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indecisivemuch · 3 months ago

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hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore.

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off.

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own.

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be.

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near.

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him.

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.”

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand.

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words.

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word.

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you.

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters.

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years.

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand.

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention.

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts.

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you.

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you.

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him.

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying.

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to.

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on.

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love,

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do,

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago.

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before.

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility.

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you.

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?”

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew.

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.”

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly.

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner.

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two.

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints.

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that.

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment.

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.”

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

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

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fushiglow · 4 months ago

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Gojo cares a lot, actually

Perspective and empathy in Jujutsu Kaisen

Once again, I see accusations that Gojo only cared about people in relation to their strength. I can't believe that 236 and 261 haven't put this idea to bed already, but let's go over it again for the class. Here are some thoughts on the importance of perspective and empathy in JJK. Spoilers for chapter 266 ahead!

In 236, Gojo tells Geto he loves everyone. This single line, direct from the man's mouth, should be enough. However, moments later, Nanami says, "You never cared about protecting people". So why do some readers only take one of these perspectives at face value?

Perspective matters in JJK. Often, characters and even the narrator state things that are only true from their perspective in a given moment. What you choose to believe says more about you than it does about them — an idea I explored in my analysis of 236.

This is particularly important when it comes to Gojo and Megumi, because the moment they meet is the only (?) scene in the whole of JJK that we get to see from two perspectives.

The second time, the reader understands the emotional weight of it for Gojo — but Megumi doesn't. He's kept in the dark, so of course he thinks about their meeting in different terms.

Once again, whose perspective are we going to take at face value? From Megumi's point of view, he wasn't offered a choice. From Gojo's point of view, he extended to a child the little agency available to him.

Offering a choice is something Gojo does consistently throughout JJK — pick your hell. It's one of the ways he shows care for others that goes unrecognised, so it's ironic that readers and characters alike misinterpret it for a lack of empathy. However, this is no coincidence.

For much of the series, Gege keeps Gojo at a narrative distance from the reader. Most of what we know about Gojo comes from what other characters tell us, and our view of him is therefore coloured by their perspective.

However, while Gojo laments the distance between himself and others, he fails to recognise that he's the one maintaining it — and not because of his strength or his technique. He has admirable goals, but he chooses to work towards them alone.

There are many occasions where characters reach for Gojo, but he refuses to let them past his metaphorical Infinity out of a sense of duty and perhaps misplaced belief that he alone can or should bear this heavy burden.

All of Gojo's actions are about preserving the humanity of others at the expense of his own. That's precisely why he chooses to become the "monster" alone. In this way, Gojo is flawed but he isn't uncaring. Again, it's a matter of perspective.

Gojo sees strength as the solution because it's all he's ever known. However, recognising the strength of others doesn't mean that's all he sees — because Gojo knows that dehumanisation acutely. What's more, 261 also suggests he thinks of "strength" in different terms to others.

When they meet, Gojo tells Megumi not to get left behind. However, he later says he was "left behind" when Geto defected. We know Gojo's physical strength eclipsed Geto's, yet Gojo only refers to himself as "the strongest" alone after Geto dies.

Before that point, there's nothing in the text to suggest that Gojo ever stopped thinking of the pair of them as "the strongest" — as a unit, as a duo. This suggests that strength, for Gojo, is something much more intangible, much more sympathetic, and much more human too.

What do the strongest characters in JJK all have in common? Indomitable will, courage in their convictions, an overwhelming sense of self. Looking at strength through this lens shines a new light on Gojo's goal of raising "strong" allies.

When he forces a third option in Shibuya, Gojo proves that strength doesn't have to come at the expense of compassion. In the later chapters of the Shinjuku Showdown arc, Yuta, Yuji, and the rest of Gojo's allies reinforce that idea ten times over, and I have every belief that Megumi will soon do the same.

To suggest Gojo only saved Megumi for his technique is unfair when he has consistently proven himself committed to protecting the futures of others, even "weak" non-sorcerers who have nothing to offer him. Once again, it's all a matter of perspective.

Gojo's way of caring is still caring, even if it doesn't look familiar to you. His only flaw was closing himself off from others and choosing to care from afar. However, just like Gojo never stopped reaching for Geto after he left, Gojo's allies never stopped reaching for him.

There's a phrase we use to describe looking at things from another perspective: putting yourself in someone else's shoes. I think it's very telling that Gojo's allies have taken that literally — Yuta by stepping into his skin, and Yuji by standing in his place in 266.

TL;DR: Gojo cares a lot, actually. If Gojo talking about his innermost feelings can't make you empathise, and the students he supposedly "doesn't care about" recognising his burdens can't make you empathise?

Well, that says far more about you than it does about him.

Come read my fics about this!

In His Shadow explores the ways Gojo keeps his distance from Megumi, who isn't equipped with the tools he needs to reach him but finds his own ways to show he cares, born from ten years of history together.

Rivers Crossed, Mountains Scaled explores Gojo and Megumi's relationship through the vehicle of SatoSugu — why Gojo took him in, whether Gojo really gave him a choice, how Gojo sees him.

Hope you enjoyed the post! I love you, Gege Akutami ♥️

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk 266 #呪術廻戦 #gojo satoru #fushiguro megumi #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk meta #jjk analysis #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen analysis #glo's writing #glo's analysis #fushiglow

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doctorwhoandfairytaillover · 15 days ago

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Loving Arms (6)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part VI: A Ring of Green

|| Loving Arms Masterlist ||

A/N: I sometimes struggle giving multiple characters dialogue, so I thought why not give each of the kids their own focused chapters or moments. Hope you all enjoy this part and leave a comment! I love to hear from all of you.

"Muña, would this not be easier if we did all of this by dragon instead of horseback?" Aegon whined.

"I will not have you and your siblings become layabout nobles," she replied. "This hunt is meant to put in practice your skills with the bow, equestrianship, and to learn how to skin and prepare the game that you catch. We will not be the kind of people that forget the work that is put into having a meal on our table, is that understood?"

Aegon whined a bit more with a pout.

"I don't understand whines, I need an articulate response."

The boy huffed once more, "Yes, muña. But why is it only the two of us? Why are Aemond and Halaena allowed to wait for us at the camp?"

"They will join us tomorrow but I thought this would give us time on our own to talk about whatever you like, my sweet love."

"Whatever I like? No judgement or scolding?"

"Now I question if I should scold you if that is the response," she laughs.

He frowned, "It's just... I am sure that in your time away from King's Landing that you must have heard a thing or two about all of us and I can not help but imagine of all that you must think of us. Me in particular."

"I will admit, I have heard a thing or two while in Dorne but that does not mean that I have a fully colored image of who you are" she sighed. "And if we are being sincere, I felt many things about all that I heard regarding you."

Aegon looked away in shame, "I see. And what was it exactly?"

"Pity," she shrugged. "A bit of anger, but not at you, anger at your Mother and Grandsire. Mostly I felt that I wanted to protect you but I was uncertain how to go about it. There was some helplessness as well since my husband had fallen ill and could not come to visit sooner."

"Did you not feel shame for having a lily - liver'd and slow nephew? I'm not the Realms Delight or even worthy of being considered heir" he said bluntly.

"Is that truly what you think of yourself?"

"How else am I to think of myself, muña? Mother and Grandsire are always so quick to point out my flaws and my tutors never said it, but I could sense that they thought of me as a hapless fool."

His aunt pulled at the reigns of her horse to slow the beast down to trot alongside Aegon's own horse. "Let me ask you something, and when I ask it, I need you to be completely honest with me."

"What?"

"You said that you aren't the Realm's Delight, who was given this monicker?"

Aegon looked confused, "Rhaenyra? Who else?"

"When was she given this title? And by who?"

The boy thought for a moment, uncertain as he said "My Father? It is something I have always heard said of Rhaenyra. But why is that relevant?"

"Aegon, I need you to listen closely" she said. "She was given this monicker when she was a child of eight years, simply because courtiers thought her to be sweet and beautiful." She pointed at him with a short laugh, "You are a handsome young man, quick - witted when you choose to be, and amongst a variety of courtiers and diplomats. If you gave a smile and a few well placed laughs to certain nobles, it wouldn't be long until the perception of you has changed."

"Do you want me to behave like a clay - brained, sodden - witted fool? A smile and a few laughs aren't enough to change anything" he scowled. "It would be better to run off to Essos and live a life of comfort than have to grovel for even a modicum of respect from the likes of the court vultures."

She clench her jaw in mild frustration, "I am not asking you to do anything that is more than you are capable of Aegon. I am saying that the tides can be changed with a few things, because do you think that Rhaenyra can hold onto her title for much longer?"

"Muña, you are treading a dangerous line."

"If we ever wish to see change in our lives, sweet love, then the line must be trod whenever we see the opportunity given."

The young prince was mildly frustrated and hoped to change the subject entirely, and to his good fortune in the distance Aegon spotted a buck of a substantial size.

"I think we can drop the topic, muña because I intend on catching that buck!" and with a snap of his reigns, Aegon sped forward.

His aunt sighed with a wry smile and chased after the boy and buck, "He can try all he likes but we'll finish this talk whether he likes it or not!"

The aunt and nephew duo had managed to catch up swiftly to the buck, an arrow from Aegon was able to slow it down but it was a swift arrow behind the elbow of the buck's lead leg from (Y/N) that brought the great beast down. She had the young man strap the buck on his own so that they could quickly return to camp and skin it and prepare it for consumption later.

Rather than have Aemond and Halaena take part in the preparation of the meat, their aunt was quick to have them set off with their guards to prepare the fire and find herbs that could be used. Allowing for Aegon and herself to have more time to continue their discussion.

"Have at it" she said handing Aegon her sharpened knife. "Slice along the beasts belly and let us finish our talk."

"What is there -" he struggled to cut through the flesh "To talk about. We said all that need - needed to be said."

She pointed at the spot he finished cutting, "Stick your hands in and pull out the intestines. Aegon, don't make that face."

He scowled in disgust, "I don't want to take out the intestines that is disgusting."

"What's more disgusting is this attitude" she said. "Now take out the intestines before they swell and implode, it would contaminate the rest of the venison. And don't think because we caught this stupid thing, it means I will drop our subject from earlier."

Begrudgingly, he did as he was told and plopped the bloody organs into a bucket beside the table in which they were preparing the meat. She took the dagger from him and carefully began to remove the fur from the meat while rolling it up.

"You think to - " she cut further and handed him back the knife "to little of yourself Aegon. Keep skinning."

Shakily he did so.

"I know that you have heard things and taken them to heart because no one has said this otherwise, but I truly think that you could accomplish great things. If and only if we work together to find the things that you could put your time into, not simply because it is expected of you."

"You will be sorely disappointed muña, because I have had tutors that gave up long ago."

Gently she pushed the boy aside and took another dagger to help him skin faster, "Your previous tutors lacked creativity to trod the line and failed to consider that you learn better with other methods. Not everyone can read a text and execute the knowledge, some of us do better by example and practice." She pointed her blade toward the half finished deer carcass, "Or do you mean to tell me that you knew how to skin this beast until now?"

He flushed in embarrassment, "I suppose I hadn't thought about it. The letters of texts have always jumped and I was always forced to sit for hours until I finished what was given."

"It might surprise you Aegon, but your uncle Gwayne has the same condition" she chuckled. "He was never much for sitting still at a desk and couldn't get through a page without the letters mixing around. Thankfully our Uncle noticed and found other ways that Gwayne excelled, making my brother quite the formidable swordsman and knight."

Aegon chewed at his bottom lip in thought, "Is it possible then? For me to truly be accomplished? Even if it isn't in the areas that my Mother and Grandsire want?"

"It is why I argued with your Father" she said. "I knew that there were expectations but I know that together we can create reasonable goals that can lay the way towards a future you want to reach." Setting aside the blade in her hand, (Y/N) washed her hands free of the blood from skinning the deer and dried them quickly.

"If you really think that I can muña, then I would like to try, please?"

Gently and lovingly she cupped his face in her hands, "All I want is for you to try. Don't give up because others say that you cannot or because they have set the limits for you."

"It's difficult when all your life it feels that everyone is waiting for you to make the next mistake," he teared up and pressed into her embrace. "I already think that about myself every day that I awake."

"Sweet love, can you look at me?"

Nervously his eyes met her own.

Slowly she reached into the pocket of her skirt and procured a ring to show it at his eye level. Its stone was a yellow green peridot, the prongs were a bronze while the rest of the ring was a faded silver.

"I know that perhaps I pushed quite a bit at some of your boundaries today," she began. "But the main reason I had your brother and sister do other things today was because of this." Carefully she took one of his hands and placed the ring onto his palm, "Aegon? Would you be my heir?"

His eyes widened and he looked at her in shock, "You want me to be your heir?"

"In the grand scheme of things, I don't have quite as much to my name but I am asking you, my sweet Aegon if you would be my heir? I am giving you a choice, become the boy that they wish for you to be or the man that I know you can become with the right guidance."

He sniffled softly, "My Father wanted a son but has never wanted me. The realm has their flawless heir and despite all this, somehow you want me? Flaws and all to be your heir?"

"The choice is yours."

With a teary laugh, Aegon put the ring of green onto his pointer finger in admiration. "I hope you know that you are never getting this back, muña."

"And I would never ask, sweet love. It absolutely suits you."

There was no fanfare from trumpets, cheers from adoring peasants or nobles, and certainly no flowers tossed in the air. But in that moment; the muggy tent, sticky entrails, and slightly too big ring were enough for the young prince.

Someone he loved had chosen him.

And for him, that was enough.

#x reader #x reader insert #house of the dragon x reader #x aunt reader #aegon x reader #aemond x reader #platonic #helaena x reader #loving arms series #aegon ii fanfic #halaena fanfic #aemond fanfiction

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sasheemo · 4 days ago

Text

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Sharing dinner with Agatha and Nicholas shouldn't be too hard, right? But Saturday night at Agatha’s has other plans. As the evening unfolds, tensions escalate and desires ignite, promising anything but an ordinary end.

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Chapter 3 is here! Spoiler alert: it’s long. Like, the longest chapter I’ve ever written for any multi-chapter fic, it took a lifetime because I wanted to pack in so much. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about how many times I wrote, re-read, and completely tore it apart because I hated it. It’s been through the wringer, y’all.

Am I 100% happy with it? No. Will I ever be? Also no. But if I keep tweaking it, it’ll never see the light of day, so… here it is, flaws and all!

Let’s just say things are heating up, and this chapter sets the stage for the spicy goodness that’s coming in Chapter 4.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading, enjoy 💜

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

The clock creeps closer to seven as you sit on the floor with Nicholas, your hands idly stacking blocks while your thoughts wander to the kitchen.

Agatha has been in there for a while now, the faint clinking of dishes and the soft rush of running water weaving through the quiet of the house.

At one point, unable to resist, you’d stood and smoothed your sweater nervously before edging toward the kitchen doorway.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” you’d asked, your voice hesitant as you lingered just outside.

She’d glanced over her shoulder, a wisp of hair falling loose from behind her ear. Her lips curved into a faint, almost absentminded smile.

“No need, hon.” she’d said lightly, returning to the cutting board without missing a beat. “After a day like today, this is how I unwind. Just keep Nicholas entertained, and make sure you’ve got an appetite.”

You’d nodded, retreating to the living room with a strange mix of relief and unease, unsure whether to feel dismissed or reassured.

Now, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen doorway again, catching fleeting glimpses of Agatha as she moves gracefully through the space. The subtle flicker of her silhouette, the fluid motion of her hands as she reaches for something on the counter, it’s almost hypnotic.

You find it harder and harder to look away, your eyes drawn back to the doorway every few moments.

Then, the realization that you’re about to sit at the same table as her hits you like a brick wall, and your brain immediately kicks into overdrive. Where will you sit? What will you say? How will you stop yourself from staring at her like some starstruck idiot? The thought alone makes your chest feel tighter, and you let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

Dinner hasn’t even started, and you’re already losing it.

Finally, her voice calls out from the kitchen, announcing that dinner’s ready.

Nicholas springs up instantly, his blocks forgotten as he rushes toward the kitchen. You follow more cautiously, your pulse quickening as you step into the room.

The table is set simply but elegantly, with the kind of care that feels distinctly Agatha. At the center, there’s a steaming dish of herb-roasted chicken rests on a platter, surrounded by golden baby potatoes and vibrant roasted vegetables.

The scent of rosemary, garlic, and lemon fills the air, rich and inviting, but it only makes your stomach flip—not from hunger, but from the realization of where you are and who you’re sharing this moment with.

Agatha stands by the head of the table, placing the final plate in its spot, her expression is calm as she straightens and meets your gaze.

“Sit.” she says lightly, gesturing to the seat across from hers as though this is all perfectly normal.

You glance at Nicholas, who’s already climbing into his chair without hesitation. Taking a steadying breath, you lower yourself into the seat she’s indicated, trying not to think too much about how surreal this feels.

Agatha moves with her usual composure, taking her place at the table. She leans back slightly, one hand curling around the stem of her wineglass, her gaze drifting over the food before landing on you. It lingers just long enough to send a flicker of heat up your spine, your pulse quickening under the weight of her attention.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” she says, her voice warm but commanding, the kind of tone that makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like a quiet decree.

“This is so good, Mom! Did you make the potatoes crispy on purpose?” Nicholas asks with a grin, already halfway through his first bite.

“Of course.” she replies, arching an eyebrow as her lips curve playfully. “Is there any other way to do them?”

Nicholas shakes his head vigorously, his mouth now too full to reply properly. You suppress a laugh and glance at Agatha, who catches your eye with an amused glint in her own.

“And what do you think?” she asks, her gaze settling on you like a spotlight. “Passable for a last-minute effort?”

You blink, caught off guard by her directness.

“It’s delicious.” you say, and you mean it, though the compliment feels inadequate. “I think Nicholas might be right about the potatoes. They’re perfect.”

Agatha tilts her head slightly, as if weighing your response, before giving a soft hum of approval.

“Good.” she says, her voice low and velvety. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

Her eyes lock on yours, a spark of mischief flickering just beneath the surface, as if she’s gauging your reaction, or outright daring you to respond.

Then, as if to twist the knife just a little deeper, she adds a slow, languid wink that sends a sharp jolt straight through you.

You’re left speechless, grasping for a response that never comes. Agatha, of course, doesn’t wait for one.

She shifts her attention back to Nicholas, asking about his latest castle design, her tone light and engaging as though she hasn’t just left you squirming in your seat.

As they talk, you force yourself to focus on their conversation, chiming in occasionally, but your mind keeps wandering. Every so often, your gaze drifts back to her, trying—and failing—to reconcile the poised, commanding Agatha you’ve come to know with the one sitting at this table.

There’s a warmth to her, something relaxed and comfortingly domestic. It’s strange, watching her here, casually slicing into a piece of chicken and humoring Nicholas’ endless stream of questions.

And yet, as foreign as this moment feels, there’s something about it that tugs at you, a quiet sense of belonging you hadn’t anticipated.

As dinner ends, you rise from the table, stacking your empty wineglass atop your plate in an effort to make a smooth exit.

“Thanks again for dinner.” you say, keeping your tone light but sincere. “It was wonderful. I should probably let you two enjoy the rest of your evening—”

“Wait!” Nicholas bursts out, his chair scraping against the floor as he jumps to his feet. “You can’t go! We have to watch a movie!”

You gape at him, eyes wide, like he’s just suggested skydiving without a parachute or eating soup with a fork.

“Uh, a movie?” you repeat, glancing between him and Agatha.

Surely, this is where she steps in to say it’s too late, that it’s time to wind down.

But to your surprise, Agatha simply raises an eyebrow, her expression amused.

“A movie.” she echoes, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“You always say that! Come on, mom. It’s Saturday!” Nicholas complains dramatically, his hands on his hips in a way that’s almost comical.

You open your mouth to help, to offer a dismissal Nicholas might accept—“Maybe next time” or “Your mom probably wants to relax.”—but before you can get a word out, Agatha’s gaze shifts to you.

“You did say your evening was wide open. So, what’s it going to be, hon? Care to join us?” she asks, leaning back slightly in her chair.

Each syllable feels like a finger pressing to the one thought you’re trying desperately to bury: that not only do you have nowhere else to be, but if you’re honest with yourself, there’s nowhere you’d rather be.

Her lips curve into a knowing smile, the kind that suggests she’s already read your mind and is simply waiting for you to catch up.

“I—well, I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude or—”

“Intrude?” she interrupts, her brows lifting in mock surprise. “On my son’s demands and my… oh-so-thrilling evening of cleaning up after dinner?” She leans forward slightly, her smile softening but never losing its edge. “Come now, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you scramble to find the right words, your tongue suddenly feeling two sizes too big.

“I just thought—you know, maybe you’d rather spend the evening relaxing. Just the two of you. I wouldn’t want to… overstay.” you manage, your voice wavering as your face burns hotter by the second.

“I wouldn’t exactly call the cinematic torture Nicky usually puts me through my ideal way to relax. But if you stay, at least I won’t have to endure it alone.” she muses, the words landing with practiced subtlety, as though she’s tossing the suggestion into the air to see how it falls.

It’s not quite an invitation, not explicitly—but the subtle curve of her lips and the way her eyes insist on finding yours tell a different story, one she keeps ambiguous enough to leave you guessing.

If you choose the professional route—thank her again, grab your things, and leave—would you ever forgive yourself? Could you really walk away now, knowing you’d just turned down the chance to sit in her orbit a little longer?

But staying… staying feels like opening a whole other door. The kind of door that leads to a night even more absurd than this one already feels, where the lines between reality and your own impossible daydreams blur so completely, you’re not sure you’d know the difference.

You’re stuck in the tension of that choice, the possibilities pressing down on you, when Nicholas’ voice explodes through the moment, shattering it entirely.

“I’ll go pick a movie!” he announces, his excitement bubbling over as he bolts toward the living room, a blur of motion and enthusiasm. The spell is broken, and you exhale, blinking as reality floods back in.

You glance back at Agatha, half-expecting her to change her mind now that he’s out of earshot. Instead, she leans back in her chair again, her eyes glinting with that usual quiet amusement.

“There you have it.” she quips lightly, gesturing toward the living room. “Looks like the decision’s been made for you.”

Her words land with a calm finality, and for a moment, you simply stand there, unsure of what to do next. Before your nerves can get the better of you, you decide to grasp at the first thing that feels remotely purposeful.

“I’ll help clear the table.” you offer, your voice quick, almost rushed. “It’s the least I can do.”

You reach for a plate before the words have fully left your mouth, but as you stack the dishes and carry them to the sink, you can feel her gaze trailing you, quiet and intent.

You roll up your sleeves, the simple motion grounding you as you turn on the faucet. The water’s warmth seeps into your skin, and the rhythmic clatter of dishes offers a fragile sort of focus.

For a moment, you dare to think you’ve managed to steady yourself.

But then, the scrape of her chair against the floor echoes through the room.

The steady rhythm you thought you’d found falters as you hear her footsteps closing the distance between you. She moves into the space beside you, her presence altering the air itself.

The faint clink of glasses being placed on the counter pulls your focus for a second, but it’s the feeling of her hand brushing against your waist that makes your body freeze.

With the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweater, the plate in your hands slips through your grip. You fumble, the sharp sound of porcelain against the sink cutting through the quiet as you catch it just in time.

“Careful, hon.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly close, rich with that maddening calm. But there’s no hint of apology, just the smug confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

All of a sudden, the water streaming over your hands feels unbearably loud, each droplet amplified against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the roaring in your ears.

Each of your senses narrows, zeroing in on the spot where her hand rests against you. Her touch isn’t pressing, nor forceful, it’s just there, as if she’s delicately testing the boundaries of the moment.

Your cheeks burn, and you’re sure she can see it, but you can’t bring yourself to look at her, not when every nerve in your body feels like it’s caught fire.

Before the moment stretches into something unbearable, Nicholas’ voice cuts through the stillness.

“I found the movie!” he calls from the living room, his excitement palpable. “Come on, it’s starting!”

Agatha straightens, her hand leaving your waist, and the absence feels almost as intense as the touch itself.

“Duty calls.” she says smoothly, her composure unshaken as she heads toward the living room without looking back.

You exhale shakily, gripping the edge of the sink for balance as you force yourself to calm down. With one last glance at the water, you shut it off and follow her, stubbornly pushing aside the ghost of her touch that refuses to fade from your body.

When you step into the living room, Nicholas is already curled up in one corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket with the remote clutched triumphantly in his hands. His grin is so wide it’s almost glowing, radiating the pure victory of having secured his movie of choice.

It’s a scene of pure innocence, simple and easy, but your focus falters when your gaze shifts to Agatha.

She pauses at the edge of the couch, leaning down to unfasten her heels with graceful precision. The soft thud as they hit the rug feels somehow amplified in the quiet of the room. A low, contented sigh escapes her lips as she straightens, the sound carrying the unmistakable weight of a long day finally set aside.

Then, she sinks onto the central cushion of the couch, elegantly tucking one leg beneath her, folding into the space with casual confidence. One arm lifts to drape over the backrest, her fingers splayed idly.

You hesitate, your heart stuttering as the realization hits.

You weren’t prepared for this. You’d assumed Nicholas would sit between you, a natural, innocent buffer that would keep you at a safe, comfortable distance. But now, the couch looks impossibly small.

Panic rises even more when you realize you’ve been standing halfway between the kitchen and the couch for far too long, awkwardly frozen in place like prey caught in a snare.

For a fleeting moment, you genuinely consider sitting on the floor. But, as always, Agatha’s timing is impeccable.

Her voice cuts through your inner turmoil like silk, laced with that signature teasing amusement that makes you want to both melt and scream.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” she asks as her eyes lock onto yours. She tilts her head slightly, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

Forcing your legs to cooperate, you move toward the couch, every step slower than the last. By the time you lower yourself onto the cushion, your body feels coiled, as if every muscle is bracing for impact.

You try to sit casually, like you’re perfectly at ease, teetering on the very edge of the cushion as if that extra inch might save you.

But the effort is useless. The space between you is practically nonexistent, laughably small, and you’re acutely aware of every inch separating you.

She makes no effort to adjust her position or move her arm, leaving it draped lazily across the backrest, her fingers resting just shy of your shoulder.

You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, fixing your gaze on the screen with a determination that borders on desperation.

Nicholas, oblivious as ever, starts the movie. The opening scene bursts to life on the screen, colorful and loud, his excitement spilling over as he narrates every detail.

You nod along absently, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. But the truth is, you couldn’t explain a single thing happening in the movie if your life depended on it.

All of your attention is wrapped around Agatha, around her presence and the quiet weight of it. It’s nothing short of consuming, and every movement she makes feels seismic: the subtle shift of her posture, the barely audible rustle of her clothes as she settles deeper into the cushions, the gradual ease of her shoulders as though she’s letting the weight of the day melt away.

You feel like you’re about to lose your mind trying to understand how she can appear so perfectly composed while you sit there, silently coming apart at the seams.

And then, without warning, her knee brushes against yours.

Instinctively, you shift slightly to the side, leaning further into the backrest, but the movement only makes things worse.

The arm that had been resting lazily behind you is now definitely touching your shoulder.

Your breath catches, your body locking up before you can stop it, every nerve screaming at the contact.

Surely, she’ll move away. She has to.

But she doesn’t.

Neither her leg nor her arm budges, as if the contact is completely natural, as if she didn’t even notice. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re drowning in the sensation.

Her proximity completely floods your senses. It feels as if the world has shrunk to the points were your bodies are touching, the faint pressure on your leg and shoulder anchoring you to the spot.

And then, as if to seal your fate, you feel her gaze on you.

You don’t dare look at her, but from the corner of your eye you can see her head turned toward you. Her eyes are fixed on your face, and they might as well be burning holes through your head for how intensely she’s staring.

Everything begins to blur, the room fading as your thoughts swallow you whole. Once again, you find yourself grasp at rationality, trying to explain away her behavior and your own feelings, convincing yourself it’s all in your head.

But the longer you sit there, the harder it is to believe that.

It’s been four months since you started working for her, four months of walking into this house, telling yourself you were foolish for even entertaining the thought that someone like Agatha Harkness could ever see you that way, as anything more than Nicky’s babysitter.

During all this time, you’ve dismissed every fleeting glance, every teasing word, every ambiguous gesture, chalking it all up to her natural charm. You convinced yourself you were imagining things, creating meaning where there was none, deluding yourself into believing you could ever hold her attention.

But tonight? Tonight feels undeniably different. Especially after what she said last night.

The tension has been simmering beneath the surface for this whole time, each moment building on the last, and now there’s no mistaking it: Agatha’s behavior is intentional, deliberate in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

These aren’t the actions of someone indulging in a meaningless game. Sure, Agatha has a very teasing nature, you know that. But she isn’t careless, she doesn’t do unprofessionalism. She wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable—or worse, crossing a line—without a reason, especially when it involves someone so closely tied to Nicholas.

You wonder if you’ve been blind to something that’s been there all along, oblivious to what’s been right in front of you—if you’ve had an actual chance all this time and simply refused to see it.

Because at this point, no other explanation fits.

Your heart races, the possibility exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, a mix of longing and fear swelling in your chest.

When the credits finally roll, Nicholas lets out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before slumping back into the couch. His eyelids droop heavily, but there’s a satisfied smile on his face.

“That was the best movie night ever!” he declares with a sleepy grin, his voice softening as exhaustion starts to win.

He turns toward you, pushes off the blanket and practically climbs over Agatha to crawl over and wrap his arms around your shoulders in a hug that’s warm and unexpected.

“Thanks for staying.” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your sweater. “It was really fun doing this with you and Mom.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink rapidly, taken aback by the tenderness of it all.

Words fail you, any attempt at a response dissolving into nothing as an involuntary smile tugs at your lips. You feel yourself melt into the embrace, your hands settling lightly against his back as you return the hug gently.

Nicholas pulls back, his grin bright despite his sleepy eyes, and he turns toward Agatha, who’s already rising from the couch.

“Mom, can we do this again soon?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet.

“We’ll see.” Agatha replies smoothly, resting a hand on his back to steady him. “Now come on. Bedtime.”

Just before they step out of the living room to head upstairs, Agatha glances back over her shoulder. Her head tilts ever so slightly, the soft glow of the room catching the sharps curves of her profile. Her eyes find yours, holding them with an intensity that feels almost disarming, and for a moment, it feels like the air stills around her.

“Wait here, won’t you?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper laced with quiet insistence “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You don’t even think, your head nods instinctively, a reflex before your mind can catch up.

As she turns away, you catch a faint glint in her eyes, something unreadable that looks almost like… anticipation?

The quiet sound of their footsteps fades into the background, leaving the room steeped in silence. It’s just you now, alone in the living room, with nothing but the weight of her words and the echo of your own thoughts.

The thing is, the babysitter would have left already.

You’d planned to leave the moment she was done working, when Nicholas no longer needed you and when Agatha was free to reclaim her evening.

But then came dinner, a polite invitation you couldn’t bring yourself to decline. And later, when the plates were cleared and you’d readied yourself to go, the movie became yet another reason to stay.

But now it’s late. Nicholas is heading to bed. There’s no reason for you to be here. And yet… she wants you to. For the third time tonight, you’re faced with a choice, though deep down, you know the decision has already been made.

You’ll wait. Because she asked you to. Because it’s her.

You lean back against the couch, exhaling shakily. Your mind spins, grasping at the threads of the evening, trying to weave them into something coherent.

Agatha descends the stairs a few minutes later, the faint sound of her steps barely registering over the buzz of your thoughts. She doesn’t spare you a glance, doesn’t say a word, moving with singular purpose as she crosses the living room and disappears into the kitchen.

The faint clink of glass and the soft pop of a cork being pulled echo faintly, carrying with them a sense of inevitability that sets your heart racing.

Moments later, she reemerges with the bottle of wine from dinner in one hand and two glasses in the other. Her movements are smooth, practiced, as if this is all part of some unspoken ritual.

She sets the glasses on the coffee table and pours the wine with precision before handing you one and taking the other for herself.

Then, despite the now ample space on the couch, she chooses the same spot as before, her knee brushing against yours once again when she crosses her legs.

“Cheers.” she says lightly, raising her glass in your direction.

“Cheers.” you reply, the word coming out softer than you intended as you lift your glass.

The first sip settles warmly in your chest, cutting through some of the tension of the evening.

For a while, the two of you talk easily. She asks about Nicholas and your morning job, and you gladly share little stories about his antics and your shifts at the café.

Agatha listens intently, her occasional hums and soft chuckles weaving seamlessly into the conversation.

You ask her about her work, though she keeps her answers vague, offering only the occasional quip about paperwork, tedious calls and demanding clients. It’s clear she’s deflecting, but her tone is so effortlessly charming that you don’t press further.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the exchange, the wine loosening the edges of your nerves.

By the time the third glass is poured, the atmosphere feels incredibly comfortable, like the two of you have settled into a pocket of time removed from the rest of the world.

You’re leaning back against the couch now, your own legs crossed on the cushion, and the soft hum of casual conversation filling the space between you.

But then, completely out of nowhere, the words spill out of your mouth with an abruptness that shifts the air immediately.

“Do you always drink this much with your babysitters?” you ask, your tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an edge of nervousness beneath it.

Agatha’s response comes slower than expected, but when it does, it lands like a deliberate blow.

“Only the ones worth breaking the rules for.” her voice is low, sultry, and laced with an edge of amusement that makes the room feel impossibly smaller.

Your throat goes completely dry on the spot, and you try to will your brain to keep up, to find something clever to say. A snarky remark, a witty comeback, an equally teasing reply, anything.

You fumble with your glass, taking a sip longer than necessary, the wine coursing through you like liquid fire. Each drop seems to stoke the embers in your chest, unfurling in waves, merging with the simmering frustration that has been tightening its grip on you all night.

Boldness—fueled by the wine, the smoldering tension, and the enigma that is Agatha—surges to the surface. Before you can think, the words slip out.

“Why do you do this?” your voice is sharper than you intended, and it cuts through the air between you like a knife.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening as she leans back against the couch.

“Do what, exactly?” she asks, feigning innocence, though the glint in her eyes betrays her.

“This.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration bleeding into your tone. “The teasing, the looks, the… the way you—” you break off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like you enjoy watching me lose my mind.”

She chuckles darkly, the sound almost dangerous, and it sends a shiver down your spine. She sets her glass on the coffee table, her movements unhurried, calculated.

“Maybe I do.” she murmurs, her tone dropping into something quieter, more intimate. Her gaze locks onto yours, and she leans forward slightly, slowly closing the distance between you inch by inch.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body on high alert. She’s close enough now that you can feel the faint warmth of her body.

But she doesn’t stop. She leans in further, her face now just a breath away from yours. Her eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment, and your breath catches.

“You’re not the only one losing their mind tonight, you know.” her voice drops to a whisper, low and raw, and you’re pretty sure your pulse flatlines.

The world around you fades, the only thing grounding you is the way her icy gaze holds you captive. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you think this is it—this is where the line between you finally blurs.

But then your eyes flicker down, catching sight of the glass still clutched in your hand, and reality slams into you like a freight train.

The wine—it’s been warming you, emboldening you, loosening you. And now, with her so close, you can’t shake the fear that it’s not just you under its influence. What if this moment isn’t real? What if it’s the wine, not her, driving the spark in her eyes, the closeness of her breath? The thought twists in your chest, sharp and painful. You don’t want this, her, to be something fleeting, something hazy and tainted by doubt.

You pull back, the movement abrupt and jarring, completely annihilating the moment.

Agatha freezes, her body leaning back instinctively, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“I can’t.” you say quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “Not like this.”

Her brow furrows, and she tilts her head.

“Not like what?” she asks, her tone still smooth but tinged with curiosity, fascination even.

“With… with the wine.” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t want to— I mean, I don’t know if—” You let out a shaky exhale, setting your glass down beside hers. “I just… I can’t.”

You rise to your feet, your movements hurried and almost clumsy as you try to put some distance between the two of you.

Agatha doesn’t stop you, but her gaze follows your every move, unreadable and heavy.

“I should go.” you mumble, your frustration bubbling to the surface. Even though you’re not sure if it’s directed at her, at yourself, or at the entire night.

You barely take a couple of steps toward the door when Agatha’s voice calls after you, firm and unyielding.

“You shouldn’t leave.”

Her voice echoes through the room, and even though her words aren’t a real command, they sure feel like one.

You halt mid-step and slowly turn to face her, your chest tightening at the sight. She’s still seated on the couch, her posture casual but her gaze piercing, pinning you in place.

“It’s late.” she says, her tone measured, as if explaining something obvious. “You’ve had wine. The roads are dark. I’d rather not spend the rest of the night worrying about whether or not you made it home safely.”

Her words are practical, almost dismissive, as though the charged moment between you never happened. But there’s something beneath the surface—a subtle current in her voice that makes it impossible to tell if she’s truly unaffected or simply hiding it well.

“I’m fine.” your reply is automatic, defensive. But even as you say it, the shakiness in your voice betrays you.

“You don’t look fine, hon. You look like someone about to storm out into the night just to prove a point. Agatha says, her tone steady, though her expression softens just slightly.

There’s still an edge of steel in her eyes, a quiet challenge buried beneath her words.

“I can handle myself.” you bite out, though the words sound hollow, even to you.

She exhales softly, the faintest flicker of something—annoyance? amusement?—crossing her features.

Then, with a surprising grace for someone that just had three glasses of wine, she rises from the couch and closes the distance between you.

“I don’t doubt that. But tell me this: what exactly are you proving by leaving right now? And to whom?”

Her words hit their mark, and you feel the fight drain out of you. Because she’s right, you’re not leaving because it’s practical. You’re leaving because you’re overwhelmed, unsure, afraid of what staying might mean or lead to.

Agatha’s eyes stay locked on yours as she continues, her voice taking on a tone that’s almost… tender.

“Stay.” she says simply, the single word carrying so much weight it feels like it might crush you. “It’s late. There’s no reason for you to go rushing out into the night when you don’t have to.”

You glance toward the door, then back at her, weighing your options.

The truth is, you are tired—tired of the emotions, of the push and pull of the evening that’s left you feeling completely unraveled. The idea of staying, of letting the night end on a quieter note, is far too tempting to resist.

“Fine.” you finally answer, your own tone colder than you expected.

“Good.” she says, stepping back to give you space. “The guest room is ready. It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight.”

She turns and starts toward the stairs. You hesitate for a moment, your mind still spinning with the events of the past hours, before following her.

You sigh, exhaustion settling into your bones as you reach the top of the stairs. Right now, none of it matters—not the tension, not the confusion, not the endless spiraling questions that have chased you all night. All you want is to sleep, to let the haze of the wine fade away in the quiet refuge of a bed. Whether it’s your own or the one in Agatha’s guest room, it doesn’t seem to make a difference anymore.

You barely notice as Agatha pauses by a linen closet, pulling out a neatly folded towel and an oversized t-shirt.

“This should do.” she states, handing them to you.

Her tone is neutral, almost too casual, as if nothing about the evening had been remotely unusual. Her gaze doesn’t linger as long as usual though, she doesn’t meet your eyes for more than a second before nodding toward the guest room door.

“That’s yours for the night.” she gestures briefly, indicating the room between the bathroom and Nicholas’ door at the far end of the hall. “Bathroom’s just here.” she continues, pointing to the door next to hers on the opposite end.

“Thanks.” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you grip the towel and shirt tightly.

Agatha hums faintly, stepping back toward her room. For a second, you think she might say more, but instead, she simply glances over her shoulder.

“Goodnight.”, her tone is warm, yet the word feels strangely clipped.

Before you can respond, she slips into her room and disappears in the ensuite bathroom.

You stand there for a few seconds, awkwardly rooted in place. Your own “Goodnight” comes out almost as an afterthought, mumbled into the silence as you step into the guest room and close the door behind you.

The room is elegant and cozy, a neatly made bed dominating the space and a single lamp casting a warm glow over the soft cream walls.

You drop the towel onto the edge of the bed and hold up the shirt, its fabric soft and worn in a way that feels oddly intimate.

You undress and slip it over your head, only to be immediately engulfed by Agatha’s perfume. It clings to the fabric, potent and intoxicating, and for a moment, you allow the scent to wash over you and flood your senses.

Heat coils low in your stomach, and you shake your head quickly, brushing off whatever effect wearing something of hers seems to be having on you.

With a steadying breath, you fold the towel over your arm and step back out into the hall, heading towards the bathroom.

The splash of cold water against your face is grounding, but even as you dry off and prepare to head back to your room, you can’t shake the way her scent fills you nostrils with every minuscule movement.

Stepping into the hallway, you’re greeted by darkness, broken only by a faint sliver of light seeping from beneath your door.

You take a step toward the guest room, but a faint sound slices through the stillness.

It’s almost imperceptible, a noise so soft and muffled that, for a second, you wonder if you imagined it.

You hold your breath as your eyes flick toward the ajar door of Agatha’s room. You think about just brushing it off, receding to the relative safety of the guest room and pretending you heard nothing.

But then you hear it again.

Your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you a step closer, as quietly as possible on the wooden floorboards.

And the closer you get, the clearer the sound becomes.

Another low, broken noise escapes, this time accompanied by a faint rustle of fabric.

The realization dawns slowly, burning through you like wildfire. Your stomach twists, heat pooling low in your abdomen as the truth of what you’re hearing sinks in.

You consider retreating. You do. But your legs refuse to move.

Something keeps you rooted in place, drawn forward as though compelled by a force beyond your control.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the cool wood floor as you edge closer to Agatha’s door, muffled moans growing more vivid with every inch of space you gain. You can hear her breathing now, shallow and uneven, each exhale laced with pleasure that seems to echo in your own chest.

Your knees weaken as you reach the doorframe. And then you hear it.

“Yes… oh fuck, yes.”

Her rough voice rips through you like a physical force. The raw intimacy of it, the unguarded need, sends a sharp jolt straight down your spine. Your lips part on a shaky breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively against the unbearable ache building between them.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, wetness pools between your legs, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck, your skin hypersensitive to even the faintest brush of air.

Another broken moan follows, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to make a sound in return.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to will yourself back to reality, to sanity. But all you can picture is her—Agatha, in the darkness of her room, her head tilted back, her lips parted as she whispers filthy, desperate things into the still air.

You can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be the reason for those sounds.

The thought is intoxicating, dangerous, and far too tempting.

But you know you can’t let your mind go there. You know this is the moment to turn around, to leave, to escape before you lose yourself completely.

Pressing your back against the wall beside the doorframe, you focus on steadying your breath, though every nerve in your body feels alive, thrumming with a tension that leaves you trembling. Each sound she makes only tightens the coil in your stomach, the ache quickly approaching unbearable levels.

You take one last, shaky breath as she whispers another low curse that shoots straight through your core. Then, with every ounce of willpower you can muster, you step back, your movements shaky and reluctant.

Each step toward the guest room feels like a battle, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn back.

You step into the guest room and close the door behind you, leaning against it trying to steady yourself. Your heart still pounds, each beat reverberating through your chest, your entire body tingling in the wake of what you just experienced.

The room feels quiet, mercifully so, the sounds that had haunted you moments ago are now gone, silenced by the thick walls of Agatha’s home. You take a moment to reassure yourself—there’s no way Nicholas could hear anything, not from his room at the other end of the hallway. Agatha knows her house, knows its secrets. Of course, she’d be careful.

With that thought, you push yourself off the door and move toward the bed. You slip under the covers and reach for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it off.

Darkness envelopes you, but it does nothing to quiet the sensations coursing through your body. The ache low in your stomach has only intensified since you left her door.

Your fingers tighten on the edge of the blanket, your breathing uneven as you squeeze your thighs together, desperate for even the smallest bit of relief.

But it’s no use. The ache is too insistent, too consuming. The memory of her moans, her breathy curses, fills your mind. You can still hear them, low and filthy, the rawness of her need reverberating throughout your whole body.

Your hand moves on its own, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt. Your fingers trail over your stomach, climbing higher until they reach your breast. The moment your palm cups the soft flesh, a sharp jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

You suck in a breath, biting down hard on your lip to muffle the quiet whimper that escapes your throat.

Your thumb brushes over your nipple, circling it slowly until it hardens beneath your touch. The sensation sends a wave of heat straight to your core, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the covers.

Your other hand moves lower, brushing over the waistband of your panties. There’s a moment of hesitation, but it’s brief. The heat pooling between your thighs is unbearable now, and you can’t deny yourself any longer.

Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, sliding over the wetness that greets you. You gasp quietly, the slick evidence of your arousal coating your fingertips.

“Fuck…” you whisper, the word slipping out unbidden, the sound barely audible but laced with desperation.

Your fingers glide over your clit, the swollen bundle of nerves already sensitive, and you bite back another moan. You begin to circle it slowly, the pressure just enough to stoke the fire burning in your stomach.

But you need more. You press your fingers lower, sliding one inside yourself, then another. The stretch is delicious, the rhythm instinctive as your hips buck against your hand.

You curl your fingers, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure that ripples through you makes your toes curl.

Your hand moves faster now, your palm grinding against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. The wet sounds of your movements would be obscene if they weren’t muffled by the covers, but instead of embarrassment, it only fuels your arousal.

And then, Agatha seizes complete control of your mind. You imagine her fingers instead of yours, the way they’d explore you, claim you. You picture her leaning over you, her voice condescending and commanding as she tells you how good you feel, how she can’t get enough of you.

Your back arches off the bed as your hand moves to your other breast, kneading it roughly. Your nipples are so sensitive now that each pinch, each roll between your fingers, leaves you wetter, the slickness between your thighs growing with each needy, breathless motion, soaking your fingers as you lose yourself completely to the sensation.

You imagine her lips replacing your hand, her tongue flicking over the hardened peak before she bites down, just enough to make you gasp. Your hips jerk involuntarily, the image too vivid, too real.

Her voice fills your mind, rough and low, the way she cursed earlier. But this time, it’s for you.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Let go for me.”

You can almost feel her breath against your skin, her weight pressing you into the mattress, her fingers fucking you with a precision that leaves you shaking.

Your fingers thrust deeper, harder, curling just right as your thumb flicks over your clit. The tension in your stomach coils tighter, impossibly tight, until you’re teetering on the edge.

“Agatha…” you whisper, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

The sound of it, the feel of it on your tongue, pushes you over the edge.

The tension snaps, pleasure exploding through you wave after wave, so intense it leaves you trembling.

Your thighs clamp around your hand, your hips grinding against your fingers as the aftershocks ripple through you. Your other hand grips the sheets tightly, your knuckles white as you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.

For a long moment, you lie there, your chest heaving, your body a trembling, oversensitive mess. Slowly, your hand slips away, the wetness on your fingers a reminder of just how badly you want her.

You don’t bother cleaning up, your limbs too heavy to move. Sleep tugs at you, irresistible in the aftermath of your release.

As your eyes drift shut, her name rests on the edges of your consciousness, a soft echo you can’t help but chase.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha x y/n #aaa fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha harkness fanfic

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ghelgheli · 8 months ago

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hey you might've been asked this before sorry if so, but have you read or do you have any thoughts on A short history of Trans Misogyny?

I have read it! I have a few thoughts.

I think it's a strong and important work that compiles historical archives into sharp analyses of how "trans misogyny" (using Jules Gill-Peterson's spacing) is not a recent phenomenon but a globalized structure with centuries of history. I also think it's flawed, for reasons I'll get into after a quick summary for those who haven't had the chance to read it yet.

JGP divides the book into three main chapters, the first on the notion of "trans panic". There, she traces how variants of this anxiety with the trans-feminized subject have presented—to deadly effect, for the subject—in such different settings as early colonial India, the colonization of the Americas, the racialized interactions between US soldiers stationed in the Philippines and the local trans women living there, and of course the contemporary United States itself. In every case she analyzes this "panic" as the reaction of the capitalist colonial enterprise to the conceptual threat that the trans-feminized subject poses; we are a destabilizing entity, a gender glitch that undermines the rigid guarantees of the patriarchal order maintaining capitalism. Punishment follows.

The second chapter is my favourite, and considers the relationship between transfeminine life and sex work. I posted a concluding excerpt but the thrust of the chapter is this: that the relegation of so many trans women and trans-feminized people to sex work, while accompanied by the derogation and degradation that is associated with sex work, is not itself the mere result of that degradation inflicted upon the subject. In other words, it is not out of pure helplessness and abjection that so many trans-feminized people are involved in sex work. Rather, sex work is a deliberate and calculated choice made by many trans-feminized people in increasingly service-based economies that present limited, often peripheralized, feminized, and/or reproductive, options for paid labour. Paired with a pretty bit of critical confabulation about the histories of Black trans-feminized people travelling the US in the 19th century, I think this made for great reading.

In her third chapter, JGP narrativizes the 20th century relationship between the "gay" and "trans" movements in north america—scare quoted precisely because the two went hand-in-hand for much of their history. She emphasizes this connection, not merely an embedding of one community within another but the tangled mutualism of experiences and subjectivities that co-constituted one another, though not without tension. Then came the liberal capture of the gay rights movement around the 70s, which brought about the famous clashes between the radicalisms of Silvia Rivera and Marsha P Johnson (neither of whom, JGP notes, ever described themselves as trans women) and the institutions of gay liberalism that desired subsumption into the folds of capital. This is a "remember your history" type of chapter, and well-put.

I think JGP is correct to insist, in her introduction, on the globalizing-in-a-destructive-sense effects of the colonial export of trans womanhood. It is, after all, an identity conceived only mid-century to make sense of the medicalized trans subject; and "gender identity" itself (as JGP describes in Histories of the Transgender Child) is a psychomedical concept conceived to rein in the epistemic instability of trans existence. This is critical to keep in mind! But I also think JGP makes a few mistakes, and one of them has to do with this point.

In her first chapter, under the discussion of trans misogyny in colonial India, JGP of course uses the example of the hijra. Unfortunately, she commits two fundamental errors in her use: she mythologizes, however ambiguously, the "ascetic" lives of hijra prior to the arrival of British colonialism; and she says "it's important to say that hijras were not then—and are not today—transgender". In the first place, the reference to the "ascetism" of hijra life prior to the violence of colonialism is evocative of "third-gender" idealizations of primeval gender subjectivities. To put the problem simply: it's well and good to describe the "ritual" roles of gendered subjects people might try to construe contemporarily as "trans women", the priestesses and oracles and divinities of yore. But it is best not to do so too loftily. Being assigned to a particular form of ritualistic reproductive labour because of one's failure to be a man and inability to perform the primary reproductive labour of womanhood-proper is the very marker of the trans-feminized subject. "Ascetism" here obviates the reality that it wasn't all peachy before (I recommend reading Romancing the Transgender Native on this one). Meanwhile, in the after, it is just wrong that hijra are universally not transgender. Many organize specifically under the banners of transfeminism. It's a shame that JGP insists on keeping the trans-feminized life of hijra so firmly demarcated from what she herself acknowledges is globalized transness.

My second big complaint with the book is JGP's slip into a trap I have complained about many times: the equivocation of transfemininity with femininity (do you see why I'm not fond of being described as "transfem"?). She diagnoses the root of transmisogyny as a reaction to the femininity of trans women and other trans-feminized subjects. In this respect she explicitly subscribes to a form of mujerísima, and of the trans-feminized subject as "the most feminine" and (equivalent, as far as she's concerned) "the most woman". Moreover, she locates transfeminist liberation in a singular embrace of mujerísima as descriptive of trans-feminized subjectivity. As I've discussed previously, I think this is a misdiagnosis. Feminization is, of course, something that is done to people; it is certainly the case that the trans-feminized subject is in this way feminized for perceived gender-failure. This subject may simultaneously embrace feminized ways of being for all sorts of reasons. In both cases I think the feminization follows from, rather than precedes, the trans misogyny and trans-feminization, and there is a fair bit of masculinization as de-gendering at play too, to say nothing of the deliberate embrace of masculinity by "trans-feminized" subjects. Masculinity and femininity are already technologies of gender normalization—they are applied against gender deviation and adapted to by the gender deviant. The deviation happens first, in the failure to adhere to the expectations of gender assignment, and I don't think these expectations can be summarized by either masculinity or femininity alone. I think JGP is effectively describing the experience of many trans-feminized people, but I do not think what she presents can be the universalized locus of trans liberation she seems to want it to be.

Now for a pettier complaint that I've made before, but one that I think surfaces JGP's academic context. In her introduction she says:

In truth, everyone is implicated in and shaped by trans misogyny. There is no one who is purely affected by it to the point of living in a state of total victimization, just as there is no one who lives entirely exempt from its machinations. There is no perfect language to be discovered, or invented, to solve the problem of trans misogyny by labeling its proper perpetrator and victim.

Agreed that "there is no perfect language to be discovered"! But JGP is clearly critical of TMA/TME language here. Strange, then, that less than ten pages later she says this:

this book adds the phrase trans-feminized to describe what happens to groups subjected to trans misogyny though they did not, or still do not, wish to be known as transgender women.

So JGP believes it is coherent to talk about "groups subjected to trans misogyny", which she thinks consists of the union of trans women and what she called "trans-feminized" groups. If this is to be coherent, there must be groups not subjected to trans misogny. So we've come around to transmisogyny-subjected and not transmisogyny-subjected. Look: you cannot effectively theorize about transmisogyny without recognizing that its logic paints a particular target, and you will need to come up with a concise way of making this distinction. But JGP dismissing TMA/TME with skepticism about "perfect language" and immediately coining new language (basically TMS/not TMS) to solve the problem she un-solved by rejecting TMA/TME... it smells of a sloppy attempt to make a rhetorical point rather than theoretical rigour. It's frustrating.

I have other minor gripes, like her artificial separation of "trans women" from "nonbinary people" (cf. countless posts on here lamenting the narrow forms of existence granted TMA people if we want recognition as-such!) or her suggestion that "a politics of overcoming the gender binary" is mutually exclusive from rather than necessarily involved with struggles around "prison abolition, police violence, and sex work". Little things that give me the sense of theoretical tunnel-vision. But I don't think all this compromises the book's strengths as a work of broad historical analysis. I would simply not take every one of its claims as authoritative. Definitely give it a read if you have the chance, especially for the second and third chapters.

#ask answer #jules gill-peterson #(i haven't been asked this before ty for asking <3 🐐)#note that this was mostly off the cuff except what i had taken pictures of bc i left the book in toronto for my mom to read

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thefandomenchantress · 2 months ago

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DRDT Character Popularity Poll Results

The results have been tallied! It's finally time to find out who the most popular DRDT Character really is! (...According to this specific format on this specific website).

For those unaware, this poll was conducted by asking people to write down their top 5 favorite DRDT characters in no particular order. Each time that character's name was written, it counted as one vote towards them. And, without further ado, these were the results!

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18th Place: Elliot Cuevas/Felicity Giles/Unnamed Classmate

Elliot, Felicity, and Unnamed Classmate managed to receive exactly 1 vote each, putting them in last place. I can't say I'm too surprised, since there are so many excellent characters in the main cast to choose from. Still, Felicity, a character mentioned only in an ask game, managing to tie a character with a whole-ass MV dedicated to them as well as a character featured in two bonus episodes, is pretty impressive! So props to her!

(Someone wrote 'Relaxation Room Fish' in one of their slots, which I considered including to be funny, but I decided not to. One day the minnows will get the bonus episode they deserve).

17th Place: Mai Akasaki

Mai managed a whole 5 votes. I was a little surprised by that, since she only really has a hypothetical personality, but hooray for Mai! She's the most popular non-main cast member. I can totally see why people would be intrigued by the mystery surrounding her.

16th Place: MonoTV

MonoTV, self-proclaimed most popular DRDT character, is the least popular main cast member. How sad. With only 6 votes, it barely outranks Mai, and ties with her if you count Unnamed Classmate and Mai to be the same person. While it's silly emoticons and lore implications won a few people's hearts, it still can't compete with the human main cast members.

15th Place: Hu Jing

...I doubt many people are surprised by this. While Hu may have been one of the characters helped most by my decision to make people write down their top five characters instead of only their favorite, she still couldn't gather enough votes to get out of last place within the (human) main cast members.

Hu gathered 26 votes. While that came pretty close to 14th place's number, she ended up here. Like I said earlier, this isn't surprising. Hu's behavior is supposed to be flawed, but unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be the kind of behavior that most people enjoy watching as much as the more cartoonish character's antics. Still, she has her fans (including me, in case you couldn't tell haha).

Well, if there's one thing we can all agree on, it's that Hu should definitely slap the shit out of David next chapter. /j

14th Place: Min Jeung

Min barely managed to beat out Hu for 14th place with 28 votes. Her low placement, sadly, also isn't a surprise.

Min died in chapter one, and her screentime being limited definitely hurts her here. Not only did she have only a few mentions in chapter 2, but she also didn't haunt the narrative quite like Xander did. Xander managed to leave quite an impact on both David and Teruko. And to put it bluntly, Xander is a conventionally attractive male character with a ton of screentime during his time alive. With the way fandom is, he was almost definitely going to have more staying power than a female culprit, especially one with as little screentime as Min.

That doesn't mean she has no fans, though! There's a ton of cool Min content on this website, and she is one of few characters I have never seen anyone say they vehemently dislike. And how could they? She's such a charming little bookworm.

13th Place: Arturo Giles

Arturo received 33 votes. His relatively low placement isn't exactly something I didn't see coming, seeing as he spent all of chapter 2 stalking J and being generally pretty creepy.

That's not to say he's devoid of charm, of course. His backstory was also expanded on, and I don't think we'll ever forget "Shut your whore mouth!!!!". Arturo's a pretty interesting character, but until we see his full potential in chapter 3, this position in the ranking is pretty understandable. At least Aceturo was confirmed canon in the last five minutes of chapter 2 (/j).

12th Place: Levi Fontana

Oh, Levi. Such an interesting little guy who may or may not have committed multiple felonies.

Levi received 41 votes, beating out Arturo by a good margin. He seems to have gained a little popularity after his backstory was expanded on at the end of chapter 2, and I'm sure we're all excited to see where his character goes in chapter 3! Well, if he survives, but I refuse to admit him not surviving is a legitimate possibility haha.

Overall a decent showing, about what I expected for him! Our next character, however...

11th Place: Xander Matthews/Nico Hakobyan

Attentive readers may have noticed that, despite there being 16 main cast members not including MonoTV, there were only 15 slots when we started ranking them.

And that's because, against all odds, Nico and Xander managed to tie each other at 44 votes each, 3 votes above Levi.

Not only am I a little disappointed I managed to get a tie in these results, but I'm also rather surprised! I was always under the impression Xander was a rather popular character, so I was fully prepared for him to break the top ten. Seeing him underperform like this wasn't what I expected. I suppose the popularity of Xanvid may have always been what carried Xander's popularity, not Xander himself. After all, one of the few things keeping Xander relevant right now in canon is David.

As for Nico, they performed closer to my expectations. I was prepared for them to be somewhere in the middle ground when it came to popularity. I suppose them being alive longer than Xander was evened out by them almost committing murder...Except Xander also did that, but that's a whole other can of worms. A shame neither they nor Xander can make it to the top ten, but maybe next time.

10th Place: J Moreno

Woohoo, J makes it to the top ten! She got a total of 47 votes, and was one of the hardest to count since she has so many name variations haha.

J managed a pretty good showing. With more backstory details and her based-ness during the trial, I'm not surprised she was able to score a top ten spot. As someone who thinks non-violent tsunderes are very fun and amusing, I totally get the appeal.

9th Place: Eden Tobisa

Eden managed to also make it into the top ten with 49 votes, beating J by only 2 votes.

I'll be honest, I'm pretty impressed with Eden. I think she probably benefitted from the top five rule, since she got a lot of points from the 2nd to 5th slots. While the first slot didn't have to be your favorite character, most people probably did put their favorite there. So even if she isn't always people's most favorite, how could they possibly dislike such a sweet character?

8th Place: Arei Nageishi

Next up, Arei Nageishi, the Ultimate Bowler with 63 votes. That's quite a gap between her and Eden. But they still ended up next to each other, which can only mean one thing: Areden is canon /j.

Arei doing well is something I expected, since she's a bit of a wild card. If you like jerk characters, she's got you covered. If you like nice characters, she tried so hard to be good at the end. If you like crying, she died before she could achieve her dreams. Truly a character that pleases everyone, haha.

7th Place: David Chiem

...Holy shit. Seriously? Only 7th place? He barely made it into the top half of the main cast? Damn.

David got 64 votes, only beating Arei by one measly vote. Gotta say, David barely getting to the top half of the main cast in this list surprises me. I mean, he's so popular, right?!? Everyone was so obsessed with him right after chapter 2 ended! Who knows, maybe the hype died down a bit after people got used to his new act--I mean totally 100% real personality reveal.

6th Place: Rose Lacroix

After David shit-talked Rose, I'm sure we're all very amused to see her beating him, haha.

Rose gathered 66 votes, scoring 6th place by only 2 votes. Rather impressive, I didn't expect to see her up so high, but I'm pleased! After her little angsty speech during the second trial, I have to say I'm more endeared to her as well, so it's nice to see her defy my expectations. But then again, she's yet another character I've never seen a single person say they particularly dislike, so maybe I should've expected this.

5th Place: Whit Young

Whit makes it to the top five! Yay! He got here with 69 votes, a number I'm sure he'd have at least one joke about.

This is pretty expected, since I think most people are aware Whit is decently popular. A seemingly happy jokester who's secretly depressed is an archetype that usually endears a lot of people, in my experience.

Though I would like to give a shout-out to the person who wrote: "1. Whit, 2. Whit (mastermind version), 3. Whit (traitor version), 4. Whit (psychotic kanade version), 5. Whit (pinkie pie version)". I considered counting it as only 1 vote, since voting for the same character five times is against the rules, but I decided it was too funny to not count and counted it as 5 instead. So If you want to get technical, Whit is technically only 6th, without me breaking the rules. Sorry Rose.

4th Place: Charles Cuevas

See, my intervention allowed Whit to be next to Charles, it was meant to be. /j

Charles got 71 votes. I expected him to do well, but almost on the podium of top three? Wow! Congratulations, Charles. Like I said with Arei, people who like jerk characters and those who like nice characters are both appeased by characters like this, so it makes sense that he's rather popular. Especially since he has a bunch of cute sprites.

3rd Place: Veronika Grebenshchikova

Our top three begins with...Veronika, who got 72 votes! She barely managed to get past Charles by a singular vote!

I'm impressed with Veronika! I knew she was popular, but not top three popular! I suppose she is basically every Danganronpa fan to the extreme, so it makes sense most people like her at least a little bit. Not only does she have a super awesome design, but an interesting dynamic with many cast members as well.

2nd Place: Ace Markey

HOLY SHIT???? SECOND?!?!

Ace received a total of 77 votes, beating Veronika by a solid number, though not a crazy amount. And I'm...Super impressed with this! I knew more people started to like Ace after he died, but second? Wow! I guess I can never claim he's not one of the top three most popular characters ever again, haha.

Though...Since I hosted this poll, and I'm an Ace Markey-centric account, I should recognize Ace probably had a liiiiittle bit of an unfair advantage, since many of the people guaranteed to see the post the poll was in had to like him at least a little. Whoops! If a completely neutral party hosted this poll, maybe he would've ended up losing to Veronika or Charles, but I suppose we'll never know.

Anyways, Ace probably benefitted the least from this format, since he took an early lead in the first slot only to get closer to the others as time went on. A stark contrast from our champion, the most well-liked DRDT character...

1st Place: Teruko Tawaki

Congratulations, Teruko! She won by a HUGE landslide, getting a whopping 104 votes and blowing everyone else out of the water!

Teruko started out well, but not super well during the first slot, only to consistently get high numbers all the way through the 2nd to 5th slots. She was probably the character who benefitted the most from my top five system. While she may not be everyone's favorite, a lot of people still really like her! Making her the most well-liked, popular DRDT Character!

Since you see so many people saying that Teruko is hated on too much, it's nice to see her being able to pull out a victory on this one! There were 185 voters, which means more than half of the people who participated wrote down Teruko as one of their top five favorites. Her luck truly pulled through on this one!

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And that's the end! Sorry this took so long, schoolwork has been mean to me lately. That's the reason I haven't posted in general that much either. But the results are finally complete! I hope you enjoyed this little experiment, and one of your top five did well!

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celestie0 · 10 months ago

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MASSIVE gojo x reader fanfic rec (no spoilers)

ok i know a lot of my followers are gojo girlies and i just need to put yall onto this fucking fanfiction because i just read the latest release for it and i’m genuinely tweaking rn🧍🏻‍♀️

@lostfracturess ‘s amazing work called “symptoms & causes” - a medical au

[image pulled from her masterlist]

let me just…let me just try to even gather the reasons why you need to add this to your tbr lists (weekend is comin up too so perfect time)

characterization of gojo satoru.

gojo in this fic is characterized so fucking well, from chapter one. there are so many distinctive ways miss lostfractures goes about building his aura (word of mouth/reputation, dialogue, expository, primary interactions, secondary interactions, etc.) it reminds me of the show where gojo just has this energy to him that you can't tear yourself away from i picture him in this fic to be unrelenting, unforgiving, morally grey, with an undertone of softness yet still feral through it all,, basically gojo during shibuya arc LOL. i looove reading cute silly boy gojo fics sm (he’s so baby) but THIS fic explores the borderline wicked side of him that is so thrilling, unique, and rare to find i think in this fandom’s collection of works. it’s just so fucking good.

forbidden romance.

UGGHH i love stories w forbidden romance. in this one, it’s med student reader x professor gojo (additional power dynamics in that he’s a senior surgeon in her field and also a research mentor in her study of interest…TRIPLE THREAT DAMN). i love how miss lostfractures doesn’t shy away from reminding the reader that it’s wrong, and that they shouldn’t be doing this. that’s my fave part of forbidden romances like yesss remind me again why this is all so wrong but let’s still do it anyways LOL <333

reader’s voice.

i’ve LOVED reader since the beginning, so relatable, emotionally mature, all her flaws are so believable & her strengths are shown seamlessly. it’s just so much fun to read because i’ll literally have a thought like “hmm…that (something a character said/did) doesn’t sound very convincing” and then the next line will be something like “he didn’t sound very convincing” like!!! me and s&c reader?? we’re locked in like this fr🤞🏼 like gojo’s domain expansion fingers

escapism.

everything in this story feels so damn real it’s insane. the pacing is stunning, love the utilization of stacks of scenes that are sort of short but so concise, enough to be a smooth read but still descriptive enough to entirely transport you into the world that’s being built. cannot praise the writing in this story enough. also the variety of ways that scenarios are made that pull characters closer to one another?? so creative. as someone who works in a research lab, studied bio in college (some of the fkn biochem stuff that comes up in this fic gives me heart attacks lmfaooo pls im traumatized), and has worked in clinics/hospitals it just itches my brain so damn good. you’ll be convinced you’re a brilliant med student while you read this fic.

writing.

the writing is just. so. good. it’s so good. better than most PUBLISHED works i’ve read. i really can't say much other than that, you just have to go see for yourself.

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if any of these reasons speak to you, i highly recommend you check the fic out. just a note tho it does have some dark themes but you can find all the tags/warnings on her page!

OK BYE

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skania · 1 month ago

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Final Akane + AquaKane Thoughts

There are so many things to say that I don't even know how to start organizing my thoughts lol I'll also be including my final thoughts about the "love triangle" while I'm at it, so this is probably going to get long!

I've written quite a bit about Aqua/Akane this past year, so I won't be going into detail into any of the things I've already discussed up to now. Instead, I'll just focus on my thoughts on this final set of chapters, as well as my overall thoughts now that the manga is over.

I'll start with the (few) things I liked:

The Good

I mentioned before that I'm a sucker for parallels, and that Aqua/Akane having so many is one of the reasons why I couldn't help but ship them. We somehow got some very good ones in these last few chapters. We even got a scene at the Aqua/Akane bridge, the one where Akane's relationship with Aqua began and ended.

Aqua saved her life at that bridge, without any ulterior motives. And it's that very bridge that is pictured as Akane says that she has decided to live on. The imagery is poignant and pays its respects to not only Akane's arc as a character, but also to the Aqua/Akane relationship.

More than that, the parallels we got confirm things that Akane and Aqua/Akane fans like me have been saying all along:

Through it all, Akane saw him as he is and embraced the broken him. Each time, she willingly chose to get closer to him. When Aqua tells Akane that he has been saved ever since he met her, I get it. I have no doubt that for Aqua, who has been desperately fighting alone for so long, being seen and understood and loved despite all his self-perceived flaws and the darkness in him must have felt like salvation.

Akane is the one who knows Aqua the best, the one who knows him the most, the one who sees him exactly as he is and who loves all of him. Akane doesn't romanticize Aqua's flaws and his self-sacrificial nature, and neither does she idealize his virtues. She just accepts him and does her best to support and understand him through it all.

Akane being the only one who can see through Aqua's plan is enough to prove this, but it's actually not the most meaningful way in which Aka confirmed it. The most meaningful way was actually this:

Usually, whenever Akane thinks about Aqua, she calls him Aqua-kun. However, throughout her entire monologue in the last three chapters, Akane never addresses him by name. She just calls him "You". The same "You" (君) that Aka emphasized in Chapter 63.

The "You" that encapsulates everything Aqua Hoshino was: both the Goro and the Aqua.

This was a very, very deliberate narrative choice that tells you that throughout the manga, Akane was the one who loved Aqua Hoshino exactly as he was.

Aka also uses another parallel to confirm that Akane was indeed lying to Kana when she claimed that she was over Aqua.

When she finally breaks down, Aka allows Akane to be honest about her feelings, and the parallel to the Aqua/Akane break-up tells us everything we need to know.

Akane never stopped loving Aqua. She has been in love with him all along.

Ever since they broke up, Akane has been sacrificing her feelings for Aqua in order to do what she thinks is best for him. Akane's priority has always been to see Aqua happy. She is willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish that. Back when she thought that Aqua needed to kill Kamiki, Akane was willing to shoulder that sin with him just so he wouldn't have to carry it on his own. When she realized that what Aqua truly wanted was to be free from his revenge, Akane was ready to deal with Kamiki on her own just so that Aqua wouldn't get his hands dirty. Then, when Aqua pushes Akane away, Akane becomes determined to stop him from killing Kamiki because she knows revenge is not what Aqua truly wants or needs.

But that's not all there is to it. Akane wants to be with Aqua, because she loves him. And it's precisely because she loves him, and because she thinks her love failed to save him, that she keeps her feelings to herself and is even willing to help another girl get close to him in her place.

So this chapter confirmed that the one who has been making the sacrificial play, the one who truly loved Aqua, was Akane. It is, essentially, the counterpart to Chapters 148 and 149.

It's no wonder, then, that Akane's feelings and her grief are the ones we follow immediately after Aqua's death. She goes to mourn him in the place he actually died, and when she's around his family, she keeps her pain to herself in order to not worsen their burden. We see her piece together what happened, we see her break, and then we see Akane put herself together and find some solace in knowing that Aqua kept her away to protect her.

Aqua is gone, and Akane is the only one to know Aqua's truth.

A lot of people spent the entire manga trying to downplay Aqua's relationship with Akane; claiming that it was a lie, a manipulation, or what-have-you. Now that the manga is over, we can say those claims were never proven.

At the contrary, until the very end, Aqua's thoughts & actions in regard to Akane were shown to back-up everything he said about her during their relationship.

Aqua could've lived if he had asked Akane for help in killing Kamiki, but he didn't want Akane to get her hands dirty for him. He broke up with her to not bring her down to hell with him, and when the options were to either die alone or make Akane bear the weight of a sin with him, the choice was quickly made.

At the end, he's even shown wanting the same thing Akane wanted: an equal relationship with her.

Unlike his thoughts about Kana (more on that later), which are just a 'might', this is something Aqua is purposeful about. It's something he is sure he wants. It's even the last thing he thinks of before wanting to see Ruby at the dome, which we all know was his dearest wish.

This also fits the panels chosen to be shown in the "romance" part of Aqua's montage: the moment he doesn't catch Kana's ball (symbolizing that their feelings don't connect) vs the moment where he chooses to kiss and date Akane for real.

Which brings us back to the moment they broke up. That chapter was titled "Going Astray" and we now saw where that wrong turn led Aqua: to his death.

So chapter 98, the Aqua/Akane break-up, is pretty much officially the chapter that leads us to the ending we got.

Which means that what I said back in this post still applies. If Aqua and Akane had been honest with each other during that phone-call in Chapter 97, things could've been different. But truth is, it's nearly pointless to think about it, because what this all comes down to is that Aka wanted this ending and he wanted it at all costs.

So nothing could have happened any other way, because Aka didn't want Aqua to be saved. He wanted Aqua to die so he could have his forced "bittersweet" ending.

This is why Aqua and Akane had to break up, it's why Akane is practically not allowed to interact with Aqua again after their break-up, and it's also why Akane never found out about Aqua being Goro's reincarnation.

Aqua was never meant to be saved, and Akane more than anyone could have saved him. So, of course, Aka couldn't allow her to do so. It's forced writing at its finest.

This is also why Akane isn't involved in Aqua's fatidic confrontation with Kamiki. While there is Aka's typical contrived writing involved in Akane leaving Aqua to his own devices at the most crucial moment, I do think it makes sense.

I've mentioned before that from the very beginning, Aqua and Akane's relationship has been based on trust and on choices.

Aqua once gave Akane a choice, trusting that she'd be able to choose what was best for herself. After Akane made her choice, Aqua did everything in his power to help her accomplish her goal.

Ever since, Akane has been trying to do the same for Aqua.

Akane wants Aqua to choose what's right for himself. She will always respect whatever it is that he chooses, as long as it is a true reflection of what he wants and needs. This is why Akane was eager to stop his plan to kill Kamiki, she could tell that Aqua was ready to sacrifice his own future to accomplish it.

That's why, once Aqua chooses to let Kamiki live, Akane is reassured.

Something has changed in Aqua. Akane notices this and believes that Aqua has, finally, chosen to not throw his life away just to deal with Kamiki. She trusts that he has.

Personally, I'd like to believe that Akane was right. Problem was that once Aqua knew for sure that Kamiki couldn't be saved, he switched back to his original plan. Something Akane couldn't have foreseen without knowing that Aqua was the reincarnation of a dude whose issues made him suicidal... which is yet another reason why Aka could have never let Akane find out about the whole reincarnation business.

So all in all, Aqua/Akane-wise, this is all well and good. On paper.

When it comes to the execution however, it leaves a lot to be desired, because Aqua/Akane is sadly majorly brought down by the spectacular way in which Aqua's character was (mis)handled during the second half of the manga.

The Bad

Goro has always been someone who thinks his life has no worth, and this belief is deeply ingrained into Aqua. That's why I could tell that his revenge plan likely involved killing himself and making it look like Kamiki did it.

I just didn't think that he would actually succeed, because it kind of goes without saying that the suicidal character getting to kill himself is far from being a satisfying ending. Even less so when said character has shown time and time again that he actually wants to live, he is just too broken by his guilt complex to believe he has that right.

For a while there, it even looks like Aqua will make it. That he has once again started to embrace that this is a life that he wants to live.

Sadly, once Aqua realizes that Kamiki can't be saved and that he poses a danger to Ruby, all of that flies off the window and "Goro" takes over. And by "Goro" I don't mean Goro the character, I mean all the bad habits that Aqua has due to his guilt-complex and survivor's guilt.

So Aqua goes and executes his original plan, killing himself instead of looking for a better solution. Which means he started off like this:

Only to end the manga pretty much the same way, except you can switch "If Ai's gone, this world isn't-" for "As long as Ruby can live on in this world."

Though, actually, it's even worse than that, because Aqua realizes that he was wrong — dying would bother him — only when it's too late.

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth because it's like Aqua had no development through the entire manga. Cut everything after his break-up with Akane and nearly nothing changes, except the motive behind Aqua throwing his life away: protecting Ruby (Sarina) instead of revenge.

It all feels even more pointless because Aqua's death rings hollow due to how badly his character was mishandled in the second half of the manga. After the break-up, Aqua becomes a "..." bot. His character isn't allowed to grow and neither is he allowed to explore his feelings in any meaningful way, to the point that he dies confused and not knowing who he was.

Pardon my bluntness, but how pathetic is this? 160+ chapters and literally none of this guy's issues were ever solved. His character goes nowhere, only so he can be sacrificed to make the ending bittersweet for Ruby. Though for me it wasn't even bittersweet; the ending fell flat on its face precisely because Aqua's character never goes anywhere, so it's hard to feel anything other than vague frustration and disbelief at how forced the writing is.

Even the Kami/Ai - Aqua/Akane parallels were wasted because both ships ended up in the exact same way: Akane and Ai both unable to save Aqua and Kamiki. I wouldn't even be surprised if those parallels are something Aka came up with on the spot while writing the Ai DVD.

I'm sure some Aqua/Akane truthers will say "all Aqua and Kamiki needed to be saved was to be with Akane and Ai, and Akane and Ai didn't realize that" and leaving aside my issues with that kind of co-dependency, once again, that's all well and good — on paper.

Sure, those of us who ship Aqua and Akane could see it that way if we wanted to, but... did Aka make a point of clearly stating this? No, he left it to the reader's imagination, which means it's just another blank to be filled with headcanon.

Personally, I'm pretty tired of doing that, because everything there is to like about the manga may as well just be the headcanons we have filled all those blanks with.

I always say that I prefer showing and not telling, but there's a limit to everything. Truth of the matter is, if this was supposed to be the case — and especially if it was supposed to be important — then showing isn't enough. Because the majority of readers aren't going to spend hours breaking down every single Aqua/Akane interaction to draw those parallels and reach that conclusion.

Aqua dying soothed by a song by his favorite idol (Ruby/Sarina) doesn't really do it any favors either, because fact of the matter is that people who were never invested in the Aqua/Akane relationship will just assume Aqua never loved Akane back. They'll be more distracted by Kana's tropey, shallow shoujo romance, and this is something Aka allowed in his manga right up to the very end.

Aqua and Akane were the only relationship in the entire manga that got mutual, gradual, organic, continuous development. But this all came to a halt when they broke up, so at the end of the day, they're mostly left up to interpretation.

It's underwhelming.

Most of all, if you ask me, it was a terrible move, because Aqua and Akane could've been the heart of this manga. If their feelings had been properly explored after their break up, if Aqua had been allowed to think of Akane in his last moments, if all this blank-filling had been actual text, they'd have been a tragic love-story for the ages.

But Aka didn't want it to be the heart of the manga, because he had already decided from the beginning that role should go to Aqua and Ruby. Alas, he completely failed at developing that, too, because to the very end there's only Goro and Sarina. That is the entire basis of the Aqua/Ruby relationship and dynamic, and it gets one single chapter where it's explored beyond that, only to immediately focus back on Goro and Sarina as Aqua lies dying.

Goro couldn't save Sarina in his first life, so he wastes his second to do it. He jumped at the chance to free himself of the burden of that guilt without even bothering to think of how much his death would hurt the very person he wanted to protect.

Which takes me to...

The Ugly

Turns out Kana was pretty much just a mixture between Fujiwara and Maki, after all. Except that unlike Maki, she never grows (Aqua literally has to die for her to do so) and unlike Fujiwara, she's overused instead of underused.

Aqua and Kana are portrayed as shallow to the end, and I'd even go as far as saying that the narrative pokes fun at Kana for it. Even during the funeral, she puts on a hat that's reserved for family members and it literally falls off her head when Miyako slaps her lmao

Since this is a manga and not real life, the way Kana's outburst was handled in that chapter is likely meant to be contrasted with the way Akane's own grief was handled, because it pretty much embodies all the differences between both of their relationships with Aqua through the manga.

Kana is focused on herself and on her pain. She thinks Aqua was murdered, but she still irrationally blames him for it, too blinded by her own pain. Aqua was murdered, but not being able to confess to him properly is still at the top of her list of grievances. She is also shown overplaying that one conversation she had with Aqua about Aqua having a death-wish, as if Aqua somehow agreeing to not say that he wants to die was some vital promise that he broke.

Meanwhile, Akane focuses on Aqua. On what Aqua felt, on why he did what he did, and on what he would have wanted. Even her wish to be by Aqua's side is expressed through Akane saying that she'd have been willing to shoulder his burdens with him, no matter where that led them. It is also Akane's understanding of Aqua that helps her to find some solace and to overcome his death.

Kana always looked at Aqua from the outside-in, idealizing and romanticizing him, while Akane was Aqua's partner in every sense of the word. That's why Akane gets all the insightful narration about Aqua while Kana just gets to make a fool of herself at his funeral.

So to the very end, the dichotomy between "Ai" and "Koi" does perfectly illustrates the contrast between the two sides of the Aqua love triangle.

Kana was infatuated with the Aqua that she built up in her head, and focused on what she wanted Aqua to do for her (support her unconditionally), and what she wanted to be for him (his only idol), rather than on Aqua himself as a person.

As for Aqua, during his last moments, most Aqua can say about Kana is that it might be good to respond to her feelings. Might. He spends the entire story knowing Kana is at his beck and call, he even makes fun of her for it (you're so easy to manipulate, yadda yadda), yet when the opportunity to date her presents itself, most he can say is essentially "it could be cool I guess." He even pictures her pulling on his arm to get his attention, while with Akane, he pictures himself facing her and looking straight at her.

So to Aqua, Kana was at most a teenage crush. His feelings for her weren't deep or relevant enough to have any sort of impact on his character, while he outright called the year he spent dating Akane his happy days. An entire year that he spent without Kana even being in his life, mind you. Meanwhile Kana was out there living an entire shoujo where she's the heroine and Aqua is the male lead 😂

That said, I still think Aqua, who I'm sure must've broken a record at being bad at understanding his own feelings, was likely mistaking admiration for romantic attraction, and that he would've realized this pretty early into dating Kana.

The anime is even clearer about this because Aqua's reactions to Kana are paralleled to Akane's who is, quite literally, a fan of Kana.

But even if he wasn't, it doesn't really matter, because it's shown very clearly that Aqua deeply values being understood (to him, it feels like salvation) and that Kana doesn't really understand him. So had they dated, Aqua would've had fun at first, sure, but his emotional needs wouldn't have been met; instead his job would've been to meet Kana's. It just would've never worked in the long term.

Now that the dust has settled, I can say for certain that if Aqua had been allowed to have a happy ending, it'd have been with Akane.

So once more, this is all fine on paper. The problem is that Aka takes it too far. The whole Kana business takes too much panel time for no discernible reason other than to... bait readers? I've even seen some say that Aka intended to mock them.

But even if that were the case, considering that those same readers are likely going to walk out of the story thinking Aqua and Kana are a tragic ship that loved each other because of all the bait, who's really the butt of the joke? Them or Aka himself?

Conclusion

I've always been pretty clear about being an Akane fan first and foremost. Despite all my Aqua/Akane meta, I had no emotional investment in whether she ended up with Aqua or not, as long as she got a satisfying ending. That said, by principle, I most definitely didn't want Aqua to end up with Kana, because that'd be like rewarding Kana for all her crying and whining when she never even tried to understand who Aqua was as a person and I've already gone through that in Naruto, thank you very much.

So the two silver-linings about this ending are that Akane stayed amazing to the end, and that Kana didn't have Aqua handed to her on a silver platter. But considering just how much panel time Kana's meaningless crush takes up in the narrative and how side-lined Akane got after the break-up, it feels like a pyrrhic victory lol

Akane is still the best thing about the manga, and I'd say that she got by far the best ending of the bunch. I'm not sure if I'd call it satisfying, because Akane's one goal was always to save Aqua and she didn't get to accomplish that. But at the very least, she got a good ending, all things considered. She got to protect what Aqua entrusted to her, and she got to show just how emotionally strong she is.

As for Aqua and Akane, AquaKane could've been incredible if only Aka had done them justice, but he didn't. I joked before that the Aqua/Akane development was so good that it's like it wrote itself, and I actually think that's exactly what happened. Aka made things up as he went along, and he allowed Aqua and Akane to develop together in ways he didn't necessarily plan nor foresee. But as soon as he started strong-arming the manga towards the ending he envisioned, he dropped the ship, likely because he had already established everything that would be relevant about them by then (he knew the ship would literally go nowhere because Aqua needed to die), and then proceed to leave a lot of it to the discretion of the readers.

While I'm sure that'll be enough for some, I'm afraid it's not really enough for me. If you were to ask me if I'm satisfied with the way they were handled, my answer would be: not really, but it certainly could've been worse lol

In my opinion, they're the biggest wasted potential in the manga (which is saying something, because the entire manga is wasted potential), and their potential was wasted simply because they're the ones who could've actually led us to a happy ending.

Aka didn't want that ending, though. He cared for his vision more than about his characters, and his vision was literally just an ending where poor Ruby would be a star that shines brighter "the darkest things get". Nothing else mattered. LMAO. As if Ruby hadn't already gone through enough!

Oh well, at least we're finally free!

#akane kurokawa #aquakane #aquaka #my aquakane meta #me: onk #fandom: onk #it's finally over!!#I'm free!#I love you Akane but reading this manga was a nightmare lmao #I suspect some of this may not be what fellow aquaka fans want to read #but I've been honest about my thoughts all this time and I didn't want to be dishonest now lol

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ereardon · 11 months ago

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Three

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, alcohol

Chapter summary: Y/N grapples with her pregnancy; Phoenix alludes to a previous relationship with Jake; Jake is shocked to find out he's going to be a father

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

Your first thought when the test turned positive was what Bobby was going to do to Jake.

Your second thought was how sorry you felt for Jake to pull him into your disaster of a life.

Because that’s what you were. A disaster. Bob said it in not so many words and always with a compliment attached because the two of you were Southern and you didn’t outright flaunt people’s flaws to their faces. But it was no longer cute to be out of work and aimless.

Especially since you were about to be pregnant on top of all of it.

***

“Can I borrow your truck again tomorrow?” you asked, swirling a piece of spaghetti around your plate. The smell of the tomatoes was making you sick, but you refused to show it.

Bob nodded. “Sure. What for?”

“Job interview.”

“For what?”

“Librarian.”

Bob frowned, chewing his garlic bread thoughtfully. Then, “Is that what you want to do?”

You sighed, putting your elbows on the small dining room table. “I don’t know. I need a job. I like books. How bad can it be?”

He paused. “I can float you for a while,” Bob said quietly. “You don’t have to take a random job. I’d rather you find something you’re passionate about.”

“I don’t want to be your burden.”

“You’re my sister,” Bob said. “And I love you and I want what’s best for you.”

“I’m a big girl, Bobby,” you whispered, a tear springing to your eye. “I need to figure out how to take care of myself?”

“Why?”

You shook your head. “I just do.”

***

“Floyd!” Bradley clapped Bob on the back as the two of them headed back toward the training room. “You coming out tonight?”

Bob shrugged. “Not sure. Y/N is acting a bit odd. I don’t know if she’ll want to go out.”

“Odd?” Phoenix popped out of the corner door, shaking out her hair from her helmet. “How so?”

“I don’t know. She’s normally pretty bubbly, happy. She’s been sad almost. I think she’s stressed about finding a job.”

“Didn’t she go to Sewanee?”

“Yeah. But she got a history degree. And it’s more than that.” Bob poured himself a cup of tea and sat down on one of the nearby couches. “She’s aimless. It’s not that she doesn’t have a job. It’s that she doesn’t know what she wants to do or who she wants to be.”

“Do any of us?” Phoenix asked.

Bob frowned. “I’ve wanted to be in the Navy since I was six.”

Bradley nodded. “Same here, but younger than that. The first time I remember seeing my dad in his flight suit.”

From across the room, Jake added, “I’ve wanted to be an aviator my whole life.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “You three are so cliché I want to throw up.” Bradley laughed. “She’s twenty three. Don’t you meatheads remember what it was like being twenty three?”

“She’s different,” Bob said quietly. “She acts tough, but she’s still just a little girl.”

“Maybe you just see her like that because you’re her brother,” Jake interjected. Bob shot him a dark look. “What? I have sisters, I know how it is.”

“You have no idea,” Bob replied.

Phoenix raised her eyebrows. “How about I take her out,” she said. “Girls night or whatever.”

“That'd be great.”

She smiled at Bob, before shooting Jake a glare. “It’s a date.”

***

“So, what made you move to San Diego?”

You and Phoenix had exhausted the usual questions within the first twenty minutes of your friend date. What your favorite color was and if you liked Taylor Swift and whether or not Bob snored when he slept. You tapped your fingers against the table as the two of you waited for your drinks to come. The waiter shot you an impatient glance over his shoulder as he delivered a dish of calamari to the table three down from yours. “Spend more time with Bob,” you replied. “Change of pace.”

“What’s Tennessee like?” she asked. “Bob doesn’t talk about it too much. He talks about you, but that’s it.”

That felt like a loaded question from the way Natasha was looking at you. There were two ways to answer her question. You could talk about the mild weather, the hordes of bachelorette parties in Nashville, Graceland, how good hot chicken was, what it felt like to drive through the mountains.

Or you could tell her what she actually was curious about. Why Bob was the way he was. The fact that he had practically raised you as his own child, while being a child himself. That your mother was a single mom, an ER nurse by day, and sometimes by night. That more than once, Bob had been the person to go out to the store to buy mac and cheese and stir it for you while you finished your homework at the chipped kitchen table. How the two of you had become a team, united, from a young age.

“What do you really want to know?” you asked, leaning across the table.

Her gaze softened as she said, “How you’re doing.”

How were you doing? You were twenty three and pregnant out of wedlock, a secret that no one yet knew. Usually, Bob was the first person you told your secrets to. But this one was too big to burden him with.

Instead, the secret was weighing you down. A small, egg-shaped secret buried within your center. “Tell me about Jake,” you said.

Phoenix leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I told you, you don’t want to go there.”

“Humor me.”

She sighed. “Jake is Jake. He’s cocky. He’s confident in himself. Too confident. He’s a bit of a jackass.”

You heard something in her voice. “But?”

“But underneath it all, there’s a guy who wants people to like him. Who is desperate for it. That’s what you don’t see at first. It’s why he gets dismissed or boxed up as simply an asshole.”

“Did you love him?” you asked.

Her gaze found yours. “No. But I probably could have.”

You nodded. “What’s the story between him and Bobby?”

“That I don’t know,” she said as your food arrived. “You’ll have to ask your brother.”

“He won’t tell me. He’s weirdly coy about that kind of thing.”

“Then maybe it’s best you don’t know.”

“Maybe.” The smell of the chicken in front of you, which had sounded delicious on the menu when you ordered it twenty minutes before, made your stomach churn. You felt a wave of sickness running through your stomach, up your throat. “Excuse me.”

You dashed out of your seat, Phoenix’s voice trailing after you as you practically jogged toward the bathroom, bursting through the open stall and emptying your stomach into the basin. The wave of nausea subsided and you leaned back against your heels, wiping at your mouth. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty and you rested your head against your arms, breathing in for a moment, collecting yourself.

Back in the dining room, Phoenix looked up, eyes wide with concern, her veggie pasta cooling in front of her, uneaten.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

You nodded, sitting back down, draping your napkin over your lap, hoping to God that you didn’t smell like vomit. “Yeah, totally. Just really had to pee.”

Phoenix’s eyes were laser sharp as they scanned your face, searching for the lie. But instead of calling you on it, she turned her gaze to the plate in front of her and started eating.

Keeping this secret was going to be harder than you thought.

***

“Sure you don’t want to come?”

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch wearing a pair of sweats, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of you. “Yup.”

Bob stood in the doorway, frowning. He had on a button up shirt and a pair of jeans and boots, hair combed neatly, glasses crooked on his nose as always. You took a mental photo of him in that moment. Once he found out about the baby, nothing would ever be the same.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Go, please. Meet some girl, buy her a drink. Enjoy being a cute Navy guy for once.”

Bob rolled his eyes. “Text me if you want me to come home early, OK?”

“Go have fun.” You waited for the sound of the front door shutting softly before melting into the couch in an exhausted heap. You were tired all the time. And nauseous.

27 Dresses played in the background as you dozed in and out of consciousness on the soft couch. It wasn’t until the scene in the bar when you heard the doorbell ring, waking you from your light slumber.

“Fuck off!” you groaned, closing your eyes but the ringing picked up and you grunted, pausing the movie and pushing yourself upright toward the door. “What?” you exclaimed, tossing open the door.

Jake stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “God, you’re crabby.”

You stepped back. “Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” he replied. “Can I come in?”

You frowned. “I guess.” Stepping back, you let Jake in before closing the door. Your hips pressed against the kitchen counter as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Well?”

“You really don’t like me, do you?” he asked.

“Like has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what is it?” Jake demanded.

“What are you doing here?” “I came to check on you,” he replied and you felt your heart leap in your chest. “Bob was worried. But he also was talking to some girl and hitting it off, so I said I'd save him the trip home.”

“And he let you?”

“She was pretty hot.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well I’m fine. So neither of you has to babysit me.”

“You know what?” Jake ran one hand through his golden hair before pulling it down over his face, massaging his temples with his eyes closed. “You’re fucking hot, too. But you’re absolutely insane. You sleep with me. You tell me to pretend it never happened. Then you jump me in the Hard Deck bathroom before running away. Now you act like you can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t even know what I’m doing here to be honest.”

Jake turned, putting one hand on the door. Your voice stopped him. “I’m pregnant.”

He turned, slowly, green eyes wide. Terror filled every inch of his beautiful face. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not a slut,” you snapped. “You’re the only person I’ve been with in six months.”

Jake was as frozen as a statue. You watched the color drain from his face. “I have to go,” he said, grabbing for the door handle, yanking it open. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the California night. Your breath in your chest felt heavy. And that’s when you realized you were going to do this alone.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away @mycobrakai1972 @xomrsalliej4787xo

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tired-truffle · 20 days ago

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Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k

Part 1/17 (Complete!)

"So please, I beg you - he is all that I have, and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more. Let him be soft, and let him be mine." - J.P.

Summary: Sequel to Můj Miláček - You'd survived, brought Viktor back from the brink of death, but at what cost? You were sure to find out.

Warnings (these will apply for the remainder of the fic, even if not explicitly mentioned in each chapter): Depictions of extensive injuries, blood, and hallucinations.

Masterlist

It seemed that no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you clawed your way towards your goals with hands raw and blistered, it always felt like you were falling short. Not even for the ones you cherished above all else. You were doomed to fail, a broken marionette - strings dripping with Shimmer - who couldn’t play her part, who couldn’t do the one thing she had set out all those years ago to do.

Save Sky, and save Viktor. It should have been simple. You had seen the future, and you had your magic, unpredictable and stubborn, as it may be, and still, you'd failed. Perhaps that was just another flaw on your part - to be unable to use the tools given to you to any degree of effectiveness - another weakness that prevented you from protecting those you loved. If you’d tried harder, done better, maybe you could have saved them. But Sky had crumbled into dust, and Viktor…

It had only taken two steps out of that dark and dingy cave before he’d stumbled, coughing until blood seeped from the corners of his lips.

Despite your best efforts to heal him, the illness had only been temporarily delayed. It was like trying to cover a gaping wound with a small bandage; it would take much more than that to ensure proper healing. And yet, there you were, still struggling with your own body's ailments, too weak to do anything more than hobble beside him.

The Shimmer that had bound itself to your veins, to your magic - your very core - managed to patch you up enough to prevent imminent death, to close your wounds into barely healed scars, but the pain was relentless. Like flames licking across your skin, your limbs coursing with white-hot fire. It was a miracle that you could even stand, and as the adrenaline faded and concern for Viktor grew, you were relatively certain the only thing keeping you going was the sheer amount of power you had absorbed - that you had made your own.

Thick, acrid smog slithered into your lungs as Viktor led you toward the outskirts of the Undercity. Surrounded by decaying buildings and alleyways reeking of decay and filth, it was safest to keep a low profile. While the cloaks you’d borrowed - stolen - from Singed’s lab provided some degree of coverage, it was best to remain hidden while you were both recovering - while Viktor continued to deteriorate.

“I need to stop for a moment.” You leaned against a cool cement wall, hot pink graffiti tags and chips taken out from years of wear and tear lining the building. The abandoned streets stretched out in front of you, devoid of any signs of life. You had no idea where you were, you’d yet to see anyone else, and from the thickness of the smog, you could understand why.

From the start, it was clear that neither of you could fully support the other physically. Viktor still relied on his crutch for stability, and your burns made even the thought of someone grazing your left side unbearable. Not to mention the runes from the Hexcore that had carved themselves into your flesh. Even the wall against your shoulders was enough to make your face contort into a pained grimace, until you angled yourself so only your right side touched the surface.

“It’s only a little further.” Viktor extended his hand, the metallic surface glinting in the dim light. The once-vibrant blue bolts of light that had danced between his fingers had faded and now only faintly flickered at the edges. “I promise, it will be worth it.”

Too tired for words, you gave a grunt of affirmation, pushing yourself off the wall and accepting his hand. With the renewed determination offered by his touch, you continued towards your destination.

As promised, it didn't take long for the crumbling facades of abandoned row houses to come into view. Their once vibrant colours were now faded and peeling, like old paint on a weathered canvas. The broken windows gave off a vacant stare, as if the buildings themselves were longing for life to return. You followed Viktor through the narrow alleyways, the stench of decay growing stronger with each step. Viktor led you to a decrepit door, its hinges rusted and creaking from years of neglect. As he pushed it open, the sound echoed throughout the desolate streets, a haunting reminder of what once was.

Inside, a musty scent hung heavy, the kind that clings to the lungs and coats the tongue with a metallic tang. Cobwebs draped corners, thick and undisturbed. Dust danced in the slants of light that pierced the boarded windows, casting eerie shadows that seemed to shift and contort with each breath.

As you stepped further inside, a strange sense of familiarity washed over you. The bare walls, stripped of any hint of life, echoed with each step you took on the squeaking floorboards. The air was stale as if it had been trapped inside for well over a decade. It all stirred something deep within, a memory just beyond your grasp. You ran your fingers along the exposed brick, tracing the worn grooves and indentations as if they might reveal some long-buried secret. Following the path your fingers had set, you walked past what used to be a tiny kitchen, barely recognizable now with its empty shelves and rusted appliances. Heading past the stairs leading to the upper level, you continued into what once must have been a living room. It was empty, save a rotted couch in the far corner, light green wallpaper peeling in strips to expose the crumbling drywall underneath.

As much as you wanted to explore further and unravel the threads of your memory, your body protested every movement, and you no longer had the will to resist. The floor was as comfy a place to rest as any. While your couch back at the Academy had been particularly springy, the couch that occupied the barren living room was entirely springs and a rotted wooden frame.

But with rest, with your body no longer able to occupy itself with propelling you forward one step at a time, your mind scattered.

You hadn’t noticed the blood splattering the wall opposite you when you’d first arrived, but as you sank onto the worn floorboards, careful to rest only your uninjured side against the dusty wall, out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of the crimson liquid.

Drip, drip, drip, it echoed through the room, each drop splattering against the floor with a quiet plink. Raining down from a crack in the ceiling, angry lines running out from a fissure, the blood pooled in a grotesque puddle, seeping into the floorboards. Your body froze as you pressed yourself against the wall, your fingers clawing for any kind of grip as you tried to distance yourself from the nightmarish scene. Whose blood was that? It was fresh, the metallic tang of iron and death filled your nostrils, making you gag. It could have filled a large bathtub with the amount that rained down from above, the drip becoming a steady stream before the reality of your situation set in.

Viktor, where was Viktor? Your head whipped around, a whimper ripping itself from your throat as your skin protested the movement with a sharp rake of pain. But you didn’t care, Viktor wasn’t within sight, and the creaking of the ceiling above indicated that someone was slowly walking across it.

Was it Viktor, or had you failed to protect him in your moment of weakness?

Scrambling up and stumbling against the door frame, you found the rickety stairs leading to the second floor. If Viktor had gone up there, how had you not heard him? And yet, unless he’d left the house, there was nowhere but the living room or kitchen for him to go.

The sound of your ragged breathing curled around your ears like smoke, your hand leaving bloody prints along the railing as you made your way up the stairs. A pounding began at the base of your skull. Had you touched the blood? You couldn’t recall.

“Viktor.” His name was pulled from your dry mouth in a hoarse gasp as you crested the top of the stairs, your chest heaving with the effort. The landing split off into two small rooms, their doors thrown open invitingly. From your position, you strained to catch a glimpse inside, but the angle made it impossible for you to see beyond the threshold.

Viktor did not respond, and the noxious gas of fear rose in your chest. Stumbling forward on uncoordinated legs, you aimed yourself toward the room where the blood was coming from. Your vision swam as your strength waned, but still, you pushed on, determined and terrified.

Upon making it into the room, you nearly collapsed with relief when you saw Viktor standing at the window, peering out at the streets below. The room itself was bare, the floor clean except for the thick coat of dust that lined every other inch of the house. But as he turned to face you, any consolation you felt evaporated. Viktor, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders, his metallic chest gleaming in the low moonlight, was not as unharmed as he had first appeared to be. Blood dripped from his nose, his eyes, his ears, the sides of his mouth, staining his pale skin with streaks of dark red. With a cry of horror, you tripped over your feet in your haste to get to his side.

His eyes widened at the speed of your approach, of the panic that lay in the tight lines of your face. Your hands outstretched were caught in his, deftly, though he still leaned on his crutch. His mouth moved, but you heard no sound over the rushing white noise in your ears. How was he so calm? Did he not realize he was dying again? Trembling, you released your magic, pale blue light flowing over him and encompassing him in its aura.

But it did nothing to heal him.

It never did.

His lips moved once more, but their words were lost in the deluge of tears that streamed down your face. Your vision blurred as you tried to read his lips, your breathing rapid and broken by hiccups and sobs. The sound of his voice was muffled, like it was coming from underwater, and you strained to make out any meaning behind the garbled sounds.

No! You wanted to scream. I only just lost him, I cannot do it again!

Pushing against his grasp, you felt him soften his hold and allow you to reach for him, to feel the smoothness of his cheek beneath your touch, to wipe your thumb beneath his nose, excepting to find the slickness of blood, only to find…nothing but the soft feel of his skin.

Blinking hard, you pulled your other hand back to wipe away your tears, salt stinging at your wounds. Your heart throbbed, aching with every beat as you tried to hold back your sobs.

“Miláček,” his voice was pitched low and gentle, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Your bottom lip quivered, vision blurring as your magic surged out of you and into Viktor. The deafening white noise in your ears slowly faded, and the thick, metallic scent of blood that had filled the air disappeared, as if it had never been there to begin with.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you closed the remaining distance between you. His hands found your uninjured cheek, holding you with a tenderness that could make even the toughest of hearts melt away. “I-I don’t…” A shaky exhale. “I thought you were hurt.”

With a soft sigh that eased the tension from your shoulders - for only a man at peace could make such a sound - he said, “Then it’s a good thing I remain unharmed.” You leaned into his touch, his hand warm against your skin, his pulse beating a steady rhythm. “We should rest; the events of the day have taken a toll on our minds and bodies."

That was an understatement. The last few hours felt like an eternity, as if time had stretched and twisted into a never-ending spiral. In that short span, you’d learned so much, yet not enough.

The carnage had only just begun.

As you slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, you found yourself cocooned in Viktor's warm embrace. Though your legs were numb and your back ached from the hard floor beneath you, your body burning anew as the throb of your injuries surged to the forefront of your consciousness, the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest beneath your palm had you biting back your pained cry.

As your eyes fluttered open, the soft light of your magic filled your vision, casting an otherworldly glow around you. Through the haze of your aches and exhaustion, you concluded that the reason you were not screaming and thrashing was the numbing effects of your magic as it rolled over you both, dulling the sharp edges of agony pulsating through you.

Slowly, you raised your head from the hardness of his shoulder, feeling a twinge in your ear from being squished against it all night. But in the grand scheme of things, it was a minor discomfort that hardly registered. In the dim light of the cloudy morning, sunlight filtering through the grimy window, you studied him. His face, tranquil in sleep, looked years younger without the burden of worry creasing into his forehead. His lips parted slightly as he breathed evenly, his hair mused, curling at his nape. Your fingers traced over his chest, shirt torn from where you’d ripped it, feeling the cool metal that had been infused with your own magic to save his life, sparks of energy crackling beneath your touch. Did it hurt him, you wondered. Had you hurt him?

The Hexcore, pulsating with dark energy, still resided within you. Soraka's powerful magic had sealed it away, but its presence was unmistakable. It sat like a stone lodged in your throat, no amount of swallowing hard could remove it. It clawed and thrashed within its confines, eager to be unleashed and wield its power over others. It had done so to Viktor, hadn’t it? Transformed him into something a little less flesh and blood, a little more mechanical. Or rather, you had done that to him in your frantic attempt to save his life. And already you could feel it fading, feel your work run out of power. You hadn’t known what you were doing, you still didn’t. You possessed innate magical abilities, but Viktor did not - his body relied on the fuel provided by the Hexcore, leaving him vulnerable, and you had locked away the only thing that could give it to him.

Not to mention the six Gemstones worth of power that you had already absorbed, awakening your latent magic and leaving it pulsing through your body, ready to be harnessed and wielded. But even as the potential for greatness coursed through you, so too did the overwhelming burn of magic, like a slippery acid, seeping into every pore and nerve ending. Your body, unable to withstand the intense pressure, had taken upon itself the task of releasing your magic while you slept, desperate to ease the constant urge for more.

“That tickles, Miláček.” Viktor's thumb and forefinger traced the outline of your chin, gently turning your face to meet his gaze. His eyes were hazy with sleep, but a lazy smile still graced his lips. You lingered on the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his jaw, before finally registering what he had said, and the light shake of his chest as he held back laughter.

Electric blue sparks crackled and danced across your skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake. They playfully jumped onto Viktor, skittering across his chest before disappearing into the crevasses of metal that adorned his body.

“Oh!” You jumped and a fresh wave of sparks burst from you and cascaded over Viktor, eliciting a light and unexpected giggle. You’d never heard such a sound from him before, and while the circumstances were less than ideal, you tucked the memory of it safely away. “I’m so sorry!”

Inhaling deeply, you willed the sparks to stop, to cease their teasing dance and leave you alone. But they seemed to have a will of their own, and your efforts to control them only seemed to ignite them further. With a renewed energy, they flitted and flickered around you, emitting soft, tinkling laughter that sounded like mischievous pixies at play. Their movements were graceful yet erratic, like a troupe of ballet dancers performing an impromptu routine.

Viktor laughed, loud and startled, no longer able to hold it back as the tickling increased. It bubbled up from deep within him, spreading through his body like a wildfire, until he couldn't hold it in any longer. His whole frame shook with mirth, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I don’t know how to stop it!” Panic laced your voice, and while you were thankful that it wasn’t hurting him, you were well aware of how quickly your magic could change.

Trying to speak was a futile endeavour when one was being tickled by hundreds of little sparks, and Viktor made a valiant effort, but it did little in the face of the…magical ticklers? The whole situation was absurd; here you were, running away from Piltover, losing control over your magic, the Hexcore a constant threat, and Viktor…well, you weren’t sure what was happening with him, he was alive, but without the Hexcore, you didn’t how long that would last. Yet, amidst all of that, Viktor was lost in a laughing fit, at the mercy of your magic as it tickled him.

With great effort, you heaved yourself upright and scooted away from him, your muscles aching and protesting with every movement. It was your only option, to create some space between you. The sparks leaped across the floor, continuing to barrage Viktor with their giggles and tickles. However, as you made it halfway across the room, even the exuberant sparks seemed to have their limits, groaning with high-pitched dismay as they strained to reach Viktor.

“Stop that,” you hissed, swiping your hand through their path. They shrieked as they dispersed, their target no longer in reach, their joy cut off.

Sitting up, Viktor pressed a hand to his chest, catching his breath and wiping away the remnants of his tears. You grimaced, swatting away the remaining sparks as they bickered their irritation, until all that remained was the silent flow of your pain relief.

“That was certainly unexpected,” Viktor said when he’d regained his composure, his lips tilted in an amused grin. He didn’t seem to be in pain, despite not having your magic - stuck at a distance as you were - to soothe any aches.

“I…don’t know what that was.” You pursed your lips, gaze averted. “I’m so sorry.”

Viktor shook his head, patting down the tuft of hair that stuck up at the back like a ducktail. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m capable of withstanding some tickling.”

“It’s not just that,” you argued, “I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control my own magic. This time I didn’t hurt you, but what if next time I do?”

With a sigh, Viktor pushed himself up to stand, and began making his way towards you. Scrambling to get away, you scooted yourself farther back. “No, no, no, wait! They could come back!”

“Eh,” Viktor shrugged, making no move to heed your warning. “Then I will be at their mercy again.”

Your back hit the wall, and you had nowhere else to go. Before you could find an exit, he was kneeling in front of you, his left knee clanking against the ground.

“May I?” His skin and bone hand hovered just over your cheek. His face was so open in its vulnerability, in his concern, as he leaned

in close to you; knees pulled tight against your chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper, thick and lodged in your throat, swallowing around the Hexcore.

“You will not.” He said it with such unwavering certainty, such conviction, you could find no room to argue.

You took a shaky breath, and slowly, like you were taking a tentative step into an overheated bathtub, you leaned your cheek against his awaiting palm.

And your magic stayed put, it didn’t lash out, didn’t roll through his body like it did yours. You didn’t hurt him.

The tension in your legs eased, allowing them to fall loosely around his body as he drew nearer. His sturdy knees nestled comfortably beneath your thighs, bringing you closer together.

“See,” his thumb brushed across your skin and you sighed your content, “I was correct.”

Your hand overlapped his as you nuzzled your face into his palm. “No need to gloat,” you said with no real irritation.

He chuckled, but said nothing, simply giving you time to breathe, to calm the fractured plains of your mind as his thumb continued to swipe across your cheek.

“Where are we?” you asked after a minute. You’d meant to ask last night, but your exhaustion and terror had gotten the better of you. The kitchen had seemed strangely familiar, but try as you might you couldn’t place it.

Viktor looked around the room, tenderness in the upward tilt of his brow. “My childhood home. I moved to the Academy shortly after my parents passed, but even by that time, the neighbourhood was already thinning. The Grey was worse here than in other places, the ventilation system never worked as well on the outskirts. I didn’t think I would ever be back here.”

You were at a loss for how to respond. Your mind raced with questions - should you offer your condolences for his parents? He had never explicitly mentioned their deaths, but it had been clear from his demeanour on the rare occasion that they were brought up, that they were no longer alive. Or perhaps you should validate his decision to leave, to escape The Grey that had most likely been the cause of his declining health. Maybe both actions were necessary, or maybe neither would suffice. Should you simply pat him on the shoulder like you were an emotionally stunted adult trying to console a child?

“You don’t have to say anything.” Had you said that all aloud or had he simply guessed where your thoughts had headed? “I don’t want to be troubled by the past, not when I have you here right now.”

Such a simple statement had such a profound effect on your battered heart. Like the leech you were, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and tugging him close. The sharp sting of your burns was nothing compared to the warmth spreading from his touch. His hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, sighing into your hair as you tucked your face against his shoulder, inhaling his scent - a mix of pine and the metallic tang of steel. It was slightly different than how he used to smell, just like the hardness of his partially metal body, but it didn't change anything about how you felt. You loved him, had loved him for years - permeating through your soul like it had always belonged there.

Your hands tightened their grip on his back. “How are you feeling?” Your voice was muffled against him, but loud enough to be heard.

“I should be asking you the same.”

A dismissal, an attempt to divert your attention from what he knew would upset you. But even though you were exhausted in both body and spirit, you were not so easily distracted from his health.

You pinched his metal chest harmlessly, like squeezing the corner of a table between your fingers. “I asked you first.”

You felt him smile against the top of your head. “I see your stubbornness has not been affected.”

“Nor yours,” you shot back, earning you a hum of agreement.

“I am…” he began, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, his fingers scraping along your scalp. “Alive. Though I feel my strength waning, it is too soon to tell if this is simply a result of the power you poured into my body stabilizing, or something worse.”

You bit your lip, the tangy taste of blood rising to your tongue. It wasn’t too soon for you, your magic screamed at you that this decline would continue, that without the Hexcore he would only become weaker and weaker until—

“Milá, you have provided me with more time than I ever would have had without you.” He couldn’t possibly know that for certain, without you maybe he would have found a cure, would have been able to use the Hexcore properly to cure his illness. “And most importantly, I have more time with you.”

You lifted your face towards his, meeting his gaze as he looked down at you, lovingly, like you were worth all the pain and trouble. You weren’t entirely so sure, but you melted into him all the same, powerless to resist. His hand returned to your cheek, his eyes trailing over your injuries, a crease forming between his brows.

“Your wounds are healing, but as I avoided your inquiry, you have avoided mine.”

You huffed, licking the blood off your lips as subtly as possible, though his gaze flickered to the movement of your tongue and you doubted he had missed it. “I don’t really know how to answer. I feel…like I’m hanging on by a thread, like one strong gust will blow me over and my magic will take my place and control me. I’m afraid, but also, I’m beyond grateful that I am here with you, that I…get to love you for longer.”

You hadn’t talked about anything that had happened between you in that cave. You hadn’t addressed the confessions or the way you’d melded together and kissed him with desperation. Nervousness churned in your gut as you spoke your love for him aloud in the dim light of day, wondering if he could still feel the same way despite how your magic had already displayed defiance, how you looked without the shadows to hide your burned skin. You met his gaze, and that doubt faded away like a distant memory.

He leaned his forehead against yours, your eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosted across your lips. “As am I, Miláček.”

Viktor leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours in a feather-light caress. You tilted your chin up in silent invitation, inviting him closer. His gaze dropped to your parted lips and he let out a soft, shuddering exhale.

And finally, his lips pressed against yours with a tender urgency that stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth was a gentle flame, spreading through your body and melting you from the inside out. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his soft hair, the strands silken between your fingertips. As he deepened the kiss, Viktor's metal hand slid around to cradle the back of your head while the other firmly gripped your waist.

You melted into his solid frame, feeling every inch of him pressed against you. Your hands slid up his chest until your fingers curled around the back of his neck. The thrumming pulse of his changed body resonated through you, a steady drumbeat in time with your wildly racing heart.

You lost yourself in the languid dance. All the fear, the pain, the uncertainty faded into the background until there was only this – only him and the reverent way his mouth worshipped yours.

Despite the unknowns of what the future held and the daunting task of finding a solution to Viktor's decline, you knew that you were not alone. You would figure it out together.

Next Chapter

A/N: YAYYY!!! So excited to be back writing these two, I've missed them so much :') I hope you enjoyed some silly Viktor, he was sorely missing in this season, but don't worry, there is plenty more where that came from! I'd also written this scene before they came out with his new league skin that gets tickled by his robot arm - I love that I am on the same page as his writers lol.

Let me know what you think and any predictions for how you think its gonna go! I'd be super interested to hear them :) And as always, thank you for reading!!

I'll be posting another chapter hopefully later this week/weekend so stay tuned!

If I’m missing any warnings, please let me know!

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#angst with a happy ending #fluff #humour #eventual smut #arcane viktor #viktor x you #viktor x reader #no use of y/n #machine herald viktor #tooth rotting fluff #mages #beginning of relationship #trauma #sweet #hurt/comfort

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