#also I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one that has put thoughts to this or came to these same conclusions but hey I still need to ramble

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course."

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[firadessa]

Mark Cote Info Reveal- Silvermist's Quest

(Long Post Warning)

Me and a few friends are doing our own searches for information on the elusive Tinker Bell draft. We were able to secure an interview with Mark Cote, who was on the film for both a 2d and 3d version. Unfortunately, we were not able to save many recordings in good quality and mine has no audio. I also failed to transcribe our meeting, but hopefully this will not be our only meeting.

Before the original movie was put into 3D, it had several character quests all linked to the narrative to save Neverland. I thought it would be like Disneytoon's failed Enchanted Tales series, but unlike Enchanted Tales or Cinderella 2 the segments wouldn't be so self contained. It was like the movie Fantasia, but connected through a larger plot. There would also be a ticking time bomb in the form of the worlds of the mainland and Neverland combining due to the theft of pixie dust by Tinker Bell and friends before they earned it messing up the natural order. He told us that all 5 character quests would have to be approved by management, so he experienced delays in production. Several quests were greenlit but they had a hard time when they got to Silvermist and Iridessa.

We asked in a riddle, what brings water life? It took a while to get an answer, but @princessquinnella was reminded of water fairies in the books. The thing is though, Silvermist was conceived pretty differently from Rani. Despite being a water fairy, she was a repressive and pragmatic character. If you had a Disney Fairies DVD that came with the toys, you might remember the line "Still waters run deep" in reference to Silvermist. The pond and lotus where she lived, is implied to be "Stillwater Springs" or Lilypad Pond from what we know. x Here is the description from the illusive "pitch book"

Firstly, Mark told us for this "epic story" Silvermist's quest would be next to last. None of the fairies can fly because of the magic has dissipated. The story starts in her home of Stillwater Springs/Lilypad Pond, she creates a magical cloud named Tempest to fly. Tempest is an opposite to SIlvermist, he's a joyful and free spirited cloud like a impish child. Like in the final cut, there are 4 seasonal areas? There would be 5 themed areas in Pixie Hollow where each fairy lived. Many inanimate things live here in this word inspired by Art Nouveau.

She needs to fly on Tempest to reach the "water of life", and she travels to Pixie Hollow in a harsh desert area. She has a small glass vile to collect the "water of life" and flies over the stretch of desert looking everywhere. There's a color script of this segment somewhere on AODF (dont know where to link), where it is blurry and you can see the desert.

Silvermist and Tempest even meet other clouds on their journey, but they are grumpy and stern adult clouds.

Here, on the color guide- we see things a bit different. There seems to be some sort of snowdrop-esque flower in place of Tempest- but also some clouds, so I'm not sure what it could be.

Silvermist has been in the sky for a while now in this desert, but cannot find the water of life. Suddenly! Tempest, the child cloud starts to die. Silvermist is scared, because her friend is dying and she hasn't found the water of life. She sits down defeated... and starts to cry.

He showed us a piece I am very familiar with:

It is then, when she is at her lowest- when she cries... Tempest is resurected, and she is able to save her friend and collect the Water of Life, the quest item she needs to save Pixie Hollow.

Lastly, I should say the desert like areas in Pixie Hollow remind me of the elusive art from the mysterious artbook "The Art of Judith Holmes Clarke" (excuse quality, its a short frame in an IG video)

Now it's time for the next quest to reveal information about, there should be 2 left with more info to share with you...

This one shall be fill in the blank:

"------ is the key that opens every door."

Fly with you later!

[soberstardom]

JEALOUSY? — デスノート

𓉸ྀི — yagami LIGHT, lawliet L, amane MISA, touta MATSUDA, mihael KEEL (MELLO), jeevas MAIL (MATT), mikami TERU.

𖦹 — N/A

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 — fem!reader, jealousy, some mentions of killing, (semi-romanticized) possessive men + women.

౨ৎ — this took way longer than it should've. i apologize deeply. also, i do not write for nate river (near) as i'm not the biggest fan of his general character, personally.

YAGAMI LIGHT — (夜神 月 ライト)

> 私は想像します — he'd be manipulative . . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — ah, yes, light yagami. where do i start?

꩜ .ᐟ — this manipulative god of the new world would do exactly as his name implies. manipulate.

꩜ .ᐟ — he would most likely coerce you into giving him the individuals name and other personal details.

꩜ .ᐟ — later on, however, he would hold this against you. but, not in a 'blackmail', sort of way, no.

꩜ .ᐟ — he would use it as leverage to shut down any more ideas forming in your pretty little mind.

꩜ .ᐟ — what i mean by that is, he would use that and turn it against you by saying you're such a good girl for giving that said information to your lord. he would say that he loves you and that he only gave him a heart attack, nothing more.

꩜ .ᐟ — he would end it off by saying that you are his. his goddess. his lover. his servant. and nothing will change that.

LAWLIET L — (エル・ローライト)

> 私は想像します — he'd be logical . . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — now, i personally believe that L is not the type to get jealous.

꩜ .ᐟ — he genuinely trusts you, and doesn't believe that you'd commit adultery. especially towards him.

꩜ .ᐟ — however, we're only human and as a result, we have our moments.

꩜ .ᐟ — L, if he felt jealous, would be either very broad and upfront, or very doubtful and unsure.

꩜ .ᐟ — i say this because L is a very smart and straightforward man who has no shame in voicing his thoughts.

꩜ .ᐟ — but, since you're his first relationship, he has less knowledge in this field and that could make him feel insecure.

꩜ .ᐟ — but, regardless of that, you discover his feelings eventually and comfort him with loving words and reassurance.

꩜ .ᐟ — you two ate strawberry cake together afterwards.

AMANE MISA — (弥 海砂)

> 私は想像します — she would be clingy . . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — misa would definitely be whiny and clingy, demanding your attention.

꩜ .ᐟ — she would never let it go and would probably be still asking about the same individual a week after that occurrence happened.

꩜ .ᐟ — she would be asking who they were, why did they approach you, do you like them more than her, do you like them at all, etc.

꩜ .ᐟ — she would try and buy you things and take you put on more extravagant dates to try and make sure you know she's better.

꩜ .ᐟ — she also did that to try and soothe her paranoia.

꩜ .ᐟ — but, she couldn't stop thinking about it, and eventually started ranting about it more.

꩜ .ᐟ — due to her eyes, she threatened to kill them if you ever converse with them again.

꩜ .ᐟ — she's a handful, but you love her, don't you?

TOUTA MATSUDA — (松田 桃太)

> 私は想像します — he would be self-critical . . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — now, matsuda already isn't confident in his abilities due to the amount of criticism he already gets from his team. (that's deserved, lol.)

꩜ .ᐟ — and seeing you, his gorgeous girlfriend, talking with one of the higher ranking members is yet another blow to his self-esteem.

꩜ .ᐟ — he wouldn't voice it right away, choosing to sulk instead.

꩜ .ᐟ — you didn't think much of it at first. however, once his mini pout phase didn't go away, you began to worry.

꩜ .ᐟ — after a while of 'what's wrong matsu?' and 'its nothing y/n!', he finally gave in.

꩜ .ᐟ — he told you how it made him feel when you spoke to the other men and apologized in the case that he seemed immature, but of course you didn't mind.

꩜ .ᐟ — you two sorted it out maturely and went to sleep soon after.

KEEL MIHAEL (MELLO) — (ミハエル・ケール) + (メロ)

> 私は想像します — he would be territorial . . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — i'm sure you're not surprised, considering mello's bold, aggressive personality.

꩜ .ᐟ — he isn't scared to tell people what belongs to him. that goes for you too, since you do belong to him.

꩜ .ᐟ — whenever he sees someone hitting on you, he goes off. and i mean, OFF.

꩜ .ᐟ — he yells at the person and will definitely land some punches while practically screaming "DON'T YOU HEAR ME?! SHES MINE!" at the guy while you're trying to pull him off.

꩜ .ᐟ — once he was done, he would give you a kiss while whispering 'mine.' and he would quickly drag you away with a iron grip on your wrist.

꩜ .ᐟ — once you got home, you two were cuddling in bed all day while he kept on reminding you that you are his. <3

JEEVAS MAIL (MATT) — (マイル=ジーヴァス) + (マット)

> 私は想像します — he'd play it off . . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — matt is a member in mello's gang that's known for being cocky and overconfident.

꩜ .ᐟ — due to that, he doesn't get jealous often. well, that and because he trusts you and doesn't see the need.

꩜ .ᐟ — BUT, on the off chance he does get jealous, it could go one of two ways.

꩜ .ᐟ — one, he plays it off with a smirk and a puff of his cigarette, or two, he just mocks the person straight to their face. with no regrets, may i add.

꩜ .ᐟ — he earns a smack in the back of the head, for that.

꩜ .ᐟ — but don't get your hopes up. he's not going to admit he was ever jealous. (not that he needs to. it's obvious, lol.)

MIKAMI TERU — (魅上 照)

> 私は想像します — he would be aggravated. . . !

꩜ .ᐟ — now, mikami is a man of order and structure. he enjoys schedules and planning. he looks forward to the same things each day.

꩜ .ᐟ — however, this criminal defense lawyer can't help but feel the slightest bit of aggravation when he sees this, nobody, approaching his partner.

꩜ .ᐟ — of course, the calms himself down since x-kira can blow his cover, can he?

꩜ .ᐟ — so he let you have that little interaction with them, and continued on with your guys' day not showing much acknowledgement towards what happened.

꩜ .ᐟ — but once you guys got home and he proceeded to his office, we all know what he did.

꩜ .ᐟ — delete, delete, delete.

— @soberstardom 2024. — please don't repost or translate.

[oikawaweon]

fragile ft. fushiguro megumi

pairing: f. megumi x female reader

genre: angst/fluff

word count: 6,1k

synopsis: in a slow, fragile basis of the beginning of your relationship, life with megumi has been nothing but ordinary. and in between drunken confessions, he finds out how you feel destined to be an afterthought, and how much he loves you it pains him to see you like that.

warnings: college!au, mentions of cheating and self deprecation, drinking. angst with a tiny bit of comfort. might be ooc idk idc.

if you had to describe your current status with megumi in one word, you'd probably have an internal battle about how to define it.

you wouldn't call it weak because even if you had been officially together for nearly four months now, the way your bond and mutual understanding were getting dangerously stronger every day, you swore you could've trusted your life on megumi the moment you crossed paths with him. it was eager and hot-blooded, and you were unsure about what would be next, but you sure wanted it to be with him and him only.

you also wouldn't exactly call it delicate because the intensity of whatever process you two were crossing now—hands intertwined, still learning about each other—made it a sweet type of harsh and a soft type of powerful, just like the desire to get to know him even more and melt into him.

and if it really had to be one word only, you'd stick with fragile. fragile, because you were still visited by ghosts of past wounds and you knew it was the same for megumi. fragile, because you knew well he had his own trammels and issues, and while you loved that part of him as well, what if love wasn't enough for him to let you in? fragile, because a part of you still found it impossible to believe he could actually fall for you the way he swore he had.

you were at your apartment bathroom, putting on your makeup and finishing the last touches, checking up if anything was missing. suddenly, the little visit that came over a couple of hours ago before you'd go out with your friends knocked briefly on the open door to poke his head inside.

"i was thinking, and maybe... i thought i'd like to accompany you this time". megumi peeped at himself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting a stray of his hair to keep it in place. he was dressed up and hair combed, looking all pretty for you.

you turned your head to look directly at him with undeniable joy and surprise. "there's no way".

"seriously. i'm dead serious". he stared right at you, appreciating your look with amused eyes. you took a step closer to analyze his expression and confirm this was indeed, not a joke.

"who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend"

"but it's me!", he responded with an offended chuckle. "unless you don't want me to go with you, which i'd understand-"

"for god's sake megumi, i'm literally so happy right now you wouldn't understand!", you chanted before jumping into his embrace and smelling his perfume.

he sappily smiled from ear to ear with his eyes shuttled, internally awarding himself for making you happy. oh, how he loved seeing you like that.

now it was a lively evening, filled with laughter, chatter, and the faint buzz of music pulsing through the bar's walls. megumi hadn’t been one to attend many of your mutual friends’ meetings, but tonight, it was almost as if he felt the urge to be part of the crowd, if only for your sake. he knew you'd usually thrive in social situations, smile lighting up the room, and easy laughter filling every empty space with a warmth that seemed to draw people in. and since he, for once in his life, decided to go out with you by his side, tonight you were in your element considering it'd probably wouldn't happen again anytime soon.

by the time the middle of the night was reached, you were starting to get visibly tipsy, your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and your movements just a little looser and carefree. your partner stayed by your side, engaging in conversation occasionally and offering a sense of security through the place with magnetic energy, keeping you in his orbit. he had poured himself a single drink earlier in the evening—just enough to take the edge off the social setting, but nothing that would leave him out of control. the truth was, tonight he preferred to keep his mind sharp and stay observant, especially at a gathering like this. a part of him knew he had to take care of you, and the other one simply wanted to remember this night out with detail. he held a glass in his hand, nursing it while watching over you, with a drunk itadori blabber-mouthing into his ear. he didn't need more than this.

however, as the night went on, megumi found himself a little on edge. you'd already laughed so hard at some brain-rotted thing toge was talking about, nearly dropping off your glass on the table, only to grab your boyfriend's arm dramatically like he was your lifeline.

“megumiii”, you whispered as loud as you could. “did you hear that one? i think it was the funniest shit ever. i mean, ever.”

“you’re at your limit” he muttered back with a concerned, but amused tone. you scrunched your nose and shook your head with a pout, not paying much attention to what he was saying.

“i’m fine,” you insisted, holding up a finger and pushing it into your chest with such determination that you swore he almost believed it (he clearly didn't). “totally…totally fine”.

he chuckled at your motions, and eventually, sensing you might need a break, your boyfriend gently nudged you and spoke to your ear.

“you know... i'm done with the chill guy jokes now. how about some fresh air?”

you stared at him for a second. "you're seriously so boring", you said with a delighted tone before standing up and grabbing his arm to pull him into you and bring him to the stairs at the corner of the bar.

you waved back at the table with a muttered "we'll be right back", and once you reached the stairs, step by step, he pulled a hand to put a firm hold on your waist to prevent you from falling down, his lips wandering all over your arm giving little pecks wherever he could reach.

once on the second floor of the building, the terrace welcomed both of you with the cool night air, a reprieve from the warmth of the salon downstairs. you clung to megumi's arm, looking up at him with a sparkling, slightly hazy look, one he was starting to recognize as a tipsy declaration of love waiting to happen. you leaned against him, letting out a small, content sigh as he gazed at the streetlights and the stars above.

your eyes wandered for a while before finding a nice spot to spend the time: a balcony, away from the noise and chaos inside. you leaned your elbows on the railing, and while you were gazing out at the city lights, megumi looked at the way the wind tousled your hair, the faint smile on your lips as you swayed a little, and even seemed to notice your distant expression, guessing that you might have started to dissociate and were somewhere far away. he stood beside you, leaning slightly closer and letting the quiet of the night settle around him.

you began talking, idly at first. it didn't matter that much anyway, it wasn't like you would remember any of it tomorrow morning. you rambled about something silly you'd seen earlier that day, making him laugh, and then he would add something he remembered at the moment. both of your words were flowing like a stream with no filter, voices soft and warm.

you stood close together on the balcony, leaning against each other as you looked out at the skyline, your cheeks flushed from the drinks you’d had earlier. the night air was cool, the city below sprawling out like a carpet of lights. you two were alone now, away from the noise, and he found himself drawn into the conversation that had become strangely vulnerable, more layered than he’d expected.

somewhere in the middle of your ramblings, your voice dropped to a softer, almost reflective tone. you laughed, a hint of bitterness coloring the edges, and your gaze drifted down to your hands, fidgeting with a handmade bracelet you paired with megumi during one of your first dates.

"you look like you're thinking too much about something", he uttered while taking off his black leather jacket and gently covering your shoulders, sensing that the temperature was quite lower outside.

you jumped as you fell off of the trance you were in and gave him a tsk. "oh it's nothing".

"if you say it's nothing then it's something that's concerning you. we can talk". he was observing too much and that was making you nervous.

you paused a little before clearing up your throat. was it a good idea to talk about it? was it necessary? really necessary? and then, the drunken eagerness hit you. fuck it.

"do you think that... we're heading into a good pathway?

he took a while to try and formulate a proper answer, wanting as much clarity as possible to avoid triggering a tipsy you. "if you talk about us, about our relationship... i think we are heading into a good pathway. why?"

"sometimes i'm scared this might not work out no matter what"

"what do you mean?", he answered with a concerned look.

“not trying to yapp, but i'm not sure if i've ever told you this, yet…” you began, your voice slurring just slightly as you played again with the charm on your wrist, “sometimes i can't stop thinking about how i got fucking cheated on. it wasn’t a big deal, though,” you shrugged casually as if discussing something as trivial as a forgotten text message. sensing his disquiet look, you kept talking in an attempt to erase the tension. “stuff like that just happens, y'know? at least when you're not much to stick around for.”

your words fell into the silence, each one landing heavily, cutting through the quiet in a way that made megumi realize how his chest was now aching. it was the way you’d spoken so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if it were a universal truth you'd come to accept. although drunk, the way you didn’t even flinch as you spoke, your expression still relaxed, but there was an undercurrent of sadness in your words, something so deeply ingrained that you probably weren’t even aware of it.

“honestly,” you swore you tried to stop yourself from speaking, but there was this odd feeling of needing to spit it out under the excuse of intoxication, your voice low and soft as you now ran your fingers along the metal of the railing. “i should've seen it coming with him. he was… well, he wasn’t perfect, but he was my first boyfriend.” you let out a soft laugh, the kind that didn’t quite match your eyes. “i think i always knew he didn’t really want to be with me, at least not in the way i wanted him to.”

megumi tensed, his grip tightening slightly around the rail of the balcony. he’d never really heard you talk about this, about anyone before him, and he felt a pang of something unfamiliar—a mixture of protectiveness and a strange, almost possessive ache. he kept watching you, trying to read between the lines of the sadness beneath your casual tone, the hints of self-deprecation you tried so hard to hide behind some silly narrative.

you noticed the change in his expression and felt immediately guilty for ruining the vibes of the moment. "i'm sorry for-"

"you don't have to say sorry. you can... keep talking if you... feel safe".

the relaxation slowly filled your body as you freed your thoughts. “he was always looking somewhere else, y'know? it’s funny…” you trailed off before chuckling again after the realization hit, feeling it all absurd now. “i think he only dated me because he couldn’t have the girl he actually wanted.” you shrugged, your expression oddly resigned. “and i was fine with that. i mean, who was i to think i’d be someone’s first choice? so stupidly in love and available”.

megumi felt his heart clench again. he wanted to reach out, to shake you from this idea that you weren't enough, that you somehow deserved less because of who you were. he knew you somehow struggled with self-perception, but he hadn’t realized just how deep it went. and it hurt him to think that, somewhere along the way, you’d convinced yourself that you were unworthy of loyalty, that betrayal was something you simply had to accept.

“y/n…” he began softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the city below them. he wanted to say something, anything that would shake you out of the spiral, to let his girl see herself the way he did. “you’re not—” he hesitated, unsure if his words could even reach you, especially with the tipsy haze softening the edges of your pain.

however, you didn’t seem to notice the interruption, your voice growing a little distant as you continued, your gaze fixed on some point in the distance. “i always knew, deep down. there was this... odd gut feeling all the time when he’d tell me not to worry, that i was enough… but you know, people can’t help what they feel.” you let out a small sigh, shaking your head as if amused by your own naivety. “i was always the backup plan, and that’s fine. i got used to it. people settle sometimes. but it didn't feel right. and now i feel it so right with you that it scares me to even think of it happening again”.

to hear his precious girlfriend saying those things about herself, so casually and yet so cuttingly, felt like a punch to his gut. megumi could feel his frustration building, not at you, but at the way you dismissed yourself as if you were something disposable, something that could be set aside. his mind raced with memories of your laughter, your intelligence, your cockiness, the way you lit up a room with your energy. how could you not see what he saw? how could you believe you were anything less than fucking exceptional?

he leaned in slightly, his hand reaching out to gently turn your face towards him, his gaze intense, searching his loved one's eyes for something—anything—that might indicate she understood how deeply he cared for her, how much he wished she could see her own worth. “i need you to understand that you weren’t a backup plan to him, and you’re definitely not one to me,” he said, his voice firm but soft, every word laced with sincerity. “i don’t know why he couldn’t see what he had… but i do. i do see you, y/n.”

you looked at him, your gaze softening slightly, and for a moment, he thought he’d gotten through to you. but then, you shrugged with that same dismissive smile tugging at your lips as if you couldn’t quite believe him. “thanks, gumi. but… it’s fine, really. it’s not a big deal. i’m over it, and i'm just drunk. you probably shouldn't take me seriously” you said, your voice light, brushing off his words as if they were just platitudes.

he frowned, feeling a growing frustration—not at you, but at this wall you’d built around yourself, this barrier that kept you from accepting the love he was trying to offer. “you shouldn’t talk about yourself like that,” he said, his voice was firmer now, a touch of impatience slipping through. “you don’t have to dismiss yourself. you don’t have to make yourself small just because someone else didn’t appreciate you.”

you blinked, taken aback by his tone, and for a moment, your guard slipped. but then again, you chuckled, brushing off his words with a playful smile, as if trying to lighten the mood. “megumi, you’re too serious sometimes,” you teased, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair, your expression warm but carrying a hint of something deeper, a sadness you still couldn’t quite shake away.

megumi looked back at you, his hand instinctively tightening around yours, and his voice came out low, steady, holding a softness that he rarely showed up until now. “i… actually thought you were funny the first time i saw you,” he murmured, his words tentative, as if hoping they might somehow shift your perspective, if only by a fraction. “and pretty, too,” he added, his eyes steady on you, willing for you to hear him. "really pretty".

you stood there, your gaze drifting up to meet his, and for a moment, you seemed to register the sincerity in his voice. but your smile wavered as if you couldn’t believe him. “you're tripping,” she laughed, waving it off, your voice light but carrying a trace of disbelief, as if his words were something foreign you couldn’t quite grasp.

“no no, i mean it,” he replied, his tone confident and his blue eyes unwavering. he took a small step closer, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering there, brushing against your cheek. “i thought you were amazing from the start. and i still do.. and i probably ever will. there's so much more i still haven't discovered 'bout you, and it makes me wanna study you for the rest of my life”.

for a brief second, something flickered in your eyes—a vulnerability, maybe? a glimpse of the girl beneath the layers of defense you'd built. you looked at him, really looked at him, searching his face as if trying to find the truth in his words. nonetheless, as quickly as it appeared, the vulnerability faded, and you plastered on a smile, your walls snapping back up.

“thanks, gumi,” you said before leaning in to kiss his cheek, your tone light, almost playful, trying your drunken best to deflect the seriousness of the moment. “but really, it’s fine. i’m over it, i swear” you gave a small shrug, your voice tinged with a forced nonchalance that made his heart ache even more.

he let you laugh and deflect, but his mind was racing since he could understand the baggage you were trying so hard to release. all those scars left by past betrayals and insecurities hurt him more than he could ever put into words, especially because he came too late to prevent you from experiencing it. knowing that you weren't ready to confront those feelings, he didn’t push you any further, less in this state. instead, he simply stayed by your side, letting his presence speak for him, hoping that, over time, you’d begin to believe him. it really frustrated him, the way you downplayed your own worth, the way you brushed off your concerns as if they were something you simply had to endure. he knew you were stronger than you realized and also that you carried so much more beauty and light than you could ever see in yourself.

you stayed on the balcony a while longer, and though your expression remained casual, he could see the faintest hint of something deeper beneath your face, a shadow of the hurt you tried so hard to bury. he didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to push you beyond what you were willing to share, and decided to wait for you, so as you stood there, side by side, he silently vowed to show you, in every way he could, that you were worth more than the broken pieces you’d been led to believe you were.

when you finally made your way back inside, you sobered up, and your head rested on his shoulder as you walked. megumi wrapped an arm around you, holding you close as if to shield you from the doubts you carried. and though you might not remember much of your conversation come morning, he hoped that, on some level, you’d feel the weight of his words, that you would begin to see yourself through his eyes, if only just a little.

at that moment, megumi made a mental note to himself to keep reminding you of your worth and the love he held for you through every small gesture, every silent reassurance until the day he died. because even if he struggled to be expressive, you were worth every effort, every unspoken word, and every moment spent in quiet understanding.

the atmosphere shifted after your quiet conversation on the balcony, but your laughter was quick to fill the silence, your spirits as buoyant as ever as you headed back into the warm hum of the party. inside, the music now thumped louder, people clustered in lively groups, and the smell of smoke and drinks mingled in the air. once you saw the group again, you practically bounced back into the party with them, your arm linked with megumi's as you steered him toward with a radiant smile. you were joyfully unrestrained and had totally forgotten about what had you so petty a while ago, ringing out above the music as if your earlier words had been nothing more than a passing breeze.

megumi, however, found himself seeing you in a different mood, the weight of your confessions lingering at the back of his mind. he watched you as you laughed with your friends, your movements fluid yet slightly unsteady, your smile big and genuine. but he couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest; your words haunted him, your offhanded comments that told him more than you realized. you swayed closer to him now and then, your hand brushing his, and every time you looked up at him with that carefree grin, he felt the urge to lock you in a glass box and shield you from everything that had ever made you feel so small.

you suddenly grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the dance floor with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "come on! just one dance, please!" you pleaded, pouting just enough to make him sigh but follow willingly. it would be just for once, right? and how could he ignore his pretty girlfriend's contagious enthusiasm, her laughter spilling over as she twirled him around, not caring who was watching or how out of sync their movements were? megumi went along with you, a half-smile tugging at his lips as you spun and swayed, your arms stretching out wide like you were trying to embrace the whole world.

but beneath it all, he could see the vulnerability in you—how your laughter was a bit too loud, your smiles a bit too wide. every so often, your gaze would drift, your eyes unfocused for a fleeting second, and he knew you were miles away, lost in thoughts that were far from joyful. then, with a blink, you’d snap back, finding him again in the crowd, lighting up as if he were your anchor.

as the night wore on, both of your energies began to wane, your steps becoming even more unsteady, your phrases turning softer and a little slurred. megumi noticed the faint flush on your cheeks, the way you leaned into him more heavily with each passing moment, your body resting briefly on his as you cackled at something he didn’t quite catch.

“alright, i think we’ve had enough for one night,” he murmured gently, his voice barely audible over the music, though his words were more for himself than for you. after saying your goodbyes with everyone before they took their way home, he guided you towards the exit with one arm around your waist, trying his best to ignore the knowing glances from a few of your friends as they watched him support you. he could almost hear the teasing they’d throw at him the next day, but he didn’t care; all he wanted was to get you somewhere safe and quiet.

outside, the cool night air hit you, and you let out a content sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder with a soft smile. “you’re a good boyfriend, y’know that?” you murmured, your voice sleepy and muffled as you nuzzled closer to him. you giggled, clearly a little too tipsy and tired to remember half the things you’d said tonight, including your own heart-wrenching confessions. but you were blissfully unaware, your smile soft and genuine as you looked up at your boyfriend with half-lidded eyes.

megumi's heart twisted, and he gave a content sigh, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “yeah? and you’re a good girlfriend”, he replied softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. he wanted to say more, wanted to tell you that he saw everything you tried to hide, but also that you didn’t need to pretend with him. he ended up holding back, not wanting to burden you in this moment.

as you walked, you swayed slightly, humming a tune under your breath, your head lolling from side to side. you rambled on about the night, recounting funny moments and half-remembered jokes, your words slurring just enough that he had to focus to keep up. but he listened to your every word, nodding and laughing with you in all the right places, his arm steady around you as he guided you along the sidewalk.

when you reached his car, you fumbled with the door handle, giggling as you struggled to open it until he gently nudged your hand away and opened it for you. you collapsed into the passenger seat with a satisfied exhale, stretching your arms above your head as you settled in, you eyes already beginning to droop. he watched you for a moment, taking in the soft, peaceful expression on your face, and he felt that same protective instinct rises within him, fierce and unrelenting.

sliding into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at you, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. you were half-asleep now, your head resting against the window, and he couldn’t help but reach out, giving you a slight peck on the top of your head. you stirred at his touch, blinking up at him with a drowsy smile.

“y'know, gumi,” you murmured, your words barely a whisper, “i’m really happy with you… like, really, really happy.”

his heart clenched, and genuinely smiled, his voice soft as he replied, “i’m happy with you too, y/n.” he wanted to say so much more, to tell you how deeply he cared, how much your words had affected him tonight, but since you wouldn’t remember it in the morning, he stayed shut and appreciated the moment.

as he drove, the city lights blurred past the car, and he glanced over at you now and then, his system relaxing as he saw you taking a little nap on the seat next to him. the way you had such an important conversation, how you two danced right after, and how you were peacefully asleep in his car, letting him drive you home late at night—it made him think. he realized that there was so much you probably kept hidden, so many feelings and thoughts you carried beneath your exterior, and he felt an overwhelming need to protect you from all the bad things in the world.

when they finally reached your apartment, he helped you out of the car, guiding you up the steps as you leaned heavily against him, your little sounds soft and sleepy. you fumbled for your keys, dropping them once before he gently took them from your hand, unlocking the door and leading you inside. you stumbled over to the couch, flopping down with a content sigh, almost falling asleep right again.

megumi knelt beside you, brushing a gentle hand over your cheek. “get some sleep, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft. and after noticing you weren't even considering going to your room, too worn out to move, he picked you up over his shoulder to take you to your bed. he carefully cleaned your makeup from your face, took off your clothes, and put on your pajamas before tucking you under the sheets.

as he watched you drift off, your breathing slow and even, he determined to stay by your side and help you in any way he could. he had no idea of how he would do it but was pretty sure he couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer in silence. he had to be there, every step of the way, until you realized he was as serious as you to commit, no matter what it took. because you were totally worth it and you made him feel more than anyone had ever done before. he’d show you that you were his first choice, now and always.

megumi wasn’t planning to stay, but as he knelt beside you to give you a last goodnight kiss, your eyes fluttered open, just barely, and you reached out with a sleepy murmur. “stay, please?” you wish was soft, almost pleading, and even though he wasn’t sure at first, he just couldn’t say no to you.

a faint smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, whispering, “alright, i’ll stay for my pretty baby.” you sighed with relief, closing your eyes as you felt him settling into the bed, curling up like it was the most natural thing in the world to have him beside you. after making sure you were comfortable, he lied beside you, leaning back and watching as your breathing slowed again, your face in complete relaxation. a part of him considered moving to the armchair across your bedroom to give you space, but then you shifted, your hand reaching out instinctively to find his, your fingers brushing against his arm as you pulled him to hug you, like seeking the reassurance of his presence even in sleep. you both held a mutual grip that was soft but unmistakable, and it was almost as if you telepathically shared in your dreams how comforted you were by the closeness between each other. you murmured something incoherent in your sleep, a soft smile gracing your lips as you shifted even closer. he felt a wave of tenderness wash over him, sensing you like this, so vulnerable and peaceful. the noise and the lights of the party, the weight of everything—all of it felt like a distant memory in this quiet, cozy moment.

megumi stayed awake a while longer, simply watching over you as you slept. he couldn’t shake the feeling of knowing that you held such a distorted view of yourself. he still couldn't stop thinking about that. your casual words from earlier echoed in his mind. but truly, you were everything to him, and after all, genuine—he hated that someone had made you feel less than worthy.

eventually, the warmth and quiet pulled him under, and he found himself drifting off, his hand still resting near yours, your fingers just barely brushing against each other as he fell asleep cuddling you.

the morning sun filtered softly through the window, casting a gentle glow across the room. you stirred first, blinking groggily as you adjusted to the brightness, your head throbbing slightly from the previous night’s drinks. you closed your eyes for a moment, recalling bits and pieces of the party—the music, the laughter, megumi’s comforting presence… and then something more, a memory at the edge of your mind that felt both familiar and hazy. your face flushed as you remembered small fragments, wondering if you’d said anything embarrassing.

that's when you felt it—an arm resting near yours, warm and solid. you opened her eyes slowly again, your gaze falling on megumi beside you, still fast asleep. his face was relaxed, his usual guarded expression softened by sleep, and you couldn’t help but smile, watching him for a moment in the quiet. it was rare to see him like this, peaceful and ethereal, and a part of you felt grateful that he’d stayed for the night.

but then a pang of anxiety surfaced. did I say something? you wondered, bits of the night coming back in flashes. you remembered his face when you guys talked on the balcony, how he’d looked at you with an intensity you hadn’t quite understood in the moment. had you let something slip? had you told him about… that?

you bit her lip, cheeks warming with embarrassment, but before you could dwell too much, you felt him shift beside you, his eyes fluttering open. he looked at you, a bit groggy but immediately alert, his gaze softening when he saw you were already awake.

“morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“morning,” you replied, your voice a bit softer than usual, still unsure if he remembered everything.

he sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he adjusted to being awake. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his tone gentle but perceptive as he tapped your forehead with his finger, like he was searching for something that would tell him about your state.

“im… not too bad, actually” you replied, managing a small smile. you looked away, your fingers absentmindedly picking at the fabric of the sheets, still trying to piece together the foggy memories from the night before.

your boyfriend watched you, noticing the way you seemed lost in thought, and he couldn’t help but reach out, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “baby…” he began, his voice soft but firm, “about last night…”

you tensed slightly, your gaze darting up to meet his. “oh god, did i… did i say something embarrassing, right?” you laughed nervously, brushing it off with a wave, while you couldn't look at him in the eyes from how your heart pounded as you waited for his response.

he paused, studying your face for a moment. “not embarrassing,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “but… you did say something that i don’t think you’d want me to just brush off.”

your smile faltered, and you glanced down, biting her lip. “megumi, i—” your started, but he interrupted you gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder.

“you don’t have to explain anything now,” he said softly. “it's just that… i need you to know that you don’t have to feel like that. whatever happened in the past, it doesn’t change the way i see you now and it's nothing like what we have at this moment”.

your eyes softened, your heart aching as you looked at him, realizing just how much he cared, even if you hadn’t meant for him to know everything. you wanted to laugh it off, to make light of it like you usually did, but something about his gaze told you that he wouldn’t let you deflect this time.

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you met his eyes. you felt your throat tighten, the weight of your past bubbling up as you tried to push it back, but his gaze anchored you, reminding you that you weren't alone in this. "thank you for being mine..."

he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “thank you for being mine. i’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk, okay? no pressure.”

you managed a small smile, squeezing his hand back. “i… i appreciate that, gumi,” you responded, wavering slightly. and for this time, you allowed yourself to believe it—believe that maybe, just maybe, you were worth the kindness the world offered. that you deserved the caring and love megumi gave you.

it was all still fragile— the slow building trust between you, the comfort of his presence, the trust you had on yourself as a partner. fragile. but so it was now the fear of being replaced, because as you sat there in silence, your hand still in his, the weight of every bad memory suddenly felt a little lighter, held together by the understanding and sweet amenity between the quiet morning and who you were now sure, was the love of your life.

a/n: okkk this will be long!! first able, i need to apologize for announcing an angstober only for me to didn't even start it 😭😭 i was really excited for that project but a month ago i suddenly became a functional member of society bc i got called for this student federation team at my uni, got into this research project of bioinformatics and even got called to expose for a congress about some drawings i did to communicate science?? with literal professionals?? as a stem girlie i'm like HONORED but as an individual i'm honestly so tired and i'm so sorry for that... however, i still wanna take care of all the 31 drafts i have on this app so i'll be posting them but i assure you this WILL take long lmao. i post this as a little gift and because i reaaaally wanted to show it off soon. hope you let me know your thoughts on the comments. thank you for all the new people here (and the ones who stayed for a whole month), and i hope you enjoy this as much as i do! xx

[autumnmobile12]

Ambush Sim:  Touya and Hawks’ Relationship

I don’t want to call it complicated; how I write them is they’re both relatively straightforward with each other, but there is a distinct divide in how Hawks views Endeavor the hero vs how Touya views Enji his father.  That's not a part of their dynamic they can ignore, so this is the only way I can write this ship with any sense that it's a healthy one:

Hawks doesn’t know the full story and is also aware he can’t just pry it out of Touya, but he can tell with the father-son interactions that something is wrong and he has the understanding that whatever is causing Touya’s animosity is probably warranted. (He has heard the rumors other Pros share about Endeavor, has uneasily discounted them for lack of evidence and the fact none of the family members ever came forward, and has since come to the conclusion this stance may be naïvely optimistic.)  The same is true of Touya knowing Hawks has a reason to admire the hero but not knowing exactly what that reason is.  He has three main reasons for keeping silent about what his father did:

It is rooted in the years he’s already spent keeping silent in order to avoid the fallout should their family’s story go public.

It is also a matter of compassion.  He is not vindictive enough in this AU to completely ruin Hawks’ perception of his childhood hero, and this also a stance he took with his piano students.  True, there is the debate on whether or not it is honorable or even healthy to withhold that kind of information, especially when the likely response to finding that out is, ‘Wow, I wish you’d told me sooner.’  But this is the razor line everyone in this family walks in regards to their patriarch.

He's made this compromise with his sister; he figures he can do it with his partner.

So the result is Touya and Hawks have an unspoken and very temporary compromise of shelving the Endeavor issue.

They both know this is eventually going to be a discussion that can’t be avoided.

...

One thing I've noticed while writing, though, is their relationship very closely resembles these two:

And I'm pretty sure that's subconscious, but it's the personalities that match up for me.

Shinra is a more comedic character, but he's the character type you don't know to take seriously until they do something extreme and worth your undivided attention. Shinra will be joking and laughing with Celty in one scene, the next he'll be threatening a guy with a scalpel.

In the same manner, Hawks is similar. Trickster/goofball one moment, legitimately threatening the next.

Celty is also a bit of a silly character when you get down to it. In spite of being a serious and levelheaded fairy creature who's calling is to retrieve the souls of the dead and dying...she's clumsy, she misplaces things, she gets flustered, she's afraid of aliens to the point cheesy 80s sci-fi horror films scare her, and she's a terrible liar. What makes her comparable to Touya, however, is the theme of chasing something seemingly unattainable. Celty is a headless horsewoman whose head was stolen from her and she lost centuries of memories with it.

She could survive without her head, but she couldn't live without it.

And then there's Touya chasing after his father's recognition, surviving without it, and slowly learning to live without it in the Ambush Sim AU.

So in spite of the toxic elements of their relationship (and there are a few,) the way Shinra and Celty come together and balance out the bad with the good where it otherwise shouldn't happen...is adorable in all the wrong and right ways.

These two in the Ambush Sim AU are very slow-burn.

Hawks makes the slow-burn a writing requirement because of the demisexual headcanon I gave him. Putting it in the simplest terms, demisexuality is primarily needing an emotional connection first and foremost, and then there’s Touya who’s determined to keep everything emotional locked down due to past trauma. So the thought process is, 'That's a major incompatibility hurdle. Is that even gonna work?'

It's definitely one of the more challenging ship dynamics I've worked with, but after playing with the Trepha ship in the Castlevania fandom for the past couple years, I think I've got a good grasp of how to do it without it coming off as unnatural or toxic. In any case, it is an interesting ship to explore and I hope to do more with it in this AU because Touya and Hawks are very much black cat and golden retriever energy and I love that.

...

“So did you want me to cook or are you good with airport food?”

“Are you kidding me,”  Hawks laughed as he followed him.  “With how I was eating in America, I feel like I should fast for a week.  So many carbs.”

“I hear they have a good cultural variety.”

“Oh yeah, my first day there, I had barbeque pirozhki for lunch.  I don’t quite know what that is, but it was delicious.”

“I’ll find you a recipe then.”

“Really?”  He beamed at his turned back.  “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Touya pulled out his phone.  “How do you spell that?

[skill7spark04]

To preface, I'm not trying to change your opinion or anything, but really this seems like an interesting potential for discussion on my take of how TLQ is represented:

I don't like the idea of TLQ realizing anything about gender norms, really. they are an existential god being, and I'm pretty sure that puts them above gender and physical sex in nature, placing them at a nonbinary standpoint. the choice to depict them as male is merely because TLQ sees it's other half as a princess, I believe, and for the sake of the story, that's what they become.

when they deny their godhood, they give up that rejection of the material to choose a path that neither thought possible. leaving together, as them. not as the gods they were, but the people they became.

arbitrarily saying "TLQ realising they are female" while an interesting story, undermines the premise that you, as TLQ, are not a self perceptive person. TLQ cannot see himself, in the game. ever. always shrouded in darkness, and the mirror of that self reflection illudes them.

it also undermines the point of the Narrator. in that they tell you what is and what isn't. whether you choose to listen or not is out of the question; you can only respond to what the narrator says. the point Is that they set the scene.

it also misses the parallel where the lines between hero and monster are blurred, in that TLQ is something similar to a Kenku of some kind, and clearly not human. you can be considered a monster. but you're told you're the hero. that you'll save the world. but the act you must commit is the common act of a monster in fiction. murder. of a helpless princess, no less. you are put into a literal grey area, and you define that grey area by shaping the shades with your choices. or to paint it over with the only color you'll see in game... blood. (monochromes can be argued as colors, but for the sake of impact...)

TLQ as a god: a they, because they go beyond such concepts. (this even may be stretching it, but TLQ originated as a concept, not a being, so I can say for certain that concepts are not bound by sex or gender.)

The Shifting Mound: a they, because they are many. (despite being clearly feminine, a group of people is referred to by They/Them to address.)

TLQ as a person: a Man, to fulfill their self perception of the story, one that the narrator states he has no control over, and is in fact, just reading out what happens so that TLQ can see and interact. the Narrator merely acts as eyes to the internal window of TLQ. TLQ sees himself as a hero, which is why that particular voice is ALWAYS present from the beginning. because the voices come about based on how TLQ perceives himself, actively or passively. this is why you get voice of the cold when you hesitate but still go through with slaying the princess. the cold would not hesitate, but in self reflection your actions as TLQ are percieve as cold.

to summarize as best as I can:

TLQ has no reason to question who they are. they were once a sexless genderless (maidenless) concept. when given form, the world they chose to make put them in the shoes of the hero. the Narrator puts you in the shoes of a monster framed as a hero. your beloved is a princess to you, signifying her importance in your existence, and also her helplessness by having her be chained in a basement.

to say they perceive themselves as male is perhaps something derived exclusively from the fact that their lover is a princess, and in the stereotypical "hero saves princess" stories, as TLQ perceives their world, obviously, have male knights saving princesses, plus the male voices.

I would like to think, just by the Voice of the Hero being a default, you are cleared as Male.

and as a god, you are nothing but a genderless concept.

but overall, it's a creative idea, especially if you think about it from the lens of having Multi-sex voices in their head, both male and female, due to their previous status as a concept.

I do not want to piss in your cheerios, as I find the concept you presented amusing. but I felt the absolutely nerdly-geeky desire to start a philosophical debate on sex and gods.

not just does the game not have to be about romantic love in particular, TLQ also doesn't have to be a man. Let me explain.

When you first start the game, you are greeted first with the voice of the Narrator, who is a man. Then afterwards we meet the hero, who is voiced by the same VA / has the same voice /gender presentation as the Narrator. Then you meet the princess, who is your only other external being in the story until the end.

Given that this is TLQ waking up, they probably conceptualise "voices" as men and "external beings" as women, simply due to the fact that the Narrator presents masculine and he sets that standard just by being the first character TLQ meets.

I wish there was a story about TLQ realising she and the voices have a different genders. Maybe TLQ thinking of herself as fem only to realise her body is male later down the line. Or maybe a funny bit about the voices all having their own masculine bodies they are comfortable in and TLQ, who is obviously a woman, being all like "Why are you acting like this I'm totally the same as you guys" with the others just slowly shaking their heads going "Idk pal..."

Non binary interpretations are also really cool! I love them, though I do have to say transfem headcanons (or just fem protags in general) are my favourites.

[celtrist]

Why does Vassago already have merch, we haven't even met him yet

[curapicas]

I find it curious Link Click uses the twins flashback to shove on our faces right away the parallels between Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianchen. Both combative boys, protective of their family, somewhat naive in different ways and quite enamoured with looking cool. So yeah, there's parallels, but to be fair the writing is good enough that you can find parallels with the main duo regarding any of the new s2 characters. And I think Link Click cleverly does that so we only realize closer to the finale what is, in my opinion, the strongest parallel: Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianxi.

They are both "the babies" of the group. Whereas Cheng Xiaoshi has two endlessly nagging friends who often scold him and push him to do better, Li Tianxi lost both her mother and a brother capable of caring for her, thus her needs go ignored as she grows up with Qian Jin. Qiao Ling and Lu Guang work together with CXS to earn a living/pay off his debt, LTX is used by her family to carry out the shady stuff they don't really need to do (both CXS and LTX get in extremely emotional and vulnerable situations because of it).

Cheng Xiaoshi eventually grows and understands his powers as a duty, and even though LG and QL still try to shield him from the worst*, they look proud whenever he shows what he's capable of (QL even calls him cool!). LTX's one "act of rebellion" is framed as a betrayal and she's straight up murdered. In the confrontation, she even prefers hiding behind CXS, whom she met hours beforehand, exactly bc she knows what her family is capable of.

Both are sensitive people, burdened by well-meaning actions with over-the-top consequences (it hurts to try and explain this one). In (this specific trauma for) CXS case, he was already an adult and in s2 spends the entire time reevaluating and adapting; in LTX's, she was a child and hardly knew how to deal with this guilt and /waves hands/ everything after

I really like this parallel of their running and emotional actions setting off this part of the plot. They cross paths, but the people they help do not have their fate changed significantly by this. But those moments where they FEEL Emma (+Lu Guang in this specific parallel) and Chen Bin were enough to carry LTX and CXS both into their roles in the story.

LTX finally "goes back" to the home she idealized, CXS is waiting at home for his parents. They cross paths, both get shot in that tunnel, but just as quickly go down opposite directions. LTX out of care for her (criminal) brother, parts with him; while CXS waits, he also built a new home for himself with new people he can call family. There's hope for him yet.

*tbh they're a biiiit controlling, but I can see that habit developing through the years, not because they don't mean well

[writing-hat]

Was rewatching Hands of Time because I wanna get Nya right for my fic (I know I won't but this is an attempt), and I am suddenly remembered of Karlof.

Why is there a metal master? Isn't Cole supposed to be the earth master?

So! Here's why Cole can't metal bend - at least not now, not in this universe, and/or not in my head

Everyone has their own opinions! And this is just me speculating I guess! You can skip if this bores you lmao

Okay for those that are reading my insane and ridiculous overthinking that makes sense for me but might not for everyone cuz I can't explain shit (also cuz yknow this is a lego show for kids all of this wasn't thought through lmao)

So Metal Bending from ATLA is something that always makes me go insane because it is super well brought up AND built up. Because, yknow, Toph is a fucking badass and she's the best actually no contest here I don't take criticism- BUT BUT it's something that somehow feels expected because of how well she handles her powers and how it works when it comes to earth benders

Now for Cole, and earth masters in general, this wouldn't work in my mind, because I feel like the ninjas powers work more in a- "magical" way?

NOW YOU KNOW ME, this does not mean magic doesn't work with physics of our world, yaddi yadda, yknow how crazy I am when it comes to powers being handled with a price, and actually thinking of physics (to an extend, I didn't major in that for a reason LMAO). But it does occur to me that the connections between powers work differently in Ninjago compared to ATLA

This is also why Nya wouldn't be able to blood bend in my mind (EVEN IF THAT'S FUCKING COOL and I want to see content of it always and forever (are there any content on it actually harrass me if there is I wanna see that)), because she's not that kind of close to water, but she is close to it in an other way?

How would I explain that. Hm.

So like imagine a path, and it bifurcates in two different kinds of fields, but it still started from the same branch. Here, one becomes the bender of the matter, reaching potential as badass as blood bending, while the other masters it, understanding how it works to its fundamental, going as far as fusing with the element itself ; it's what makes it so that fire benders can bend lightning, and why that can't be for the ninjas/masters. Because it was never meant to be that.

This comes with the idea that the "Illusion of Separation" is a thing in ATLA! Which, I think would also be the case in Ninjago IF the FSM hadn't seperated them (the powers)- but I still don't know how to explain my thoughts there, other then to say the FSM had all powers before and there's no way he didn't use them at the same time or make them fuse (yknow aside wind and water of course) but he stopped that when he decided to pass it on future masters? something?

And that's why Karlof is the Master of Metal. It got seperated.

(doesn't that mean it can be brought back together? Lloyd I'm looking at you)

ALSO! I think what's taken into account here is the differences between metal and dirt, rocks and such. The chemical/physical differences, how iron is but a mineral in most cases incrusted too deep into the rock before brought back and used to make pure iron (or something idk the exact names) or used to make steel (with carbon levels being too high but yeah this goes to deep I'll stop now) (also if I'm wrong please tell me I'm not a scientist and idk that much on the subject (I think that shows))

More so, Toph's powers and bending works with WAVES! Cole's doesn't (yet, because if he can actually cause earthquakes then O BOI)

Not only that, but they are all born with those powers, and it's hard to master. But for the ninjas, they're "on their own", in way that the generations before them didn't get to teach them shit before they poofed out, and those that are left behind are people that were as clueless as them- looking at the Smith Parents, or even Wu! Who prbably has to learn everything from his father's scrolls because the FSM is a piece of crap actually (not sure how he's handled in the books but rn in my mind he is a piece of crap with how Wu and Garmadon react to most things (that's another talk a bit more Encanto flavored (generational trauma yknow)))

Also, there's the fact that it took so long for the show to show us Cole control the earth from a distance! Usually, his powers are associated with strength- which is in my opinion a huge waste of talent, BUT AT THE SAME TIME IT'S REALLY COOL! You know what I mean?

BUT COLE, even if he doesn't bend metal, there are other things that come with earth powers, things I CAN'T WAIT TO write about, but won't speak for here since I'm still working on it (also they might actually suck but Idc I'm having fun lol)

I wouldn't be surprised if other people found about these abilities tho. Y'know it's the internet! Lots of people think of the same thing

But uh yeah! I guess that's it?

Thanks for reading, and see ya!

(Also if you think I'm wrong about some things, which I prbbly am, or if you wanna add things, correct some of my stuff and all, you're welcomed to do so! I'm always open to being told I'm wrong LMAO)

[clubsmarties]

"You'll never guess where Mr Jeckyll took me?" Wally didn't bother with a greeting, he was just glad she had answered this call. It had been a dragged on week and it wasn't even finished yet. Though, talking to her was a welcomed distraction from the humming of the AC in his hotel room. "Oh by the way I'm pretty sure this hotel is haunted. Actually the entire hallway," his face scrunched up as he put his toothbrush back into his bag and grabbed a long sleeve off his baggage to put on. "How's Dolly? Has she been okay? How's your week been so far?" He didn't say much about the way he knew Jamie had dropped off groceries for her since he hadn't quite believed her when she spoke in a lightening manner and gave him that excuse back in her kitchen. He hadn't said anything but his brain was already working on doing something nice for her. At least he'd like to think she thought it was nice and not like he was trying to impose.

Talking about Dolly was a safer topic he thought than telling her he had missed her. Days just weren't the same without the casual eye roll or the banter she usually reserved for him. "Weirdest thing that I'm now ahead of you guys by three hours. How crazy is that? Anyway, enough about me. What have you and Dolly done so far? Anyone officially called her yours?" Liz ended his nightly check ins so her voice was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep. He covered a yawn as he climbed into bed and brought the blankets over him. Hoodie on he rolled his sleeves up and set the phone on his side and put it on speaker. He would try not to fall asleep on her but would make no promises. The week had been long but it was also a lot of desk duty and looking over files that blurred together the more he stared at them.

He smiled as he remembered the last thing she did when he walked out of her door. Having hair get tucked behind his ear was sure something he didn't expect. It felt nice and the tingle of her fingertips lingered against his skin the more he thought back to it. "You didn't really say much about it through texts but what happened to the douche cop," his head leaned on the pillow as he waited for her response. His voice was low like speaking too loudly would spook her.

As he closed his eyes he smiled against his pillow. "So, I also finalized the first day for our adventure week." Our was such an easy thing for him to say. It wasn't like he had a second thought about it. It came as naturally as breathing did. "I know you said Wildfire would be one to kick you. No, she's a baby. Super nice and just wants to be loved. She may give you a side eye if you don't feed her fast enough but other than that, harmless. But don't take my word for it. You'll see for yourself. I figured going to the ranch would be easiest and work our way down. Don't worry you don't have to get on a horse. Only if you feel like it but there's lots to see once you're there. Who knows maybe you'll surprise yourself and feel inspired to get on one. We could always share a horse. Anyway, way ahead of myself there. Mm also sent you a fax. No, ill send you a fax tomorrow. It's for that case of yours you talked about. Turns out police department here are willing to help when you bring them a box of Randy's donuts."

[loumauve]

I snapped today at work, and by snapped I mean I politely commented on a help desk ticket by summing up an mess of an (type of) issue that's come up for at least the fourth time in the 2+ months I've been managing user accounts, and asked the person responsible to fix it (himself for once) because last time I fixed his mess-up it took me two whole days to work out the details with at least four other colleagues from different departments and I really don't want to do it again. there's other shit that needs doing, I've been working 10+ hour days for most of this week already, so I need to cut down not add on more.

(good thing tho - at least we managed to fix the issue where the dataset of a newer employee got mixed up with another one of the same name and therefore wasn't able to apply for any of the access/accounts she needed. technically not entirely my area but it does impact us not being allowed to create an account for her so I figured I might as well track that issue down. took three days and at least three other people, but hey - it should all work out now. yay for that)

[trianglegoddess]

Feral McGee™

It starts with the Joker. 

His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Joker’s neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he? 

Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. He’s nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again. 

The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does. 

It happens like this. 

The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair. 

Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham. 

And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair. 

Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up. 

He takes out one of Joker’s knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold. 

Then he looks towards the camera. 

“Hey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-” he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves. 

Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham. 

“A constrictor knot,” Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. “Often used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.”

“Huh,” Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. “Go figure.”

—

The next time it happens, it’s the Riddler. 

He’s laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And he’s not the only victim, they’re all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddler’s direct supervision while he enacts his schemes. 

While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once he’s free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely. 

Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, who’s mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. He’s down with one punch. 

They think he’s going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Right,” the kid says, looking at the list. There’s a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if it’s damage to the cameras. “Uh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-” he squints at the page for a moment-”Mama Nacaroni’s? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And we’re at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.”

The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black. 

Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless. 

“Stop it,” Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood can’t see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. “You know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.”

“Hn.”

—

After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. They’re all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised. 

Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than he’s originally let on. 

Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that he’s a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down. 

Gothamites are going wild for the kid. They’ve dubbed him Feral McGee™ (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, it’s like there’s this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesn’t usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away.  

He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again. 

And then the Joker escapes. 

It’s no surprise as to who he’s going to go after. 

Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Joker’s hideout pretty quickly. This time, it’s all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGee™ is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up. 

They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGee™. 

The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid. 

Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed. 

“Fuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,” they hear him say. 

They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldn’t be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kid’s got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When he’s at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger. 

“Oh, cool, you’re all here,” the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood. 

“Can I get an autograph? You’re dope as fuck, dude.”

Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kid’s notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children don’t stop hounding him about it. 

In their distraction, they didn’t see the kid sneak away. He’s far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Joker’s flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isn’t under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isn’t a scratch on him. 

When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker. 

“Okay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,” Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. “How do you keep getting kidnapped?”

The kid just shrugs. “I get distracted easily. And I’m sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.”

“Why are you sleep deprived?” Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice. 

 “Finals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, lucky for you,” Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, “I happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you don’t adopt him, I will.”

“Hn.”

[tizeline]

Presenting: The AU I accidentally created OOPSIE!! 😬😬😬

And yes, I know, it's another Seperation AU, and yes YES, I KNOW, they're a bit overdone at this point, bUT LISTEN!! That's precisely how I ended up in this situation!!!

So there's a lot of Seperation AUs exploring a lot of different scenarios with the turtles being raised, well, seperately. I've seen quite a few of them at this point, and despite whatever the combination is when it comes to turtle + parental figure, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed a pattern of specifically Donnie often being raised by a villain. Which makes sense, he has a tendency to put on this evil-mad-scientist-act in the show, so of course a lot of us want to see what Donnie would actually be like as a proper antagonist. But that just made me think think of the opposite possibility, of Donnie being the singular good guy while his brothers are all bad guys. Mind you, I'm sure SOMEONE must've thought of this concept before me, but I haven't seen it! So here we are!

In this AU (which doesn't have a name so don't ask!) Splinter only managed to yoink Donnie during The Incident™, so he ended up an only child, while Raph, Leo and Mikey were raised by Draxum. I also imagine Draxum being at least a decent dad considering the circumstances, so the kids he raised ended up with pretty similar personalities to what they have in canon.

Because of that we get Hero Donnie who acts all villainous cuz he's a total theaterkid, and Villain Raph, Leo and Mikey who act all heroic cuz they honestly believe they're doing the right thing in literally destroying all of humankind and as a result developed an intense case of main character syndrome.

Anyway here's some references-

I don't know how far I'll explore this AU. I fully intended to just make like one or two posts rambling about the basic concept, but when I was drawing these images my brain went into full Brain Blast mode and I started coming up with a bunch of other ideas so uh... we'll see how this turns out later I guess haha

[maniculum]

Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue. 

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders. 

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied. 

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you. 

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come. 

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed. 

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too. 

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that. 

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes. 

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict. 

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day. 

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly. 

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.” 

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them. 

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute. 

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together. 

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path. 

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy. 

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side. 

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds. 

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place. 

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one. 

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight. 

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too. 

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his. 

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too. 

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it. 

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around. 

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight. 

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason. 

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now. 

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt. 

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm. 

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

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[actual-changeling]

welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.

the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.

they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.

they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.

now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.

a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.

the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.

i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.

additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.

the movement in order:

bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:

a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.

the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.

to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.

as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.

don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing