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stillmonsterz · 9 months ago

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when you split the heart open

pairing: heeseung x reader, jake x reader (kind of)

genre: smut, angst (?)

summary: heeseung is dating the girl of his dreams. the only problem? he has to have sex with her.

warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, voyeurism, name-calling, manipulation, exhibitionism, dubcon, public sex, humiliation (?), heeseung is a cuck

word count: 5.1k

---

Heeseung had a girlfriend, and she was amazing. She was pretty, smart, funny, and her body was out of this world. She had a particular vibrancy and joie de vivre that made spending time with her invigorating. She was the opposite of a dead fish in the bedroom- she was vocal, enthusiastic, and loved to please him.

He disliked having sex with her.

Sometimes he almost pitied her; she would seduce him in any way she could, winding her hips seductively, crawling towards him on the bed wearing nothing but thigh-high socks, rubbing his crotch under the table when they ate out, anything to catch his attention. Of course, he didn’t pass up a good fuck – he wasn’t insane – but it did nothing for him but provide a quick release.

It wasn’t like he didn’t love her, he did. He was convinced that someday, he could even marry her. It’s just that he found that he loved her best when she was farther away from him, someone he could admire rather than keep. Heeseung found her beautiful at 11 pm, when she would dance alone in her bedroom wearing a baggy T-shirt. Or when she would shove her face into her pillow and thrust the end of a hairbrush into her pussy. It was an amazing night when he had caught that- he had been parked outside of her apartment complex, so he got a side-view, and the camera he had set up in her closet gave him a perfect shot of her smooth legs and raised ass. The day after that, when they had had sex in his van, the memory of her chasing her orgasm got him to finish.

Heeseung was a voyeur, and he was starting to think that it was becoming a problem. And it wasn’t even a problem he could complain about; in a moment of weakness, he had told his best friend Jay that he didn’t like how frequently his girlfriend wanted sex, and Jay had heavily implied that Heeseung was gay.

He was getting really sick and tired of having to fuck his girlfriend all the time. Heeseung had suggested mutual masturbation, which backfired. It ended up being too intimate for him and it just got her hot. She had pounced on him and ridden him as if her life depended on it.

At times, he missed how things were before they started dating. He had met her at her job, and had never revisited. Instead, he had waited for her shift to finish, followed her home, and tugged himself dry while he watched her undress in her room. The curtains were too sheer, and sometimes she wouldn’t even draw them. It made him think she wanted him to see her, and the thought of that always made him harder.

She had approached him at the local grocery store, as he was buying ramen noodles. She had said that she had wanted to see him again, Heeseung had made up some excuse, and through a series of events that Heeseung hadn’t lived through so much as passively observed, they had ended up dating.

It had been eight months of dating, cuddling, and sex, and he felt exhausted. He wanted things to go back to normal, but he also loved spending time with her. So he started making up excuses to not sleep with her. Headaches, shifts at work, weird erections from his medication.

One day, a few days after their eight month anniversary where Heeseung had reluctantly eaten her out, she confronted him. They were sitting on his couch, playing Mario Kart, when she turned to him.

“Do you still like me?” she asked, voice shaky.

Heeseung shut the TV off immediately. “Huh? Of course I like you- baby, I love you.” He rested his hands on hers as they clutched the controller.

“Then why don’t you like sleeping with me?”

“No, no, I…” Heeseung hesitated. This was the perfect time to come clean. They could work things out, maybe. It would be good to get it off his chest. “Okay. Okay, I’ve been having a…problem. It has nothing to do with you, I promise.”

Her eyes were wide and glassy. She was wearing his large hoodie and a pair of dolphin shorts. She looked perfect. “A problem?”

“Yes, a problem. I…I…look. I like you. I love you. You’re my girl.” Heeseung reached out and stroked her cheek gently. “The problem is that you’re just…like an angel to me. It feels wrong when I…when I fuck you.”

“What?” It came out as a squeak, and she recoiled from his touch. “Feels wrong?”

“No, no, not that you’re wrong, it’s me, it’s that…” Heeseung sighed. “I like to look at you I like seeing you move, it’s like art come to life. It feels like when I touch you, I’m sullying something beautiful, something that needs to be kept clean.” Heeseung thought that if he made it sound more romantic and less like a paraphilia, she would be more inclined to hear him out. And to his glee, she slowly leaned into his touch again, her cheek rubbing against his hand.

“You find me beautiful?”

“You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met,” he said, staring her in her luminous eyes. “Too gorgeous for me.”

“You aren’t,” she said imploringly, holding his wrist with her two hands. “Heeseung, I love you. And I really like having sex with you. Why did you sleep with me all those times if you didn’t enjoy it?”

“I did enjoy it, I did. I just…I wanted to make you happy, baby.” Heeseung kissed her forehead. “Your happiness matters the most to me. I’d do anything for you.”

“And I’d do anything for you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. He kissed her vack, cupping her face in his hands.

“Anything for me?”

“Anything, Heeseung.”

“I have an idea.”

He clambered into his room and pulled out his hairbrush. “Just…just use this to get off, okay?” He handed it to her, and she accepted it slowly, turning it over like it was a foreign object.

His girlfriend looked up at him. “Right now?”

Heeseung shook his head. “Not yet. Hold on.” He ran to his room again and found an old handheld camcorder.

She squinted at it. “You’re going to film me?”

“No, it’s dead,” he lied. “See?” He showed her the black screen. “I’m just going to use this to mimic the feeling of….uh, awayness. Like an extra screen between you and I.”

She fiddled with the hairbrush, feeling its smooth wooden end with her thumb. “Well…I mean, I’m not really in the mood right now….”

“You’re always in the mood,” he replied, frustration slowly building in him. “I swear you’re like a dog in heat sometimes.”

His girlfriend’s eyes widened again. “What?”

“You’re always asking to get fucked. You’re like a nymphomaniac, I swear. I bet you go home and hump your pillows right after I turn you out because you just can’t get enough.” Heeseung had seen exactly that from one of his midnight excursions to her place.

“I’m not a nympho-,”

“Oh, yes you are. Whores like to get fucked less than you do. I can only imagine how much you got around before I cuffed you.” He saw her shove one hand down her dolphin shorts. He raised the camera with a smile.

“I’m a whore?” Her face was flushed, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

“You’re a whore who gets off to being called a whore. Good fucking thing you’re with me, or else you would have been taken advantage of already, especially with that slutty body of yours.”

To his growing delight, she had tugged her shorts off and slipped her dainty little panties off. The end of his hairbrush slipped deftly in and out of her glistening folds.

Heeseung stopped talking, as so not too ruin the footage with his voice. He just watched her circle her clit with her manicured fingers, watched her pussy swallow the hairbrush.

“Heeseung,” she moaned, and he scowled, cutting the video short.

“Don’t say my name,” he said. “And keep your eyes shut.” When her eyes fluttered shut, he turned the camera on. He stroked himself in time with the insertion of the hairbrush. Seeing her splayed out on his couch, her head tossed back, his hoodie riding up to expose her soft tummy…it was amazing. And the fact that she didn’t know he was filming her made it all the better. It was forbidden, it was wrong, it was perfect. When she came, she nearly said his name again, but she cut herself off instead. He didn’t let himself cum, but he moaned and pretended like he did too.

Heeseung kissed his girlfriend, licked the sweat off of her face. “Perfect,” he murmured. “So perfect for me.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The second she left his house, he sniffed the couch, the exact place where she had sat as they had played video games. Her scent was so strong; he buried his face into the faux leather and inhaled deeply. Heeseung closed his eyes, imagined her masturbating herself all alone in room, and finished all over the couch.

He was going to have so much fun.

The platonic aspects of their relationship stayed the same. They would have simple at-home dates, occasionally going out to restaurants or the movies or anywhere she liked. Heeseung didn’t really care what they did as a couple. He just liked to be around her.

They still had sex, but it had gone from several times a week to once every two weeks. It was still a dreaded task for Heeseung, but it balanced out now that they had incorporated his voyeuristic tendencies into their relationship.

On movie dates, he made sure to get tickets in a theatre with a sparse audience. Then, he would leave his seat, sitting a few rows back, and watch his girlfriend play with herself, fondling her tits and slipping a hand into her jeans. If they went to the beach, Heeseung would take her to a secluded spot, tell her to lie down on a towel, and to strip. She would sunbathe completely nude, rubbing lotion all over herself.

When she would go out with her friends, Heeseung would periodically text her, asking her to unbutton a few of her buttons, or to send him a picture of her panties. He asked her to fuck herself in public bathrooms and to send videos for proof. He would lazily stroke his cock to the grainy footage of her sliding her fingers in and out of her tight pussy. When she told him that men were hitting on her, he would text, “Good job.” Then he would tell her to unbutton another few buttons, or to part her legs as she rode the subway. What he would really like would be for her to walk around dressed in a tiny little crop top that showed the underside of her breasts and shorts that displayed her bare ass, but Heeseung knew he was already asking for a lot.

A few times, he had strapped her to his bed with rope, so that her arms and legs were bound. He had affixed a phone-controlled vibrator between her thighs, and he watched her writhe on his bed with glee. Heeseung watched her have orgasm after orgasm, and if she begged him to stop he would get angry. He would complain that she had ruined it. He would pry her mouth open with his fingers, and she would suck him off to completion. Then he would start the process over again, until her face was flushed, her legs would shake, and he could even glimpse her pussy clenching around nothing. It was fun for him, but eventually he grew tired of watching it. He had tried making it more interesting by binding her fingers in front of her hole so she could tremblingly fuck herself, but the rush of that wore off too. Heeseung needed something more, something that could sate his urges.

So he had asked for something else.

---

“You want me to do what?” They were at a café, and she put down the croissant she had been nibbling.

Heeseung raised his hands. “You don’t have to do it. It was just a suggestion.”

“Heeseung, I know you’re struggling, but…nude karaoke?”

He sighed and looked away from her. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s getting hard, you know. I love you, and I feel like I’m not good enough for you. It’s really messing with me, up here…” Heeseung tapped the side of his head. “I feel like a freak.”

Her face softened, and she reached out to hold his hand. “You’re not a freak, my love. You’re just…”

“A perv who wants his girlfriend to get nude in front of strangers.” Heeseung laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, I’m really normal.”

“You’re not a perv, either.” She swallowed. “I mean…this could actually be good for me. It could help me explore my sexuality more.” She squeezed his hand and mustered up a smile. “I think we should try it?”

Heeseung didn’t allow himself to smile. “Yeah? I mean, are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I want to do this.”

He leaned across the table and kissed her all over her face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the nicest girl ever.”

That night was nude karaoke night at a local var. When they arrived, there were only a five dozen or so attendees, mainly men. They were sitting around a makeshift stage in wooden chairs that had been dragged from the surrounding tables. A woman was there, warbling a song as she swayed her hips. The men seemed bored, and Heeseung started to feel prideful. His girl, who was wearing a loose white dress and had folded her arms tightly around her chest, was so much prettier than that other woman. These men were going to shit themselves when she started to sing.

The woman finished her song, and the applause was scattered. Then his girlfriend slowly walked onto the stage, her heels clacking against the floor. Her hands were scrunched into fists. As she adjusted the mic, one man yelled, “Take your tits out, now!”

Another said, “Don’t look so shy, sweetheart.”

Heeseung was elated.

She introduced the song she was going to sing – Fade Into You by Mazzy Star. Heeseung had heard her sing that one; her voice had always sounded so melancholic, fragile, and sweet. He smiled at her encouragingly.

The intro to the song played, and she pulled her dress off, revealing her stunning body. The men whooped and cheered, hurling vulgarities at her. She tried to sing, clutching the microphone tightly, but the jeering was loud. As Heeseung scanned the small space, he saw that the men around him were either stroking their bulges covertly or outright jerking themselves off.

His girlfriend kept singing with her eyes closed. Heeseung wanted her to open them, so she could see the effect he was having on all of those men. They were all drooling after her, calling her a slut, saying that she must be tight, that they would fuck up whoever got to tap that pussy. Heeseung jerked himself off right there, joining in the orgiastic atmosphere of the cramped little bar. He watched her sing, his heart full.

When she finished, the patrons begged her to keep singing. They tossed money at her, wadded bills. She glanced at Heeseung, who nodded, and so she continued to sing, this time quietly crooning In The Mood For Love.

A man told her to play with her tits while she sang, and she did, running her thumb along her nipples. It was more than Heeseung could handle, and he came halfway through the song.

After her second performance, she hurried off of the stage, collecting some of the money before pulling her dress on. She ran out, which was smart, because the men were starting to clamor for her to do worse acts. Heeseung followed after her, and before he opened his car, he kissed her in the parking lot.

“That was amazing,” he whispered, kissing her again. “So amazing. Your voice is beautiful.”

She scoffed. “My voice?”

Heeseung shrugged playfully. “And, you know, your body. You looked sexy up there. Everyone thought so.”

His girlfriend rested her hands against his chest. “Did you think so?”

“Of course I did,” he said in a placating tone, stroking her hair. “Of course, baby.”

“You’re the only person I care about,” she said quietly.

“Me too.”

She hesitated. “Did you…like what I did? How did that make you feel, me going up there, naked, and…”

Heeseung tilted her chin up with his finger. “I loved it. I fucking loved it. I came in mere minutes. You’re amazing, baby.”

She reached out to hug him, and he wrapped his arms around her. Heeseung held her like she would slip away from him.

After that, she became different. Without even asking, she had started to wear tighter, shorter clothes. She used to go out in dresses, worn jeans, or she’d just wear his hoodies. Now, she wore bodycon dresses, miniskirts that practically gave you peeks of her ass, and she had cut her shirts up so that they displayed her midriff. It was amazing.

He liked to parade her around the mall now. The sight of men and women alike ogling his girlfriend made his cock so hard, he would walk with a limp. When he couldn’t handle it anymore, he would take her into the family bathroom, or slip into a change room and fuck her in there. Public sex was marginally better than regular sex with her, because he liked to imagine that men were fantasizing about her. He would close his eyes and imagine her naked, standing like a mannequin in a store, and all of the men who had lasciviously eyed her in the mall being forced to see her but unable to touch. It was a glorious time.

The novelty wore off after a few months, and he lost interest in having sex with her again. She could tell, and he knew that she was getting nervous. She performed at nude karaoke again, but even that did nothing for him.

He knew what he wanted from her.

On their first anniversary as a couple, Heeseung had taken her to brunch at a restaurant she had been eyeing. She wore this little black crop top with a tiny skirt, and her makeup was perfect.

Towards the end of their meal, Heeseung dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Baby,” he began, staring her in the eyes, “you are my better half. I can’t believe I’ve been able to spend a full year with you. You’re so kind, so sweet, so understanding, and so gorgeous.” He reached out and kissed her hand, and she giggled. “You’re the light of my life. You’re my reason to go on, and you deserve the moon. Unfortunately, all I can offer you is this.” Heeseung pulled a small black box out of his jacket pocket.

With a smile so bright Heeseung swore it could cause flowers to bloom, she opened the box. She gasped when she saw the charm bracelet he had bought her. “Oh, Heeseung,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “This is so expensive.”

“You deserve it,” he said softly, taking the bracelet and slipping it onto her wrist. “You deserve the world, baby.”

“I have it right here,” she replied.

They shared a kiss, then Heeseung leaned into her ear. “I was thinking…we could make this anniversary even more special.”

Her lips curled into a mischievous little smile. “How?”

“You said you’d do anything for me, right?”

She pulled away from him slightly, her lips setting into a thin line.

“Right?” he asked firmly, taking hold of her hand.

“Of course,” she said frantically, “anything for you, my love.”

---

The motel that Heeseung had driven them to was shoddy and sleazy. There were people outside smoking on lawn chairs, and dilapidated cars filled the parking lot. The neon sign affixed to the window flashed its name: Ethan’s Motel. Heeseung ushered his girlfriend inside, and he took note of the people populating the motel. Tweakers, men in sweaty wife-beaters.

He wondered which one would give his girlfriend the best fuck.

In the end, he told her to find someone while he set up the rooms. She asked how, and he told her to just be upfront with them. Heeseung had bought two rooms, which stunk of dust and reeked of bodily fluids. He hid a small camera in a flower pot- his girlfriend didn’t know about that – and shoved a nail through the wall to make a small hole, just to cover his ass.

Then he went to the other room to set up his laptop, which showed the feed from the camera. He set that on the small desk directly in front of his bed.

Within ten minutes, his girlfriend was leading a man into the motel room. He looked around their age and had a shaggy mop of hair. He was shorter than Heeseung, so Heeseung figured that his dick was probably smaller, too. But his girlfriend wouldn’t mind that, he was sure- who knows how much random dick she’d bounced on before they dated? Anyways, her hookup looked nice enough, but then again, he was hanging around a place like this.

“What did you say your name was?” she asked, still holding his hand. She sat down on the bed, and the guy followed.

“Jake,” he said. “And yours?”

She told him her name, and he nodded.

“Well, you’re…you’re hot as hell,” Jake said, laughing awkwardly. He scratched the back of his neck. Heeseung was getting really pissed off, but he told himself to be patient.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she said lowly, tracing a finger down Jake’s chest. Heeseung shivered. “I think you know how to please a woman, right?”

Jake smirked and slowly pushed Heeseung’s girlfriend down until he was hovering above her. “Come find out.”

Heeseung watched Jake make out with his girlfriend. He watched his girlfriend lie, refusing to even touch Jake. It made him frown. She was supposed to be enjoying this. He wanted to see her in the throes of ecstasy, wanted to see her in all of her hedonistic glory.

Finally, she kissed Jake back, and he started taking his clothes off. He seemed as frantic as Heeseung was. She undressed, casting her clothes aside, and Jake was on top of her again.

Jake shifted around so that her ass was above his face as she lied on top of him. He started to lick her pussy, firmly gripping her ass with both of her hands. She started to suck him off, only licking the tip at first before throating Jake’s cock.

Heeseung whimpered, unzipping his jeans and only allowing himself minimal pressure as he palmed himself over his boxers. If he didn’t pace himself, he was going to cum before the fun truly began.

Jake continued to eat Heeseung’s girlfriend out, and Heeseung could hear his moans through the door. His girlfriend was being incredibly quiet, however, which was annoying. She pulled herself off of Jake and sat at the head of the bed. She spread her legs and looked up at Jake with empty eyes. Jake crawled towards her, and from that angle Heeseung could only see his hips moving rapidly and his girlfriend’s legs quivering. Her hands feebly wrapped around Jake and hugged him tightly as she pounded her.

Then Jake laid flat on his back and she got on top of him. The way she arched her back, practically dancing on Jake’s dick, made Heeseung moan. She gripped Jake’s shoulders and took him to the hilt, her eyes closed. Jake was holding her hips and whispering, “Fuck, fuck that’s nice, fuck.” It was annoying that this shmuck didn’t have anything better to say, but Heeseung didn’t really care. He was forcing himself to stroke himself at a snail’s pace, when all he wanted to do was rub his dick raw.

His girlfriend got off of Jake’s cock and went on all fours, so that she was facing the TV of the motel room. In other words, she was facing Heeseung’s camera. It felt like magic, like she knew or something. He couldn’t take it anymore, and Heeseung spit in his hand and started stroking himself directly. Jake kneeled behind Heeseung’s girlfriend and started ramming into her, one hand slapping her ass and the other pulling her hair back.

Heeseung took in the details of her body; the shuddering of her torso, the trembling of her arms as she steadied herself on the bed, the way that her ass pressed against Jake’s groin as he pounded into her, the way her breasts freely shook, the conflicted expression on her perfect little face, the sheen of sweat covering her from her head to her toes. Heeseung had always known that she was beautiful, but now he swore that she was an angel.

Jake panted, “I’m close, fuck, fuck!” so Heeseung rubbed his cock even faster, his other hand squeezing his balls. It was an Olympic feat to suppress his growing orgasm, but he didn’t want to mess this up. Not when his girlfriend was whimpering so prettily, when she was so consumed by her own pleasure, guilt, and embarrassment that she had probably forgotten all about the camera filming it all. Heeseung thought he might die.

With a guttural moan, Jake came in her, weakly thrusting a few more times to drain the last of his cum. Then he let her drop onto the bed, and she collapsed like a rag doll. Heeseung came as well, biting his lip harshly so he wouldn’t moan. He milked his cock with a white-hot fervor, riding out his high for as long as he could. When the aftershock hit him, all he could do was take quick gasps of air. Heeseung licked his lips and tasted blood.

Jake stroked his girlfriend’s hair, kissed her forehead, then whispered something in her ear. The sight of her limp and pliant, barely lifting her head to talk to Jake, was so arousing that Heeseung wished he had it in him to jack off again. This footage would last him for months.

As Heeseung closes his eyes to relive the memory, Jake put his clothes on. He dug around in his jacket, pulled out a few bills, and left them on her back. He left, closing the door with a soft click. Heeseung’s girlfriend remained where she was, as stiff as a corpse. Heeseung didn’t leave his motel room right away, the images in his head too vivid, too lush.

Heeseung walked inside of the motel room, and the smell of sex was intoxicating. “Baby, that was amazing- you, you were amazing.” His grin is stretched maniacally wide, and his steps towards the hidden camera were buoyant. “I came so hard, baby. It was perfect, just perfect.” He removed the camera from the potted plant and tucked it carefully into its bag.

She hadn’t said a word, just resting on her stomach. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shaky. Poor thing, Heeseung thought, she hadn’t had a fucking like that since we got together. Poor little angel. He walked over to her and lay next to her on the bed. He kissed her over and over, holding her slick cheeks in her hands. “You’re so perfect,” Heeseung whispered. “Thank you so much, thank you, thank you. You’re amazing, thank you, thank you.”

She opened her eyes, and her apprehensive gaze made Heeseung’s cock stir. “I feel dirty,” she said, voice choked with emotion.

“No, baby,” he said, kissing her nose again. He gently crawls on top of her, circling his arms around her waist. “You’re not dirty. You’re good, so good. You’re the best. There’s nothing wrong with…with exploring. Didn’t it feel good? Didn’t you enjoy it?” His girlfriend hesitated, so he firmly said, “You enjoyed it. Right? I could tell you did.”

She nodded, bucking her head against his chin affectionately. “I did.”

“You did,” Heeseung breathed out. “I knew you would, my sweet girl.” His hand trailed down to his pants zipper, and he pulled his cock out. He gave it a few strokes, but the sight of another man’s cum coating her thighs was all the motivation he needed. “You’re the best,” he cooed, slipping inside of his girlfriend. It was so easy because she had been fucked open by Jake, and she took him so well. The only sound she made when he entered her was a soft little sigh.

Heeseung closed his eyes and thought of her face again, the contortion of her features into that portrait of debauchery. His arms remained tight around her in a stiff embrace, his cheek resting on her head. He thought about how amazing it would be to see another man fuck her again. Maybe two, three, a train of strangers having their turns with his girlfriend, his beautiful, kind girlfriend. Heeseung couldn’t have pulled out of her if he had tried as the fantasies overtake him. He finished inside of her, hot jizz clamoring out of him in spurts, and wiped his tip on one of the bills Jake left on her back. The room felt like it was spinning, and every nerve ending in his body felt alight with fire. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her neck, “I love you so much.”

Heeseung pushes the money off of her back and carries his girlfriend into the small bathroom. He placed her inside of the cracked bathtub and filled it with warm water. He left her there to get her toiletry bag, and when he came back she was staring at the ceiling. As he scrubbed her body, he pressed kisses to her skin. He washed her like a piece of alabaster pottery, washing her thoroughly. When he dried her off, he noticed that she hadn’t said a single word. “Baby?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Heeseung.”

He carried her to bed and dressed her in her grey robe. He stripped to his boxers and kissed her cheeks before he pulled the covers over them both. He pulled her head onto his chest and stroked her soft, downy hair.

He had never felt so in love.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut

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freakcliff · 3 months ago

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iwtv fanfic friday: random fics from my bookmarks with less than ~200 kudos

wanted to make sure the stuff i was linking wasn't stuff everyone's read so i tried to go for the less popular works in my bookmarks

filthy with a twisted tongue by @shineforthee. 4k

Reach out to touch a dead guy’s face one time and he takes off. It’s not like it’s thrusted Daniel into a bottomless pit of despair and psychosis or anything, so who cares? (Nobody, that’s who. Not a damn soul even knows he’s here.) The smell of stale sweat and hot sugar clings in the air. A stained piece of flannel covers the window but light trickles in through the threadbare fabric, so it must be daytime. He tries to remember if it was daytime last time he looked, but it wouldn’t do anything to give him a sense of how many days he’s been here anyway.

value form by leavethebees. 4k, M

"Hey, I'm a journalist," Daniel protests. "I follow the story, and you just tried to set a guy's head on fire. That's front-page news." "Chasing stories," Alice says in an unimpressed, withering tone. "You're a romantic, then. That's worse, you know."

relentless, unbearable by eggalbumin aka @pollyclonolly. 2k

Louis taps his arm. He looks lovely tonight, and his eyes are brilliant under the bar’s light. He’s as beautiful as he is in the memory that exists in Daniel’s head, of the first time they met at Mary’s. The glimmer in his eyes, the smoke curling in tendrils around his lips, the way he smiled as he said, I did a terrible thing, once. He smiles, and it’s lined with sweetness. “You bored?” “An unreasonable amount,” Armand says. He’s not, and he knows he’s not. Louis knows, too. He could spend every day for the rest of his never-ending life chasing the shape of Daniel’s shadow and it wouldn’t bore him. He drinks whatever is left in his glass and it tastes like chalk in his mouth. Sometimes, he thinks he’ll always be trying to chase down the taste of Daniel’s blood in his throat, with Louis and alcohol and prey, and it will still find a way to linger on his tongue for as long as he lives. “Weddings are long, dull affairs. I don’t see the appeal.” (It’s 1982. Daniel’s wedding is a pleasant, lively affair.)

isaiah 43:2 by quentsy. 2k

Paul de Pointe du Lac was dead, to begin with. This was to be distinctly understood.

the whole world was ready to return by exastris_scientia aka @keepoffthetardis . 2k

There he was. Standing just outside the halo of light given off by a streetlight. His face was shadowed, but even from the distance I was at, I could see how sunken his eyes were, how tired. And how blue they glowed. Like church windows, Grace had once said. Burning like two cold fires in the night. “Been a while,” was all Daniel said when he saw me. Louis and Daniel revisit the ethics of murder. In spite of it all, they also have a little fun with it.

rocket man by quentsy. 5k, M

It was a bad idea, but that was the story of his life, yeah? Bad decision after bad decision, the longest love affair of his life. If the first was racing, and the second was heroin, then here was the third: Armand and all the scraps he tossed Daniel’s way, just enough to keep the hunger at bay.

GOODREADS by riverrio. 1k

Interview with the Vampire Daniel Molloy 3.75 STARS 328473 RATINGS 5238 REVIEWS 285 pages, Hardcover First published September 15, 2022 FILTER REVIEWS SORT ORDER POPULAR REVIEWS ONE STAR

among the wildflowers by ipsilateral. 2k

"You're soft," Jonah whispers. He touches Louis's jaw. There he goes still smiling, like it's a revelation, like he oughta be in wonderment about it all. "You don't seem like it but you soft, Louis." Louis stares up at him. There's the anger, whipping at his heart and making it race like a horse on a track, but beyond that is something else, too. Something that makes him almost tremble under Jonah's open smile. For the briefest of moments, Louis allows himself to believe that softness is a pure good, through and through. -- a few of Louis's core memories

#cleb talky #fic recs #gud writes #iwtv #interview with the vampire #iwtv fanfic friday #amc iwtv

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goodqueenaly · 23 days ago

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Revisiting Catelyn's chapter, and I've been finding the way that she reflects on her childhood in Riverrun (and while *at* Riverrun, watching over her dying father) rather interesting, in particular her relationship with Brandon. When Jaime speaks to her about his death, and she begins to tell him of how Brandon was on his way to Riverrun when he heard about Lyanna, she notes that "telling it still made her throat grow tight, after all these years." And later, after Jeyne comes to her for advice, we have this passage -- “Tell me what I should do. Catelyn might have asked the same, if her father had been well enough to ask. But Lord Hoster was gone, or near enough. Her Ned as well. Bran and Rickon too, and Mother, and Brandon so long ago. Only Robb remained to her, Robb and the fading hope of her daughters” -- where she counts Brandon as one of the people lost to her, along her mother, and children, and Ned.

What level of depth of feeling, of emotion do you think there was between Brandon and Catelyn during their betrothal (speaking from Catelyn's end of things)? I find these passages a bit curious and they seem to hint to me love, though her POVs also don't quite give us glimpses of any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between them (by physical I mean even something at the level of the kissing games she played with Lysa and Petyr)?

Thank you for taking the time to share your insights with us!

Catelyn was betrothed to Brandon for around five or six years during a significant portion of her young life. As the dutiful daughter of a House whose devotion to duty is literally reflected in its dynastic motto, Catelyn was raised even at 12 to “[thank] him [i.e. her father Hoster] for making her such a splendid match” when this betrothal occurred. While I doubt Catelyn and Brandon met very frequently during their betrothal period, his apparent companionship with Jeffory Mallister may suggest that Brandon traveled in the Riverlands in the years before his death, and consequently spent some time with his fiancée during this time; I doubt Brandon and Catelyn would have been left unchaperoned or allowed to engage in any remotely indecorous conduct, to be sure but these may have been opportunities for the two of them to exchange some courtly pleasantries. Brandon was also personally good-looking, wild in both rage and mirth in a way the young Catelyn clearly found attractive.

Given all that, I’m not surprised that Catelyn would have developed some level of romantic feelings toward Brandon, and would have held onto those feelings for the rest of her life. Brandon had been her politico-dynastic destiny from the age of 12 until roughly about the age of 17 or 18, a man she had been encouraged to love as her future lord husband. Moreover, to Catelyn, Brandon may have seemed quite the catch - the handsome, dashing young knight or de facto knight, heir to a great castle and title, who dueled in her name for the honor of her hand. With Brandon dying young and tragically from Aerys II’s tyranny, Catelyn never had the chance to become disillusioned with Brandon’s infidelity (and almost certainly never knew of his sexual relationship with Barbrey or his potential bastards), or to have to manage his emotionality day to day; Brandon could remain idealized in Catelyn's mind as her first fiancé and love.

Which is not to say, of course, that Catelyn never loved Ned. If neither Catelyn nor Ned had been raised to anticipate marrying the other, both understood the politico-military necessity of doing so during Robert’s Rebellion; more importantly, each also came to understand, appreciate, and ultimately love the other on a deeply personal level. Catelyn might have always remembered Brandon, but Ned was "her Ned", her husband, "the man I loved, the father of my children".

#asoiaf meta #brandon stark #catelyn stark

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demibats · 5 months ago

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how to survive a horror movie - the first to go. . .

we aren't gonna talk about the fact that it took me an entire year to revisit this fic and post the first chapter ok? but without further ado, WE ARE SO BACK. give the masterlist a visit for context if you'd like <3 -demi xx chapter warnings: weed mention, brief description of homic*de and violence. minors do not interact!

word count: 3.4k

July 1991.

You’re practically being boiled alive in the tin can castle known as Munson Manor. The Indiana heat isn’t the awful part, but the humidity has you and everyone else in Hawkins choking on the air. The measly little air conditioner situated in one of the living room windows is working overtime to cool off the small trailer to no avail. You and Eddie lay on the floor, staring up at his ceiling, opposite of one another. He turned his head to look over at you, but your eyes are closed, trying to think of anything but the heat. You can feel his heavy stare on you, but you keep your eyes closed, knowing that the blood would rush to both of your cheeks if you caught him staring.

“It’s hotter than Satan’s ass crack outside, can’t we go swimming or somethin’?” Eddie complains next to you, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

You take this as an appropriate cue to open your eyes and turn to him, watching him writhe in the uncomfortable temperature. It makes you chuckle a little, examining the way his ‘Slayer’ muscle tank sticks to his torso from sweat.

“I recommended that two hours ago and you whined at that too,” you challenge, resting your hands on your stomach, folded neatly there. Eddie shifts, taking his hands away from his eyes, those chocolate buttons fixating onto your gaze.

“The people of Hawkins don’t deserve to see what I’ve got underneath the denim and leather, sweetheart, but I’m bakin’ like a pie and I’ve already undressed to my comfort level.” He sounds too much like some kind of massage therapist as he says that last part, earning another breathy giggle from you.

Your gaze lingers too long on his cut-off jeans, muscle tank, and bunched up crew socks that he ends up snapping his fingers in front of you, “Hellooooooo? Do I need to adjust the antennas on this thing?” He teases, gesturing to the top of your head as if it’s his old television.

Waving him off, you push yourself onto your elbows, then off the cool carpet you’d been laying atop of for the last few hours, trying to will the heat away with Eddie at your side. He scrambles to his feet as well, long limbs making him look less like an agile ballerina and more like a newborn giraffe. All leg, no coordination.

“I’ll give Robs and Steve a call, see if either of them can get a hold of Jonathan and Nance. You can be in charge of recruiting Argyle,” as you give him his set of instructions, he pushes his bottom lip out in a faux pout, “Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes, they don’t work on me anymore, Munson.”

He mumbles something along the lines of ‘they used to’ before heading toward the front door, the jingling of his keychain making you turn your head toward him, his landline nestled between your ear and shoulder, “Make sure he brings sunscreen this time and not just pizza nachos!”

“I’ll make sure he brings both!” Eddie quips before the door is closed between the two of you.

. . .

Hawkins Community Pool is always packed during the summer. It’s the one reliable spot to cool off, unless you prefer the hose from your backyard. The poolside is lined with women in bikinis, magazine in hand and sunglasses shading their eyes from the harsh light of the midday sun. Kids splash around in the pool, being scolded by lifeguards being underpaid to make sure none of the little shitheads drown. It's the picture perfect scenery for a small midwest town summer.

Sitting at the edge of the pool, your legs barely in the water, you sway your feet and the crystalline liquid ripples around you. Jonathan and Argyle are two knuckles deep in pizza nachos, a delicacy only the ladder’s cannabis-coated mind could craft. Underneath your dark shades, you lift your gaze over to watch Eddie in the pool with Robin on his shoulders, Nancy on Steve’s as they poorly attempt a game of ‘Chicken’, before one of the lifeguards beckons them to stop.

After getting reprimanded by the pool police, Eddie hangs his head in pretend shame as he slides next to you at the pool’s edge , the ends of his curls wet and dripping onto his shoulders. “I bet you could’ve knocked Nance over. Robin’s too soft to head into a brutal ‘Chicken’ battle and win.” He says this because he knows it to be true, although you aren’t so sure.

“I’m surprised Robin was being so nervous about it.” You respond coyly, pretending like neither of you know about Robin’s enormous crush on Nancy.

Disregarding the conversation about Robin and Nance, Eddie looks around the pool at the moms helping their kids towel-dry off and the meatheads and their girlfriends either arguing or borderline fucking poolside. It makes his skin crawl a bit to see such blatant public displays of affection.

However, you think otherwise. It might be nice to have someone dote on you the way some of the boys of Hawkins do to their girlfriends. Maybe not the kind of boy like Tommy Hagan or Billy Hargrove, but someone like—

“Hey! Come play Marco Polo with us!” Steve shouts, Robin and Nancy wading around him like sharks circling their prey.

Eddie immediately slides back into the water, but he’s facing you, droplets sliding down his tattooed skin, glistening in the sunlight, “Come on, it’s not every day you get to see how oblivious Steve is to echolocation.” He chides, bringing a ring-adorned hand up to rest on top of your knee. His gesture sends a shiver up your spine, but you nod, more excited than you should be about the prospect of playing Marco Polo. But truthfully, you know why you're vibrating with joy.

The first two games are way too easy. Robin is Marco the first round and finds Eddie first, bumbling around the water like a scared duck. Once Eddie is Marco, he finds Steve and nearly drowns him, causing the lifeguard to give Eddie a final warning. When Steve is Marco, he can’t find a single one of you to save his life.

“You suck at this, Steve!” Robin shouts from her spot. Nancy even tries splashing water at Steve to make him find her easier, but to no avail. Eddie has half a mind to try to drown him again. You wade around, trying to stay away from the other three stooges, especially since they’re actively trying to get Steve to catch them. It’s amusing, watching the four of them seem so carefree.

Marco Polo ends on a high note, Steve finally finding Nancy (by accident). The five of you exit the pool to reapply sunscreen and try to pick at the crumbs of the pizza nachos, but the two megastoners have demolished more than half of them. The heat and water games have you exhausted, skin dry and pruning from the chlorine water. You slip your plastic flip flops on, your towel still wrapped around your torso.

“Credit where credit is due, it was a genius idea to go to the pool today,” Eddie compliments, drying his frizzing curls with an old Power Rangers towel, “Wanna ditch these crazies and get a slushee?”

. . .

Eddie convinces Nancy to load the whole gaggle of twenty-somethings into her station wagon while you and Eddie leave from Hawkins Community Pool early. She agrees with a roll of her eyes before she’s back in the pool with Robin and Argyle as she tries to explain how to play mermaids to the long-haired boy.

Your thighs stick together in the heat of his van, the chlorine-water creating a layer of discomfort against your skin. You try not to squirm in the seat, flesh itching from the pool drying out your pores. After shoving miscellaneous items into the already packed and trashed back of his van, Eddie most elegantly thrashes into the driver’s seat, his typical dopey grin seated perfectly on his pink lips. He’s fumbling for a tape to slide into his player, realizing how disorganized his music collection is, he laughs at himself, “Maybe I’ll have Robin organize these by alphabetical order or somethin’, Jesus.”

“Do that and she may try to sneak some Madonna,” You quip, thinking about Eddie’s disgruntled disagreements with Robin about her taste in music.

Turning around, his arm reaching around the back of the passenger seat, he cranes his neck and torso to look back as he backs out of his parking spot. There’s something about this gesture, something so simple and plain, that makes your cheeks burn. He doesn’t see this, but he notices how you straighten your back up into your seat as you turn to look out the window, “You’re good on this side,” you offer.

“I know, sweetheart, I’ve got us covered.”

Eddie’s not the best driver, but he’s confident and has always kept you safe when you’re riding shotgun. He’s even let you pick the music that plays, despite his limited options, leaning toward 80’s thrash metal more than anything else, but it’s grown on you.

The drive to 7/11 is about fifteen minutes, give or take. The sun is fading behind the tree line, the bright orange orb glowing beneath, creating a silhouette of twisted tree limbs. It’s as haunting as it is beautiful. Eddie drums along the steering wheel with the beat to ‘Sweet Leaf’, his hair still dripping onto his muscle tank.

You adjust the flimsy cover over your bathing suit, trying to find a more comfortable spot in your seat. Eddie turns into the parking lot to the 7/11, pulling up right in front of the doors. You’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Eddie is quicker, hopping out of his driver’s seat to run around the hood of his van, opening your door for you, “M’lady,” he purrs, offering his tattooed hand out to you.

You take it with a gentle courtesy, “M’lord,” you respond as you jump onto the pavement, your flip flops clapping against your heels as you do so.

“I’ve always pictured myself as the court jester. Yknow, fuckin’ around and makin’ a fool outta myself just because I can.” He opens the door to the mini mart for you as well, earning a hushed ‘thank you’ from you.

You laugh at his comment, reflecting on his words, “Don’t you do that anyway?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment, so thank you.” Eddie’s tone is a bit sassy , assuming you meant your comment to be an insult, but it is in fact a compliment.

The 7/11 is desolate, with the exception of one customer talking to the sole cashier who looks bored out of her mind. She’s twirling her red curls around her fingers, popping bubblegum between her lips as the middle-aged man in a baseball cap tries to flirt with her to no avail. Meandering through the maze of aisles, Eddie snags a bag of chips off the shelf before skipping up to the slushee machine, “What flavor of tooth-rotting sugar can I interest you in today?” He jests, eyes fixated on the sloshing colored ice in the machine.

Aftering pondering over the two options you have, cherry and blue raspberry, you decide to mix the two flavors, Eddie following suit. Walking through the sweet treats aisle, eyes scamming over the packaging to see if anything in particular looks good, the two of you head to the register, seeing that the man flirting with the cashier had left. Offering a smile to the ginger behind the counter, who’s name appears to be ‘Barb’ from her nametag, Eddie chats her up a bit, asking how her shift is going and commenting on the weather finally cooling down. She responds blandly, while ringing up the slushees. You reach for your wallet but Eddie’s already handing over bills from his own wallet. Always one step ahead.

The bell above the door dings as you exit, Eddie holding it open for you as you step outside, a skip in your step, “I think her and Nancy used to be friends,” Eddie chides as the door closes, “She was in school with us.”

You nod, agreeing and acknowledging, “Yeah, I never got the full story out of Nance, but they had a falling out.”

The conversation ends there as the two of you climb back into Eddie’s van, treats finally acquired, mission accomplished. Blue raspberry and cherry slushee in hand, you take leisurely sips as Eddie drives, unsure of his decided destination. The Munson trailer had become like a second home to you, your tiny closet of an apartment being the unfortunate first. Even though having your own space is nice and preferable to any alternative, it’s stuffy and during the summer tends to smell like a gym locker room if air isn’t properly circulating.

In the end, Eddie drives the both of you back to his trailer. Once his van comes to a shuddering halt and the metalhead removes the key from the ignition, the two of you climb out of the vehicle, goodies in hand, and head into the trailer. Wayne’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, you assumed he still must be at the shop, despite the slowly setting sun off in the distance. Unlocking the front door, Eddie gives it the typical shove the break the seal of the door against the frame. In the summer it’s indefinitely worse due to the heat and humidity.

Kicking his damp converse off, his curls beginning to frizz up upon drying, he places the plastic bag on the small, cluttered dining room table, “Movie night?” he asks, gesturing to the tv, sitting low to the ground atop a beat-up entertainment center, a few stacks of VHS tapes piled up next to it.

“Have I ever declined a movie night invitation?” You quip at him as you saunter backward toward the trailer’s bathroom, ready to change out of your still damp swimsuit. Backpack slung over your shoulder, turning on your heels, you can hear Eddie chuckling and making a snide comment under his breath.

Once you’ve peeled yourself out of the fabric, you exit the bathroom adorning a clean and dry t-shirt and pair of jean shorts settling snugly around your waist. Eddie has already poured the chips from the corner store into a bowl, a smaller bowl of gummy worms sitting next to it on the couch. Eddie sits on his knees in front of the entertainment center, looking through movies that the two of you have watched numerous times before. Two tapes are set aside, as he picks through the rest, “The Evil Dead, Hellraiser… those are the two I’m feelin’. Penny for your thoughts, Dear Watson?” he looks over his shoulder behind you with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Hellraiser, undoubtedly.” You chirp in a faux English accent back to him.

. . .

Before the end of the movie, both you and Eddie are passed out on the floor, the snacks only half-eaten and forgotten before your inevitable slumber. You wake with a start at the sound of the landline ringing, nearly jumping out of your skin the moment you’re awake, eyes wide open. Eddie, still sleeping peacefully, isn’t bothered by the phone ringing. You harshly nudge him awake, both hands shaking his shoulder.

“Eddie, the phone.” You say with a yawn, trying to calm your racing heartbeat.

Curls matted to the side of his face, he’s barely awake as he clambers off of the floor, limbs adjusting to consciousness. Sauntering too casually to the phone, he lifts it off the hook and up to his ear with a yawn, “Munson residence.” He states through the yawn. His demeanor shifts all too quickly, spine straightening at the drop of a hat, dragging the palm of his hand over his face roughly. He speaks in a calm manner, giving you pause.

“Wayne, slow down… Yeah, I’m fine… she’s here, yes… We went swimming, left earlier than the others, grabbed some snacks… What?” He answers his uncle, who you gathered was on the other end once Eddie spoke his uncle’s name.

Eddie shoots you a worried look over his shoulder. You hadn’t seen Eddie this pale since the summer he was set to graduate, worried half to death that he wouldn’t be walking across the stage with the rest of the class of 1986. But this worry… was more akin to fear than anything else. Climbing up off the floor, you tiptoe over to him and stand beside him, still unable to hear Wayne on the other side of the call.

“When did this happen?” Eddie asked, his tone borderline frantic. There’s another pause.

At first, you think there’s been an accident at the auto shop Wayne (and Eddie) works at, that he or someone has been injured and he has to wait for the ambulance or police to arrive. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you wait for the brunette man to speak again.

“Jesus Christ… No, she’s standing right next to me… Yes sir… I’ll see you when you get home… Okay… Yeah, I know, I know… Alright,” he mutters the last part under his breath as he hangs his head, as well as the phone back on the hook.

“Shit…” he blows out a breath of air, cheeks puffed up as he exhales.

“What, what’s going on?” you ask meekly, anxiety spiked through the roof already.

Eddie lifts his head up, expression damn near impossible to read, but that fear is still there, even more prominent than before.Extending a tattooed arm out, he brings you in for a tight embrace. Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around his torso, holding his figure just as tight against you. As you separate, Eddie’s sluggish as he walks over to the couch, plopping down.

“I uh, I think you should sit down for this.” He pats the spot next to him, chewing the skin on his bottom lip.

Even as you sit down next to him, you can't shake the uneasy feeling that’s raging in your chest. He won’t meet your gaze, even with you staring daggers at him, trying to will the words out of him with just your eyes, though he doesn’t budge just yet. The metalhead leans forward, elbows balancing on his knees as he holds his head in his hands. “Wayne just called me from the shop… Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins were murdered.”

The anxiety dropped into the pit of your stomach like a large stone dropping into a calm pond. Bile burns at the base of your throat, but you quickly swallow the thick, intangible lump stuck there. A hand over your stomach, you take a deep breath, then another, trying to remain calm. Neither you or Eddie were particularly fond or even close to Tommy Hagan. He was a bit of an uncouth airhead during the years in high school together, and Carol was about as much of a girl’s girl as Tommy Hagan himself, always following him around like a lost puppy, but that didn’t mean that anyone wished any harm to either of them.

After an unnerving silence between the two of you, Eddie hesitantly reaches over to take your hand into his. He strokes his thumb over your knuckles, noticing the subtle way your hand shakes. “He didn’t… say much. Carol’s mom found Tommy in the backyard, face down in the pool… Carol was… Listen, Wayne’s gonna be home soon, okay? Him and I can take you home-” Before he’s able to finish his line of thinking, you’re cutting him off.

“Can I stay with you?” you mumble, lifting your chin up to meet Eddie’s sorrowful gaze. He softens immediately, nodding.

“You don’t even have to ask, m’lady. This castle is just as much yours as it is mine.” Hand over his heart, he gives a small bow, trying to incorporate his signature humor to such a grim time.

Even with Eddie keeping you company through the night, both of you back to back in his bed. His pillow smells like his laundry detergent and stale weed and the dip next to you in the mattress gives you a sense of peace. Shifting in the bed for what seems like the fifteenth time in the past hour, you can’t get comfortable. Between the news of the double murder of your former classmates and the unruly heat, there is no finding comfort.

A tattooed arm snakes around your waist, the warm fan of breath over your shoulder, “Quit fidgeting,” Eddie’s sleep-riddled, raspy voice says next to you. Part of you wonders if he realizes what he's doing, or if he’s not awake enough to, but you don’t argue. Though, you find your eyes drifting shut as you keen against Eddie’s touch, sleep slowly pulling you under, even with the macabre thoughts of the evening still plaguing your subconscious.

tag list: @yaspillz feedback is always appreciated, and let me know if you're interested in being apart of the taglist <3

#꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ e. munson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #how to survive a horror movie fic #demibats #joseph quinn #stranger things

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 8 months ago

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Sapphic vampire fiction mini reviews, ranked from least favorite to most:

House of Hunger: Bland characters, a story that barely scratches the surface of the implications of its premise, and a central relationship with nothing underpinning it make for an aimless story with a climax that hits like a limp noodle. If the dynamic between a vampire and her indentured maid appeals to you, try The Wicked and the Willing instead.

An Education in Malice: For a Carmilla retelling, the titular character really lacks bite. Laura at least has some interesting contradictions in her, and De Lafontaine could be quite compelling if we saw things through her eyes, but the central relationship isn't built on a lot, and Carmilla herself is really disappointingly bland. The prose comes off as overwrought and melodramatic in the first act, and the constant leaning on poetry feels gratuitous, but it picks up steam and becomes appropriately gripping by the one-third mark, and it carries the book enough that I had an enjoyable but rather shallow experience. I struggle to think of a reason to recommend this over In the Roses of Pieria, which plays with similar thematic and aesthetic elements much more adeptly. Also, it's a pet peeve of mine when a story makes a point to establish a specific historical era for its setting but has characters that feel utterly modern.

The Deathless Girls: This book does a much better job with its sense of time and place, and the characters and their motivations are quite strong. I only rate this one low on this list because the main characters don't actually deal with vampirism as a condition until the very end of the book. On its surface, the premise might seem quite similar to A Dowry of Blood, but there's actually very little thematic or narrative overlap.

Ex-Wives of Dracula: An excellent exploration of the queer teenage experience in conservative small town ~2015 USA along with some pretty novel twists on vampire and horror movie tropes. Strong, vibrant characters with a rich, messy, and compelling relationship carry a solid mystery plot and some pretty pointed critiques of its setting, but the actual climax and resolution don't quite hold up to the quality of the rest. Also I simply must warn anyone who didn't grow up in the time and place this book explores about the profound and casual bigotry and nastiness of that setting, which this book replicates to a T.

The Wicked and the Willing: A thrilling and compelling dark romantic drama centered on a British vampire in 1920s Singapore, her newly hired and desperate to escape poverty personal maid, and her majordomo who is struggling to keep her conscience under control after years of aiding and abetting her mistress's dark appetites. Extremely strong character writing pairs with deft exploration of themes of colonialism, entitlement, class divisions, sexism, and the ways in which certain types of status can and cannot afford one leeway to be nonconforming in other ways. Intermixes diagetic and non-diagetic BDSM very organically also, if that's your thing.

In the Roses of Pieria: Rich prose dripping with atmosphere follows an obscure academic as she digs into a series of ancient correspondences and discovers a millenia spanning love story between two vampires. The character writing is solid, if not quite as impressive as some other entries on this list, but the quality of the prose more than elevates it. The text makes elegant and powerful references to Sappho throughout, and the whole experience is heady and compelling in ways that I struggle to describe in greater detail. Funnily enough, the vampires are the least interesting part of the world building. This one has a sequel coming, and I can't wait.

A Dowry of Blood: A darkly enchanting epistolary novel that takes the form of letters written by the first of Dracula's wives to him as she attempts to make peace with killing him. She unpicks a delicious and horrifying knot of feeling and history as she revisits their millenia together, recounting and reckoning with the manipulations and abuses that defined the good times and the bad. The characters are evocative and rich, the narrative voice by turns sparse, longing, furious, contemplative, and mournful, and the story simply springs to life. It accomplishes an incredible amount in approximately 200 pages, and I absolutely cannot recommend this one enough.

#the wlw review #im sure there are countless more sapphic vampire stories #but these are the ones ive read #ignoring a few outliers that don't really explore vampirism

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2-fast-2-curious · 2 years ago

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Motorsport Audio Masterlist Perez-Zhou

Albon-Lawson

Leclerc-Ocon

Male Listener Audios

Sergio Perez

[M4A] Your BF Remembers You of Your Worth

[M4F] [Script Fill] Patience, Pretty Pet

Oscar Piastri

[M4F] [Script fill] Worshipping You After Your Workout [BFE]

[M4F] Aussie Snuggles with his American Girlfriend, pillow talk, leads to intense sex

All About Your Pussy

[M4F] Your Horny Boyfriend Gives You Head At Your Parents’ House

[M4F] You have one (1) missed call(s)

Fabio Quartararo

[M4F] Get On the Bed

Kimi Raikkonen

[M4F] JOI by your Soft Dom

Daniel Ricciardo

[M4F] Our First Time Getting Rough

[M4F] “Morning Darlin”

[M4F][Script Fill] Why Didn't We Fuck Before I Left?

[M4F] Kiss And Make Up

[M4F] Reminding You That You're Mine (full version)

[M4F] Bets and Promises

[M4F] Seaside Rendezvous

[M4F] Your First Time

Hiding in the Closet With Your Brother’s Best Friend

M4A-Come-To-Bed-Baby

M4A-Its-Bedtime-Darling

You-are-beautiful-ambient

[M4F] Lucky girl

[M4F] Fall Asleep On Daddy's Cock

[M4F] Just Relax For Me

[M4F] Your BF Discovers Your Dirty Secret... and Becomes Your New Daddy

[M4F] he's drunk and horny and trying so hard to stay quiet

[M4F] Revisiting Your Italian Lessons

[M4A] Your Brain Is Lying To You

[M4A] Your Pause Button

[M4A] Everything Will Be Alright, Darling

My Needy Obedient Girl

[M4F] Cuddle Fuck

[M4F] Pussy Appreciation

Period Comfort SFW

[M4F] Trying to quietly sleep with friend's sister.

[M4F] [Script fill] Ski Lodge Shenanigans

George Russell

[M4F] Babe, Do you want me to be your Daddy? I saw your browser history

Why Can't You Be Mine Instead?

Dominated By Your Brothers, Gigantic Friend

[M4F] [Script Fill] [Mdom] [British Accent][DD/lg] [Possessive] [Spanking] [Punishment] [Jealous Partner] [Wet Sounds]

[M4F] My little girl gets punished for using a toy behind daddy's back.

[M4F] - Back Row Cinema

Falling in Love on the Ferris Wheel

[M4F] I have to have you...NOW

[M4F] You Should Be Sleeping now

[Script Fill] [M4F] Don't Look Away From Me

[M4A] [M4F] I Offer You Dreams

[M4F] [M4A] I care about you

[M4A] [M4F] Rest, Love

(M4F) Morning Love Making and Cuddling - British Boyfriend Role Play

[Size Kink][Size Difference][Mdom][At the Gym][Spotting Your Squat]

[M4F] Learning how to please my new boss 😇

[M4F] [Script Fill] Kitchen Shenanigans

[M4F] 😟😟 Please help me mommy, I can't sleep

Table for Two

[M4F] [Script Fill] Ghostface Reckons You’re Not That Smart, Detective

Your BF calms you down after a nightmare

[M4F] The Professor Explains "Power Fantasies" To You After Class

[M4F] Good Girls Feel Better

M4F - Good girls go back to sleep - sfw audio pillowtalk

M4F] Cupcake for my little Cupcake [Script fill]

[M4F] I can't believe nobody invited you to the prom!

[M4F] You've had a long day, let your good boy take care of you

[M4F] Good Girls Ask for What They Want

[M4F] Why are you jacking me off while I try to sleep bro

[M4F] Driving Through The English Countryside With(Out) Your Sundress On

Carlos Sainz Jr

[M4F] The Spanish Lifeguard Asks You Out

[M4F] You discover your housemate is really good with his fingers!

Hispanic Guy New in Town

Lip Service: Sabor a Tí

[M4A] Your BF Tells You What He Loves About Your Body

[M4F] Para Ti:Audio en Español

[M4F] Midnight Impulse: A Night of Passion

Noche de lluvia [M4F]

Logan Sargeant

[M4F] Secretly Fucking Your Best Friend's Younger Brother After a Sleepover

You Must be Haunting Me

[M4F] Watching A Sex Scene with Your Friend Goes Way Too Far

[M4F] Sneaking Into Your High School Friend's Room Four Years Later

Mick Schumacher

[M4F] Hold the moan

[M4F] Lazy mornin’ cuddlefuck

[M4F] Cockwarming In Your New Sundress

[M4F] A Bet is a Bet. [Mdom]

[M4F] A Bet is a Bet Too [Msub]

[M4F] Anxiety Comfort [Cuddles] [L-bombs] [Kissing]

[M4F] Sleep Aid for a good girl

[M4F] Ice cream & Belly rubs

[M4F] 10 Minutes of Pussy Eating

Confession practice while you're asleep

[M4F] I came back to breed you!

"Untie Me...No, Wait, Fuck Me!"

[M4F] Midnight

The Barb Wire Killer

[M4F] Simple Encouragements!

[M4F][Request fill] You have done great!

[M4F][Request Fill] Dommy Pillowtalk

[M4F] Your German FWB Helping You Recuperate From A Night At The Oktoberfest

Andrew Showlin

[M4F][Script Fill] Right Here Waiting for You

Lance Stroll

[M4F] Fucked & Spanked at the Party

[M4F] Your Wedding Night With The Enemy Prince

[M4F] Sit on my face.. if I die, I die

[M4F] I'd love to be inside of you

[M4F] We're out of gas, so I should fill you?

I Don’t Want You to Think

[M4F] Your Lycan Boyfriend Ravages You On Full Moon’s Night

[M4F] Are You Feeling Like A Good Girl Again?

[M4F] The Best Birthday Present

loving boyfriend helps you relieve stress

[M4F] Submissive Moans for Mommy <3

[M4F] Gentle Daddy pets your pussy until you stop crying

[M4F] Gaming with your boyfriend

[M4F] Snowstorms, Cold Lips, Burning Bodies

[M4F] Gossip in the Office

[M4F] Running Late

Yuki Tsunoda

[M4F] Netflix and sleep

Fish tacos

[M4A] comforting to know

Max Verstappen

I'm Going To Fuck You How I Want...And How You Need

Couchsleeping

[M4F] [Script fill] A Lesson

Sebastian Vettel

[M4F] [Script Fill] To Pitch a Tent

[M4F] Welcome to Germany

Nursing the nurse

Cumming back (repost)

Just a quick ramblefap <3

[M4F] A Pleasure to Serve

[M4F] "I'll Choose You"

[M4F] Don't Laugh, but I gotta Tell You Something

[M4F] [SCRIPT FILL] "I Want To Fuck A Baby Into You."

[M4F] Msub going dominant (but failing miserably) [Ramblefap]

[M4F] This Is How I Picture Our First Time

[M4A]What is a train? [Relaxation][Train][Slow][Sleep-aid][SFW][German Accent]

[M4F] Telling you how to touch yourself

Reading and describing a German children's picture book

Snuggles

[M4F] It's Always the Shy Ones

[M4F] Quiet Period Cuddles

[M4F] The Care I Need

[M4F] we can stay in bed all day, as long as you don't cum

[M4F] ramblefap first try

[M4F] Little cuddlefuck for my babygirl

[M4f] [Script Fill] Roommates: Cooling Off

[M4F] [Script Fill] You Don't Need Him

[M4F] Desperate for your touch

[M4F] Promise Me You Didn’t See That

James Volwes

[M4F] Leave Him for Me

Mark Webber

[M4F] No I am so tired

[M4F] [fingered against the wall]

Susie Wolff

[F4F] [F4A] Help me decorate the tree

Toto Wolff

[M4F] Your Manager want you in his office

[M4F] [Script Fill] Daddy Trap

[M4F] Teasing Your Bookworm Boyfriend into Morning Sex

Keep relaxing, babygirl

I’m not going anywhere

You Are Not Your Mistakes

[M4F] Snowed in with only one bed

That Time We Went House Hunting

Your boyfriend's dad helps you during No Nut November

I love the thought of everything happening in public

[M4F] Don't Keep Daddy Waiting

[M4F] Letting Go of Control

[M4F] [Script Fill] Catch My Eye

Zhou Guanyu

[M4A][Script Fill] Please let me take care of you.

[M4F] [Script Fill] You don’t have to hold it all in.

#christine recommends audios #lance stroll #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #carlos sainz jr #george russell #fabio quartararo #yuki tsunoda #zhou guanyu #toto wolff #james vowles #max verstappen #logan sargeant #daniel ricciardo #kimi raikkonen #oscar piastri #sergio perez

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fruity-pontmercy · 10 months ago

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Les Mis adaptations and apolitical appropriation

I think it's no secret on this blog that I love the original Les Mis 1980 concept album in French, and that I also love comparing different versions of the stage musical. I've noticed that Les Mis seems to get progressively more vaguely apolitical as time goes on, not only in the way it's viewed in our culture, but in the actual text as well.

It's natural for specifics to be lost in adaptation. It's easier to get people to care about 'the people vs. the king' in a relatively short musical rather than actually facing the audience with the absolute mess that were 19th century french politics (monarchist orleanists vs monarchist legitimists vs imperialist vs bonapartist democrats vs every flavour of republican imaginable). Still, I feel that as time goes on, as more revivals and adaptations of the stage musical come out, the more watered down its politics become. Like, Les Mis at it's core is just meant to be a fancily written, drawn out political essay, right?

In a way I feel that the 1980 concept album almost tried to modernise it with its symbols of progress. Yes, through Enjolras' infamous disco segment (and other similar allusions to the ideals of social change), but perhaps most interestingly to me, through one short line that threw me off when I first heard it, because it seems so insignificant, but might actually be the most explicitly leftist line of all of Les Mis.

"Son coeur vibrait à gauche et il le proclama" (roughly "His heart beat to the left and he proclaimed it" i.e: he was a leftist) Feuilly says, while speaking of the now dead général Lamarque in Les Amis de L'ABC.

What's that? An actual mention of leftism??? in MY vaguely progressive yet apolitical musical??? More seriously, this mention of leftism, clashing with the rest of the musical due to it's seeming anachronism, is interesting not because it's actually more political than anything else in Les Mis, rather, because it's not scared to explicitly name what it's trying to do.

But we've come a long way from the Concept Album days, it's been 43 years, and Les Misérables is now one of the most famous and beloved musicals in the entire world. It's been revived and reimagined and adapted in a million ways, in different mediums, in different languages and countries, and it's clear that it's changed along with it's audience.

On top of pointing out a cool line in my favourite version of the musical, I wanted to write this post to reflect on the perception of the political message of this work. We as a Les Mis fandom on Tumblr are very political, I don't need to tell you that, however, I feel that because this very left leaning space has sprung out of a work we all love so much, we oftentimes forget to revisit it from a more objective point of view.

Les Misérables has a history of being misrepresented, this has been true since it's publication, since american confederate soldiers became entranced with their censored translation Lee's Miserables. However, with it's musical adaptation, this misinterpretation has been made not only more accessible but also easier. As much as I love musical theatre and I think it is at it's best an incredible art form able to communicate complex themes visulally by the masses for the masses, I think it'd be idealistic to ignore the fact that the people who can afford to go see musicals regularly are, usually, not the common folk. Broadway and the West End are industries which, like most, need money to keep them afloat, and are loved people of all political backgrounds (and unfortunately, often older conservatives) not just communists on tumblr. We've seen the way Les Miz UK's social media team constantly misses the mark regarding different social issues, and the way Cameron Makintosh has used the musical to propagate his transphobia, and most of us can agree that these actions are in complete antithesis with the message of Les Misérables as a novel.

But I must ask, how does Les Mis ,as a West End musical in it's current form, actually drive a leftist message, and how are we as a community helping if every time someone relating to the musical messes up if we just claim they "don't get it"?

I'm thinking in particular of incidents like last october, where Just Stop Oil crashed Les Mis at the West End. Whether you think it's good activism or not is not the question I think, this instance is interesting particularly because it shows that, outside of Les Misérables analysis circles and fandom spaces, it is not recognised as an inherently leftist, political or activist work, and instead of just saying they completely missed the point of the musical, I think it'd be interesting to take a step back and look at what the musical as it stands actually represents in our culture today.

I don't pretend to have all the answers, so I won't try to give one, but I do hope we can reflect on this a bit.

#this is my first time making a well thought out les Mis post in possibly like 2 years PLEASSEEE BE NICE #wrote this instead of listening to my Marxist Philosophy lecture so i hope it technically counts as productive procrastination #Btw in this i use Les Mis when reffering to the musical and Les Misérables when talking about the book (and Les Miz talking about the #west end musical so)#les mis #les miserables #les miz #les amis de l'abc #the brick #musical theatre #enjolras #litblr #meta analysis #media analysis

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eastwindmlk · 1 month ago

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Look! Something happened here and idk. It got away from me. Anyway for @jilytoberfest day 24 we revisit Bigger Fish. Prompt: 🎶Then I know everything is gonna be fine, Because you are mine🎶 -You Shine from Carrie - The Musical

Word count: 3.606... yeah I know.

Waking up in a small boutique hotel on Paris’ Place de la Bastille on the day of your wedding should feel like waking up in a dream. Lily knew that. Still, she sat up in the Egyptian cotton sheets, bleary-eyed and hard-hearted.

Everything should have been dreamy, from the French breakfast waiting for her on her balcony with a view of the courtyard and the muffled uproar from the square rising over the building. To the incredibly fluffy tear-stained pillows she’d cried herself to sleep on and all because of one man.

James Potter, who had ran back into her life at the eleventh hour like they were in some sort of soap opera. Where he returned just in time to confess his love for her and steal her away to the future they were always meant to have.

He almost did. Showing up at the airport, begging her to not do it. The only difference was that she wasn’t the heroine. She wasn’t going to blow all of this off just because he swanned in at a ta-da nick of time to swoop her off her feet. That was not who Lily Evans was.

Lily Evans was sensible and steady, she went through school and dated the footie captain and when he eventually broke her heart, like everyone said he would, she moved on. She found a dependable, unremarkable colleague who brought her coffee and complimented her hair even if he never noticed when she cut it.

He wasn’t a big fish and that is what made him right. Right?

She gripped the edges of her goose feather duvet and peered into the glaring sun, wondering if maybe she was making a mistake. Her eyes lifted to the clock, it was a little before eight and the make-up and hair team would be there in half an hour. Which should be long enough to warm up her cold feet.

Lily took a quick shower, getting dressed in her wedding lingerie and a silk robe before settling herself on the balcony. She was intent on enjoying the view, the sun, the breakfast and staunchly ignored the humdrum of the touristy city below her. Just as she was ignoring the doubt swirling in her chest.

All she had to do was get through today – and the rest of her life – wondering what would have happened had she been brave enough not to board that plane.

She was sipping her morning coffee when the door to her room burst open, the hot drink dripping onto her fingers. It was at this moment that Lily regretted giving the front desk permission to let her mother in.

“Lilykins! Darling! Are you alright?” She asked and without looking Lily could tell that she was frazzled and red-faced. “Are you not bothered by all the ruckus? The receptionist said that ‘ze are protesting ze new work low but ze won’t burn down anyzing ‘ere’,” her mother scoffed and Lily suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s abysmal imitation of the French accent.

The bride-to-be turned her torso to offer her mother a sympathetic smile. “You know that sounds awfully mean when you do that right?”

“Do what?”

“The accent,” Lily pointed out, her lips pressing into a thin smile.

Her mother sighed dramatically, her whole torso rising and falling with it. “Don’t be so soft, Lilykins. I am sure they know I don’t mean it that way,” she said, her forehead wrinkling while she gestured vaguely around herself before plopping down on the edge of the bed. Seemingly to catch her breath.

“Oh I don’t know, the French aren’t renowned for their sense of humour,” she pointed out now just trying to get a rise out of her mother. A little thing to distract herself from the restlessness that still brewed in her chest like a storm at sea.

Ruth Evans tutted and shot her daughter a playful glare before letting her expression soften. “It’s a nice room,” she started trying to make small talk. Her mother hated small talk.

“Just spit it out, Mother,” Lily huffed, not wanting to pussyfoot around whatever her mother had to say. She felt like, today of all days, she was entitled to an expedited process. She simply did not have it in her to take her mother’s delicate sensibilities into account today.

Ruth’s lips pursed while she levelled her youngest daughter with a disapproving look that bounced right off of her. “Don’t call me ‘mother’ in that tone,” she sniffed and shifted in her seat before coming right out with it. “I was just… See. I heard that a certain someone might be back in town.”

Lily grimaced and placed her coffee back on the cast iron table, the thought of consuming anything suddenly making her feel ill. “He is, not that it is of any consequence to me,” she dismissed as blasé as she could manage while her heart threatened to burst from her chest and tattle on her.

“Right, of course, it isn’t. I just- It made me wonder how you’re feeling about all of this,” she said while she gestured around her vaguely in an attempt to indicate the whole situation. Or, at least, that is what Lily assumed she meant.

She turned fully in her seat and away from the food and the view to look her mother squarely in the face. That was the plan, but she could only drop her eyes to her hands when she answered her. “It’s beautiful. Every girl dreams of getting married in Paris.” Her voice sounded distant and tight, very much unlike her. Even more so, very much unlike how you’d want any bride to sound on her wedding day.

There was a moment of silence, patient and expecting. There was something extremely unsettling about it. Her mother was never silent, not like this. It made the words she did not want to say rise to her lips nearly instantly. Her secrets fought their way up her throat to see which one was going to fill the emptiness her mother’s silence left.

Lily nearly confessed to what happened at the airport when she was saved by a knock on the door. Her mother stood up in a flurry to open up for the beauty team. Which, hopefully, meant that her mother would let the situation rest for the sake of keeping up appearances.

After all, she would probably die of embarrassment if these total strangers knew there was trouble in paradise.

For a glorious thirty minutes while she was poked with brushes and having her hair pulled and twisted in every which direction, Lily enjoyed her mother’s chatter on how the venue was coming along. Ruth didn’t like small talk unless it would earn her praise.

The end of her peacetime was rung in by Petunia stomping into the room, her blonde hair in her signature, braided twist - which had made an appearance at every formal event after she’d perfected it at age sixteen. - the aubergine maid-of-honour dress still on its garment bag. Lily had no time to ask her if she wanted to use the large en-suite bathroom to change before her sister’s shrill shriek rang through the room. “Seriously, Lily! The airport!”

If her face had not been slathered in foundation a quarter inch thick, she might have flushed. The redhead just wasn’t sure if it was in shame or frustration. “Did something happen at the airport?” her mother chimed in and it was like watching the spark that started the great fire catch.

“You haven’t told her?”

“Tuney,” she cautioned and hoped that a withering look was just as powerful through a reflection.

Not that they had often worked on her sister, who barrelled on with her usual amount of consideration for her younger sibling. Next to none. “The Potter boy showed up at the gate,” she informed their mother, her nose turned up to drive home her superior tone.

Ruth gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth in shock. “Lily Josephine Evan! Why did you not tell me?” The use of her full name made Lily cringe even at age twenty-eight.

‘Because of that reaction’ Lily thought to herself, but she wouldn’t say that now. “I didn’t think it mattered much,” she lied and closed her eyes to let the make-up artist apply another layer of powder and hoped she was done now.

“No? I would think that the other man showing up means quite a lot,” Petunia’s snide remark burned away the remaining cringe and her glare turned deadly.

Her perfectly painted lips disappeared into a thin line when she turned around to look at her sister. It was their mother that interjected. “Petunia!”

“Well, I don’t have some fancy man show up at my gate, begging me to marry him instead,” she said with an indignant sniff and an upturned nose. “’S all I’m saying. “

That is when she started to regret flying with the airline her sister worked for, even if the tickets had been free. The gossip train was clearly very effective and she would not be surprised to see that her sister was a little too well-informed on things.

The news shocked their mother into silence for just long enough that her sister could shoot Lily a look, Superior and satisfied with ruing a perfectly peaceful morning. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her mother’s voice trembled with emotion and she almost worried that she was going to burst into tears. Grateful that she’d already done her make-up and would not want to ruin it with tears.

“Because I knew you’d make a big deal out of it all when it really isn’t,” Lily pointed out, her voice gentler now. Mindful of her mother’s fraying nerves.

“Well, what did you tell him?”

“I am here, am I not?” she answered, her toe pushing up her sock and hoped the answer was enough to soothe her mother.

Ruth sighed in relief, her smile appearing from behind the clouds. Another crisis averted. “That you are and you will be such a beautiful bride,” she cooed, her hands clasped together. “I’ll go get changed. Petunia, help your sister into her dress. It’s almost time,” she said with more enthusiasm than she thought she could muster for her own wedding.

Lily stood, facing the mirror while her sister laced her into the bodice of her white gown and while she felt like she looked like a princess with the Tudor-style bodice and the puffed skirt. She was Cinderella on her way to the ball, all she was missing was her glass slippers.

“What are those?” Petunia’s disgust was evident in her voice when Lily lifted her skirt to slip into her low-heeled slippers.

Her eyes travelled down to look at pastel blue, fluffy socks she’d worn from the moment she stepped out of the shower. “My something blue?” Lily replied, her tone questioning while her sister yanked the warm socks off her feet.

Her sister tutted, not unlike what their mother had done before. “You’re so strange sometimes,” Petunia complained while she fuzzed over Lily’s veil for a moment. “All done. Now smile, this is the happiest day of your life.”

The words echoed in her mind. The happiest day of her life. Lily knew it ought to be, but all she could focus on were the clouds that had rolled in earlier, the restless sea that roiled in her chest. She forced the corners of her lips up into a smile and was grateful that Petunia did not care if it reached her eyes or not.

Lily told herself that she was just nervous, this was a big day for everyone involved. It was only natural to feel a little nauseous. Especially when your mother reappears in the room and just so happens to also be dressed in white.

“Mother,” she started and the words stuck in her throat when Ruth looked up at her. “Mum,” she tried again, tempering her tone. “Why are you wearing white?”

Her mother laughed, her fingers caressing the string of pearls that she wore on every important occasion. “I’m not wearing white, darling. This is crème,” she said defensively, tracing her fingers along the taffeta silk fabric that had a similar sheen to that of her wedding dress.

Despite feeling like she should be offended by her mother’s actions, she couldn’t help but also be grateful for the distraction it offered. The more she could focus on this, the less she would think about her doubts.

More importantly, she won’t think about him.

By the time Lily made her way across the hotel lobby on her way out, the protest had indeed moved on without as much as a rubbish bin lit on fire. It was all that her mother talked about on the way to the venue, more distractions.

Lily’s storm seemed to finally break while she stood waiting in the wings as the stragglers filed in minutes before the start of the ceremony. Her hands were wringing in front of her nervously when Petunia grabbed her shoulders. “Breathe, Lily,” she commanded sternly and took a few deep breaths with her until she was satisfied. “Remember to smile when you see him.”

Her eyebrows brew together at the remark she blinked at her sister before asking. “Who?”

“Your fiancee, Lily. I know you’re nervous but smile for him when you see him, he won’t know the difference from when you feel better after the ceremony,” she explained and pushed a stray lock of hair back into her up-do before lowering the blusher over her face. “Happiest day of your life,” Petunia reminded her once more and handed her the bouquet of flowers. She scowled at the Baby’s Breath she’d explicitly said she hadn’t wanted.

So, this is where her mother chose to be traditional then. It was fine, she supposed.

Lily wrapped her hands around the ribbon-bound stems while she rocked from her heels to her toes a couple of times, hoping that the chapel was warmer than this side room. If only she could have kept her socks on. It wasn’t like anyone would notice.

All thoughts of socks faded to the background when their father opened the door, right on cue. The first notes of Pachelbel’s canon started to float their way. This was it. The start of the rest of her life.

John Evans was the opposite of his flighty and erratic wife. He was solid and calm, a rock that Lily would cling onto all the way down the path of pink petals. Like her sister before him, her father took a deep breath with him and pointed to his cheek. Smile.

Lily clutched her father’s arm and the storm had run its course when she clutched onto his arm. She knew her father would not lead her wrong, he only wanted what was best for her. This was what was best for her. A steady, dependable man and a quiet life.

She’d almost convinced herself of that as she slowly walked down the aisle with a smile on her face. When her eyes were drawn to someone sitting in the fourth row, almost all the way in the back. Dark hair and grey eyes. Sirius Black, one of the only mutual friends of her and James she still felt close enough to to invite to the wedding.

She’d thought that seeing him there would make her happy. Perhaps it would have if he’d looked happy for her, but his face was blank, only the hint of a smile and a nod sent her way when they locked eyes.

This was not approval, this was surrender. The smile on her face turned apologetic before she rend her eyes away from him and back to the front, the future waiting for her.

A future that was already suffocating her. The idea of a white picket fence and charity bake sales weighed down on her chest like a tonne of bricks. Lily dug her fingers into her father’s arm and hoped he would notice her panic, he would get her out of this.

Before John could look at her, they were at the end of the aisle. Her hand was placed in a limp, sweaty palm. All she wanted to do was pull her hand back and run, but instead, she froze in the realisation that the moment of quiet, of acceptance, had only been the eye of the storm.

Her body moved when it was prompted to by her groom. They stood, face-to-face when the priest started the traditional opening words. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to…” The rest of the words were drowned out by the blood rushing through her ears, and the pounding in her throat.

Lily knew that the priest would be reading a passage from 1 John 4 that they’d agreed on and she couldn’t help but see the passage in a different light now. While she knew it spoke of God’s sacrifice, she related to that more now than ever that he was promising her life to a man she was not certain of.

The whole church was silent, leaving her to drown in her waves of panic when she heard the rattling of the door. Something tugged inside of her and it took her concentrating on the words being said to not turn around. To not be hopeful.

Lily’d had her chance yesterday at the airport. It would be too much to ask for another one. Everyone knew that the words that would follow were just for tradition’s sake, no one ever actually spoke up. She kept her eyes on their hands while she grimaced her way through the silence that would undoubtedly follow the priest’s words.“Before we proceed with the vows, should anyone here present know of any reason why these two should not be married? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

One heartbeat and there was a quiet cough, a shuffle and Lily’s breath caught in her chest. Would her rescue come from an unexpected place? A murmur started to rise through the guests and the door rattled again. But no one spoke up.

The priest drew in a deep breath to continue the ceremony when two things happened at the same time. Someone cleared their throat from her side of the church and the door crashed open, the rush of relief nearly bringing her to her knees when she heard an echo from the day before.

“Stop!” James’ voice echoed through the decorated columns of the church sounding breathless and desperate as he had at the gate.

Lily only took a moment to take in the shock on the priest’s face before turning to face him, just like everyone else. Everyone but Sirius and James were still in their seats, craning to see the man slowly making his way down the aisle towards them.

“I will not hold my peace,” James said, loud and clear this time and before Lily knew it her hands were in his. “Lily, please,” he pleaded literally dropping to his knees in front of her.

The whole church was collectively holding their breaths and Lily could feel the tension mounting. She knew she should turn him away, it would be the right thing to do. “James,” she choked out while she looked down at him but the words wouldn’t come.

“I know that this is a little too late, but I cannot let you go without making damn sure that you know how much I love you,” he spoke so evenly, so sure of himself. Like he had rehearsed the words over and over again. “I have been an idiot for ever letting you go. I should have asked you to marry me before uni but we were young and I thought I would have you forever because I could not imagine sharing my life with anyone but you.”

Lily rolled her eyes at him and received an apologetic smile in return. When she pulled her hands back from his, he didn’t resist. He did not drop his hands either, waiting expectantly while she pushed the veil back to uncover her face and placed her hands back in his.

“I love you, Lily Evans. I always have and I always will.” James paused to cast a quick glance at the groom beside her, still processing the shock. “If you truly, in the depths of your heart have no love left for me then I will step back. Resign myself to having the one constant person in my life being Benjy bloody Fenwick.”

She giggled, actually, giggled at that. Lily knew it was inappropriate but she couldn’t hold it back. He’d always had that effect on her. His smile was dazzling and yet anchored her in this bonkers moment. This impossible, larger-than-life moment.

It was just so… James. Her James. Who, even after all these years, she loved so much that she could burst. Even standing here, dressed in white to promise herself to another man, she couldn’t help but love him, to admit that she’d hoped he’d swoop in and save her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

“This is not the time or place, I am very well aware of that. Still, I need to ask one last time. Marry me instead?”

Lily felt her lips move before her mind even had time to properly process the words, tears spilling down her cheeks. The guests reacted before she realized herself that she, in a well of emotion, said yes.

#jily #james potter #lily evans #jple #jily fic #jily fanfiction #jilytober2024

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blueseachelle · 2 years ago

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Hi I just saw your post!

Could I ask you do an imagine with percy or vax (or both😅) where they find their soulmate and what it is like. Smut if you like.

Thank you 😊

I can do that! I gotcha! This will not be NSFW. Some spoilers for Season 2 will be in this. I have many other requests in the web I’m creating right now. So, we’ll have an easy one today!

Percy De Rolo

You would join Vox Machina off a whim. Got caught up in a tavern brawl and got kicked out with them.

You actually hit it off with Scanlan and Grog out of the rest of the group first. Then, Pike, Vax, and Vex. Percy didn’t accept you at first. He was wary of you because of his past.

You made it your entire effort into wanting to become Percy’s friend. You slowly gained more feelings for him the more you harassed him into a friendship.

He slowly became comfortable with you. Of course, you would never know that. He loves your company. He will never admit it.

You both are on the same wave length with everything, be it his crafting or to strategy in battle. Always by each others side.

You could sense something familiar about his aura. He found the same in you.

Soon enough, he found comfort in you. Just your presence can help ease if spiraling spirit.

He would always tell himself this is nothing more than a friendship but, he always felt deep down that he was lying to himself.

You knew you loved him with all your heart so, you would always remain by his side. No matter if he got with someone else or never at all.

He wouldn’t realize you are his soulmate until the falling of Whitestone.

You were the only one that could calm down his inner turmoil and was the one to sacrifice everything you could to keep him and his friends safe.

He finally knew it for sure when he was getting taken over by the spirit his gun possessed and accidentally shot you in the side. (As we know that never happened but in this little imagine, it did).

You went down and it snapped him into reality. He ran to catch your body only to be stopped by Scanlan and Grog as Keyleth got to work after being brought back herself.

After that day, for a while, he couldn’t stand to be out of his quarter’s at the Keep. He even refused to look at himself in the mirror.

You made a swift recovery and was told by the rest of the group about what Percy has been doing, Isolating himself.

You went to his door and knocked on it.

Percy was hesitant but opened the door. Before he could do anything, you hugged him and told him that it wasn’t his fault and that he’s okay.

He was caught off guard as he hugged you back. He listened as you consoled him, telling him that it was the spirit inside that did it, not him, and that he didn’t need to worry anymore because its gone and she is okay now.

He slowly pulled you inside during the hug and closed the door. After it shut, he let out the tears he didn’t know he was holding back.

He let himself spill, telling how he felt and that he is sorry. He needed to tell you that he wants to be by your side forever.

Of course, you feeling the same told him that you will never leave and that if you can handle what just happened and can make amends, you can get through anything.

Vax’ildan

I feel like Vax is really in tune with himself.

When he first meets you in a market place, he stole your coin purse but, your keen eye saw him do it and you stole it back and his on top of it. Sending him a wink as you walked away.

He was starstruck. He at least knew that he was in love with you.

When they moved on, he hoped to revisit and see you again but, he didn’t hold to any hope because people have lives and move around too.

He long forgot about you after that because he and the group were really busy and he got caught up in other feelings for Keyleth, which didn’t end well for him so, he hasn’t thought much of you.

After the Chroma Conclave destroyed Emon, He and his friend departed to Vasselheim in search of allies.

Guess who’s there? You!

You are actually are a mercenary. You help whoever pays you, be it the Slayer’s Take or other people.

After being rejected by the clergy, the group was making there way over to the Slayer’s Take and that’s when he spotted you.

You were walking out of there as they walked up. You a large sack of gold that you finished your bounty for and was about to head out.

Before you went too far, Kashaw opened the door and called you back in, telling that the Patron needs to talk to you.

He watched as you sighed and headed back inside.

He raised and eyebrow, You’re so important that the Patron needs to speak with you directly. Interesting.

You were a mystery to him and he loved every second of it. He thought he was the most mysterious person he knew. Not by a long shot.

When they walked in, the quarrel happened until the Patron lets them down to speak with them.

You waited down there on Osysa’s throne was she dealt with each member.

When Vax was encountered, a number of things were said but, one of the most important ones was, ‘You sought love and it wasn’t found but love is a mysterious thing. Soulmates will always be drawn back to each other, no matter the distance or time it takes. Remember what has happened and reflect on this. Love will never always be right in front of you always. Follow your spirit and you will know.’

Vax knew she was talking about you. His spirit was saying it over and over was she spoke to him.

After the dust cleared and they proved themselves worth, you were introduced by Osysa herself.

Osysa knew your heart that you hid away from everyone, she knew that you would help them and not screw them over. Plus, you are preferred to handle in the affairs of God’s, given that you are a Warlock.

Vax couldn’t take his eyes off you. He repeated your name over and over in his head. His spirit seemed to scream out to be next to you.

As Osysa sent you all away, she gave you a knowing look. You two were best friends. You were always there for Osysa ever since you have been confirmed to be of a righteous heart.

The glacé she gave you made you grin and tease back, ‘I’ll tell your hubby you said hi!’

Vax immediately as you all were walking out went up next to you, ‘Hello, I’m Vax’ildan. It’s nice to actually know your name now.’

You just smirked at him, ‘Maybe ask a name before yanking there coin purse next time.’

With that, you passed him as he stood in shock for a second. He watched as your hips swayed slightly back and forth.

It took Scanlan to break him from his thoughts, ‘Someone’s gots the hots’ He semi whispered to Grog in a singsong voice. Grog laughed and covered his mouth.

Vax just rolled his eyes and continued walking.

You hit it off with Pike, Grog, and Scanlan immediately. Everyone slowly pulled there way into your conversations.

As your journey continued, Vax admired you more and more. You’re beautiful, smart, cunning, stealthy, and just a wonderful person in general. He loved it.

After you an everyone made it successfully into the tomb, Percy found the armor.

Instead of hitting Vex’ahlia, it hit you. Killing you in an instant. Vax lost it.

He ran to your corpse and held it tightly as he cried. He just got you. He will not lose you this quickly.

As everyone was trying to resurrect you, Vax had his vision and told the Raven Queen to take him instead of you.

She excepted and you came back. He was so relieved. Yet, his emotions couldn’t express it. He just went and put on the armor.

You realized something was off immediately about Vax. You didn’t know him long but, Osysa told you he was the one. You knew it too but, it’s nice to hear it from your best friend.

After being sabotaged and Vax clutching up, you sat by the fire and watched Vax. He stood and stared into space.

You walked over to him and rested your hand on his new armor.

You knew what he did because of your affairs with the Gods and Goddesses themselves.

You looked at him, ‘Can you go on a walk with me?’

He agreed and you both started walking.

‘I know what you did. You aren’s the only one that see visions and Gods.’

Vax stopped in his tracks and looked at you, ‘I did it to save you. Nothing more.’

‘You lost part of your soul when you did that. That’s why you’re cold and distant now. Don’t worry. I used to be the same. I made a pact too. My feelings came back after I met you.’

Vax felt a rush of emotions come over him. He knew that he had someone to rely on now. He knew that you shared the pain he feels right now.

He hugged you tightly like you were going to disappear again. He let the tears flow as he held you. You held him back as he sobbed. You whispered to him that everything will be okay and that you will be there until the end.

At that point he knew for a fact, you were his soulmate. Be in life or amongst the Gods.

#vox machina #d&d 5e #x reader #dungeons and dragons #percy de rolo #percy de rolo x reader #percival de rolo #critical role #dragons #vax’ildan #vax x reader #tlovm vax smut #vaxildan #vax’ildan x reader #tlovm vax #tlovm x you

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storiesbyjes2g · 5 months ago

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3.134 Parenting

Once Desiree was satisfied, I placed her in the bassinet, snapped a picture to send to everyone, and called Mama. Naturally, she thought I was still at the hospital, so I told her our heroic tale of home birth. It upset her at first because anyone in their right mind would have been concerned about giving birth unassisted. But in the end, she said she was proud of me. Dad was still over there, so she told him of his new granddaughter, and he came over immediately. Sophia was supposed to be resting, but was much too excited to sleep and eager to spend time with Desi. I mean, she was probably the best baby ever born, so I didn't kick back too much when she appeared at the door when Dad arrived. She promised to go to bed as soon as he left.

"She's beautiful, son. I'm really happy for you both."

"Thanks, Dad."

Knowing Sophia couldn't sleep because she wanted to hold our daughter, I probably should have given Desi up, but I couldn't part with her. At least not yet. I asked if Dad wanted to hold her because it was the right thing to do, but I was glad he declined. He, like me, was skittish about holding her, even after having two children of his own. The more I held her, the more comfortable I became. At that rate, I'd be a professional newborn handler in no time.

"When you were a toddler," he began, "I was still afraid of you. Of course, you were bigger and less fragile then, but I had never really been around children before and didn't know what to do with you."

Looking back, I saw evidence of that all the way through our childhood. He was naturally a laid-back guy, but his parenting style was also very hands off. He basically let us do whatever we wanted, only stepping in when it was critical or we came to him. Mama was kind of passive too, but she checked in with us from time to time to see how things were going and how she could help. What kind of parent did I aspire to be? I certainly couldn't see myself as a helicopter, but I think I'd like to be less be passive. Only time would tell what I'd become.

"I learned quickly how fickle children are at that age and was deathly afraid of you having a tantrum, so I tried to talk to you nicely when it was time for a bath or whatever I needed you to do. You thought it was funny and would mock me."

"Really?? I did that?"

"Sure did."

"I bet you were so adorable," Sophia said.

"He was. They both were. And now you both have your own. I wish I had more time to see them grow up, but I'm happy just knowing they exist."

"Don't talk like that, Dad."

"I'm old, Luca. I won't be around forever."

Sad doggie whimpers saved me from that conversation. It's not that I didn't realize my parents had gotten on in age, but I didn't want to discuss it yet. I was still high from becoming a parent for the first time. He could burst my bubble after my birthday, and he better not die before then.

"What's the matter, Rosie? Did you hear the baby? You have a little sister now. Come here. Let's get you introduced."

I put down Des, picked up Rosie, and brought her to the bassinet.

"This is Desiree. She's gonna be your new playmate soon, and I'm gonna get you and Kooper some treats so you can play with her for a really long time."

She licked my face, so I guess she forgave me. I hadn't completely neglected them, but she and Kooper definitely got lost in the shuffle.

"We still love you and Koop. You were our first babies! But this baby is gonna need a lot of help, so don't think I don't love you if we don't go jogging every day, okay?"

"You're such a good daddy," Sophia said.

I think I detected a hint of flirt in there, but I kept that thought to myself. Maybe when she wasn't struggling to keep her eyes opened I'd revisit, heh. She excused herself to go to bed a few minutes later. Desiree began fussing again, but I didn't have to guess what she needed that time; I could smell it. Dad had gone downstairs, probably to see what he could do around the house to help, so it was on me to get Little Miss Lady cleaned up. It was surprisingly not that hard. At least I hope I did it right.

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #ali murillo #rosie #desiree amari murillo

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thekingofthenameless · 1 month ago

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Could you tell me your process in designing Merlin and Charlie, both in aesthetics and personalities? You mentioned in your Q&A post about the design changes so I’m intrigued in your thought process!

Thanks for the ask! :D

My memory is shit so I had to go through old Discord messages for this lmaooo, but it was fun! …When I wasn’t dying due to cringe.

For those who don’t know, these two are Tales of Arcadia’s Merlin, and Tales of Arcadia’s Charlie! Aka the two that started all this.

Merlin:

Back when The King of the Nameless was still a ToA fanfiction, (titled Emerald Embers), I didn’t have plans to change Merlin that much at first, besides giving him a long white ponytail (inspired by his concept art), some earrings, and the outfit that @tenyai drew in some storyboard explorations!

After some time passed, I decided to make him look more intimidating to better fit his role as someone who’s been through war for most of his life. I was inspired by this concept art! I thought he looked really cool, and it’s still my favorite storyboard version of him.

A few months later my Artbreeder era started when I wanted to make him myself. We don’t talk about that.

Eventually, I got a design commissioned!

By this point, I’d had the idea to depict him with darker skin, but he didn’t have a defined race (I accepted @aaronwaltke’s headcanon/idea of him being so old nationalities weren’t a thing yet.)

Time passed, and I went on my unintentional but helpful hiatus for several months before coming back.

Once I started revisiting the yet to be retitled Emerald Embers, I had the idea to redesign Merlin again.

I had watched this TikTok, and afterwards, for some reason, got curious and decided to look up if locs with white hair exist (they do, of course, I was just making sure I wasn’t being stupid).

The idea was also partly from me realizing that Merlin being ambiguously brown without a defined race wasn’t… good, even with his “age”. The trope of characters without a defined race is really common, and a bit problematic, so it would be cool to have a clearly Black protagonist. I was already getting heavily attached to the concept when I approached my boyfriend with it, and I tried to convince him to tell me redesigning him again was a bad idea, but I don’t think I would’ve listened even if he had told me lol.

I also remembered Once Upon A Time’s Merlin, who’s Black, and that helped convince me more!

About a week later, I was making Picrews while planning to commission someone eventually!

I finally approached his original artist after searching for one a bit, because I saw one of their posts on Reddit and loved their art style!

After a few renditions, Merlin had a set design at last!

Or… so I thought, lol. I’d wanted Merlin to have an undercut on every side of his head, like an au of Adora where she has the hairstyle, and his locs actually going halfway down his back. I basically gaslighted myself into forgetting that when his first artist drew it short. 💀 Maybe he started growing it out and shaved the rest of his head after he turned immortal or something lol.

Anyways, got into contact with his current design’s artist. While looking up references for his body type (even though I had one already, so I don’t know why I did that lol), I found his current body type and was like “Perfect”.

And his hair is actually longer than I’d planned! :D Fully down, I think it would reach his knees or possibly longer.

Then him being a transgender man grabbed me by the throat, and I eventually came up with a design for how he looked when he found Charlie!

He was physically twelve at this point, but chronologically sixty-four. (Almost thirteen and sixty-five lol. He transitioned when he was sixteen physically, chronologically eighty.)

So, in a summary, Merlin has gone from cisgender white ➡️ cisgender ambiguously brown skinned (glad I changed that lol) ➡️ cisgender Black ➡️ transgender Black.

He’s changed so much lol.

And something I find funny about DR!Merlin's design vs TKN Merlin: the latter Merlin is just. ONE inch taller now. 6'8" compared to 6'7".

Also I’ll end this with the point that technically, his appearance is never described in original Arthurian text, so he can look like whatever I want him to. ;)

Charlie:

Finally onto the best boy!!

After getting my first adoptable, a dragon named Mantis, I looked at ToA Charlie again and just went “😬”

Alongside him being a little bit too humanoid for my taste, (and his neck proportions taking me out, lol) his wings being leathery with holes in them made me annoyed because they logically should have repaired themselves; as long as a bat has proper rest and nutrition, tears in their wings can heal on their own without medical attention. With as many holes as he has, he obviously shouldn’t be able to fly.

Anyways, thought of redesigning him for a bit, but never had any fleshed out concepts of anything since dragon Picrews are unfortunately hard to come by.

Then I got this dragon adoptable!

Apparently about three minutes later, I thought: what if that was the redesign for Charlie? I ran with it, and that’s how this dragon became Charlie! Still ToA at this point, lol.

(Me deciding an adoptable is perfect for a character design, actually, was what happened with Morgana too but we’ll talk about her later.)

Later, I saw an awesome unicorn adoptable and wondered if it was still open, so I contacted Charlie’s second artist! It wasn’t, so I asked if I could get a commission instead since some slots were available.

If I remember right, I asked for him to be in a flying pose, and after a traditional sketch I loved immediately, it was onto digital, then coloring! He got a little bit of a redesign, lol; I love how his colors seem far more vibrant, and how his wings actually look like lava! :D

Somewhere along the line, I decided the swirls and leaves on his leg would be his familiar mark!

Time passed, and The King of the Nameless started coming to life. I asked Reddit for new name suggestions for Charlie because I thought I shouldn't/couldn't keep the same name; got absolutely great suggestions like Fred, Scorch (also fun fact that's referenced in this oneshot lol), and... Jarred. No, I'm not kidding. Gave up on Reddit and Googled male dragon names before going to a generator. That gave me the amazing name Tyson, and hell yeah, I'm absolutely gonna name an ancient dragon after chicken nuggets! (It's actually derived from the Old French word "tison", or "firebrand", but admit it, the chicken nuggets is funnier.) I even thought of naming him Falkor after the dragon in The Neverending Story lol.

But Falkor didn't stick. No matter how hard I tried, my brain refused to latch onto the name, and I always kept internally referring to my dragon as Charlie. I tried to think of more new names, but nothing would come to mind, and at one point the only name I could think of was Adam. Eventually my boyfriend just said "as long as you don't name him Charlemagne from Tales of Arcadia you'll be fine".

So after all that, Charlie he stayed!

Some more time passed, and I got my first commission of Merlin and Charlie in the same picture!

He was unintentionally drawn as pretty small since I forgot to send size references at first lol.

Got two more pieces! He was pretty much consistent size wise for these two.

I started getting a fourth piece of them together, using an incredible sketch I made for the artist to have as a reference that I should post against the final art like this post lol.

And when I got the sketch, Charlie was BIG, far bigger than before.

Debated on it keeping it his new size or not for a little bit until I was like: "fuck it we ball the other arts are in the past and this is present". (Also Merl's hair isn't long in most pieces anyway lol.)

Bro's like. the size of a car now.

Something I thought funny that applies to both of their designs: just like Merlin’s hair got longer and longer (although I wanted it halfway down his back in the first place and forgot) Charlie’s gotten bigger and bigger lol.

Commissioned another piece with Charlie's new size!

Another thing about Charlie's design I find funny: he's bigger than ToA Charlie now.

That concludes the epic saga of their design changes, and now they're both set in stone! They really are. I promise.

Artist credits: @undeadchestnut, @honeyxmonkey, Soberana Art (on Artstation), @cat-gh0ul, NaldThal (on Ko-Fi), @heropaws, @biposi, @honeyxmonkey, @theeio, @azurewildflight

Picrew credits: djarn, romanapologist/hotvanilla, brightgoat

Links to their individual posts, if applicable: ToA Merlin’s concept art (1, 2, 3, 4), Merlin’s original hair (1, 2, 3), ToA Merlin’s medieval outfit, The Original Tiktok, White locs (1, 2, 3), Adora undercut au, Merlin’s original body type, Merlin’s current body type, Current Merlin, Trans Merlin, Mantis the dragon, Original Charlie, Charlie's name fiasco (on Reddit), Forest, Cuddles, Sploot, Embrace, Meadow. (also a few more links throughout the post lol)

Taglist: @gaylightisminetocommand, @the-arson-author-gamer, @honeyxmonkey, @danhengsbestie

#asks #the-arson-author-gamer #THIS TOOK ME HOURS. LITERAL HOURS.#y'all had better appreciate this lore lol #the king of the nameless #tkn q&a #tkn asks #tkn lore #tkn character designs #my ocs #merlin ambrosius #tkn merlin #trans merlin #transmasc merlin #charlemagne ambrosius #otp: i am not leaving you. i am never leaving you.

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asgoodeasgold · 7 months ago

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(🔊 on) After an exhausting week, I didn't get a chance to make an edit, so I am reposting this video I made for YouTube last year in celebration of Matthew's adorable quirkiness.

He does this thing where he rests his head on his folded arm (sometimes two!). I know, it's a bit niche but any excuse for a goode video right? 😁

🎶 Music from #Uppbeat (free for Creators!):

https://uppbeat.io/t/vens-adams/adventure-is-calling

License code: J6WS8JHRQJK0LOII

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited (2008), Netflix The Crown (2017) s2, Leap Year (2010), Burning Man (2011), Al Sur de Granada (2004), Imagine Me & You (2005), Silent Night (2021), Birthmarked (2018), Sky/Bad Wolf A Discovery of Witches (2018/2021) s1-2, BBC Dancing on The Edge (2013), Chasing Liberty (2004)

Also on my YT channel:

youtube

#matthewgoode #matthew goode #hayley atwell #teresa palmer #joanna vanderham #veronica sanchez #amy adams #keira knightley #mandy moore #the crown #a discovery of witches #Youtube

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20forty9 · 9 months ago

Text

I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter I - From Me, To You

Summary : You just wanted to understand what it felt like to be human, but instead ran into a cruel fate. After being cursed, you must revisit your past to find how to break the pattern, all while moving forward. It was supposed to be a one-man job, but why do you suddenly seem to be surrounded by so many people that you cherish? Why are you having second thoughts about this? Maybe things don't have to end this way. But maybe they do.

Word Count : 12k

Warnings : Suicidal ideation/attempt

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N: I honestly don't care about Tumblr formatting as much as I do Ao3, so take this. If it looks funky, mb but idgaf LMFAO. All characters are depicted as 18+.

There are different kinds of curiosity: one comes from self-interest, which makes us want to know everything that may be profitable to us; another from pride, which comes from a desire to know what others are ignorant of. ~ Francois De La Rochefoucauld

Curiosity is an innate characteristic of being human. Existing in one from birth; a flame that, once lit, is impossible to extinguish. It burns bright until the one holding the candle passes on.

If curiosity is so human, then why does a spirit, sworn to its duties, experience it?

And so violently, too.

It feels like all the questions it wants answered are trying to tear themselves out of its skin, keeping its mind racing every moment it finds itself unoccupied. What is a pure companionship? What does a handmade meal taste like, made with care and patience? What does hatred feel like? What does it mean to feel alive, to live your life to the fullest? What is loneliness?

What is hurt?

What is love?

Hundreds of unanswered questions, an unending list that grows more and more each day, until it can’t take it anymore.

All the things it liked to do in the past to bring itself entertainment feel dull. There isn’t a rush of satisfaction after playing a trick on another fellow spirit or even a curse; the feeling of a smug victory after being yelled at for causing yet another mess in the realm is missing; the bathhouse is full of greedy spirits desperate to wash mankind’s pollution from their very being, pushing against each other and fighting – it’s disheartening.

It has had enough.

It ventures to the outskirts of the sacred forest, the air surrounding it unusually heavy and suffocating; oppressive . There’s not a single bird singing – not that it would be able to hear them, in the first place, but there are no telltale signs of branches rustling that move along with the birds. There’s no breeze, either, it notices. This is strange.

It feels dead leaves crunching underneath the sole of its bare feet, rocks digging into its heels and small sticks poking its toes. Undeterred, it continues along the natural pathway carved into the forest floor – indented from frequent use by humans, spirits and animals alike.

There’s a presence nearby, the spirit can tell. It’s an indescribable feeling that it feels often, almost as if it's being watched, hairs on the back of its neck rising as it snaps its head to the right, presumably in the general direction of the presence.

Squinting its eyes, its keen vision picks up the person’s cursed energy long before they enter its field of sight. There, through the forest thicket, a woman dressed in royal red robes takes careful steps, mindful not to catch herself on any loose branches or stones. Her light blonde hair cascades over her shoulders; long, flowing, looking silky and smooth to the touch. She keeps her hands hidden behind the long sleeves of her robes. Her porcelain skin contrasts against the deep red lipstick adorning her lips, a gold pendant resting around her delicate neck and dipping into her neckline. The spirit’s eyes trace every enchanting feature of this mysterious woman, feeling its gaze quickly snap back up to her face as they trail too far past her neckline.

The woman stops a few short feet away from the spirit, not facing it, but obviously not oblivious to its presence. They are both acutely aware of each other, letting the dead quiet of the forest envelop them both.

Her lips move to form words, but the spirit is too distracted by the shiny layer of gloss that accentuates the deep red painting them. It subtly pinches itself to shake it out of its reverie, focusing on telling the words apart instead of getting lost in the alluring siren standing before it.

“What are you?” She asks it, tilting her head to look at it in its eyes. “You’re beyond human… I can feel it.”

Instead of replying, it nods slightly.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” The woman chuckles, it can tell by the repetitive rise and fall of her chest, eyes crinkling closed – the smile does not reach her eyes. So strange. “The least you could do is introduce yourself.”

It quietly replies with its name. It cringes, nose scrunching in awkwardness, knowing its voice is off – a few syllables missing, maybe, or its voice pitching in different tones. “My name. You?”

“Oh my,” she giggles again, this time a clothed hand coming to cover her mouth. It drops back down once she calms herself down. “You talk in such a peculiar way… but, your voice…”

She steps closer to it, raising her hand to trail a finger along its bicep. “You can’t hear, can you?”

It shakes its head to confirm her suspicions, breath hitching lightly at the close proximity.

“Let me describe your voice to you, then.” The hand touching the spirit’s bicep moves to its chest, pressing down lightly to force it to sit down on a fallen tree log. The woman quickly hikes one leg over its thigh, plopping herself down on its lap, making herself comfortable. Skin peeks through the slit of her robes, the supple, soft skin of her thigh calling out to the spirit to place a hand there, and it does so, albeit after an awkward pause.

The blonde raises her hands to gently hold its face, tracing its jawline, eyes boring into its mismatched ones. Her eyes are a deep grey, the spirit notices; a tempermental cloud, the reflection of light in her orbs akin to the strike of lightning.

It's suddenly aware of her chest pressing against its own, trying to get her body as close as possible.

“ Seductive ,” Her lips form the words, it feels the rumble of her voice verberating against itself. “Deep, and low. It’s beautiful, a shame you can’t hear yourself speak.”

“You could bring nations down to their knees with a voice like that,” she says, sending a shiver down its spine.

What is this feeling? The spirit thinks to itself. It feels like a knot in my stomach, a burning sensation. It's not sure if it likes it.

“I can see so many questions in your eyes, spirit,” the woman continues. “Know that with me, you will have potential. A curious thing like you can’t go to waste, can you?”

What is going on? Blood feels like it's rushing away from its head, the warmth in its stomach spreading throughout its entire body, making its fingertips tingle.

“Come with me,” her hands trail to its back, digging her nails into its shoulder blades, muscles rippling underneath her touch. “I’ll make you discover amazing things. A powerful future awaits you.”

The offer is enticing; maybe this is what it has been waiting for, the opportunity to finally answer those questions constantly running through its mind. The spirit isn’t entirely stupid; it knows that this woman wants something in return. No human ventures through this forest without having a plan to come across whatever unfortunate spirit’s path and asking for a blessing after providing an offering. Maybe if it plays its cards right, it can trick her to work this out in its own favour, without it having to sacrifice much in return.

The spirit moves its hand away from the woman’s thigh, pointing at her wordlessly.

“I’m a simple being,” she sighs, immediately understanding its wordless question. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flick over to the scenery surrounding the two of them. “I want what any other person would like to have.”

It tilts its head to the side in confusion, not completely catching onto what she meant.

“Power,” she starts, “fame, fortune, all the men in the world tumbling down to their knees to worship the ground which I walk upon… and immortality, of course.”

Ah, the age-old request. The spirit frowns, eyebrows knitting together and lips slightly downcast. How typical, how boring – and to think the spirit was starting to become entertained by this unknown woman.

She notices the change in behaviour, and simply gives a light pat to the spirit’s cheek before resting her hands on its shoulders.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m different,” she reassures it, declaring it with the utmost conviction. “I will change the shaman world as we know it.”

Shamans. Now, that is a familiar word. Whispers of shamans, sorcerers, wizards & witches and what-have-you passed through the bathhouse on the daily. Normal spirits aren’t too worried, but there’s word that cursed spirits are being wiped out one by one, trying to make the world a safer place , in the shamans’ words.

“It’s rotten out there, you know,” the woman says. “People are so selfish, greedy and impulsive.” Like you? The spirit thinks to itself, raising an eyebrow. “Violent and angry.”

It doesn’t understand those words; yes, it has heard of those emotions, but it has never experienced them. So it continues to blankly stare at the woman, waiting for her to continue with her spiel.

“Their hatred is what keeps us shamans alive.”

Her grip tightens on its shoulders.

“One day, someone will try to take over and become the most powerful shaman in history. That person will be me . I’ll change our society. But…”

…

“...It’s not enough. I want more,” she continues, “I need more. But I require more firepower for that, more time, and there are countless other goals I want to achieve – will achieve, no matter the price. Nobody understands me, not like a spirit would.”

This… could actually pan out for the spirit, if the odds are in its favour. This woman is obviously obsessed with her self-centered desires. A binding vow is a binding vow, even non-humans face its negative repercussions, but there are always loopholes, especially for a spirit as cunning as itself. A life free of its original duties, in exchange for the curse that is immortality. A fair trade, indeed.

The resolution must show in its eyes, because the woman gets up from its lap to stand on her feet, taking a few steps back to let it stand up as well. She extends her left hand, strangely enough, but the spirit shrugs it off as an unusual quirk of hers. It extends its own left hand in reciprocation, their fingertips grazing before their hands finally clasp together. Their eyes never leave each other as they shake on it.

The woman brings her right hand up to her face, holding her pointer and middle finger up and nearly touching her nose with them, mumbling incoherent words that the spirit cannot lipread. Suddenly, dark purple wisps emerge from her left arm, forming tendrils that slowly wiggle as if they have a mind of their own, crawling away from her and onto the spirit’s arm. It frantically tries to unclasp her hand, attempting to tug its arm away but to no avail; it’s like their hands are glued together.

The tendrils make contact with the spirit’s bare skin along its arm, and it feels like acid is sinking deep into its bones, a burning feeling spreading all throughout its body. It’s agonizing. It’s painful.

It hurts.

It looks from the tendrils back at the woman’s face, a deranged look in her eyes as her smile stretches wickedly, the corners of her lips nearly touching her ears as she shows off all her unnaturally pearly white teeth. Her body heaves – this is clearly not an easy task for her – but she is somehow successfully draining incredible amounts of energy from the spirit.

“I imagine it must feel strange being overpowered by a weak human, am I right?” She cackles as she lets the cancerous tendrils do their work, eyes unnaturally wide and sunken-in. The ache in its bones spreads to its spine, sending unpleasant shivers running down its back, making its legs weak.

With its right hand, the spirit snaps its fingers, sending a large swoosh of fire, targeting the woman, but the lack of energy makes the attack more inaccurate. Just as the flames flicker too closely to her, black tendrils appear from the ground and easily block the fire before it can touch her; this must be a part of her technique.

Spots start to appear in the peripheral of the spirit’s vision, a wave of nausea and dizziness overcoming it. Another snap of its right hand, but the small explosion rumbles the ground too far off to have been anywhere near its opponent. At this point, she blurs in with the background, royal red robes blending with the rich green of the trees, and the spirit feels its knees buckle before it falls to the ground face-first.

Finally, it feels the woman let go of its left arm, letting it follow the rest of its body, falling limply to the ground. It gathers just enough strength to turn its head to the right, squinting its eyes as a last-ditch attempt to make out her features.

“I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement, spirit,” it can just barely make out what she’s saying. “And to answer your question from earlier…”

“...I am Madame Suliman.”

And finally, its vision completely fails, body going completely limp as it falls unconscious.

It’s a clear night, the stars shine brightly in the sky, not a single cloud to obstruct them. If you squint your eyes just right, you can see a plane’s lights blink on and off, slowly moving through the dark expanse.

The long sleeves of your ragged sweatshirt scratch at your skin, reminding you of your current situation. Cheeks sunken in, dried scabs and unhealed cuts litter your arms. Your ripped running shoes are covered in mud and speckled with your own blood. Your stomach rumbles loudly, sides cramping angrily at the lack of food over the past few days – or was it weeks? Experiencing hunger in the way only a human could was not new to you, but it was just as uncomfortable and strange as the first time you had felt it. However, things would change soon, you think to yourself. Things will change.

You walk along a tall bridge that looks over a river whose water flows quickly, slamming against exposed rocks and sending waves crashing against each other. If you tried to reach out, you would feel the energy and life from the river, coursing through your veins. But you don’t.

Matted hair falls in front of your face as you take a peek over the edge of the bridge. It’s so dark out that the flowing water looks like a void, the stars reflected in it making it look like the sky never ends and the horizon never stops, blending seamlessly and wrapping around you entirely.

Is this what peace feels like?

You don't feel anything other than the cramping in your stomach, hands coming up to clutch and squeeze your sides to try and give your body at least a second of reprieve.

This is not peace, you decide.

You close your eyes, moving your arms to grasp the railing of the bridge. Your foot blindly seeks out to find a small ledge to heave yourself up further over the railing, too weak to use your arms to lift up your entire body.

Just as you feel your foot catch onto a small step, there’s a flash of light beyond your eyelids, making you snap your eyes open. There, to your right, down on the riverbank; a gaggle of kids messing around with each other, watching the eldest of the group light another firework. There’s a small straight line of light that shoots straight up before a sudden burst of colour explodes in your vision.

Blues, purples, reds and greens flow into a thousand sparks, and you can nearly feel the sound verberate through your chest.

The kids all have large grins spread across their faces, one exclaiming in surprise and pointing out to a bright red firework going off. The smell of gunpowder tingles your nostrils, leftover smoke covering the reflection of the stars in the glimmering water.

Not here.

You take your foot off the ledge, taking a step back, but your hands remain firmly planted on the railing of the bridge. It was so close, yet so far. The cramps seem to pulse in discomfort tenfold this time, making you hunch over yourself until your forehead presses against the cool metal where your hands rest.

When can this all be over?

Clearly, not soon enough. This isn’t the place…

Tomorrow, then.

A sudden and quick tap on your right shoulder makes you turn your head slightly, smooshing your cheek against the railing to see who would be bothering you at this time of night. A man in a black sports jacket and dark grey jeans stands next to you. His buzz-cut is clearly done by himself, some hair sticking out at random angles that he had missed in the mirror when he shaved his hair off. His moustache is recently shaved, but it looks like he’s trying to grow a beard; the hair on his chin is left untouched. His shoes are well-worn – clearly this man does regular exercise, which is probably why he was out at this hour. There’s a serious look in his dark brown eyes as he looks at you.

The man’s lips move, and you suspect that this guy is asking you if you’re alright. You give a weak nod in reply, raising your left hand to your ear and then making an ‘x’ as you bring your right hand up to cross both of them with each other. Hopefully it gets your point across pretty easily without the latter knowing sign language. I can’t hear.

The man nods, taking out his flip phone from his jacket’s pocket, large thumbs moving awkwardly against the small keypad before he turns the screen to you. You squint your eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden harsh light.

- Need food? YES or NO.

Surprised, you nod awkwardly. Is this guy serious ? The man turns the phone back towards himself, typing again.

- U have place to stay? Y / N?

You shake your head this time. No, you ran from the only place that dared to house you, if it could even be called a home . It was the furthest thing from it.

The man closes his flip phone, motioning to you to follow. If you were in any other state of mind, you would maybe think twice instead of blindly following this man, but your hunger and exhaustion take over. The potential idea of having even just a single bite of food and maybe a soft pillow to rest your head on is too promising of an opportunity to pass up. You don't feel any weird aura from the man, either – but maybe that’s just your senses being dulled by everything else going on right now.

…What were you just doing, anyways? Where did you come from again…?

Your movements are sluggish as you take a step towards the man, disregarding your own worried thoughts about forgotten plans from just mere moments ago. Your right knee buckles slightly underneath your weight, but you heed it no mind; not until you take another step and your vision starts to spot at the edges, creating a warped tunnel in front of you. You collapse, feeling yourself fall into a pair of strong arms before everything goes completely black, enveloping you completely and taking your consciousness away with it.

The years pass by in a muddled mess, and now you look at yourself in the mirror. Your hand holds your chin as you stare at the jagged scar that runs from the top of your right eyebrow, along the bridge of your (currently broken) nose, down to your left cheek. Another smaller scar sits right next to the bigger one in your eyebrow, almost looking like a claw mark.

Your eyebrows furrow in distaste at the ugly scars, nose wrinkling before you hiss at the pain that pangs throughout your face. The bandage currently resting along the bridge of it feels like it’s barely doing its job at holding the broken bone in place, and to distract yourself from the persistent ache, you look up into your mismatched eyes. Your right eye is its original colour, but your left eye is a deep, vibrant magenta that you still aren't used to seeing. There’s a distinct lack of light that should normally be reflected in your eyes – instead, they look empty. Worn out. Cold.

Your gaze trails down to your left arm, which is left uncovered by a black sleeveless compression shirt. The curse mark looks back at you, an ugly dark purple with a lighter, thick burgundy outline. It’s in the shape of the tendrils that once crawled along your skin, leaving their permanent mark deep within your bones. It covers nearly your entire forearm, looking like a messed-up tattoo. The pain is constant, only slightly dulled with whatever concoction of medicine Yaga tends to give you. Never in a thousand years did anyone think a spirit could ever experience chronic pain, yet here this one stands, insomnia riddled nights keeping you awake and acutely aware of the never-ending throbbing. The dark bags underneath your eyes speak for themselves.

Your hair hasn’t been cut since Yaga took you in, and you style it the way you usually like it, making sure that there’s enough hair that covers your ears completely.

Besides the curse mark, the purple eye and the broken nose, everything else seems to be in place as it normally should be.

Your knit-picking of yourself gets interrupted by a presence on the other side of the bathroom door. You can tell someone is knocking by the way that the old handle shakes and the door slightly bounces back and forth in its frame.

Sighing through your nose, you open the door to reveal a familiar man. Yaga’s buzzcut is what greets you first as the teacher seems to be looking down, fumbling with something in his hands. Oh, the elastic bandages. Your left hand goes to grab it, distracting Yaga from his awkward struggle and grabbing his attention.

The man seems to be saying something unintelligible as he drops the wraps into your awaiting hands.

“ Here you go, ” Yaga signs to you once he realized that you couldn’t understand him, “ they’re clean bandages. Do you still have the dirty ones in here ?”

You turn to the sink where the discarded bandages lay. There’s dried blood and dirt littered all over the fabric, wordlessly telling Yaga everything he needs to know about what happened. The teacher quietly watches as you unfurl the clean wraps before enveloping your left arm with the bandages, just enough to cover the mark of the curse. One-handed, you struggle with tucking the wrap properly so it doesn’t fall off, so Yaga swats your right hand away to do it himself.

Finally secured properly, you take a step back to create a bit of distance between the two to take another look in the mirror. You nod your head, approving of the placement of the bandage. No sign of the curse mark underneath it.

“ Now that you’re all fixed up, there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Yaga signs to you again. “ Do you mind reading my lips? ”

You shake your head. Thankfully, Yaga’s beard isn’t too obstructive to his lips, so it’s easier to understand him compared to others.

“Thank you for understanding,” he seems a bit sheepish, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “My sign language is still rusty at best, but the classes are paying off. I can understand you better now.”

At this, you give him a grin. “ I really appreciate you taking those classes. Most people wouldn’t bother.” You sign to him, making sure to move your hands more slowly than usual so he can understand.

“Well, we have to communicate somehow, don’t we? And anyways, it’s an important skill to have,” the brunette brings a closed fist to in front of his mouth momentarily, probably to clear his throat, you surmise. “Moving on…”

Yaga leads you to exit the bathroom, walking out into the small dorm that you currently occupy, unbeknownst to the other students living at the school.

You both sit down on your respective mats laid out on the floor, sitting across from each other with a small coffee table in between the two of you. Normally, you would prepare green tea for yourself and him, but it looks like Yaga has something on his mind, so you let him take the lead. He folds his hands together, resting them on the tabletop before he starts speaking.

“I’d like to have you join the Jujutsu society, officially,” he says. “No more hiding. You’d be training with others, and have an official rank.”

You can’t help the way your jaw drops quickly, eyes widening. Immediately, your hands start to move frantically as you lean over the coffee table excitedly.

“ Seriously?! You’re not joking??? I could be out there again? But what about the higher-ups?! You know Gakuganji hates my guts! ”

Yaga lets a small smile grace his usually stoic face at your excitement, though he quickly gets nervous, as the speed at which you sign is not something he’s used to. Who knew someone could ramble so efficiently with sign language? “Hold your horses – first off, he doesn’t hate you, he’s just a traditionalist. A spirit working amongst us, no less a cursed one, is probably the highest form of blasphemy for him. I’m surprised he hasn’t had a heart attack already, truthfully.”

You sit back on your mat, huffing out longingly, lazily tilting your head side to side as you slump over and pout. “ He acts as if I murdered his entire family. ”

Yaga says nothing to that, simply nodding along. “As I said, it’s nothing personal… the higher-ups weren’t happy with my proposal, but I can’t keep you locked in here. You’ve proven yourself time and time again that I can trust you. It’s due time that you discover our world properly.”

You bristle at that, back straightening. Similar words were spoken to you decades ago, hiding a sinister truth behind them. Yaga isn’t her, you remind yourself. Things have changed... though not everything. Funnily enough, your body hasn’t aged a day since your creation – constantly stuck in the body of a young adult. However, the things you have seen and experienced are enough to last for a thousand lifetimes.

“I’ve trained you underneath me for some time now, but you should learn to work in a team,” Yaga continues. “I have very promising students this year, you’ll be a good match for them.”

“ They won’t take kindly to me being a cursed spirit, ” you frown. “ I’m not entirely sure that’s a good idea.”

“We won’t know until we try, will we?” He raises an eyebrow in question, which you return mockingly. “Don’t give me that. You’ve always been an optimist, prove yourself to me.”

You sigh dramatically. “ Lots of pressure you’re putting on me, old man…” You lay your head on the coffee table, eyes still on Yaga’s lips to read them properly.

“Run that by me again?” The teacher asks, and suddenly it feels like a heavy weight has appeared in the room. You immediately sit up straight, eyes growing the size of saucers as you grin nervously.

“ I mean, you look as young as ever!” You shake your hands out in front of yourself defensively, sweating profusely. “ You haven’t aged since I’ve known you!”

“...That’s what I thought.” You breathe out in relief.

“ So when would I be meeting your students? ”

“I was hoping for our first class of the day today. It’d be good to get you involved as soon as possible,” Yaga says.

His timing is reasonable – today is the first day back to school after summer break, so it’d make sense for you to be introduced then, instead of halfway through a random semester. It would feel invasive if he did otherwise. The prospect of being introduced to a class that already knows each other well makes you a bit nervous, but the excitement to meet new people and no longer having to hide your presence overshadows your anxiety.

You take a look at the digital clock on your nightstand, seeing it is approximately twenty minutes before class starts.

“We should get going, then,” Yaga states as he follows your eyes to the time, tapping the table with his pointer finger to get your attention. Your head snaps to the teacher’s fingers, who points behind him to the door of your dorm with his thumb.

You both get up, and you quickly dust off your dark brown cargo pants before you follow behind Yaga, the familiar feeling of the knob locking signaling that you closed up your door properly. You make your way down the hallways of the dormitory, stepping outside to walk along campus towards the school itself.

It’s a beautiful morning; the sun shines brightly, only a few clouds can be seen in the light blue sky. Birds fly back and forth between the trees, and you are sure that they must be chirping (a noise that Yaga had tried - and failed - to explain to you, but at least you know what the word is). The day still holds a bit of the overnight chill, though it’ll soon dissipate into the oppressive heat that summer usually holds as it ends.

You step into the school, and you make your way to Yaga’s classroom, sliding the door open. The wooden desks with white tabletops are holding up stacked chairs, and on Yaga’s desk sits a pencil holder and sharpener with a chunky laptop placed on top of a few stacked papers.

You tap the man’s shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“ I see you went all-out with your decorations, ” you joke.

“Ha ha ,” and you know that’s a sarcastic laugh because Yaga’s eyebrow twitches like it usually does when there’s sarcasm laced in his tone. “There’s only three of them, plus my two first-years. It feels ridiculous to have a classroom of this size for just a few brats. Take a seat, one of them should be here shortly.”

You obediently take a seat at one of the desks in the middle at the very front, plopping yourself in the chair and leaning back to make room to rest your legs on the top of the desk, crossing one over the other. At least in this seat, you’ll be able to read Yaga’s lips with little to no issue.

“ One? ” You sign with a simple motion, raising an eyebrow questionably.

“Yeah, the two others are always late no matter what.” Yaga seems exasperated as he says it, rolling his eyes, followed by his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if a headache is already forming when class hasn’t even started yet. Then, Yaga signs a word that you are incredibly familiar with. “ Morons. ”

That makes you laugh without a sound. “ Are you even allowed to say that about your own students? ”

The teacher nods his head fervently, and it’s enough to tell you all you need to know about the people you’ll be introduced to shortly. Speaking of which, you take a look up at the clock on the wall above the chalkboard. Oh, they should be here right about…

You notice movement in the corner of your eye, and someone takes a step through the doorway and into the classroom.

…Now.

A girl with dark brown hair cut in a bob holds a pack of cigarettes in her hand, doing a poor job of concealing it in front of her teacher. Her bangs are swept to the left, and it looks like the length of it is annoying her, as she blows air to get some loose strands out of her eyes. She dons a long-sleeved shirt in Jujutsu High’s typical dark blue colour with a skirt to match it, black tights underneath and brown sandals on her feet. The features that stand out the most to you is the mole right underneath her right eye, accompanied by the tired look in her chocolate brown eyes.

She fusses with the pack of cigarettes, trying to slip it into a pocket of her skirt, and is discussing something back and forth with Yaga, completely oblivious to the other presence in the room until he jabs a finger in your direction.

“...Oh,” you read on her lips. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

You wave back politely, signing good morning to her with a smile on your face. She tilts her head in question, not understanding the movements you did with your hands.

“ Ohh. ” The girl drags the word out. She brings her right hand up to her forehead, pinching her thumb and forefinger to make something similar to an ‘OK’ sign, hand tilting sideways, then flattens out her hand vertically and brings it down. ‘ I’m sorry’ in sign language. “I don’t know much sign… besides ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’,” she says as she turns to her teacher.

You’re surprised that she knows how to say sorry in sign language in the first place, and it makes your grin stretch even wider. It’s still something.

“They’re very good at reading lips, if it’s any consolation. I’ve been learning for the past few months but I’m still a novice,” Yaga tells the girl before he rummages through a drawer in his desk. He pulls out an empty notebook and then takes one of the pens in his pencil holder, handing it to the girl. “You should introduce yourself.”

You try to take a peek at the notebook, sitting upright as the brunette hunches over, writing away. Finally, she turns the paper to you, letting you read it properly.

- My name is Ieri Shoko, sorry I don’t know or understand JSL.

You stick your left hand out, right one pointing to the pen in her hand. She hands it to you wordlessly, moving to stand over your shoulder and look down as you write away.

- Nice to meet you, Shoko!

You write down your name on the paper to introduce yourself, leaning your head over so she can read it before you continue again.

- It’s okay. I’m fine with reading lips or writing in this notebook. I’m completely deaf and mute, so if it’s not too much trouble, face me when you’re talking or else I won’t understand you. I apologize.

Shoko waves her hand around nonchalantly, as if saying it’s no problem. She grabs the pen from you to write again.

- No need to apologize. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.

You smile at her, and she sends you a lazy one of her own in return, setting the pen down on the desk.

“Where are those two runts?” Yaga looks towards the doorway, waiting for the rest of his students.

“Probably setting the microwave on fire, I think it’s a biweekly ritual of theirs,” Shoko says as she grabs a seat at the desk to your right. “Either that or terrorizing the staff again.”

Yaga mumbles incoherently to himself, rubbing his temples, annoyed. “I swear…”

A movement out of the corner of your eye catches his attention. Shoko is writing something down again, making sure that you can see the notepad.

- What happened to your nose?

You cringe slightly to himself, brows furrowing in annoyance.

- Bad run in with a curse.

“Literally,” Yaga makes sure to mention to her. “They ran into a wall while chasing it down.”

You wave your hands back and forth, as if trying to cut him off while glaring at the man. She doesn’t need to know that! All dignity is thrown out the window when you realize Shoko is chuckling. It’s so over, you slump back into your chair, dramatically sighing.

There’s a thumping that vibrates the floorboards on the other side of the doorway. Multiple, actually. Curious, you look over to your right and through the windows of the classroom, seeing two figures blur as they run down the hallway and rush into Yaga’s room.

Two men stand there, both wiping sweat off of their foreheads as they catch their breath.

The first that catches your eye has black hair tied back into a bun, letting his bangs stay loose on the left side of his face. His eyes are dark brown, and he has black gauges pierced in his ears. He’s tall and slim, but you can tell that his arms are muscled underneath the long-sleeved uniform shirt. He wears extremely baggy pants and dark black sandals.

The other has stunning pure white hair that sticks up at random angles – he obviously doesn’t care too much to brush his hair in the mornings – and he wears a black hoodie with the hood flipped up, covering most of his head. His eyes are an electric blue, almost seemingly glowing. He wears the school’s uniform pants with expensive-looking shoes. He looks a little taller than the other one by a couple of inches, too.

“Sorry we’re late…” The dark-haired one says after catching his breath. The other seems to have his gaze locked onto you, slapping his friend’s arm to grab his attention and pointing to the new addition in the class. Uncomfortable at the intense eye contact, you avert your gaze to his friend’s earrings.

There’s a certain indescribable aura that emanates from the mysterious stranger sitting at the desk, setting off warning bells in both of the boys’ minds. They take a defensive stance, ready to attack at any moment.

“There’s no mistaking that…” The black-haired guy mumbles, fists raised.

“It must be a cursed spirit.” The other one finishes.

Shoko seems surprised, but doesn’t make a move to make any distance between her and you.

“Calm down, you two,” Yaga steps forward slightly. “They’re joining you.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” The white-haired one asks.

“This is your new teammate, or your babysitter, depending on how you look at it, Gojo,” Yaga answers. You presume Gojo is the one with the striking blue eyes.

You quickly grab the notebook in front of you, holding it up so they can read the introduction you wrote to Shoko a minute prior.

The two friends look at each other, apprehensive. Obviously, they aren’t too keen on you being in their proximity, which is exactly what you feared in the first place. You can’t blame them for their initial reaction, though it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Are you being for real?” Gojo asks his teacher. “This thing is joining us?”

“That thing can read your lips. It’s a complicated story,” he says. “It’d take too long to explain. However, I can assure you that they’re perfectly safe. They’re not a curse.”

A pen being thrown in their general direction grabs their attention, the three men’s gazes trailing to you, holding your notebook up again.

- Don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the same room as you.

Yaga signs an apology, but Gojo crosses his arms and frowns at you.

“So what, you’re joining us on missions and training?” He asks.

“That’s the idea,” Yaga says. “So play nice. That goes to you too,” he says your name.

Your point to yourself, pouting. “ Such offensive accusations. I’m an angel. ”

“Huh? What’d they say?” The black-haired one tilts his head in confusion.

“They’re a bit of a trickster as well, been a pain in my ass for the past few years. Not unlike you three…” the teacher pauses for a moment. “ Goddamn , I just realized – introducing you all to each other is probably the worst thing I could’ve done to myself.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, now…” Gojo mumbles before looking dead-ahead at you and addressing you. “Satoru Gojo.”

Despite his attitude, you move your hands together to sign ‘ Nice to meet you. ’ His last name seems familiar, but you can’t quite place why. The lack of recognition in your mismatched eyes must be obvious to the white-haired man, who’s eyebrows raise at the lack of reaction.

“You know, like the Six Eyes? The Gojo Clan ?” He points to himself to drive his point home.

The mention of Six Eyes rings a bell, but for some reason it still doesn’t click. You shake your head, shrugging, then pointing to the dark-haired man standing next to Gojo.

“I’m Suguru Geto,” he introduces himself simply, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. “...You’re completely deaf?”

You nod, quickly writing down in the notebook.

- Can’t hear a single thing.

“Shit, that sucks.” Gojo says.

“Gojo, have some decorum, idiot,” Geto hisses to his friend, slapping the back of his head, though it has zero effect on him.

“My bad,” The white-haired man half-heartedly apologizes. “You’re the one who asked in the first place.”

“Can you take your hood off, Gojo?” Yaga gets the student’s attention.

“But sensei , my head hurts again…” he complains, pulling the hood down even further to cover his eyes completely. “Everything’s so bright today.”

“I’m guessing that’s why you were late. As usual. ”

You tilt your head, taking the pen off of your desk and scribbling down in the notebook again. Shoko leans over to read what you’re writing, and Suguru, noticing her behaviour, does the same.

- Does he have migraines often?

Suguru nods in reply. “Yeah, pretty much every other day.”

You hiss through your teeth, mouthing ‘ ouch’ and doing a thumbs-down, making Shoko chuckle lightly.

“Anyways,” Yaga speaks to the entire group as Gojo sits on top of the desk to the left of you, “I’d like you three to take today easy and get acquainted with them. Since this is your first day back to school, I’d like for you to train for an hour. Following the next few days, we’ll get onto a regular schedule.”

“We don’t need a babysitter, sensei,” Gojo pouts at his teacher. “We’re fine on our own.”

“This isn’t just for you, Gojo. This is also for them,” he looks over at you. “They need to learn how things work around here so they don't get into more trouble.”

“ Ooooh, is someone in cahoots with the higher-ups?” This time, he directs the question to you. You make a so-so motion with your hands, shrugging at the same time.

- Something like that? You write down in the notebook, giving an awkward tight-lipped smile.

“Seems like you might fit in with us, in the end.”

Silence stretches out for a few moments before Yaga breaks it by clapping his hands together once.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to get to your training. After that, do what you want,” he says before he turns to you. “ Notebook O-K?” He signs.

You nod in reply, giving him a thumbs up. With that, the teacher exits the classroom after tucking his laptop and loose papers underneath his arm, waving goodbye to your small group.

A poke to your shoulder takes your focus away from your only friend to these strangers. Shoko gives you a lazy grin, pointing at you, then your notebook and pen.

“So, what’re you good with?” She asks.

- Polearms, or my fists. What do you use?

“Ah, actually, she uses a scalpel. Shoko’s refining her Reverse Cursed Technique,” Gojo butts in.

“I could’ve answered that myself, thank you very much, ” she hisses at him, though seeing the small grin on her face, you can tell that there is no actual bite to her words.

Then, you point to the two men standing to your left, as if to ask what about you two ?

There’s a small pause before Gojo breaks out into a shit-eating grin, and both Geto and Shoko shake their heads exasperatedly.

“ Well , I’m glad you asked,” he says as he lowers the hood of his hoodie, completely uncovering his head as he splays his arms out as if he’s performing in front of a crowd. “See, I’m the strongest . I have both the Limitless and Six Eyes.”

The look on his face is full of pride, a hint of mischief flashing in his blue eyes for the split second that you make eye contact with him. You give him another blank stare like a few minutes before, making the white-haired man clench his jaw and shove his face into his hands, irritated. By the look on Geto and Shoko’s face, he’s complaining about that, as they start laughing.

“See, I already like you. You’re actually funny, unlike these two,” Shoko turns to address them. “You guys might have your panties in a twist, but them and I will be best friends,” she says, drawing a small smiley face and a star next to you and her’s names written in the notebook. “Right?” She asks as she looks at you.

You tilt your head to the side, then smile, nodding along. You point to yourself, then to her before clasping both of your hands together tightly and making a small circling movement with your clasped hands.

“What does that one mean?” She asks goodnaturedly.

- Can we be friends? You jot down on the paper.

The brunette repeats the motion slowly, mumbling the words to herself as if it’ll help her remember more easily. “Like that?”

You nod, the smile never leaving your face at the small interaction.

“Sweet!” She exclaims. “You’ll have to teach me more eventually, it’d be cool to communicate properly with you.”

“ I’d be happy to, ” you nod again before you turn to Geto, pointing at him again.

“Oh, right,” he says, mostly to himself. “I manipulate curses.”

Immediately, your jaw drops before you give the raven-haired man two thumbs up. “ That’s sick!” You sign, impressed, eyebrows raised.

“Oh come on, that’s hardly fair! Barely a blink of an eye to my insane powers, and now they’re shitting bricks over Suguru’s ability! This is crazy glazing,” Gojo whines, draping himself over the top of your desk dramatically.

Geto gives him a full-body laugh. “I guess I’m just cooler than you, Satoru.”

“This hardly feels fair. C’mon, I’m sick of this room. Let’s go to the training grounds!” He thumbs in the door’s direction.

Your group gathers their things before making your way outside, not crossing by a single other staff member or student. You can tell how deadly quiet it is on the campus of the school, even without your hearing – there’s a certain lack of energy. You recall Yaga mentioning that jujutsu sorcerers were far and few between nowadays, which explains the few number of students attending.

Now that you’re all walking next to each other, you notice how much taller the two men are compared to yourself. Shoko’s around the same height as you, but Geto is nearly an entire head taller than you, and Gojo is even taller than Geto. You feel short compared to the two of them, and it annoys you.

The weather is still nice by the time you arrive at the training grounds, however the heat is starting to make itself known, making you cringe. You’ve never been good with the warmth that accompanies summer, usually only having a certain amount of energy before you’re knocked out for the rest of the day. You won’t be impressing any of your new acquaintances (and friend ?) today, that’s for sure… not that you wanted to, in the first place. Better to keep your power under wraps for now, especially with the heatwave. Stick to normal physical attacks instead.

You can feel the dry dirt crunch underneath your beat up black – mostly brown, now – converse shoes. You mentally note to not make the wrong move, or else you’ll roll your ankle on the dirt.

There’s a small shack nearby the training grounds, and Geto opens it to reveal an entire array of weapons. There’s a long wooden polearm hanging on the wall; precisely what you need. You grab it, weighing it in the palm of your hands. It’s much lighter than what you usually use, so you’ll have to adjust a bit to that.

You take a quick glance at Geto, who’s doing stretches on the grassy part of the field, and then your eyes drift to Gojo, who stands there watching his friend, hands in his pockets. Isn’t he at least going to pick up a weapon or something?

The latter must feel your attention focused on him, because his gaze snaps up to meet your own. You nervously divert your eyes, looking down at Gojo’s nose and lips instead in case he begins to talk.

“Something on your mind?” He asks you.

Multiple things, actually… you think to yourself. Setting your wooden polearm on the ground, you grab the notebook and pen you brought with yourself and scribble down a few words before turning it around to face him.

- Aren’t you gonna grab something too?

It seems that there’s always a stupid grin smeared across Gojo’s face that you can never wipe off. This time, instead of a dramatic display, he just crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“You’ll see.”

There’s an undeniable curiosity that itches at the back of your mind, so you decide to put the notebook down and pick the polearm up again, making your way closer to Gojo. You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow with a lighthearted smile playing upon your lips.

Well, what are you waiting for?

The white-haired man immediately pulls his hood down, an aura of confidence surrounding him. There’s not a single twitch of his finger or furrow of his brow that gives a hint to any anxiety – he has complete faith in himself and his abilities. Gojo spreads his arms out like he did earlier, as if to make himself an easier target than he already was.

You aren't stupid; you know that your opponent has something up his sleeve, so you have to be careful with your opening moves. You need Gojo to give away what his techniques are without getting caught in the middle of it. Thankfully, this is just a training exercise, so it’s not serious if you get a scratch or two; Gojo wouldn’t go all out, after all, so you wouldn’t either.

With that reassurance, you make the first move. You take a quick step to the right, so swiftly that the air whips around you, the grass where you once stood ruffling angrily from the sudden movement. Gojo immediately reacts; he tries to put more distance between the two of you, not quite expecting the speed at which his opponent moves, but not entirely surprised either.

Another step forward, and you’re suddenly behind him, raising your staff and bringing it down to whack him with it. However, before your weapon can touch Gojo, it gets caught mid-air by an invisible force. Furrowing your brows, you try to put more force behind the blow, but there’s still some sort of force field surrounding him. There’s no way you can land a single scratch on him with this ability activated.

Suddenly, the polearm splits in half, sending shards of wood everywhere around the two of you. Gojo turns around, about to take his turn to attack, but your reaction time is faster, right foot immediately pressing down on the ground below you, sending you flying backwards to put enough distance between you both and landing on your feet.

Your polearm lays pathetically broken on the ground next to Gojo, who continues to smirk at you, completely relaxed as he tugs his hood over his head again.

Even though you had barely done any physical exertion, you already feel sweat form on your brow. You sit down on the grass, leaning back on your hands, feeling the earth refresh your bare palms for a few seconds.

“ What was that? ” you ask him, hands moving quickly as the curiosity continues to eat away at you.

“That was Infinity,” Gojo says, deciding to sit across from you on the grass. For a split second, you look up, and his eyes look less bright than before; it might have something to do with activating his ability, you think. “It’s a work in progress, but I’m basically untouchable with this.”

Shoko walks up to the pair of you, Geto following close behind with your notebook and pen in hand. Grateful, you sign your thanks to him and take them from him, writing some more.

- That’s impressive!! :D You’ll have to tell me more about your Limitless and Six Eyes, I’m curious to learn more.

“Why, so you can take over and kill us all?” Gojo asks, ignoring the flare of pride in his chest at your interest – he knows he can’t trust you that easily.

You level him with a deadpan stare, raising your eyebrows, completely unimpressed.

- Obviously. While I’m at it, I’ll burn the whole world too.

“ See! ” Gojo hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “I knew Yaga’s must’ve been sun-downing when he introduced us to a freaking cursed spirit to add to our team.”

You make a ‘cuckoo’ sign, rolling your eyes and trying not to take the male’s words to heart. He’s just speaking that way because he doesn’t know the entire story – not that he should, honestly – and has only been taught to exorcise curses.

- Jokes aside, I promise not to lay a finger on a single precious hair of yours. As Yaga said, it’s complicated when it comes to me. I’d appreciate it if you keep an open mind. I’d get killed in a split second by the higher ups if I even thought of that, anyways :/

“Seriously, they haven't done anything to show that they’re aggressive,” Shoko comes to your defense, though you find it hard to read her lips as your eyes unfocus; you can’t help but think that maybe Gojo isn’t completely wrong to have that mindset.

“But what if one day they are? Not that it would be a problem for me to exorcise them, but c’mon now. It’s a threat to have them around.”

“Satoru, I think we can trust sensei with this. If he says that they’re trustworthy, then they probably are. He’s a good judge of character,” Geto says next. He isn’t entirely convinced that you’re harmless, but Gojo is being rather harsh with his words.

He huffs, annoyed that both his friends are on your side. “Don’t come crying to me when they finally snap.”

“ I’m not a curse ,” you sign even though none of them know sign language. “ You wouldn’t be exorcising me. You’d be killing me. ”

Tired from this back and forth, you get up, brushing your pants off and grabbing the notebook, tucking it underneath your arm.

“Wait, where’re you going?” Shoko asks.

You point back to the dormitories, shrugging. There’s no point in you sticking around right now if this is going to be the team’s dynamic.

“Don’t go, Satoru promises to behave himself,” Geto says while pinching Gojo’s ear. “Right, Gojo?”

“Fine, fine! Jeez, I’ll stop.” He shakes himself out of his friend’s grip, soothing his now-swollen ear. “Did you have to yank it that hard, Geto ?”

“Seems to be the only way to get you to behave, so yes.”

Shoko claps her hands, satisfied. “Perfect. Let’s go downtown to grab something to cool off, hm?”

A refreshing drink doesn’t sound like a bad idea, you muse to yourself. After a moment, you nod in agreement, making the brunette smile widely at you.

The subway is packed with people; afternoon rush hour is no joke on these trains. Shoko is uncomfortably pressed up against the windows of the doors, Geto is stuck between two people chatting away on two different business calls, you’re desperately clinging onto the railing attached to the ceiling and trying not to lose your footing as you sway back and forth, squished in between the crowd, fingers brushing against the metal pole as your arms aren’t long enough to reach it properly… and Gojo sits happily in the one free seat that was left in the compartment, sitting right behind you.

He’s looking down at his flip phone, obviously amused at something as his body wracks with laughter. He looks up, feeling a hint of murderous intent in the air, making eye contact with Shoko, who’s current glare held towards him could kill someone. The white-haired man smiles innocently at her, sending a lighthearted wave and mouthing something – Having fun over there?

She flips him off in reply.

Meanwhile, you and Geto share equally uncomfortable glances with each other, neither of you being able to breathe properly in this sea of people. Your view is suddenly obstructed by a tall man with bright orange hair, a large suitcase in his hand. His mouth moves quickly, too quickly for you to read his lips properly. Not only that, but you’re pretty sure that this man isn’t even speaking Japanese.

Oh, a tourist… This isn’t good.

Nervously, trying to keep his legs steady, you lower your hands from the too-tall ceiling railing, your left pointer finger pointing to your ear, then making an ‘X’ with your hands. Can’t hear, you mouth, shaking your head back and forth.

Not understanding, the stranger tilts his head to the side, obviously confused, trying his hand again at communicating with you.

What’s this guy not getting? Damn, Shoko has my notebook in her bag and she’s stuck in the corner across from me…

You repeat the motion but it falls on deaf ears – or eyes, in this case.

The man is starting to get irritated, lips downturned, but then his eyes widen at the same time as you feel a hand on your shoulder, making you jolt. Looking back over your shoulder, you’re surprised to see Gojo standing up, starting to talk to the tourist with an easy smile spread across his face. You’re even more surprised to see that Gojo is speaking an entirely different language, seeing as you can’t understand the way his lips are moving, unable to place a single word compared to what you’re familiar with.

The warmth of Gojo’s hand resting on your bare shoulder makes you uncomfortable, but you can’t exactly shake him off when you’re stuck in between this many people.

Looking back up, the conversation seems to flow easily between the two men, and by the next stop, the stranger steps off the train, lugging his heavy suitcase behind him.

Hesitantly, you turn around to sign a thank you to Gojo, surprised he would’ve gone out of his way to take over the situation when he holds an obvious distaste towards you. The white-haired man waves you off lazily, sitting back down in his seat and flipping his phone open again, completely disregarding you.

A few stops later, and the four of you shove your way through the train to get off. Each of you takes a deep breath of fresh air, relieved to finally get out of that cramped space.

“It smelled musty in there, oh my god,” Shoko complains, taking a quick peek in her tote bag to make sure that everything she brought with her was left untouched. Cigarettes and lighter, check , wallet, check , phone, check, your notebook and pen, check .

“What did that guy want, by the way?” Geto asks Gojo. “He seemed pretty intent on bothering you,” he looks at you as he speaks, “I just couldn’t get through my two entrepreneurs to help out.”

“He wanted to know where the museum was located,” Gojo replies. “I gave him the wrong directions.”

You choke on your spit, quietly snickering to yourself while coughing a bit, signing another thank you.

“It’s not that serious,” Gojo waves you off again before he starts laughing. “Anyways, look at this hilarious picture I got of you trying to struggle to grab the railing!”

The man turns his phone screen to face you, showing off a semi-blurry picture of you, your fingertips brushing against the railing while on your tip-toes, a determined look on your face (that made you look a bit constipated, if you were being honest with yourself).

I’m either going to kill myself, you think to yourself as you glare at Gojo, who continues to cackle, or I’m going to kill him.

“...” Shoko finds it hard to stop the grin from spreading across her face, turning to her friend. “Send me that.”

He sends her a thumbs up, and immediately Shoko hears a ping coming from her phone that sits at the bottom of the totebag.

“You guys are jerks, y’know that?” Geto asks, somehow the voice of reason between the three of them. “C’mon,” he says your name, “let’s ditch these two and go get bubble tea or something.”

You immediately go to walk next to the raven-haired man, sticking your tongue out at Shoko who gives you an offended look. Even though you had only met her this morning, you felt comfortable enough joking around with her. It was a nice change of pace for once, having only known the glares of the higher-ups for the past few years.

Shoko and Gojo immediately catch up to the two of you, your group walking down the bustling streets of Tokyo, the afternoon sun beating down on everyone. The heat is oppressive, and you find yourself thankful there’s only a few more weeks of this kind of weather before it starts to cool off.

You all look at the different shops and restaurants, Shoko focusing on a run-down corner store.

“After we get our drinks, I’m gonna stop here and pick up some more cigarettes,” she tells you. “I’m running low.”

“That’s gonna develop into a problem,” Geto says.

“As if it isn’t already?” Gojo asks rhetorically.

“Don’t blame me, blame the principal for making me do all this shit for my reverse technique.”

You find a nearby boba tea shop that’s relatively empty – most cafes are bustling with students who are in-between classes. It’s a comfortable little shop; there are small plants littering the shelves all around, a few people are already occupying some tables at the back, which leaves the table at the front right next to the window free. Shoko immediately claims it, dumping her bag on one of the two seats closest to the window.

Gojo and Geto are already at the counter, ordering their own drinks, but you hang back awkwardly, looking back and forth between the menu and the brunette next to you.

“What’s up?” She looks over at you, noticing how tense you look.

You point at all the different drink options before shrugging; I have no clue what to pick. Unbeknownst to his group, you’ve never had boba tea before and have absolutely no idea what it tastes like, or what flavour you should be getting.

“Ohhh, I think I get it,” Shoko says, pulling out her wallet from the tote bag. “Want me to order you something?”

You nod in reply, handing her some pocket change to pay for your own drink.

“I gotcha. Stay with our stuff, I’ll go order.”

You sign your thanks, taking the seat across from her so you can people-watch in the meantime. Many businessmen frantically walk by, rushing to get to their next meetings while balancing phones next to their ears, meanwhile a mother gives a piggie-back to her young kid, both smiling and laughing. Couples hold hands, one sharing ice cream between each other and whispering inside jokes in each other’s ears. You picture how their voices must sound – are their tones different when they speak to each other? You can’t picture the specific sounds in your mind, but you imagine that there’s a difference in pitch when someone talks to the people they like, they dislike, their coworkers, customers and more. It makes you long for something you haven't known in centuries. You wonder what your new acquaintances sound like, what you sound like. You’ve forgotten your own voice.

A flick to the forehead brings you out of your reverie. Shoko sits across from you, two drinks in hand that look exactly the same.

“I got you what I usually get, I hope that’s okay,” she tells you, handing you one of the drinks. There are small black blobs at the bottom of the creamy-looking substance. You observe the way Shoko pierces the plastic top of the cup with the thick straw, imitating her, careful not to pierce the cup itself. Immediately, you smell vanilla and coffee with a hint of something else.

Tentatively, you take a sip and the taste of caramel touches the tip of your tongue. It tastes delicious .

Gojo sits next to Shoko, Geto taking the seat next to you. His drink looks more fruity, with swirls of orange with whipped cream on top – he doesn’t have the black boba at the bottom, though. Gojo’s is a light blue, and he seems to have taken extra boba.

Geto taps his pointer finger on the table, grabbing your attention.

“Ever had this before?” He asks. You shake your head, and immediately flinch backwards when Gojo slams his hands down on the table and leans over it, a look of horror on his face.

“Has Yaga been starving you?! He’s been hiding this from you the entire time?? I think this counts as a form of abuse!”

“Oh my god, Satoru, quiet down - there are other people in the shop,” the raven-haired man clenches his jaw, giving a look to his friend across from him.

“But this is tragic!”

You huff, a small smile playing on your lips as you happily take another sip from the drink, your left leg swinging back and forth as you get lost in the taste.

“Do you like it?” Shoko grins at you.

You nod enthusiastically, giving her two thumbs up.

Suddenly, another drink is pushed towards you. It’s Gojo’s blue drink.

“Try mine,” he insists, inching it closer to you.

All three lean on the table, curious as to what you will think of it. You look at them awkwardly, hesitantly grabbing the cup, and take a cautious sip. Your eyebrows immediately shoot up at how sweet it tastes – the coconut slush tastes delicious though, especially the coconut jelly that is mixed in with the drink.

“Sooooo…?” Gojo awaits a reply.

You look over at Shoko’s bag, pointing to it. She catches on quickly, handing you the notebook and pen.

- It’s soo good and rich :D but super sweet

“Yeah, this guy has an addiction,” Geto says, handing you his drink next. “I’m curious as to what you think of mine.”

Gojo grabs his drink again, pouting as he takes a big sip from the straw. “At least they appreciate my taste in drinks, unlike you guys.”

Ignoring his pouting, you take a sip from Geto’s drink, catching yourself before you can hum at the taste. Passionfruit and mango – your favourite – hits your taste buds. You also taste crushed biscuits with the whipped cream. You close your eyes, content.

“I’m guessing that was good,” you read upon Geto’s lips when you open your eyes again.

- I really like mango, so that’s an instant winner.

“HA! Suck it, Satoru,” he mocks his friend, smiling ear from ear.

“When and where?” He instantly says in rebuttal, barely taking an eye off his drink, making you slap a hand over your mouth as you cough over another laugh.

“Not in front of my drink, guys,” Shoko whines as you try to take sips of your drink to cover up your amusement. “Now I definitely need a smoke.”

After finishing your drinks and disposing of them in the trash, you make your way back to the corner store the brunette wanted to stop at earlier.

“You guys can wait out here if you want, I’ll be quick.”

The three of you stand outside, Geto and Gojo talking amongst themselves while you peer into the window of the store. The sunlight shines directly into it, hitting the sunglasses display. Curious, you look more closely, an idea suddenly popping into your head as you notice something.

When Gojo looks back to where you once stood, he notices that you’re missing, instead hearing the sound of the bell of the front door to the store opening, then closing.

You step inside, making your way to the rack of sunglasses, looking at a specific pair of round ones. They look nearly completely blacked out, and just for fun, you try them on – sure enough, you can barely see a thing with these on. Is this even legal? You think to yourself for a moment, but…

It might make for a good peace offering. A helping hand in return for a helping hand, equivalent exchange, isn’t that what they all say?

Looking at the price tag, they’re not necessarily cheap sunglasses, but you can afford it with the money that Yaga has given you as an allowance. You nearly scoff – you , needing an allowance ? How ridiculous is that?

You walk up to the cashier, lost in thought as you pay the worker absentmindedly. Hopefully this will work, or else you’ll look like an idiot.

Not a moment later, you step outside again, a pair of round sunglasses in your left hand, notebook in your right.

“What’s that for?” Gojo approaches you, eyes trained on the object.

You point to him, holding the sunglasses out in the palm of your other hand.

“Uh, okay…?” He feels the need to take the pair from your expecting hand, and decides to put them on. Suddenly, it’s not overwhelmingly bright outside – colours stop melding together in the corner of his eyes to make him dizzy, and he feels the constant headache gnawing at his forehead and the bridge of his nose slowly dissipate, tuning into his Six Eyes to see instead. The overload of information he was so used to is suddenly dulled, and the persistent feeling of overstimulation is gone.

- Sunglasses could help with your migraines. Saw these ones and thought it would be good.

Sure enough, you were right. He lowers his hood, the headache nearly non-existent by this point.

“Whaddya know, it actually worked.” Gojo says as he looks around. He’s able to feel Geto and Shoko’s energies, as well as your rotten cursed aura, and the hundreds of people walking down the streets or driving their cars.

“Good idea,” Geto says your name as he walks up to you both, smiling. “Not sure why resident boy-genius didn’t think of that sooner, honestly.”

Just as Gojo is about to insult him in return, Shoko walks out with a new pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Alright, I’m ready to head back. I need a nap,” she yawns as she speaks… which makes Gojo yawn, then Geto, then in turn, you.

You nod in agreement, feeling your crappy mattress call out to you.

By the time you return, the sun is just starting to set a bit, pinks starting to creep through the blue sky. You all go their separate ways once you return to the dormitories, and you immediately faceplant into your bed, barely making it in time to take off your shoes before you crash.

As you turn your head to look at the calendar right next to your bed, smushing your cheek into your pillow, you think back to the day that you’ve had today. Meeting new people and talking to someone besides Yaga was riveting, even if it didn’t all go according to plan (you frown as you think back to Gojo’s attitude), but you definitely got somewhere. By the end of the hangout at the boba shop, there was a lighter air surrounding the four of you. You feel something burning in your chest, something you think you’ve never felt before.

Maybe…

Maybe things won’t be so bad, in the end.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #jjk x reader #cross posted on ao3

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