer. Your heart had never beat harder. 

Sukuna, it turned out, had been harboring similar feelings. He confessed that what started as admiration and respect had grown into something much more profound. He loved you, not just as his mentor or as the heir to the clan, but as the person who understood him better than anyone else. He loved you because you were his life. You were his everything. And that has reduced you to the most profound tenderness of your life.

It was the night of too much merry drinking, Sukuna’s name–day. He had settled it to the day he had met you, the day his life had truly begun.  Under the ethereal glow of the moonlight, you and Sukuna found yourselves walking along the tranquil paths of the estate's garden.

The night was serene, with a gentle breeze stirring the air, carrying the delicate scent of Wijayakusuma flowers—a rare bloom that only opened at night, releasing its fragrance into the quiet darkness. The pond beside which you walked reflected the moon's silvery light, enhancing the otherworldly atmosphere that enveloped you.

You had been discussing mundane clan affairs, but as the pathway brought you to a secluded spot near the water, surrounded by the blooming Wijayakusuma flowers, you felt a compelling urge to express the feelings that had been growing stronger within your heart. You stopped walking, turning to face Sukuna, who looked back at you with a questioning gaze, sensing the shift in your demeanor. You pulled at the sleeves of his haori. His eyes widened slightly, at how intimate your touch had been.

"Sukuna," you began, your voice soft yet carrying a firmness that underscored the importance of your words. "I know that our duties and roles within the clan are what have always guided our actions. But tonight, under this moonlight, I want to speak not just as your mentor or the heir to the clan, but as myself."

Sukuna's expression softened, his usual guardedness easing as he stepped closer, instinctively understanding the significance of the moment. "Hiromi," he replied in an equally soft voice, his bright red eyes searching for yours.

"There’s something I need to tell you," you continued, your heart beating faster as you gathered your courage. "Over the years, what I feel for you has transformed. It has grown beyond respect, beyond our…existing bond. Sukuna, you must understand. This is….it is hard to say. But…I love you." The words felt liberating, yet laden with the weight of truth that you had held back for so long. You looked at him even more intensely. “I love you.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as you waited for his response. Sukuna's eyes deepened with emotion, a mixture of awe and tenderness etching across his features. He reached out, his hand gently cradling your face, his thumb caressing your cheek softly.

"Hiromi–sama," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "This heart of mine has been yours for longer than I can admit. I love you too. I have loved you in ways I dared not acknowledge until now." His words flowed like a sacred confession, filling the space between you with a profound sense of connection.

The admission ignited a spark that had been smoldering quietly within both your hearts, and as Sukuna drew you closer, the distance between you closed not just physically but emotionally. Your lips met in a kiss that sealed your mutual confession, a kiss that spoke of deep bonds, shared secrets, and a love that transcended the roles you played in the daylight.

Surrounded by the night-blooming Wijayakusuma blossoms, under the watchful gaze of the moon, you and Sukuna embraced each other, allowing yourselves to fully experience the depth of your feelings without reservations. Tonight, you were not just the heir and the warrior; you were two souls united by a love both forbidden and inevitable.

Your relationship, of course, since that confession had been a carefully guarded secret. The stakes were high—fraternization within the clan, especially of such a clandestine and intimate nature, was fraught with political implications. Not to mention, he was your uncle’s son. He would be one to decide his son’s fate in matrimony.

Even if the marriage would be acceptable, the elders would never accept it either. Yet, this secret had brought you closer. This desire to grow this love, this relationship has brought you closer. You both had enjoyed creating a private world where you could both just be yourselves, without the titles, without the burdens of your birthright.

Now, each stolen moment with Sukuna was cherished, a precious respite from the world's demands. You understood the risks, but the depth of your bond made every stolen moment, every shared glance, every secret touch, worth it. It was a love that had grown in the most unlikely of soils, under the cover of duty and clan loyalty, blossoming into something neither of you could have anticipated but now could not imagine being without. 

As you sat across from him, delicately handling the utensils and taking small, thoughtful bites of the meal laid out before you, Sukuna watched you intently, his gaze almost unblinking. The soft light of the candles flickered across your features, highlighting the gentle curve of your cheek and the sincere smile that occasionally graced your lips as you engaged in conversation.

To anyone else, this moment would seem ordinary, just two people sharing a meal, but to Sukuna, it was a poignant revelation of all the facets of your being that he had come to adore.

In that quiet observance, Sukuna found himself reflecting on the depth of his feelings for you. He thought he understood it well. You deserve someone as sweet as you, someone whose kindness mirrored your own, whose love was as unwavering and pure as the light in your eyes. You deserve someone who could love you better than he ever thought he could—someone less troubled, less consumed by the complexities and shadows that often followed him like specters from his past.

Yet, as he watched you, Sukuna knew he was addicted to your sweet taste. It was an addiction born not out of necessity but out of a profound and overwhelming desire that transcended mere affection or loyalty. It was an addiction to the warmth you brought into his life, to the serenity that accompanied your presence.

It was an addiction to the way you saw him—not as the formidable warrior or the guarded clan member, but as himself, Sukuna, with all his flaws and strengths laid bare.

He liked things bitter, he liked things as they were—harsh and unadorned with pretense. That was the world he knew, the world he had made his own. But not with you. Never with you. With you, everything was different. Your sweetness didn't cloy; it soothed. It didn't overshadow; it illuminated the dark corners of his heart he had long resigned to shadow. Your love, your presence, transformed the bitterness of his existence into something bearable, even beautiful.

As these thoughts swirled through his mind, Ryomen Sukuna realized with a pang of both joy and sorrow that no matter how much he believed you deserved better, he could not imagine stepping back into the shadows and watching someone else take his place by your side.

The selfish part of him, the part that was irrevocably entwined with your very essence, would not allow it. He was bound to you, not just by duty or shared secrets, but by a powerful, inescapable love that demanded to be acknowledged, cherished, and reciprocated.

So, as you laughed softly at something he said, bringing him back to the present, Sukuna allowed himself a small, genuine smile—a rare gift from a heart so fiercely guarded. In that moment, he made a silent vow: to be the sweetness in your life whenever possible, to temper the bitterness not just within himself but in the world around you, ensuring that no matter what, you would never have to face the shadows alone.

The path to Sukuna's quarters was familiar, yet each step seemed imbued with a sense of anticipation tonight. The estate was quiet, most of its inhabitants having retired to their respective quarters, leaving the halls dimly lit and silent. The soft patter of your footsteps on the polished wooden floors marked your passage through the vast corridors of the Ryomen clan's ancestral home.

As you approached the door to Sukuna's quarters, you paused, taking a deep breath to steady the fluttering in your chest. It was strange how, even after all this time and despite the countless secret meetings, the thrill of seeing him never faded. You gently knocked, a coded rhythm that whispered of hidden intimacy.

The door opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting just beyond it. Sukuna's presence filled the doorway, his figure imposing yet welcoming. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, a warm smile quickly replacing the usual stern expression he wore around others.

"Night flower," he greeted softly, stepping aside to let you into his private world. The warmth of the room, lit by the gentle glow of lanterns, enveloped you as you entered. The familiar scent of incense was comforting, a subtle reminder of the many nights spent here, wrapped in conversation—or in silence equally profound.

Sukuna closed the door quietly behind you, ensuring your privacy. "I'm glad you could make it," he said, leading you toward the small dining area where a simple yet meticulously prepared meal awaited. The intimacy of the setting—a small table set for two—was a stark contrast to the grand dining halls you were both accustomed to.

"It's been too long," you responded, allowing the relief and happiness to show in your voice. As you sat down across from him, the proximity brought a comforting sense of closeness that you cherished deeply. "I've missed this."

"As have I," Sukuna admitted, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race. He served you both, his movements graceful and familiar. The meal was a simple affair, chosen for ease and comfort rather than formality. Each dish was a reminder of previous confessions and conversations that had deepened your bond.

Dinner passed with easy conversation, the kind that you could only have with someone who knew you as well as you knew yourself. You spoke of everything and nothing—missions, clan politics, small triumphs, and trivial frustrations. Yet, beneath the mundane lay the unspoken acknowledgment of the rare and precious nature of your relationship.

As the meal came to an end, Sukuna took your hand across the table, his touch sending shivers up your spine. "No matter where our duties take us," he said earnestly, "this—us—it's worth every risk."

You squeezed his hand in agreement, the danger of your secret alliance a shadow that loomed large but felt inconsequential against the depth of your feelings. "Always," you affirmed, your voice low but fierce with conviction.

The rest of the evening passed in a beautiful blur. You talked, laughed, and shared quiet moments of just being together, stealing time from your respective responsibilities. When it was time to leave, parting was as always bittersweet, filled with silent promises of another stolen moment soon. He did not wish to see you leave. But you had to. 

There was a meeting to prepare for, the clans will be arriving soon enough. It was needed as heir to be part of the conversation. Sukuna too will be returning to his training. He had been eager to perfect another technique he had thought of, he called it Kumo no Ito.

He had done it once, fighting a mountain curse by chance. But he was adamant to show it imperfect in form  to you. He said it had to be perfect. And he could only do so, if he was perfecting it. And as such, you both needed to bid farewell for the night.

In his dimly lit room, the soft glow of candles casting shadows that danced upon the walls, Sukuna held you close as he bid you farewell, his strong arms encircling your waist with a gentle firmness. The world outside faded into a distant murmur, leaving only the two of you in the cocoon of warmth that your shared presence created.

His eyes, usually so intense and commanding, now looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, a softness you saw only in moments shared in solitude like this. He was like this, only for you. You were the only one worthy of his humanity. 

His gaze did not waver as he leaned in, the intensity of his eyes locked onto yours, communicating a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey. You felt his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, before his lips met yours in a soft, exploratory kiss that spoke of a thousand unspoken promises.

The gentleness of the kiss was a stark contrast to the fierce battles and harsh realities that both of you faced daily; here, in this moment, there was only gentleness, only love.

As if moved by an unspoken agreement, the kiss deepened, driven by a surge of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface. Sukuna's hands moved from your waist to cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair with a delicate touch that belied his warrior's strength.

The softness gave way to a burning intensity as the kiss grew more passionate, more urgent. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, each kiss a fiery declaration of his need, his desire, his love.

The intensity of the moment fueled a deep yearning within you both. Sukuna’s hands, firm and warm, traced the contours of your back, pulling you even closer against him. His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within that grew with every caress, every squeeze that conveyed his impatience and longing. 

You responded with equal fervor, your own hands exploring the broad expanse of his back, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the solid strength of his body a stark contrast to the gentle way he held you. It was a heady feeling, knowing you could evoke such a powerful response from a man as composed and formidable as Sukuna.

He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. "You undo me," he murmured hoarsely, his voice low and husky, filled with raw desire. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

His kisses trailed from your lips down your jawline to your neck, where he lingered, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, eliciting gasps and soft moans from you. Each sound you made only seemed to drive him further, his hands roaming over your body, mapping every curve, every line, with a possessiveness that thrilled you.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers, desperate to feel his skin against yours. Sukuna obliged by shedding the garment swiftly, revealing a chest sculpted with muscle and scarred from battle—a sight that only heightened your desire. You traced the lines of his scars with reverent fingers, each one telling a story of survival and strength.

Sukuna lifted you then, with a surprising gentleness, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands supported your thighs, his grip secure and unyielding, as he carried you to a nearby piles of warm straw pillows. Gently, he laid you down, his body resting against you. You lean towards him, looking into his eyes as though you see the stars, he whole sky, in him.

The world around you seemed to spin, the intensity of the moment drawing you deeper into a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. Sukuna's heartbeat thundered against your chest, mirroring your own rapid pulse. The heat between you built, a delicious tension that made every touch, every kiss, feel like it was both the first and the last.

As you clung to each other, lost in the fervor of each other, it was as if nothing else mattered—no clan duties, no hidden secrets, no potential consequences. In that moment, there was only the truth of what you felt for each other, laid bare and undeniable. But Sukuna knew he could not give into his desires. You were too sweet for him, it's true. But he didn’t want to curse you with bitterness.

Not until you want him to. You deserved better than this. Better than to be shamed beyond your marital bed. He would marry you first, he would claim you as his wife before he goes beyond anything else. Control, he must have control. He could not do this to you. Not yet.

When the kiss finally broke, you both were left gasping, foreheads pressed together, still holding onto each other as if to anchor yourselves in the aftermath of such powerful emotions. Sukuna's eyes met yours again, still intense but now shimmering with a mix of satisfaction and awe at the depth of connection you shared.

“You must go.” He whispers to you,  eyes not leaving yours. “Before we do something we’re not prepared for….Tomorrow, we have a busy day, night flower.”

His voice was husky, a whisper laden with regret and a stark reminder of the reality that awaited outside the sanctuary of this moment. His hands, still cradling your face, held you gently as if he could somehow convey the intensity of his feelings through his touch alone.

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words, feeling the ache of leaving him like this. But his use of your affectionate nickname, "Night flower," reignited the warmth inside you, a reminder of the deep bond you shared, one that went beyond physical desires.

"I know," you whispered back, your voice tinged with reluctance. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the strength and warmth that emanated from his skin. "But it doesn’t make it any easier."

Sukuna's eyes held yours, a tumult of emotions swirling in their depths—passion, desire, but above all, an overriding sense of duty and care for you. He leaned in once more, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. "Tomorrow," he said softly. You looked up to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, you stepped back, feeling the cool air rush between you as you disentangled from his embrace. The room seemed colder now, the warmth of his body a ghostly presence that you already missed. You fixed your attire, a physical act of preparation for the return to your separate roles within the clan, each movement marked by a silent yearning for just a few more minutes.

Sukuna watched you, his gaze following every movement, every adjustment. There was a protectiveness in his posture, a silent vow that he was there, always, no matter the distance or duty that might separate you.

As you reached the door, you paused, looking back at him, still standing in the middle of the room, the candles casting soft shadows over his strong features. "Goodnight, Sukuna," you said, the words heavy with unspent passion and a profound affection.

"Goodnight, my night flower," he replied, his voice steady but his eyes revealing the storm of emotions within. As you closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding unusually final, you carried with you the memory of his touch, his kiss, his longing look—a treasure to sustain you through the challenges of the coming day.

As you slipped out of Sukuna's quarters and back into the cool night air, the secrecy of your love felt not like a burden, but a shared secret that bound you closer together, a silent vow renewed with every fleeting encounter. In the shadows of the clan's expectations, what you had with Sukuna was a beacon—a light that, however hidden, guided you both through the darkness.

You wanted it to last forever.

You want it to be eternity, all of it.

Yet you knew better than that.

Wijayakusuma dies easier than that.

And so do many happy days in spring.

Nothing sweet tastes sweet forever.

fun facts for this chapter

they got together when hiromi was 21/22 and sukuna was 19/20. it took hiromi about a year to confess, sukuna was planning to confess when he was promoted in a higher position in the clan. when she confessed, he was already at a higher rank, something similar to a buke, and so felt a little more confident abotu accepting her confession.

hiromi doesn't use her powers that much when she fights, but sukuna does. sukuna is a perfectionist when it comes to jujutsu. he thinks his skill is the best way to prove he's worthy of hiromi, who in his eyes is already powerful without using much of her cursed technique. her cursed technique, sadly drains her too much. we'll see that in as the world caves in and a red winter!!!

isamu does not want hiromi to get married to someone who will make her unhappy due to his own unhappy marriage. but the council of elders think that the earlier hiromi marries, the more her position wouldn't be contested by sukuna (he does not want to contest her).

council of elders want someone who is from outside the clan to marry hiromi because they think it would open to a closer tie with a powerful clan that they think would be able to subdue sukuna's influence. the elders do not trust sukuna, and they never will.

hiromi and suzaku gojo became very close after her brother died, as he was her brother's closest friends. she feels like she needs him in her life to have her brother close. she's hiromi's person when she needs advice about something serious.

hiromi and sukuna often ate together with hiramu in their presence, they were like their own little trio. but hiramu has become more busy with the bureaucratic work that isamu asked his brother to do - so he left sukuna in his place as hiromi's retainer. sukuna has since taken his adoptive father's place as hiromi's confident.

hiramu isn't clueless about what's going on between sukuna and hiromi, but he says nothing. he knows sukuna would end up in trouble. but he would rather see them happy than not at all.

the clan gatherings were made by hiromi's ancestors to settle rekindle friendship between clans. they hunt curses together, compete in poetry and music, archery and such the like. it's the ryomen's turn to host it this year. last year it was the gojo clan who hosted, which is why suzaku was there, talking about clan matters.

[stereax]

why do people hate vegas so much?

Do you want the Stereanalysis version or the short one?

The short answer is basically this: The Vegas Golden Knights entered the league and were expected to be hot garbage. Despite this, they had what many assumed was a "miracle" run in the 2018 playoffs, making it all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals, and have since established themselves as a consistent contender. Many haters of the Knights claim that Vegas was "gifted" a championship team from the onset (revisionist history at best), that Vegas didn't "go through years of pain" like most expansion teams (which, it's not their fault they're good?), and that the refs and Bettman want Vegas to win (which is said about 32 out of 32 teams in this league). Additionally, it's believed that a lot of Vegas fans are "fair-weather" and that they'll abandon the team when it doesn't do well, which ties into the theory that the NHL is "rigging" it for Vegas. Winning the Cup last year, over the undercat Florida Panthers to boot, angered many, especially due to Vegas's owner's bold prediction of "Cup in six [years]" made before their first season.

Additionally, Vegas's front office has a history of big deals. From trading fan favorite Fleury with no prior warning, leaving him to find out online; to the story of Haula, who literally showed up to practice and his keycard didn't work and that's how he learned he got traded three days before his wedding (but we don't talk about that one because Fleury is Fleury); to every single Vegas trade and trade deadline where they seem to acquire every big free agent and give up fairly little in return (Hertl, Hanifin, Quick, Barbashev, Eichel, Stone, Pacioretty, the list goes on). Many people can't divorce the front office from the team itself and get very upset when Vegas "poaches" the players they want.

On top of this, you have the "cap circumvention" narrative, claiming that players such as Stone are "faking" injuries so Vegas can do cap magic and add more players than they should be "allowed" to. First of all, the idea that players like Stone are faking injury is bullshit, especially in a league where players like Stutzle and J Hughes have outright stated that they played injured for long stretches of the season. Fun fact, the NHL does have doctors that run checks on LTIRed players and verify that they're truly injured. (The Leafs got into some hot water last offseason when they were LTIRing Murray and then later with Klingberg as well, as the NHL was suspicious that they had moved Murray's surgery date and recovery time to allow themselves to "bury" Murray's contract on LTIR for the season.) If anything, Stone was probably still hurt in the playoffs. The man is seemingly incapable of playing an 82-game season and yet people are screaming that he's faking injuries when he does get hurt. (Also, on cap circumvention: Nobody remembers Kucherov anymore but that was so much more blatant. Additionally, the league has considered closing LTIR "loopholes" several times now and several times has decided against it. Your team doesn't do it? Okay. It doesn't give you a moral high ground, though, as it is patently legal in the NHL rules to do so.)

Plus, there's definitely some disdain for the glitz and glamor of Vegas. Sparkly gold uniforms, City of Sin, pink flamingos, shiny golden helmets, elaborate pre-game shows where knights slay dragons, slot machines, glitter, all of that. I'm not going to bring up my personal theories here, but I'd advance the question to Vegas haters why they dislike the spectacle of Vegas, and whether that dislike also may apply to other areas where men may be associated with glitter, pink, sin, sparkles, and all that, such as, y'know, drag queens, or gay men more generally.

But hey, that's just a theory... a stereax theory.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Heart Set on Amulets

Summary: Dalton meets shy, introverted reader and they become friends. Eventually, he finds out that she's a witch and tells her about his astral projecting. She creates an amulet to help him sleep, and Dalton discovers how nice dreams can be.

Requested Here!

Update (October 2023): Heart Set on Amulets Universe Masterlist

Warnings: canon-typical discussion of the Further, several vague references to Insidious: The Last Key (2018), in-depth discussions of magic and witchcraft (I did my homework for this one lol), Google Translate Latin, fluff. 3.4k+ words.

A/N: All of the witchcraft-related content is from my Supernatural knowledge and the Supernatural wiki page. This was a great request and super fun to write! Let me know what you think and I hope you like it! :)

 

If you could get away with wearing a glamour amulet to look like someone else for your whole life, you would. Or better yet, an invisibility shield. For as long as you can remember, you’ve preferred to fade into the background and avoid everyone. Most people thought you were simply shy, but as you got older, you knew something else was happening inside you.

On your thirteenth birthday, you discovered you were a witch. Vowing never to tell anyone, you embraced what you believe to be your destiny. Wearing black, “witchy” clothes, keeping to yourself, and practicing the mystic arts in the dark allowed you to grow in ways you never imagined. The people closest to you thought you were in a goth or witch phase. When you walked across the stage at your high school graduation, casting spells under your breath, they accepted that it is who you are. Now it’s your turn.

Arriving at college, you continue to keep to yourself. Learning that you are a witch did nothing for your social skills, still preferring to be quiet and as invisible as possible. Managing to secure an on-campus apartment, you have space to practice and develop your powers in your free time and have a quiet place to think and get away from the busy, people-filled life you live beyond your door.

 “Cloaking flame,” you read, flipping through the spell book you have been building on for years. You run your finger along the page, reading the ingredients and effects of the spell. “Black candle, blood, a lit match… conceals caster and causes spontaneous combustion.”

Looking toward your pantry, you consider trying the spell until you hear people talking in the hall outside. You shake your head, thinking that spontaneous combustion probably isn’t the best idea in an apartment. Turning the page, you look at the first of many pages of research you’ve conducted on dreams over the years. Flicking your wrist, you conjure a cup of your favorite drink and take a sip before tapping the sigil and sending your spell book into a pocket dimension for safekeeping. The hallway is silent as you carry your drink to your bedroom, distantly wondering what it feels like to have company in your apartment.

“Dolphin, that’s stupid!” someone yells ahead of you on the sidewalk.

 “Why don’t you yell a little louder, Chris?” the boy you assume is ‘Dolphin’ responds.

“Hey!” The girl turns toward you and beckons someone closer. As you look over your shoulder, she adds, “Yeah, you. Please help me!”

Shaking your head and sending a small smile, you whisper, “Praesidium ab extraneis custodi me a periculo” (Protection from strangers keep me from danger).

You continue walking, fiddling with the amulet around your neck. Years ago, when you became a witch, you visited a psychic who gifted you the charm necklace, encouraging you to put whatever spell or enchantment you desired upon it. The amulet has remained unenchanted since then, waiting for the right moment. Your fingers grip the amulet tighter when someone falls into step beside you.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for Chris – my friend that harassed you on the sidewalk earlier… I’m Dalton.” He extends his hand for you to shake, then drops it quickly. “You don’t have to talk to me, I’m usually super introverted but Chris tends to rub people the wrong way at first, so I thought I should apologize. And now I’m rambling.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper, stopping at a split in the sidewalk. “I appreciate the apology, and not trying making me talk.”

“Anytime.” Dalton smiles, and you can’t stop the small smile you send him in return. “I’ll see you around.”

 “Maybe.”

 “Definitely,” Dalton concludes with a wink.

As you watch Dalton walk away, the idea of pathokinesis pops into your head. You shake your head to rid the thought. The last thing someone like you needs is a love spell. It’s not like you could talk to him even if you did manipulate him into thinking he loves you. And, most importantly, you would never mess with someone’s emotions, not with how much trouble you have with your own.

You try to push Dalton out of your mind in class, your mind eventually drifting to a dimensional manipulation spell you were working on the night before. The person beside you asks for a pencil, and you briefly wish you had learned the cloaking flame spell as you silently pass a pencil, letting your eyes watch the pencil to avoid any awkward eye contact.

The last thing you expect is to see Dalton waiting by the door when you exit class, yet here he is.

 “So, I was thinking,” he begins.

 “Scary thought,” you mumble.

Dalton laughs before continuing as he walks beside you, but not close enough to make you uncomfortable. “You’re super easy to talk to, like, I’ve never met someone that I could start a conversation with, but here you are. Granted, you don’t really say anything, so it’s more that I have a conversation with the idea of you? I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

 “Yeah.” You shrug as you look at his shoes. “I don’t talk to anyone though, really, so don’t feel too bad.”

 “You’re talking to me now. After a very long lecture from Chris, which means she yelled at me, I realized that maybe we could try to be friends. If it doesn’t work, we walk away, no harm done. What do you think?”

“Why? I’m the definition of introverted and I’m super weird.”

“Chris likes to say that everyone’s weird.”

Remaining silent, Dalton stops talking and looks straight ahead, allowing you to think for several minutes.

“Hey, where are we going?”

“I’m going to my apartment.”

“You got an apartment? Lucky.”

“Look.” You hold an arm up to stop Dalton, looking in his general direction but failing to make eye contact. “We can try. This is my building, apartment 7. If you need a quiet place to think or work, or just away from your eccentric friend, come over. I’ll try to talk, but I can’t guarantee anything. You’re nice, Dalton, and you deserve friends, but I’m too shy to ever talk this much again.” You rush past him and wait until you are in your apartment before taking a deep breath, sagging against the door. “I just talked to him,” you realize aloud.

After your last class on Friday, just two days after talking to Dalton, you hear a knock on your door. Clutching a black obsidian stone, you raise it behind the door as you open it. Your hand falls to your side as you make unintentional eye contact with Dalton.

“You scared me,” you accuse.

“You said I could come over?”

You nod and open the door, allowing him to come inside. As you close the door, you look around and thank the morning version of you for straightening up before you left.

“Nice place. Do you want me to leave?”

“No, Dalton, you’re good. I’m just jumpy, sorry.”

Dalton loosens his hold on his backpack strap, setting his bag in the corner before looking around. He steps closer to your bookshelf, looking at the books and shelf of black candles. Most of your witch-related belongings are in the cabinets in the kitchen, hidden from sight.

“What’s the stone for?” Dalton points to the obsidian in your hand.

“Oh, it was a gift,” you lie. “Just picked it up when you knocked. No one ever really visits.” The last part was the truth, at least.

“Well, they’re missing out.” Dalton smiles before turning back to the bookshelf.

“You can sit wherever. I assume you came for a reason?”

“I can’t just come to say hi?”

“You can. I don’t know why you would,” you admit with furrowed brows.

Dalton helps himself to your couch, spreading his arms across the back as he smiles at you. You finally realize how long you’ve maintained eye contact and look down, tapping your feet together.

“You’re better company than you think. Let’s break open each other’s shells.”

Dalton is serious, and for the first time in your life, you think that maybe having a friend wouldn’t be so bad. As you and Dalton take turns asking questions about each other, you nearly forget about the pocket dimension holding your spell book and the pantry. For a few minutes, you feel normal. But you have never been normal, and one friend won’t change that.

Hours after the sun has gone down, Dalton gathers his things and heads for your door. You whisper a warding spell as you open the door for him, protecting him from harm as he enters the world. After he leaves and the door is closed, your hand lifts to your amulet while your mind drifts to the cloaking flame and where you could possibly test it.

Saturday morning, you get a text from Dalton – whose name and number he must have put into your phone sometime last night. Warily, you accept his invitation to breakfast. When he knocks on the door, you see Chris at his side, and you realize where your apprehension came from. You’re learning to talk to Dalton, but when you see Chris, you shut down.

 “I’m going to meet you two there,” Chris says suddenly, looking between you and Dalton. She grabs Dalton by the shirt and whispers in his ear, unheard by you, “Don’t mess this up, Dolphin.”

Dalton offers his hand, and you take it slowly, interlacing your fingers with his as you walk. He looks tired, and while you’re not used to caring for the people around you, he makes it seem very easy.

“We don’t have to go to breakfast, Dalton,” you offer.

“I want to.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Why do you ask?” Dalton smiles and pulls your hand closer. “Because you kept me out so late last night?”

“No, I just...” you take a breath to stop stuttering and decide to shoot straight. “You look tired.”

“I am, but I’ll get over it. Now, what’s your favorite breakfast food?”

Dalton fills the rest of the walk with conversation, offering easy questions you can answer quickly. He never makes you feel forced to talk; more like he is inviting you to and hanging onto your every word. At the restaurant, Dalton is a buffer between you and Chris. However, you quickly realize that while Chris can be loud and comes across as abrasive, she is actually sweet, and you can see yourself becoming friends with her. Slowly, maybe, but eventually.

Over the next few weeks, you learn the appeal of having friends. Dalton is at your apartment more than his own dorm. Chris has come over several times, and you can talk to her without Dalton around now. While they haven’t said anything, you wonder if they’re curious about the ever-shifting candles or the arrangement of wax on your table. You want to tell them who you really are, but your fear that they’ll leave feels crippling. Losing the only friends you’ve ever had is frightening enough that you’d be willing to stop practicing witchcraft. If that were possible, that is.

Just before fall break, when the leaves are falling, every student is carrying a hot drink, and tickets to go home for Thanksgiving are being purchased, your relationship with Dalton changes forever. It’s nearly midnight when knocking on your door almost breaks your concentration during a spell. Ignoring it, you focus on the scrying spell arranged on your table. With your arms out over the arrangement and your eyes focused on the prism in the center, you repeat the name of the man you are looking for, alternating between the English and Latin versions of his name. The knocking comes again, and you can’t risk losing the progress you’ve made.

“Come in and shut up!” You yell quickly, keeping your eyes on the prism and the name in your mind.

You hear the door open, then very slowly close. As your chanting picks up speed, the prism lights up, drawing you in before everything goes dark. Dropping your arms to the chair in front of you, you lean your weight on it as you catch your breath.

From across the room, Dalton whispers your name. You look up at him, pulling the black shawl from your head to meet his eyes.

“What is going on?” he asks, wide-eyed.

You take a deep breath before standing to your full height. The lights flicker on, the energy you channeled into the prism returning to the wires. Dalton looks between you and the table.

“I can explain.”

Dalton remains silent, pressing his lips together and gesturing for you to continue.

 “Short answer is I’m a witch. The longer answer is that my entire life I’ve felt like I didn’t belong; I could never make friends or talk to people, and I just- something was missing. When I turned thirteen, I found out I was a witch.”

“How?” Dalton interrupts.

“An energy blast,” you admit, pulling on your fingers and hoping Dalton won’t leave. “Shot it straight through my bedroom wall. Covered it up with a story that something fell and hit the wall at a weird angle and that’s why it went all the way through.”

“People believed that?”

“I guess.” You shrug and try to look away from Dalton. “Never said anything else about it.”

“Okay. So, you’ve been a witch since you were thirteen, basically?”

“Yeah.”

Dalton nods, saying something to himself before asking, “What did I just walk in on?”

“A scrying spell. It’s a locator spell, used to find people.”

“And you told me to shut up because?”

“Distraction is one of the biggest weaknesses for witches. Losing one bit of concentration could be the difference between life and death, or it could alter a spell and cause something unexpected to happen. Sorry, though.”

“No, it’s fine.” Dalton walks to the table and stands beside you. “Which part is the most important?’

“All of it, but the prism is vital. It’s what shows me the location of the person I’m looking for.”

“And where are they?”

“Five Keys, New Mexico.”

You look over at Dalton as he examines each piece of your spell, waving in front of the mirrors and looking at the reflections of the crystals. He looks tired, even more so than usual.

“What’s going on, Dalton? You look like you haven’t slept at all.”

“I haven’t,” he admits with a humorless laugh. He looks over to you and clenches his jaw. “I guess you told your secret, I can tell mine.”

You nod and place your hand on his forearm, encouraging him.

“I can astral project. I’m pretty sure it started when I was younger and that the coma my parents told me about wasn’t a coma. It’s gotten really bad recently. The dimension where I go, the Further, is full of souls and demons that are trying to get out. Every time I try to sleep, I end up there and I- I don’t know what to do.”

“I can help.”

Dalton shakes his head. “How?”

“Promise not to freak out?”

Dalton’s eyes widen in anticipation rather than fear this time, and he smiles as he nods. You wave your hand in a circle, flourishing at the bottom to open the pocket dimension in which your spell book resides. Pulling the heavy book onto your table, Dalton watches in awe as you close the dimensional rift behind it. Finding a worn tab near the back, you open the book and begin reading.

“Feel free to share with the class, Professor,” Dalton teases, looking over your shoulder. “Is that Latin?”

“Some of it. Basically, this spell works as a sort of immobilization and a warding spell combination. It doesn’t actually immobilize you, but it keeps your astral body, soul, whichever you prefer, in this dimension. The warding aspect ensures that any portal opened by your gift isn’t usable from the other side.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning nothing in the Further can come through to this dimension.”

“So, it would close the door?” Dalton asks excitedly.

“Not exactly. My understanding of the Further is that there is a door within it, in addition to any route that can be opened to enter or exit it. Basically, the door you’re talking about is to a room within a house. This won’t keep things from using that door, but it stops them before they make it to this world.”

“And the spell helps me sleep?”

“The spell itself, no. I’ll have to enchant something with the spell, then you keep that object with you when you sleep, and it will provide a broader coverage of the spell. Imagine the object having the spell locked within it, on a never-ending loop. Enchanting an object repeats the spell over and over because the spell lives within it.”

“Okay. What kind of object?”

Your hands raise to the amulet on your neck. It has been awaiting its purpose for over half a decade, and it has finally come. You unhook the clasp, pulling the chain from your neck.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Dalton asks, his hands grabbing yours.

“Enchanting this amulet. Then you can just wear it to sleep.”

“I’ve never seen you without this thing.”

“I haven’t taken it off since I was thirteen. I’ve been waiting for the right time to enchant it, its sole purpose.”

“But it’s yours.”

“And I want to give it to you. Dalton, you’re worth this. Let me do this for you. You are the only reason I feel like I belong here, you’re my only friend, and this is the least I can do for you.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

You nod, and Dalton slowly removes his hands, watching you open your ingredient cabinet and pull a few new candles and a letter opener.

“What’s everything for? Can you talk me through it until you have to concentrate?”

“So, I’ll light the candles as part of the spell, then – this part’s kind of gross – I have to add some blood to the melted wax, then heat the amulet over the flame while I project the spell into it.”

Dalton nods with your explanation, cringing slightly at the mention of blood. You tell him the names and general purposes of the items as you set everything up, then ask him to step back as you begin.

“Corpus, caro et anima, malum annulos, animus nolo depreadandum, maneo. Body, flesh and soul, evil tolls, the soul will not pray, stay,” you begin, chanting as the candle melts. When the black wax begins to pour over the edge, you lift the letter opener and prick your forefinger, ignoring Dalton’s gasp as a drop of blood mixes into the hot liquid. You continue the chant as you hold the amulet over the flame, gaining volume until the amulet is too hot to hold. When you drop the necklace on the table, the candle goes out, and the flame dances in the amulet briefly before everything returns to normal.

“That’s going to take a while to get used to,” Dalton mutters.

“You said that like you’re sticking around.” It’s not a question, but you say it as if it were.

“Where would I go? Find a better friend than the one who pricked her finger to keep me from having what are essentially bad dreams?”

“You and I both know they’re not bad dreams,” you point out as you motion for Dalton to sit down. You put the amulet on, stepping around him to see how it looks. “She told me I’d know when it was time.”

“Who?”

“The psychic who gave me the amulet. I went to see her after I found out I was a witch.”

Dalton nods. “Have you seen her again?”

“No, but I’m planning to visit someone who knew her well.”

“I just have more questions now.”

“I’m going to Five Keys, New Mexico, to talk to a guy called Specs.”

Dalton stands and takes your hands. “Thank you for the amulet, I’m going to go sleep for a very long time. Then I want to hear more about this trip because there is no way you are going by yourself.”

“Did you just invite yourself?” you ask as he picks up his bag and heads for the door.

“What was it you said? That I’m worth it? Well, so are you,” he calls as the door closes.

If Dalton's going to keep looking at you like that, you're going to have to learn the cloaking flame move.

That night, Dalton sleeps peacefully for the first time in years, dreaming of you while you wonder what kind of magic brought Dalton Lambert into your life.

[ofswanlake]

NARI FANSITES !

Nari doesn’t have the best reputation when it comes to fansites, but here are a mix of the good and bad ones.

insp. @venusvity & @luvdzu

NUMBER ONE … IDOLL

IDOLL is Nari’s most popular fansite. IDOLL, also known as Joohyuk, has been a fan since Nari’s first teaser was posted. He’s well known for his attractive looks (after going viral on Twitter when his picture was posted) and gifting Nari expensive gifts, such as a custom made Cartier bracelet. She always recognizes him, and always makes sure to say hello. As of December 2023, he has not posted since Nari’s Nonsense in June. Many BLINKs worry about his whereabouts.

MOST FAMOUS SHOTS

NUMBER TWO … JADE

JADE is Nari’s second most popular fansite. JADE, also known as Hyerin, has been a fansite since 2014– originally an Irene fansite but quickly switched to Nari’s fansite in 2016. She is well known for managing to get into high security places and photographing Nari at closed schedules. In 2020, JADE posted a tweet saying she had information about Nari to tell, surprising many BLINKs. However, nothing was ‘exposed’, leading many BLINKs and netizens to think it was just for their five minutes of fame. Some do believe she has information on her, but was paid to keep silent. Unlike her other fansites, Nari never acknowledges her— not since 2020.

MOST FAMOUS SHOTS

NUMBER THREE … SWAN SONG

SWAN SONG is Nari’s third most popular fansite. SWAN SONG, also known as Ian, has been a fan since 2017. He is known for his funny and sweet interactions with Nari, as well as always being the loudest in a crowd. He’s gone viral on Twitter for it multiple times. As of December 2023, he is CLOSED due to the announcement of Nari’s relationship.

NUMBER FOUR … CUPID’S GIRL

CUPID’S GIRL is Nari’s fourth most popular fansite. CUPID’S GIRL, also known as Anthony, has been a fan since 2018 but has only been a fansite since 2021. He’s taken pictures since 2018 but only posted them after 2021. He is known for Nari calling him ‘hot’ and hyping him up at an airport. Fans consider his behavior questionable, as he’s said vulgar things to Nari online and in person— but it seems as she has no idea. As of December 2023, he is on hiatus because of personal reasons.

[graciehart]

fun fact i’m asking about your jewellery please do share

bestie thank you for asking me!! (i know this is like a month old, it made me happy knowing it was here and i wanted to take time to answer lol)

i was thinking about this a lot yesterday as I wrote my first fic because i kept laughing, thinking "of course this is what I write about" given my own personal attachment to jewelry. in fact, the song I titled the fic after ("Mine" by Phoebe Ryan) kind of speaks to why I love jewelry so much.

the main point of it is that all my day-to-day jewelry is symbolic! in some ways, it started because I always loved the idea of tattoos, but I'm pretty indecisive to begin with (and my grandparents don't like tattoos, which doesn't mean I won't ever get a tattoo but there was never a tattoo I felt strongly about getting right this moment). I really liked the idea of having tangible reminders of things so I could look at my rings or bracelets or put my hand over my necklace and be reminded of whatever the jewelry was symbolizing. it also has some significance to how I've grown and changed over time.

the rest of the story + pictures/examples will be under the cut <3 (warning that my face might be in some lol I'm just using what's already on my camera roll)

🩵

I mostly have rings and necklaces, which I've been wearing since high school. My bracelets are kind of the key to this story because of the fact that I never wore bracelets until I got a specific bracelet in 2018, but after I got that one bracelet, I have never gone without them since.

Basically, I had a very hard goodbye in 2018, and I wanted to get a piece of jewelry to remind me of that person. I usually would go with a necklace, but I didn't want to have to choose between my new necklace and other symbolic necklaces I have. That's how I decided on a bracelet. Since I never wore any bracelets, I'd never have to choose. I now have 5 bracelets that I never take off (and it's fluctuated in the years since 2018, I think the most I've had at once that are constantly on my wrist is 8?). So it felt symbolic not only because of it being a bracelet, but because there are people that came into my life since then that are very important to me and have never known me without my bracelets, yet the person who is the reason I wear bracelets never knew me as someone who wore bracelets (and I think in my head it became more symbolic because it wasn't gradual, either). So. Here are a million pics! There are fandom ones at the end that are fun (I think)

bracelets

[left] the bracelet that started it all. it has gone through many iterations, mostly to the one on the right so that I could start adding more bracelets. [right] on the right there's also pearl and tanzanite (tanzanite is my favorite), a bracelet that says "hang in there" with a semicolon (an inside joke with someone important to me, and I used to be a gymnast so the irony of "hang in there" on a bar bracelet made me smile), and the butterfly one is from my younger sister.

[left] the colorful bracelet is from my best friend. it's rose gold, so I put it on my right hand and started getting more rose gold/mixed rose gold and gold jewelry. the North Star was part of a gift (I gave someone a matching one) and is an homage to If/Then: "you're my North Star, my map to grace." [middle] I have a ton of morse code jewelry now because then I could put names or phrases without people asking me about it. some phrases/names I have: Amber, Bernadette, I will if you will, everything changes, even now. the heart is a handwritten piece of jewelry. [right] this one shows my garden bracelet! The Language of Flowers is my favorite book, so I use my favorite flower dictionaries to choose flowers based on meaning, which is why I have a lot of flower jewelry. The bracelet has peony, snowdrop, poppy, daisy, and baby's breath.

[left] new bracelets are a cremation bracelet with some of my grandmother's ashes and one with stones representing the asexual pride flag. [right] I gave a matching "E" bracelet to a client a few years ago when we said goodbye and I read The Invisible String. The bottom is a variation of a morse code bracelet.

rings

[left] tanzanite with oak leaves! tanzanite is my favorite but can also be a december birthstone. one of the meanings of my focal child's name (a baby I became really close with when I did my case study for my minor) is strength, which is the meaning of oak leaves. [middle] my current therapist's name is Amber. [right] it's hard to tell, but the stone is pink! I got it when I graduated undergrad because it meant saying goodbye to the Pink Room (infant classroom where I worked).

fandom

[criminal minds] emily prentiss inspired earrings

[ant man & the wasp] hope van dyne inspired necklace

[wicked] wicked day last year: glinda bubble necklace, ring that reminds me of glinda's wand, watermelon tourmaline ring

the x-files [left] scully inspired cross necklace [middle] bee & disk that says "believe" (getting a sunflower one that I'll probably add or trade out with the bee to be more consistent with my other necklaces) [right] x pendant

[castle, left] rose (flowers in Beckett's wedding bouquet, 7x06; various meanings) and Beckett's badge number [the mentalist, right] orchid, date I joined tmsource

one I want to see if anyone can guess if you get this far! 😆

[golden--doodler]

So, I just got this amazingly lovely Commission from @stephreynaart of my two Gravity Falls OCs, Maggie and Sydney, as sort of an early Christmas gift for myself (and because I saw they were having a sale on their Comm prices)! And my goodness, they absolutely knocked it out of the park. My heart is so full 🥺😭🫶🏼

The idea is based off this section of the long Gravity Falls fic I’ve been writing on-and-off with my best friend, Matilda (again, not her real name, just an alias for privacy) since around 2020, though I think I actually started writing it before beginning to collaborate with her around 2018. So this fic has been in the works for a very long time!! But we’re almost finished with it (we’re very close) and are planning to continue writing it so it gets done eventually!! So that’s very exciting.

Anyway, the scene takes place during the episode Soos and the Real Girl in Season Two, and Maggie has had a crush on Sydney for a very long time, since they first met in The Time Traveler’s Pig back in Season One. And this is when they finally have their first kiss at Hoo-Ha Owl’s Jamboree:

“You have quite the moves, Syd.” I laughed, my face becoming warmer, and my hands rubbing against my thighs as I searched for something to occupy them with.

She bumped my shoulder with a playful smirk occupying her face, “They weren’t as impressive as when you knocked that beaver with a chair! That look of determination on your face was… whoa.” 

I could’ve sworn she turned away after saying that, but I didn’t comprehend why.

My smile soon faded into more of a frown, “I don’t think I could have handled all of those animatronics without you.”

“I mess things up all the time, and I’m not as brave as you are.” I looked at the ball pit below us, groaning. “Soos didn’t get along with Melody because of me. It’s just that you’re so courageous, I don’t know if I’m good enough.”

Sydney sighed and put an arm around me, “Who got the courage to talk to me?”

I looked up at her, pausing for a moment, “I did?”

“Who helped stop a Summerween monster?”

“You and Soos did.”

“Maggie, you still helped! Who got up the courage to stop Gideon from taking over the town with his giant robot?”

I smiled, “I did.”

“Who stood up to Bill Cipher twice?”

I stood up, “I did!”

“I don’t like you because of traits you think matter. I like you because of traits you have that do matter. You’re courageous, you’re smart, and you’ve protected me more than once.” She chuckled softly. “Honestly, I have doubts too, so you’re not alone. But I think it’s safe to say that going to that fair and meeting you was the best decision I ever made.”

I couldn’t help but feel extremely warm, and my heart started beating faster than before. It was no longer a hummingbird, more like an avalanche of rocks tumbling down the side of a mountain, pushing everything else in its path away.

“You were amazing back there just now, you know. And I would’ve been toast if it wasn’t for those Taekwondo moves you showed me that one time. How about you give yourself some credit once in awhile and enjoy things as they come.”

She leaned forward and gave me a huge bear hug. I reciprocated it, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet after the chaos of .GIFfany.

“Like what?” I asked, wanting some clarification.

“Like this.”

Before I could even process what was occurring, Sydney leaned forward. Her face was becoming closer to mine, and my heart became a hummingbird needing desperate release from a cage. I almost leaned back because of instinct, and there was part of me that didn’t want to allow myself to believe that what was occurring was really occurring. 

Then her lips connected with mine.

It was gentle and tentative at first, and for a moment, all I could focus on was how smooth and delicate Sydney’s mouth felt. Despite my fear, I couldn’t help but reciprocate. The kiss was filled with an unspoken promise and understanding that our connection ran deeper than any self-doubt I harbored. And I couldn’t believe she felt the same way about me as I did about her. This entire time we could’ve been doing this.

The kiss deepened and our hands soon found each other. They interlocked like the twine of a basket, finding each other in the midst of this newfound connection. My other hand explored Syndey’s hair, her wonderful, flowing locks that cascaded like a waterfall down her back.

Sydney laughed once we separated, and we both panted, breathless. Our foreheads rested against each other, “We should probably go. I think we should give Soos and Melody some time alone.”

I laughed and followed her down, and Mabel tackled me in the ball pit.

“MAGGIE, YOU HAD YOUR FIRST KISS! It seems Soos and Melody aren’t the only match meant to be.” Mabel grinned.

“It seems like it.” I quickly hugged her and adjusted my glasses, which were starting to slide down my face.

[takami-takami]

2016 fully broke me, I was white knuckled through trump’s first year and his first term was about as bad as I feared. I was burnt out and at the end of my rope by early 2018 and I didn’t know it would be covid but I was sure there would be something that he handled poorly enough to cost thousands of lives. It turned out to be way more than that. The only reason dems won in 2020 was because of the urgency and upswell of support for the George Floyd protests which got so many people involved often for the first time in their lives. They squandered it and we lost Roe and the party spit in the faces of all the most passionate and engaged constituents by not having any empathy for Palestinians and turning their backs on immigrants and trans people. I am a commie in a republican state so I am used to being dismissed as a poor stupid hick or an insignificant speck in the middle of farmland whenever libs start looking for ways to deflect from their incompetence but we were the ones who lost access to abortion and now even porn is illegal here. Everyone is gonna feel however they want regardless but I just cannot put myself through that level of anxiety and despair again. I guess I’m gonna find a cause and focus on that and try not to get to wrapped up in things I can’t change. There isn’t much where I live but I could probably write to prisoners and maybe find a stop the bleed or at least cpr certification course. I have no idea how to reassure anyone about this but I want to. I wish I had the right words or a thought out plan or anything significant to offer. I don’t though, I’ve just got me. Democrats failed us but we don’t have to fail each other. I love you.

"Democrats failed us but we don't have to fail each other. I love you." Are powerful words that I want everybody reading this to remember. I will do my best to remember, too.

You mentioning remote ways of helping is genuinely such a good idea because yes, there is a massive need for remote community work!

An incredible resource is volunteermatch.org, which has a database of completely virtual volunteer opportunities, from making gift boxes for foster kids' birthdays to making audiobook reads of newspapers for the blind. Here's a link:

[april-is]

April 14, 2024: The Wordsworth Effect, Joyce Sutphen

The Wordsworth Effect Joyce Sutphen

Is when you return to a place and it's not nearly as amazing as you once thought it was,

or when you remember how you felt about something (or someone) but you know you'll never feel that way again.

It's when you notice someone has turned down the volume, and you realize it was you; when you have the

suspicion that you've met the enemy and you are it, or when you get your best ideas from your sister's journal.

Is also-to be fair-the thing that enables you to walk for miles and miles chanting to yourself in iambic pentameter

and to travel through Europe with only a clean shirt, a change of underwear, a notebook and a pen.

And yes: is when you stretch out on your couch and summon up ten thousand daffodils, all dancing in the breeze.

--

Also: Dorothy Wordsworth, Jennifer Chang

Another by Joyce Sutphen: Living in the Body

Today in:

2023: Spring Poem, Colleen O’Connor 2022: Red, Mary Ruefle 2021: Bathing, Allison Seay 2020: A Small Moment, Cornelius Eady 2019: You Meet Someone and Later You Meet Their Dancing and You Have to Start Again, David Welch 2018: Henry Clay’s Mouth, Thomas Lux 2017: When Your Small Form Tumbled into Me, Tracy K. Smith 2016: Eve Recollecting the Garden, Grace Bauer 2015: from I Love A Broad Margin To My Life, Maxine Hong Kingston 2014: Gift, Czeslaw Milosz 2013: This Be The Verse, Philip Larkin 2012: We Did Not Make Ourselves, Michael Dickman 2011: Happiness (3), Jean Valentine 2010: When I Think, Jeanne Marie Beaumont 2009: The Poem, Franz Wright 2008: Morning Poem, Robin Becker 2007: Supple Cord, Naomi Shihab Nye 2006: Wish For a Young Wife, Theodore Roethke 2005: The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy, Jeffrey McDaniel

[blysse-and-blunder]

in lieu of lawn care

10:30pm, sunday, may 26, 2024

cut the grass today, and then went and spent two hours lolling around outside, sitting on a blanket that even now smells perfectly of summer

reading just finished kj charles' the henchmen of zenda (thank you @yogurtforever for mentioning it to me! please overlook the fact that i'm about to go off) and i have to say, surprisingly, this was a rare kj charles miss, for me! i still finished it, i still think i'm glad i read it, but from an author who i've adored all of her other work, it's odd to realize i didn't have as much fun here as i would have liked. two reasons for this, possibly, one that i think it was an early work for her [edit: nope came out in 2018] and two that i actually had read the source material of which this is an au, and i found it continually grating that this book's whole tone and style is set up to be cynical about the original prisoner of zenda novel. if you want the critique to really, actually matter, don't change so much! don't make your case by actually rewriting the entire personalities of the king and player-king, who in this turn into strawmen because they've literally been restructured to prove monarchy is awful. the other option, b), would be to step further away from the source material, in which case you need to stop quoting the original book and integrating so much of the original language. bah. this leaves us open for one of my most irritating little meaningless quibbles, which is that a character gets very self-righteous about what the original novel's narrator meant by using the term 'well-bred', to the point that i think ends up actually being ahistorical and weakening the overall critique we're trying to produce here.

charles is also trying to introduce more time and personality for the female characters (moderate success) and insert some revolutionary, 'hey wait a minute the best answer here is not a continuation of the monarchical system where everyone sucks' sentiment (middling to poor success). i just...found i really hated the idea that every character was Worse, Actually than in the original novel, although in fairness it is believable that the pov character here would think that, i guess. you chose a narrator who's going to take a cynical view of everything, and are trying to show how he allows himself to trust and/or like certain very few people, and it didn't make for a great reading experience.

the same, however, can't be said for the other two books here, although arguably they are also dealing with a narrator who is a) damaged and grieving b) gay. katherine addison's the goblin emperor was a christmas/birthday gift for me in...2022 and was such a gem, a gift in multiple senses, and this spring i have finally indulged in the two companion (?) novels, which i read voraciously on Eclipse Day and the weeks following, and then have turned around and listened to in audiobook almost immediately. the world of amalo is no less full of horror, death and injustice and corrupt or infuriating structures of power are a big part of the inciting action, but the time we spend seeing the people who are kind makes these so much more. pleasurable to read. plus the details of the city, the public transit, the tea houses, the opera, the belle epoque prague vibes. there's comparatively more death, more 'true crime' style mystery solving, more small vignettes of crime (reminding me that she does like writing cases like this, and making her her sherlock holmes au angel of the crows, pictured in ilcb 05/12/24 but not discussed, fit into place in a new way), but the lack of cynicism matters.

listening a lot of podcasts lately. had reason to try and sum up my podcast habit recently, and realized that i am really almost constantly listening to one, of some variety. i go through different moods and will switch between shows to find the right vibe rather than try to finish one all the way through. that being said, the list i tell people when asked 'oh what do you listen to?' is, like, 99% invisible (genuinely really enjoying the robert caro the power broker read-along, despite not reading the book-- it's fascinating) and articles of interest and ologies, whereas this week i think it was primarily no such thing as a fish, followed by normal gossip, followed by i hate it but i love it followed by some npr and crooked media pods (god help me, i do still check in on their election takes and will probably continue to do so out of morbid curiosity). the maxfun shows i listen to? are like family to me, and may be just as overlooked-- but you can bet that's where i'm turning first when stuck on a long subway ride.

watching had reason, last week, to sit down and watch the entire new season of gamechanger start to finish. y'all heard about this shit? gamechanger? anyone? yes? i bought dropout for myself and a few friends last year, and it has been the best possible investment. i love feeling the, like, increase in energy and stakes and creative chaotic potential in each new episode, each new show that gets added to the roster, but i love gamechanger til death do us part. hard to pick a favorite bit for cast psychic damage and resulting peak performances (second place?? bingo?? the timeloop??? sam says????) so let me here give a shout-out to the lesser memed episodes this season, the drawfee collab and the newlyweb game (scream) and beat the buzzer, all of which were so fun while featuring people i knew less or not at all. the little sam reich matryoshkas absolutely killed me. can we hear it for the motherfucking ART DEPARTMENT.

playing having beaten one of the colosseum of fools tournaments in hollow knight, i've gone back for round two and am now emotionally trapped until i can win this second one. since i need the pale ore from it in order to upgrade and do anything more challenging. so it goes. this has also meant that i turned back to other games, after not wanting to continue to die so very much. chants of sennaar was there waiting for me so politely, and i got through the third language and felt pretty accomplished after puzzling slash brute-forcing it i had to do to make things work. was not expecting the uh. the jumpscare, as it were, at the end of the bards' level. but look how gorgeous.

making made a pretty passable banana bread today. the ratio of banana to other ingredients was a little off, so it's largely just 'bread' and isn't too sweet, but it's more than edible.

working on ignoring my email inbox, ignoring my article revisions, ignoring my chapter edits--forgot to send out the email with discussion questions for our panel discussion which we meant to send out this friday, fuck! trying to make progress on paid tasks and stay on top of those hours before i leave, trying to also organize my trip which has meant, like it or not, getting back to some of those emails. also i found an article in welsh which i had been unaware of which will be Extremely Good to have read, even if it doesn't tell me anything too new, just so that i can prove i did. my footnotes always feel so anemic. hopefully this helps, and hopefully i speed up--currently reading about two pages an hour if i'm lucky.

[theunsweetenedtruth]

Promises (1)

Summary: Erik left more than just his girl behind. It was time to keep some of his promises.

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Ada Moore (OC)

AN: Originally written in 2018

Ada was used to Erik coming and going the way he did. He'd be in town for a few weeks before disappearing for months on end, leaving her worried and anxious. She understood that his job in the CIA took him away from her but a damn head's up when he was leaving or coming back would be nice.

And always back with more of the...markings. She asked him once what they stood for but he just shook his head, refusing to answer. She had an idea but was too afraid for him to confirm or deny what she already knew deep down.

Because despite his in and out act, she knew Erik better than anyone else. Even himself sometimes.

He was home today, back in Boston, and they were wrapped around each other in her bed. Always her bed, never his. Ada wasn't even sure where he stayed whenever he wasn't with her or if he had his own place in Oakland. She loved him like this, snuggly and pressed against her, his head resting on her chest and her scratching at the hairs on the back of his neck. There was that underlying current of sexual energy that always seemed to be present whenever Erik was within her vicinity but Ada just wanted to hold him to her a little longer.

It was hard having him leave and Erik knew this; he usually snuck out early in the morning, leaving nothing behind. When he came back, he brought gifts from his travels. Candle holders from Iraq, a rug from Afghanistan, Russian dolls integrated their way into the eclectic décor that made up her—no their—place. But it still never made up for Ada missing him like crazy.

"How long are you staying this time?" she asked tracing a pattern in the dots along his shoulder. These were fresh; she could always tell the difference in the new ones.

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat, snuggling deeper into her breast and Ada let him, wrapping both arms around him. She wanted to keep him. She knew he was damaged but just like the silly girls in movies, she just felt that if he would just give her a chance, she could fix him. But Erik was troubled, far more so than her one psychology class could handle.

When she met him, Ada thought Erik was the typical bad boy, but was instantly drawn to him the minute she heard him in a lecture on African Diaspora Studies. He spoke with such intelligence, such confidence and magnetism that every eye was instantly on him, including Ada. Interacting with him one on one was another level. Ada was no dummy by any means but Erik took intellect to another level and she found herself falling for the bad boy who was more misunderstood than anything.

Her friends told her that they had heard things about him, he was messed up, had anger issues, got into fights but Ada just knew that if she could keep him, she could fill that hole that he let fester and scab over with anger. She started to pray more, hoping that whatever was causing him to be the way he was inside would be healed and he could be the man that he was with her all the time. But she didn't mind being Erik's person; he was one person who Ada could depend on.

Erik sat up pulling Ada from her thoughts and took her hands into his. Tugging her into a seated position on the bed, she knew it would be bad because of the serious look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked afraid of the answer.

"I...I'm leaving tomorrow morning." His words hit like a punch to the stomach.

"Wait what? You just got here." Tears welled in her eyes and Ada did her best not to let them fall. It made no sense to be so attached to someone who pulled disappearing acts on the regular. She should be used to in by now but it still hurt and it was the first time she had known ahead of time when he was leaving. "Can't the CIA send someone else for once? You can't be the only person saving the world."

"This isn't for the CIA." The words brought her up short. If not for the CIA then what could possibly take him away so soon?

"You have to give me more than that Erik. You come in and out of my life and I'm supposed to just be ok with that?" The tears were flowing freely and Ada swiped them away angrily. Erik was the only person to make her feel this way, both so angry and in love and out of control. She began to pace. "What about me Erik? What about what I want? I can't keep living this life of never knowing when you're coming or going and not being able to live my own life because I'm waiting for you to figure out what it is you need. Why aren't I just enough?"

Erik grabbed her by the arms and sat her back on the bed. "Hey, hey, hey. Calm all that down. You're enough. You're more than enough." He rubbed the back of his neck. "This is something that I have to do. Something to honor my pops. Something he would've wanted me to do." Ada nodded. Erik didn't talk about Oakland a lot but she knew that his father was killed when he was young and he had meant the world to Erik.

"I need something more permanent Erik. I love you more than anything and it scares me whenever you leave and I never know if you're gonna come home to me." Erik wrapped his arms around her and Ada leaned her head against his chest. Their relationship was unhealthy one but not one she would give up for anything.

"I swear. This time is the last time. When I come back, things are gonna be different. I'm gonna take you to where my pops grew up, show you where I come from, treat you like a queen. My queen." He kissed her then, a firm pressing of his mouth to hers, and Ada wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. If her words couldn't keep him, maybe her actions would.

He pressed her deep into the mattress and she allowed him to take control as he usually did. Tongues tangled and clothes were removed and there wasn't a need for any spoken words.

Come home to me, she silently begged when she wrapped her legs around his waist. I love you, I love you, I love you. Love me too.

When it was finished, Ada wrapped her arms around him tightly, keeping him pressed to her, inside her, for as long as possible. There was a sense of fear in her, like this would be her last time to see him and it made her scared for him to leave her.

Erik pulled away and wrapped her in his arms, his fingertips tracing the smooth skin of her shoulder, her head on his chest. Ada pressed a kiss to his chest right over his heart where the thudding was singing her a lullaby. Before she drifted off, she felt him press lips to her hair and mutter something under his breath.

When she woke, Erik was gone and it was dark outside her window. Ada shivered from the cold that seeped into her bones. She would see him again, she vowed. He would come home to her and things would get better when he did. He promised and Erik had never broken a promise yet.

Except a month went by and she didn't hear from him. And another. And another. Until it had been six months and Erik had never been gone that long and Ada was sure that he wasn't coming back home.

[secretlywritingstories]

Go out with a bang as it were | phan one shot

Summary: The cursor was mocking Dan as he was trying to work on his Terrible Influence Tour script and he kept getting distracted thinking about his life with Phil and the relationship to their audience. Until Phil shows up with water, steals his laptop, makes him faint and promises to love him for 100 years.

Tags: Established relationship, 2024!phan, domestic fluff, introspection, Terrible Influence Tour prep

Warnings: Brief fainting (he is okay!)

Word count: 3k

A/N: My 100th phanfic posted. First one I posted back in September 2016 (this one) and now we're here. Can you believe it? I certainly cannot. I could never have imagined I'd get here and have recieved so much love for my phanfics. It's a gift and I treasure it. Dan also decided to personally award me (as I see it) with my first ever Twitter notice when I was editing this.

Read below or on AO3

Dan was aware that his and Phil’s life felt a bit too much like a fanfic at times. He never felt it more keenly than when he had to sit down and write something that reflected their life.

Still, he liked to lean into the absurdity, fate and grandness of it all because there was nothing more lovely than romanticising stupid, silly parts of their life. And they did also have a frighteningly number of actual fanfictions written about them. It had been overwhelming at first but now they were veterans. They understood how fandoms worked. They’d always encouraged creation in their viewers and creative writing borrowing their likeness was no different.

He was quite sure that the number of the fics written had dropped during the hiatus. It was the natural cycle after all. In general, when less new content was coming out, there was less engagement in the belonging fandom. There were exceptions obviously, but it was still the rule.

It had happened with his and Phil’s audience too. They had anticipated it but it was still strange to see. 2018 had been the era of giving the audience what they wanted, absolutely committing to doing the most ever, so that Dan could take a step back and work on something else.

Something new. Solo projects.

Stepping back had never been about his love for Phil. Their relationship had never been for the audience. It was for them and they chose to share glimpses. The community they had created had been a crazy by-product through their shared passion and goofing off on camera. Just for the heck of it. Because they liked each other so much and it was easier doing something when they could look over and find each other’s eyes.

It was what Dan had missed the most during his solo tour. He’d kept Phil updated through messages and video calls, just to see each other’s faces but it hadn’t been the same. He had missed sharing the stage. And now he was going to have it again.

Their third joint tour was happening. It had felt surreal ever since they had come up with the idea. Even now, a month out from the announcement and so many venues sold out, it didn’t quite feel real. It wouldn’t feel real until they stood in front of their audience again.

The cursor was blinking at Dan, almost mocking him for how he could get all lost in his head but he couldn’t get it down on paper. He was trying to edit a monologue piece for the Terrible Influence tour and he’d decided that opening a new document would be a good idea. Let only the best bits carry over instead of overly nit-picking his existing script.

Phil came into the lounge, glasses at the very tip of his nose and pyjamas pants slouching as he walked. He was carrying two glasses of water, only it was the tall glasses that they’d used for the mukbang video.

“Dishwasher overloaded again?” Dan asked, as he sat up a little, adjusting his laptop in his lap before reaching out for one of the glasses. They were trying to maintain healthy habits to be in good enough shape to endure so many months of tour.

Phil just hummed before he plonked himself down at the other side of the sofa. He didn’t reach for his phone or his laptop. Just held his glass with two hands and slowly sipped.

Waiting for something.

No, waiting for Dan.

“I’m fine,” Dan insisted.

“You’re rewriting again,” Phil pointed out. “The first show is in less than a month.”

“Diamonds are made under pressure,” Dan said, staring at the cursor again. Blinking judgingly at him.

When he was in the zone, the cursor was his friend, it stayed a little black line just appearing after the words. The words that spilled from his fingertips as easy as breathing. He knew this shit. It was a show about them. It should be easy to write.

“It’s meant to be fun, you know,” Phil said and cocked his head just a little to the side. His blonde hair had a slight silver tint at the moment and it was growing out just enough to flop adorably. Phil would get a haircut before tour but he’d wait until they were closer to the first date.

“It is fun,” Dan said.

And it had been. Gaming videos, even though that was a very loose definition of the kind of videos that they were putting on the joint channel at the moment, were fun and easy. Outsourcing the most of the editing had been a weight off their shoulders and made it sustainable in the long term to have active channels. But big projects were something different.

It was Dan’s greatest joy and his greatest enemy. Because he felt like it had to be perfect, even though he knew no such a thing existed. He still wanted to strive for it, maybe because he was trying to capture that fanfic-worthy essence of how his and Phil’s life had fallen together like long-lost puzzle pieces.

They were embracing the moment and trying not to think too far ahead, mostly for Dan’s sake, but this time, it could actually be the last chance for a tour to see their audience. An audience that was really their audience now. No longer people who thought they were cool because they were British, tall, shippable and “popular” YouTubers. No, the ones still around now loved them for them and they were all a bunch of little weirdos, just like him and Phil.

Phil reached over and closed Dan’s laptop screen. He barely managed to pull his fingers back before they would have been snapped off.

“You want to cut my fingers off right before tour? You want to do tour with fingerless Dan?” Dan joked and shot Phil an accusing glare that carried no heat.

“No, your fingers are too essential. We can’t have them be gone,” Phil said and there was a glint in his eye that told Dan exactly down which kind of gutter Phil’s mind had disappeared into. It had been a while since they’d last done that.

But Dan didn’t rise to the bait. He tried to open his screen again, but Phil pushed it down once more.

“I can do this all day,” Dan said, attempting to open the screen again, just for Phil to shut it.

Again.

“Watch something with me,” Phil proposed. “Or we’ll be stuck here forever like that Syphilis guy.”

“Syh- PHIL, it’s Sisyphus! Syphilis is an STI!” Dan spoke with increasing volume and completely forgot about the computer in his lap. He was too busy staring at Phil in disbelief.

“Oh, my mistake.”

He was grinning. He was being a little shit on purpose.

“You said it wrong deliberately, didn’t you?”

“No? You know, I mess up my Greek mythology. That’s your nerdy area,” he said and he was a picture of innocence but Dan knew him too well. Just a tiny twitch of his left eye and it was enough to give away the lie.

“Don’t distract me with mythology, unless you want me to write a two-hour speech that ends up becoming the whole tour,” he threatened and wagged a finger in Phil’s face.

Phil, of course, simply tried to catch the finger with his teeth. His teeth actually graced Dan’s finger before he was able to pull it back without getting mauled.

“It doesn’t have to be that serious,” Phil said. “Just vibes.”

“It’s our lives,” Dan countered.

“Our lives are mostly vibes, if you think about it.”

Dan blinked at Phil several times. Worst part was that he was kind of right about it. He’d just put it so concisely that it was kind of annoying that he could be so poignant with so few words. Dan needed space to open up a discussion, arranging many words into sentences to make sure that he conveyed the right nuance.

Phil’s brain worked quite a bit differently.

“Fifteen years of vibes?” Dan asked, eyebrow raised, even as he tried to keep the smile off his face.

“It’ll be sixteen years when we’re on tour,” Phil corrected, and then he reached out to actually bop Dan on the nose. Clearly, it was just one of those impulse thoughts because he smiled so self-satisfied when Dan almost went cross-eyed trying to track the movement of his finger.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“Yeah? Says the guy who got me a 100-day gift, and who made a point to figure out when we’d been together for 100 months too, now that I think about it. You could write about that? Your cute little thing about wanting numbers to be special. When will the next one be, when we’ve been together 100 years?”

Dan snorted. “You think we’ll get that old? Phil, our bodies will have fallen apart by then. We’re not getting to be 120 something.”

Phil shrugged, unbothered. “You never know. They could develop some kind of technology. We could just be floating brains in jars. Or like stretched-out like that lady from Doctor Who. Do you think we could reserve pods next to each other?”

Okay, Dan was taking back that part about Phil being poignant. His man was insane. Actually insane.

Even if his heart actually skipped a beat at the idea that even in some distant science fiction future, where they’d been turned into just skin or brains, Phil still wanted to make sure that they’d be next to each other. Obviously even in that scenario, they could not be separated.

“And be stuck with you for eternity while technology keeps us in some twisted kind of immortality? No thanks,” he said deadpan but his voice was too strained to be casual.

As he said it, he felt how his heart refused to fucking calm down. It was stupid. He knew Phil loved him. He knew Phil had chosen him again and again. It was their thing. They had gone through so much shit together that they wouldn’t let anything pull them apart. It was the long haul, and evidently also beyond mortal life, if Phil were to be believed.

But the reminder of that commitment never ceased to floor Dan. He’d not had a best friend for the first eighteen years of his life and now for the last fifteen, he’d had Phil. Phil who was his very best friend like he could never have dreamed, his favourite person in the whole wide world and the one person he always wanted to be around.

That was the kind of sentiment that he needed to capture for the monologue. Perhaps not that personal but to parrot Phil’s words, he should get the vibes of it at least.

He tried to open his laptop to grab the thought and get it down before it scurried away but he didn’t manage before Phil had evolved his tactic and snatched the whole laptop out of Dan’s hands.

“We’re watching anime, you still need a break,” Phil said, narrowing his eyes in a way that was perhaps meant to come off as threatening, but he just looked slightly constipated.

“I just need to get this down,” Dan insisted, jumping up from his sofa crease and trying to swipe the laptop out of Phil’s hands.

Only, he had probably been a little too overzealous and he’d once again forgotten that his stupid blood pressure and his stupid tall body liked to combine into a fainting nightmare.

“Oh, no,” was all he managed to say before he could feel himself falling forward.

His vision turned spotty and he was just in free-fall. He just had time enough to hope that he wasn’t going to hit their coffee table before he felt arms actually reach out to catch him.

Only to promptly continue falling while Phil was now yelping very loudly in his ear. It was enough to pull him back to the presence, even if his eyes took some more time to adjust.

They were on the floor.

“What happened?” Dan managed, trying to push himself up but feeling a little like his arms were jelly.

“You fainted again, idiot.”

“Thanks. I got that,” Dan said, dripping with sarcasm. “You caught me? Tried?”

“Tried being the opportune word here,” Phil said and he tried to sit up but he quickly gave up and just lied down on the floor sprawled out again when he realised it wasn’t easy to push Dan off him.

“You okay?” Dan asked, scrunching up his face and trying to make his eyes properly focus. He wanted to rub at his eyes but he knew that would only make the fussy sensation worse.

“You’re heavy,” Phil just said as a complaint, which Dan took to mean that he was actually fine.

“This is what happens when you try to steal my laptop,” Dan chastised and finally managed to push himself off of Phil. Only the prospect of actually standing up right now was a little daunting, so he ended up just rolling over to lie next to him. Now they were just both sprawled out on their backs net to each other.

“You need someone to steal your laptop every now and again,” Phil said and flopped his hand over so it hit Dan in the chest softly.

Phil was undoubtedly very right, but Dan wasn’t going to concede that right now. He wanted to tell Phil to shut up, get all whiny and annoying but really, he was a little too fucking emotional to commit to the bit right now.

“I hope we do make it to a hundred years of being together just so I can know I’ve gotten to annoy you for a whole ass century,” Dan said and tried to ignore how Phil had let his hand just rest on Dan’s chest after he’d playfully hit him.

It was a light weight, barely there, but it was resting right over his heart.

“An ass century?” Phil giggled.

He retaliated by trying to hit at Phil’s chest, mimicking what Phil had done to him. He’d planned to pull his hand back to himself but he found that his arm didn’t quite obey. His hand lingered, palm up, right on Phil’s chest.

Neither of them made a move to get up. Floor time was good after all. At least when it was this kind of spontaneous floor time and not the face-down existential dread kind. Phil was the one who pulled away that metaphorical laptop too, when he thought Dan had been down there for too long.

They probably made quite the picture right now. He wondered how it would have been described or pictured. It made Dan chuckle.

“What?” Phil asked softly.

Phil moved his hand a little, grabbing onto Dan’s old and soft T-shirt. The same shirt he’d grabbed hours ago when he’d pulled Dan into a lazy kiss good morning, which was really noon, because none of them could keep a normal sleep schedule unless forced.

“Just imagined if phan artists or phanfic writers could see us right now. Lying on the floor like this,” Dan said honestly.

Phil let out a thoughtful hum. “What’s sexy about fainting though?” he asked and pushed himself up into a sitting position, breaking the contact between them. “It’s just like super inconvenient.”

“It’s not about the sexiness and you very well know that,” Dan countered and found the strength to push himself up to sitting now that Phil had done it. It was always easier to do something when he had Phil doing the same right next to him.

Phil shot Dan a look.

“Sure, some of it’s about the sexiness, obviously, but it’s about the little moments too. The smallest moment can make a beautiful picture. What binds a good story together is the characters and how they care for each other or their surroundings. A story is nothing without that.”

“Must be why we’re so popular then,” Phil said with a completely serious face as he heaved himself off the floor. “But for now, let’s try to remember your fainting issue, so you don’t go out with a bang, yeah? Cracking your head open on the round marble coffee table would make a terrible end to our story.”

 Dan made an affronted noise at Phil’s even tone. “You wouldn’t even be sad?”

Phil rolled his eyes at him. “I’m the one that always dies, am I not?”

There had been a great deal of fic where Phil died. Dan had written one himself as well.

“No, that’s not allowed. You just told me you’re going to live until you’re 122. I’m going to hold you to that,” Dan said accepting the hand that Phil was extending, so he could get his ass off the floor. “A hundred years together, yeah?”

“Sure,” Phil said easily, as if it was something he could really promise.

Like the world would bend to his whims just because he’d said so. Like he believed so much in them that he trusted they would be together for as long as humanly possible and then even beyond that.

If anyone could manage it, then it would be Phil. It would hardly even be the strangest thing in their life. It would just be another curveball in the life of Dan and Phil.

“Seriously, let me just write a couple of notes and I’ll put away the laptop, yeah?” Dan said. “We’ll watch something together.”

Phil smiled like he had won and perhaps he had. But Dan had Phil, so he never really felt like he could lose in any way that mattered.

[rabbitcruiser]

World Donkey Day 

Visit a petting zoo, or simply do some research into the underappreciated, stalwart, useful and intelligent beasts of burden known as donkeys.

World Donkey Day is a show of respect for one of the most enduring and respectable animals in the Equidae family. Throughout history, it has served throughout the world as both a mount and a beast of burden in some of the most challenging terrains and forbidding climates, and has done so with pride and endurance. It’s unsurprising that these beasts’ success is due in part to their stubborn nature, and World Donkey Day honors them for this along with their other, perhaps more laudable, traits.

History of World Donkey Day

Two subspecies of the donkey, the Somalian and the Nubian, were bred together to produce what we think of as the modern Donkey. Available evidence points to the Donkey having been working alongside humanity since 4000 BCE, most likely in Nubia, as a more versatile and resilient pack animal than the ox they were presently using. Since then they have been bred and transplanted all over the world as cultures moved, and the world expanded, and can now be found just about everywhere.

They’re also the progenitors of the sterile mule, a cross-breeding of horse and donkey that results in a breed with the strengths of both. Sadly mules are almost entirely sterile, and the exceptions so rare that no breeding stock of pure mules has ever been able to be achieved, in part due to there having yet to be recorded a case of a breedable mule stallion. Strangely, there have been cases where female mules have birthed what are, for all appearances, pure horses when bred with a horse.

Without the help of donkeys, it is hard to imagine that the modern world could ever have come into existence. These hardy pack animals provided civilization with the motive energy needed to generate wealth, well before the advent of steam power or electricity. For that reason, many people consider donkeys just as fundamental to our society as writing, pottery, and metallurgy.

World Donkey Day is all about celebrating their stoic spirit and individual charm. These creatures aren’t afraid of a hard day’s work. In fact, they more or less invented the concept. Donkeys pull carts, operate mills, and carry cargo for miles and miles, well after other species would have given up. For that reason, they have a special place in our hearts. They’re willing to put in the effort (for no pay) all to serve us – their grateful human masters.

World Donkey Day is the brainchild of Raziq Ark, a scientist whose interests primarily concern desert animals. Around ten years ago, he noticed that nobody was celebrating the humble donkey for its efforts in helping people all over the world improve their quality of life. In recognition of all this hard work, he set up a Facebook group, chronicling the trials and tribulations of the species all over the world. Eventually, the idea to set up a World Donkey Day emerged in 2018, and we’ve been celebrating it ever since.

The concept drew widespread attention in the media. The Daily Express, for instance, ran an article covering ten facts that people don’t know about donkeys. Did you know that a female donkey is called a Jenny? Ark also has thousands of followers on his Facebook page, all showing their support for this amazing creature.

Donkeys have played an essential part in human history. Ark says that they are a “precious genetic resource and a great gift of nature.” You can’t get higher praise than that!

How to celebrate World Donkey Day

The best way to celebrate World Donkey Day, depending on where you are, is merely to research these incredible beasts and the role they had to play in the world. If you’re somewhere you can take a Donkey Ride tour like the Grand Canyon or tours of certain abandoned mines then that’s an even better way to become acquainted with these adorable long-eared equines. World Donkey Day reminds us that we owe a large part of our success on this planet to these fellow travelers on the starship Earth.

There are plenty of other ways that you can show your support to donkeys all over the world and improve their wellbeing. Many of them are in constant pain and need attention fast. Often their owners are too poor to pay for a veterinarian, so it falls to the rest of us to take up the slack. Donating to a donkey charity, therefore, is a great way to show your support for these fabulous creatures directly. Currently, there are a handful of nonprofits working hard all over the world to deliver medical attention to neglected and abused animals. These charities use donated money to provide much-needed treatment to donkeys in their hour of need.

Donkey abandonment is another major issue. Many owners will dump their donkeys at the side of the road if they can no longer afford to take care of them. The animal must then scavenge for food to survive. Giving to a donkey charity, therefore, can provide these victims with shelter where they can live in safety and peace.

Donkeys are beautiful, but neglected creatures. World Donkey Day is a chance for everyone who cares about these animals to highlight their plight and do something practical about it. Are you in?

Source

[crystalsenergy]

Important words for you, Student #1

Regardless of how your year has been so far, whether you are evaluating it as a good year, a bad year, or a reasonable year, I have something to say to you.

Especially if you are a student or experiencing any kind of pressure.

I believe that here in Tumblr we have many pre-university students or university applicants.

When you are a university applicant, the demands are high. Do not understand demands as synonymous with "success,"

such as:

"doing well in school and also doing well in the entrance exam", "getting good grades."

Some say that "so-and-so does well in school because they are demanded"; "so-and-so does well in the entrance exam because they are demanded," when in reality, it's not like that.

The pressure begins from the moment you hear about the exam and know that you will have to study for it like no one else. Right at the beginning of this university application journey, various ridiculous ideas of competition and comparison are implanted in your head.

This has side effects:

a person may feel pressured and incapable; or super potent and excessively competitive. Anything can happen. The idea of competition in the entrance exam is still very ingrained in the minds of young people. Which is terrible.

My main message is for you not to neglect yourself.

Don't get lost in the midst of this university application madness. I'm not telling you to give up. I'm telling and remembering you to take care of yourself, even while studying.

Because it's no use thinking that only reading and doing who-knows-how-many exercises will guarantee your spot. If your physical and mental health is deteriorating, even if you have read and studied all the content, you won't be 100% well to put these learnings into practice. I guarantee you that.

Hmm, I don't know if you, who are reading this and are a student, have already taken your exams, have passed, haven't passed... regardless of that, my message here is focused on congratulating and advising you.

This text has already been published in my language for students in my country to read if they came across it. At the time, it was 2017 or 2018. I had just finished my second semester in law school, and for many, that meant nothing. Oh, I passed. Cool. But for me, it meant A LOT. Really a lot.

I had a tumultuous, busy, and complicated semester, where I was also all over the place, so things didn't go in the best way. In this context, I didn't see myself giving my best because I wasn't getting the best results.

But now that it's over, I think differently. Well, I gave my BEST. Even with a shitty result on some days, in exams: I did my best. My moment was too difficult and now everything is passing, things are improving. I really feel better that the weather is opening up again.

About grades,

my advice is: don't compare yourself.

There will always be someone "ahead," who succeeded before, who did better until now. Okay, but so what? Your performance is within your current pace, and you shouldn't demand too much from yourself.

It's as if life gave you "limits" as a gift.

Each phase, you receive a different limit, which will be according to the phase you are currently in.

And it's no use looking at the neighbor's limit and comparing it with yours.

It's no use trying to exceed your current quota.

Relax, focus on doing what is within your reach at the moment.

I see young people - 17, 18, 19 years old, and so on - worrying about the future in a very heavy way.

I see people going crazy, devising plans for the future and already thinking it will go wrong.

I understand all the pressure that is placed. But it doesn't have to be that way. I don't like to call our parents and society enemies, it's not that. But they are completely mistaken in

thinking that young people have an obligation to follow the life manual to the letter.

I would like to ask you not to see them as enemies but as people who don't exactly know what is best for you.

The best for you at this moment is what your heart wants (Heart, not Ego).

It's putting everything that needs to be put in place.

You have felt enough pressure this year.

[bobbie-robron]

Robron Fanfiction Recommendations (Dec-2023)

The below were recommended on Twitter in Dec-2023.

Discovered (2016) 13.1K words, robron_til_the_end

It’s April 2015 and Robert and Aaron are on their own enjoying themselves at Home Farm until Chrissie comes back early only to find them in bed together revealing their affair. This being Robert, he does the usual to convince Chrissie to stay with him and that Aaron was a mistake. In the end, Chrissie gives him an ultimatum… leave the village with her or they are through. What will Robert’s decision be and will he regret it in the end?

Oh, cause I need you to see that you are the reason (2018) 3.0K words, storiesthatmakeus

It’s time for Reunion 2.0! The club setting remains as does the pointless one being effectively and promptly dumped by Aaron but that’s where things change. A taxi drive back to the village and Aaron doing his best to get his soulmate/husband back while the rain falls on them.

Robron: Evening classes (2016) 12.7K words, jdinglemonkey

Aaron decides to take an evening dance course and the lecturer is Robert which he becomes smitten with quickly. But Robert has a dark past with a broken heart which makes it difficult for the two to make progress, on the personal side that is. When Aaron is told what Robert’s past holds and why he left the village, will it too much to move forward together?

This is How it Could Have Gone (2015) 3.6K words, dirtylittlegreasemonkey

We all know how Robert and Aaron started out those early weeks in 2014. Now, here, we have three scenarios where things happened differently (no need to go into detail, is there?): Mates? Join me if you want? The callout to the layby. Enjoy!

It’s a beautiful sound, It’s a beautiful noise series (2018) 10.6K words, andyyouknowitis

A set of three stories focusing on Robert and Aaron after their reunion including focus on finding balance in their lives, struggling with money, Robert getting gifts from the heart from Aaron, Aaron’s worry about failing both Liv and Sebastian, and a reflective look over the course of a year ending with Sebastian’s absence in their lives. Cannon compliant (mostly) with more texture added to flesh out moments.

The Green Eyed Monster (2018) 2.9K words, coffeeandghostwriting

Reunion 2.0. The girl squad (Robert’s sister, Vanessa and Tracy) take Robert to Bar West to help him ‘move on.’ That might not be so easy especially when Aaron shows up not liking his husband/ex (he can’t decide) being chatted up (while he himself is there with the pointless one and his mates). A bit different ending. Also includes a side focus on Vanessa and Charity.

Music is a window to the soul series (2016) 7.7K words, RobronForever

Two stories in this series taking place before the trial starts with both Aaron and Robert learning more about the other through songs. First, while helping Robert’s sister, Aaron hears a song that reminds him of Robert but wants to keep that tidbit from reaching Robert’s ears. In the second story, Aaron wants to know what is on Robert’s ‘Aaron’ playlist even if it means getting him tipsy to get it…

Broken (2016) 3.4K words, imaginentertain

Robert wants to get the perfect Christmas present for Aaron after the rough year they had but each (extravagant) idea he comes up with, it gets shot down by those he asks close to Aaron. So, what do to? The ideal gift was there all along, it just needed to be pointed out by a certain someone because it’s not gift itself that matters but what the person does for another...