#and i hope the nature of their love could compensate somewhat for how little you got to see of it

[forhyune]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Sleeping Dove (Legend of Zelda Fanfic)

Summary: When the Spirit Maiden Zelda finally passes on, she finds herself in an unexpected situation. The true nature and cruelty of Demise’s curse is revealed, and reality crashes down. Angst, two part story.

XXX

When Zelda died, she was surrounded by loving family and friends. The sun was beginning to set outside. Whispered I love you’s echoed in her mind and heart. Amidst it all, she just wanted to hear one more voice, one that she hadn’t heard in ten years, ten long years…

 Link.

 Her husband had passed on before her, his adventures and injuries finally catching up to him. She’d missed him so much, but a part of her was grateful that he had gone first – she was sure he wouldn’t have been able to bear being alone; the pain of being without him had felt like it would kill her some nights, despite being surrounded by so many who loved her.

 Zelda closed her eyes and breathed her last.

 Something strange had happened then. She expected that, given her mortality, she would move on to the land of spirits like all the other mortals, forever at peace and with the man she loved in the glowing presence of the Golden Three.

However, that… was not what happened.

 Zelda felt… odd. Warm, and then cold. Old and then young. She felt… light, sky, air, sun, breeze, clouds… she tasted the air, heard loftwings call, sensed life around her.

 She knew this sensation. She remembered it.

 She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she knew it had been a long while. But time meant very little to a goddess.

 She was Hylia once more.

 This… isn’t how mortality works, was the first coherent thought that came to her mind. But then the next was, Will I ever see Link again?

 Oh, and her heart hurt to think of it. There was no way destiny could be this cruel that she could never again see her beloved.

 Zelda, Hylia, opened her eyes, looking around. She was in the Sacred Realm. She could taste the magic in the air, could hear the life of the world below her, the water trickling around her. She wasn’t entirely sure where in the Sacred Realm she was, she’d never seen such a configuration of waterfall covered platforms. But there was something distinctly absent…

 Where was the Triforce?

 “Welcome, Your Grace.”

 Startled, she turned around to see an elderly looking man. “Who are you?”

 “My name is Rauru,” he explained. “I am one of the Sages.”

 “Sages…?”

 “We began after your time, Your Grace, to compensate for a departure of your presence. We are protectors of Hyrule and the Sacred Realm.”

 “Protectors? From whom?” she asked warily. Link had confided in her the details of Demise’s final words, and it had haunted him to his grave. She’d known in her heart that the Demon King would not utter empty threats, and she’d spent many years trying to find ways to break the curse before it had a chance to start. She’d come up with nothing, and she was beginning to fear that she was about to find out just how fruitless her attempts had been.

 Rauru tipped his head. “I believe you know, Your Grace. He goes by a different name now, but it is the same monster. A reincarnation of his hatred, though it seems mortal flesh has muted his power somewhat in comparison to the ancient days.”

 Ancient days? What sort of terminology was that? Hylia knew that her original time of war had been history by the time she’d awoken as Zelda, but they’d fought Demise again since then.

 How long have I been in the Sacred Realm?!

 Rauru watched her silently, and then gently, he asked, “Do you wish to see him?”

 Demise? Why would she want to see that monster again? That god of destruction had done everything in his power to kill her and everything she’d loved!

 She was about to spit all this out at the foolish Sage when she noticed a softness to his eyes and recognized that, somehow, he wasn’t talking about Demise at all.

 She felt her jaw slacken. Hope spilled into her, just a sprinkling at first, before her heart began to pound. “…Link?”

 Rauru smiled.

 Zelda let out a sob of joy. “Yes! Yes, where is he?”

 Motioning for her to follow, Rauru began to walk away from her. Hylia rushed to join him like she was running across Skyloft to get to Link, like she was running through Faron Woods with her husband as their laughter floated in the air. However, despite how she pushed herself, she felt like it took forever to keep up despite her sudden increase in height. She’d forgotten how strange it could be to move through the Sacred Realm; she had stopped visiting the holy place after Link had died.

 A pale blue light glowed in the distance, and a familiar figure hovered in the air. Was… was that Fi?

 “Your Grace,” the figure said in an oh-so-familiar melodious voice.

 “You… you were asleep,” Hylia stammered. “You had to keep the Darkness sealed away.”

 “What can be controlled of the Darkness still rests with me, Your Grace,” Fi confirmed. “In doing so it ensures Demise will never reach full power again.”

 “Then how…?”

 “With the Master Sword sealed in the Sacred Realm under these circumstances, it allows me a brief period of wakefulness,” Fi continued factually.

 Zelda began to breathe quickly, practically hyperventilating. “Where’s Link?”

 Fi gazed down, and it was only then that Zelda realized there was a small figure being carried in her feathery arms. A blonde child was nestled against her, still as a stone, breathing calmly, clad in green.

 Confused, Hylia bent over the little child. There were attributes that were similar to Link, but this was most certainly not him. “Fi… who is this?”

 “This is Link.”

 Hylia stared at the sword spirit incredulously. “No, it isn’t.”

 “Forgive me, Your Grace. I will elaborate.” Fi explained. “When my original master died, his unbreakable spirit became the Hero’s Spirit. He accompanies every new hero throughout time. This new hero is also named Link.”

 Zelda looked at the boy again. “But… he’s just a child.”

 “Indeed,” Fi agreed. “He attempted to draw the Master Sword, but it is too large for him to handle. He will certainly perish if he attempts to fight the reincarnation of Malice with it. Therefore, I have put him into a slumber, and the Sage will determine when he is ready. He will soon be sealed to keep him physically nurtured while he grows.”

 Hylia looked at the boy, biting her lip. “Sealed? Like… like I was?”

 “In a way, Your Grace. His sealing protection will keep him safe and alive, but unlike yours, it will allow him to age so that he can be physically able when he awakens.”

 Zelda jolted. “Wait—you’re incubating him until he can fight? Why not just let him live his life?”

 “The reincarnation of Malice has already entered the Sacred Realm and—”

 “What?!” Zelda interrupted, whirling around, looking for the demon from her nightmares. She felt like a teenager again, she felt like she had when she’d been pursued by Ghirahim with only Impa to protect her as she slowly regained her memories. “Where is he?!”

 “He is not here, Your Grace.”

 “But—but you just said—” Hylia turned to look at Fi and saw that the little Link was encased in a blue crystal with Fi hovering around it, watching. “Hey!”

 “Your Grace.”

 Hylia turned to see Rauru watching her. He smiled softly. “Your Grace, the crystal will reflect light differently than you might expect.”

 Reflect light? What was he talking about? There was a child sealed in there just waiting to be used to save the world without any preparation or thought of helping him! At least Link had Fi to guide him, Hylia knew that Fi was only awake now because she was in the Sacred Realm. The instant that child woke up, Fi would be gone! Hylia had created so many different ways to guide Link during his journey, and this child had nothing!

 This was… this was so wrong. She’d done this before, had set up plans ahead of time concerning a child and… this was wrong! She’d seen how it had hurt Link, and that was with her planning for him to fulfill his destiny as an adult, for Nayru’s sake, it was worse that Ghirahim had started them down that path early, but this Hero was a child!

 Zelda shook her head, ready to protest, when she truly looked at the crystal and saw… and saw…

 Link.

 Gasping, she ran to the crystal. Depending on the angle of the light, she saw the child in green clothes or she saw him, she saw her husband, young and alive and sleeping as if he were back on Skyloft relaxing on one of the benches scattered around the island.

 She banged on the crystal. “Link!”

 She was filled with an overwhelming sense of irony, remembering when Link had rushed to her own crystal and tried to smash it with his bare hands as she sealed herself away to keep the Imprisoned One at bay.

 Why was this happening, this cruel joke, this torture?

 Demise’s curse.

 Hylia grit her teeth, anger boiling her blood. If she could, she’d leave the Sacred Realm and hunt Demise herself. But she had a sinking suspicion she couldn’t do that.

 Voicing the thought, she said, “I don’t suppose I can leave this realm, can I?”

 “I’m afraid not, Your Grace,” Rauru answered respectfully, his head bowed. “After you took mortal form, your return to godhood is not quite as complete if you had never left it. You are trapped here, and at this time the majority of the Realm is corrupted by Malice. It would be unwise and unsafe to leave this chamber.”

 She bit her lip, feeling a lump form in her throat. The Triforce was gone, the Sacred Realm was corrupted, Demise was running amok even if his powers were not what they once were.

 It was all up to Link, to this new Hero… and she was powerless to help him.

 Well. At least in the land of the living. But here… here she would stay with him. She would keep him company. She would watch over him, just as he did for her when she had been sealed away.

 Putting her hand on the crystal, she felt the tears slip out of her eyes. Link was so close yet so far. But she wouldn’t leave him. She would be there for him, always.

 Time passed differently in the Sacred Realm. A minute could be a millennium, an hour could be a second. All she knew was she never left his side until Fi, who had also kept vigil (it was reassuring to see that the emotions she had started to learn were still there – she was clearly trying to protect Link as well as her new master), turned into a glowing ball of light and sealed herself back into the Master Sword. Hylia jumped, seeing the crystal crack.

 “Your Grace,” Rauru said. “I ask that you leave now. The boy will have enough to process as it is.”

 “But…” she looked back at the crystal. The cracks cut across the image of the now teenager, and her Link was nowhere to be seen. “Wait… he… he won’t know me?”

 Rauru watched her sadly. “I’m sorry.”

 Taking a step away, she nodded mutely, fighting back tears. So he didn’t remember her. Did he even know what was going on, bound to this new Hero? Did he just live vicariously through the child? Was he even aware of anything at all?

 She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by this new information. The nature of Link’s bond with his new hero was still something she was trying to figure out. Either way, she understood not interfering with this moment; she didn’t want to scare the likely already overwhelmed child.

 Child. He was still a child. Though his body was in the midst of adolescence, that didn’t change that he didn’t have the experiences to show for it. To him it was just a nap. This was… this was so messed up. Giving herself a hug, she backed away, fading into the background. She watched as the child awoke, terrified but trying to hang on to every word Rauru said. A fairy appeared alongside him, someone he seemed to trust, and he left the Realm in a flash of light.

 Zelda didn’t talk to Rauru again. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to anyone. She worried for the boy. She may have been unable to leave the Sacred Realm, but she figured out a way to watch the land of the living. She marveled at how much Hyrule had grown since her time, and then she felt her heart cry out in pain as she watched it burn under Ganondorf’s rule. She held her breath as her little hero bested temple after temple (by the Three, he was a smart little boy, sharp as the blade he used). Occasionally her divine eyes would catch a glimpse of her husband, looking just as scared as the new hero, looking lost, determined, fierce, and analytical. He mirrored his little hero, his own spirit glowing with a sacred power as he defended the child subconsciously.

 Oh, Link…

 Eventually more Sages came to join Rauru with each temple the young Hero of Time freed. Hylia didn’t bother talking to them, not yet. She couldn’t muster the strength.

 And then she saw Zelda. Her descendant. They had established a royal family, she was a princess. It had been so many generations that there was barely a resemblance, but the hair…

 That was Link’s hair. That same dirty blonde wavy appearance, thick and shining in the light.

 Zelda started to cry watching what her daughter by however many generations had to endure. Seven years of running and hiding, seven years of fighting. And the new Hero of Time was caught in the middle of it.

 And then she watched with joy as they triumphed over Ganondorf. Joy turned to anguish at their parting, anguish turned to horror at the splitting of the timeline, horror turned to agony at watching what the Hero had to endure afterward in his supposed second chance at childhood, agony at watching the timeline he’d left behind, the Zelda he’d left behind, struggle to adapt and instead fall to ruin.

 And then the third timeline… why had that even happened?

 This was horrible. She couldn’t watch this. She couldn’t.

 She heard voices. Prayers. People’s petitions. Distracted, she glanced through the waters of the Sacred Realm. Prayers to the Goddess of Time rose to her. She didn’t know what she could do, what power she still had while trapped here. So she tried to listen, she tried to answer. She dedicated so much time to it that she almost forgot to check on her family, on her Hero.

 Until one moment she turned, and there he was.

 “Link!” she cried, running to him.

 Her husband laid in the shallow water at the center of the Temple of Light, surrounded by smiling Sages, no longer hidden as a shadow to the new Hero. Instead, he was there, complete and whole, looking to be in late adolescence (it was bizarre seeing him as he was when he’d first defeated Demise), sleeping right in front of her. Zelda fell to her knees, lifting him to her lap and running a hand through his hair, feeling electricity shoot through her as she could finally hold her husband again.

 “Link,” she whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Link, Dove, wake up.”

 Link didn’t stir. She giggled. He’s always been a heavy sleeper. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

 After a few more attempts, however, it became apparent something was wrong. Hylia began to grow frantic, but no matter her words, the volume at which she spoke them, or the tears she cried, her husband would not stir.

 She sensed someone approaching her, and she looked up to see Rauru. “What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

 Rauru watched her grimly, looking down at Link. “The Spirit of the Hero is bound to his destiny. When Hyrule is at peace, so is he. I’m sorry, Your Grace. You will never be able to wake him. He is only awake when he is bound to a new Hero.”

 Hylia felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her blood ran cold. She… she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to process that.

 So this was the curse, then. She could hold her husband, but she would never have her husband again. Link would never see her, never know her, never remember her. She would just have her sleeping hero and then she would have to watch him suffer again and again, endure trial after trial.

 And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

 At least he can guide future heroes. At least he can protect our family. I’m completely useless here.

She hated this. She hated being this useless - at least she had been able to assist in the fight last time they’d waged war with the demon king.

“What happened to the Hero of Time?” she finally asked as she cradled her husband, unable to look at him yet.

 Rauru sighed heavily this time, guilt on his face. “He… he is not at peace. I have tried to reach out to him, but he won’t hear me. I’m hoping Saria will have better luck.”

 Hylia wasn’t sure what that meant, and she didn’t really want to know. She… this was too much. She would investigate that later. Finally mustering some courage, she looked down at her little dove, peacefully unaware of his wife desperately trying to reach him. “Oh, Link…”

  Zelda held him close, and she wept.

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (5/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: SFW, T+

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage

Word Count: 1998

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: My only note is that the characters in this fanfiction do some questionable things. This does not at all reflect my personal morals or anything I would do (and certainly hope you would not do). Please don’t read this story if you can’t separate fiction from reality. Fanfiction is for entertainment and should not be something that teaches you to be or act a certain way. Thanks!

Enjoy

***

Regulus is met with silence when (y/n) climbs into their bed after the fight and more silence when she doesn't acknowledge him in the morning, dressing silently before sitting on the balcony with her book.

He glances out of the glass door, watching her devour the words on the worn book. Sighing loudly, he looks back towards the parchment on the desk. He didn't exactly know what to say to Sirius. He knew he wanted his older brother to know about the developments his life had taken in the past month, but how do you complain without sounding entirely pathetic? Especially when your complaining was truly aimed at your own actions and attitudes. Sirius would love (y/n); he was sure he would. In a way, (y/n) sort of reminded Regulus of his brother. She was so adamant about not following the rules that people like them followed. Obviously, she hadn't been able to escape Pureblood society the way Sirius had... He doubted, though (y/n) would have tried. It had to be harder to be a woman in the circles they found themselves in. He honestly couldn't imagine living at the level she was expected to.

It's not like he had any special freedom from the constricting nature of their society, but he could do many things she couldn't while still maintaining his reputation. He could have affairs, he could (but personally wouldn't) abuse his spouse, he could even live separate from her without causing a stir. All these things happened within marriages like their own, and only the women seemed to be ruined by their actions and the actions of their husbands and fathers. 

Regulus picks up his quill, intending to finally start this blasted letter. Where does he even begin?

 Sirius,

I do not have any great excuses for my lack of communication, other than the last month, which has been one of the most hectic of my life. I am unsure what you have heard. I doubt you have a full picture of what my life has become, as I would hope you would reach out to congratulate your younger brother on his recent nuptials if you had heard. 

My new wife, (y/n) Black née (y/ln), apparently checked off the boxes our parents found necessary for the next Mistress Black. Funnily enough, though, I'm not sure they did much research into who she is as (y/n) could hardly be considered the traditional Pureblood bride.

But that is hardly a bad thing; if anything, I find her refreshing, if not a bit maddening at times. I had been somewhat afraid to have a meek and mild wife who would cower under my gaze. (y/n), despite being brought up similarly to us, she seems to have developed her own personality outside of Pureblood society. She isn't bitter or greedy like the other girls. The only piece of jewelry I have been able to give her without argument has been that horrible engagement ring-- you know, the one from mum's side. She doesn't want the things most of these Pureblood girls want. Jewelry and expensive things don't seem to make her happy the way mother said they would.

Even as she is different, I have this ever-increasing fear that I might drive her towards the other's level of bitterness and unhappiness. I will be the first to admit that I have no idea what I am doing with women; this fact has not changed in my marriage. It's become even more apparent that I haven't a clue how I should behave as I've been forced into this relationship.

It has also become clear that Mother's advice has been shit, as every attempt I've made with my bride has been met with annoyance from her. I can't seem to give her what she truly wants. Embarrassingly enough, what she talks of-- craves from me is some sort of romantic connection. This is something I hadn't planned on in an arranged marriage, and I'm not sure if I will be able to indulge her without a bit of deceit. 

Which I would feel horrible for doing-- pretending. 

Last night, like many nights in recent weeks, I found myself in an argument with my wife over this exact topic. Something she said triggered a memory, hopefully, a memory that you have a recollection of as well.

Do you, brother, have any memories of our dear mother when she was-- well, motherly, to say the least. Warm and loving, as a mother should be. When she would admit to us in hushed tones that the love we showed her was the replacement for the lack of love between Orion and herself?

During the heated exchange with my wife, I was struck with that strange memory, and I realized deeply and uncomfortably that I was in the early stages of pushing my own wife towards becoming our mother. Something, I realize now, I cannot allow to happen.

Pushing this girl towards unhappiness when she was forced into marrying me by her parents is unacceptable on my part. I'm completely aware that it is me who is making us miserable. I should be happy, or at least satisfied enough in the marriage to indulge her, to try. (y/n) is beautiful, everything a man could want in a wife. And I do want her. 

Yet, I do not know how to want her the way she is expecting me to. And, I have to reiterate that I don't know how to even-- fall in love, I suppose.

Through my woeful letter, I hope you see a solution to my dilemma. Or at least can offer advice as I have no idea which direction I should go at this time.

Sincerely,

Regulus places his quill to the side, reading over the content of his letter. At times, he sounds like a pathetic child whining, but he hopes his brother can see he sincerely wants his advice.

Very much requires any advice Sirius may have.

None of Sirius's advice could be helpful on the trials and tribulations of marriage per se, but if anyone had experience in relationships, it was Sirius Black. Sirius, who wooed and flirted his way through life, would know exactly how he would be able to win (y/n) over and hopefully form a romantic relationship with her.

Slowly, Regulus gets up from the desk, taking his time to cross the room. Opening the glass door to the balcony, he pokes his head out. When (y/n) doesn't look up, he clears his throat.

She freezes, slowly lowering the book enough for their eyes to meet, but doesn't say a word.

"I'm going to go to the lobby to have this posted." Regulus feels the light pink of embarrassment on the tops of his cheeks.

(y/n) nods once before giving her attention back to the blasted book. Regulus's lips pinch before he shuts the door a bit louder than necessary.

Much to his annoyance, the banging noise doesn't seem to faze his wife. 

He stalks down to the library in a mood, the letter to Sirius gripped tightly in his right hand.

A young witch greets him, asking if he needed any assistance with anything.

"I require an owl. I have a very urgent letter that needs to arrive as soon as possible."

"Okay, if you'll follow me, we can get your letter sent." The witch leads him up to the rooftop, showing him the hotel's fastest owl.

***

A sharp knock on their suite's door startles Regulus, who had been reading the Prophet to pass the time. He gets up off of the room's couch, opening the door to an older gentleman.

"Mail delivery, Master Black." The old man hands him a hastily folded piece of parchment addressed to him in Sirius's messy excuse for handwriting.

"Uh-- thank you." Regulus digs in his pocket, pulling out money to tip the man. They exchange the items, and Regulus hurries over to the desk. Hurriedly, he breaks the wax seal and opens the letter.

 You got married?

Ah, yes. His ever eloquent brother didn't even bother to address the letter, jumping right to the point.

Regulus reads on...

You got married? And I didn't even get an invitation? I'm sort of hurt, but yet again, mum would've been pissed if I showed up. How fun would that have been, though? Me crashing your wedding in my Docs and my worn Led Zeppelin shirt. Mum would've freaked.

We really missed an opportunity, Reggie.

But, wow. You married. That's wild. And she's a bit wild as well? How did you manage to end up in an arranged marriage with what seems like the most unique of the Pureblood lot? Besides me, of course.

I'll have to meet this fascinating (y/n) (y/ln)-- or should I say (y/n) Black? Weird-- I have a sister-in-law. That feels too grown-up and stuffy.

Maybe it feels wrong, mostly because you never dated anyone, or at least anyone I knew of.

The point you made about you knowing absolutely nothing about women is incredibly accurate, I'm afraid, Reggie. The poor girl, I hope you haven't been ignoring her like Orion does to Walburga. But, I'm almost certain that you have been sort of an ass to her by your letter.

You want advice though, do you now, little brother. Here is my advice to you:

I have dated plenty of people in my days-- plenty. If you truly wish to make your wife (what the hell that is so odd to write!) happy, Regulus, you need to get to know her. 

Ask her questions about her likes, her dislikes. What her childhood was like, who her friends are. Even silly things such as how she takes her tea or what she grew up wanting to be as an adult. But you must be prepared to be vulnerable and answer questions she has for you as well. If you can't open up and be vulnerable, you will never be successful in 

A) forming a "romantic connection" with (y/n) and 

B) falling in love with your wife. 

I hope that I have been helpful. My advice is simple, but knowing the woman you promised to spend eternity with is necessary to live a peaceful life. Maybe the whole "happy wife happy life" saying is accurate. Not like I would know, but still.

As for the memory of Walburga you brought up, I do remember instances like that. I hadn't thought about those instances in a very long time. I hope you are successful in your attempts with (y/n). I would hate to see another woman turn out like our mother.

Your brother,

 P.S. Take your wife out somewhere romantic! For Merlin's sake, Regulus. You have to have some romance somewhere hidden within you!

 ***

Regulus decides there's no better time than the present to follow Sirius's advice. Unfortunately, he already used up his one "romantic" idea (really Orion's, but still) with their disastrous dinner the previous night.

His only option would be to find a local who would know of spots he might take his wife to. He reckons the logical locals to ask where these locations would be are the hotel's staff.

The same witch that helped him with the owl still sits at the hotel's lobby desk. She grins widely when she notices he's walking towards her, "Oh! You're back!"

Regulus controls his mild annoyance with the woman as she bats her eyelashes foolishly.

"I wonder if you know any places around the city that you recommend for honeymooners?"

The girl's face falls slightly before she's grinning again, "You're on your honeymoon?"

"Yes, you've probably seen my wife with me," he says, asserting that he does have a wife and that the girl shouldn't get her hopes up, "I'd like to take her out this afternoon, but I'm afraid I know little of the spots couple's usually visit around here."

The witch thinks for a moment, "I think I have a perfect place in mind."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

SEL……………………

i finally got around to reading this!!!! :3 im sorry it took so long PJDJD bUT honestly im glad i took my time w it because this fic really does deserve a thorough reading!!!!! and i think i needed time to just….. Absorb a lot of it. to be in a good headspace. i still cried though i dont even know where to begin honestly!!! 

sel……….. something about your writing just makes me sob. I DONT KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT…….. its just always so painfully soft. to the point where it hurts a little bit? 😭😭 in a VERY good way to be clear, but reading ur fics feels a little like going to therapy…. i cried a LOT reading this. so much of it is soooo heartwrenching but you never fail to patch it up w more softness and that’s just.

i take back the therapy comparison actually bc reading this felt more like going thru surgery…. getting scalpel’d and then sewn back together again….. but like. in a gentle way.

if u cant tell im a bit delirious rn bc there’s just so much i want to say 😭😭 but!! overall i am just in AWE of your writing style. always always always. how effortlessly u mess up my emotions…… i really do think its such a wonderful talent for a writer to have!!! i always without fail feel SO much reading ur fics :’3 if sel has a million fans i am one of them if she has no fans i am no longer on this earth 🙏🙏 u r so so so talented!! (but i expect financial compensation for every single tear i shed reading this PHDJD)

anyways!!! onto the actual fic… gosh. sel what have u done to me. i honestly truly dont know where to begin, i loved so so SO many things abt it, my notes are a mess, this might be a little incoherent but pls just know i adored this fic from start to finish…….. DEFINITELY one of my favorite depictions of gojo ever.

BUT OK im just gonna try to get all my thoughts out in a … somewhat ….. cohesive manner ….. i just hope u can feel the love i have for u and this fic <333333 im gonna take a page out of ur book and format this the same way u do when u rb my stuff!! and Hope that it turns out semi-structured… I FEEL A LITTLE LIKE IM WRITING AN ESSAY RN but im so unbelievably serious abt this sel. im treating this like a paper worth 80% of my grade.

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. <- how DARE u start with this line u immediately shattered my heart 😔😔 this set such a distinct tone for the entire fic and its such a genius take on gojo….. his approach to love. his choice not to reach for it as a contrast to his somewhat greedy nature. more on that later though!!

BUT ON THAT NOTE………. gosh sel. i knew i was gonna love ur depiction of gojo in this obviously but i was really so so awestruck by how thoughtfully uve written him here 🥺🥺🥺 hes sooooo cute but he also feels so heartwrenchingly real, so vulnerable AND AND AND: soooooo human. i was completely enamored by so many lines and moments in this, when he gets shy and nervous and when his boyish side shines through. when you get a peek of who gojo Really is, when you strip away the godhood and resonsibilities and he feels safe.

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death. <- THIS ONE IN PARTICULAR…. literally had to take a breather after this hooowwwwww do u write him so cute. tell me ur secrets. hes so cute im literally tearing up writing this hhhhhh 😥😥😥

its a side of gojo that i think a lot of people dont explore, bc he never really shows it in the manga, but i really do think that its exactly how he’d be in a situation like this!!! one thats completely unknown to him and hinges on that raw, unguarded, human part of his heart…. its such an interesting side of him.

it can be super cute to read, like all the moments in this where he gets a bit awkward and blushes and everything, but other times its just….. Unbelievably Heartbreaking. like when he gets downright desperate and openly afraid. its so chilling in a way because gojo as a character is always so calm and collected and chill, but then u have these moments of unfiltered emotion that are just….. so hard to read? but also so interesting and just. so Good. so wonderfully written i was FLOORED….. this moment in particular:

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

GAHHHHH……. PDJDJDBXBC ……… can u hear my heart breaking sel. a giant of a man so small in your presence……………. the way he opens himself up here. (and the way he drops his sunglasses!! the symbolism hhhh its so satisfying.) he comes off as almost helpless and thats just………… its so tough to read LMAO like truly!!! it gutted me!!!!! but i love it so much. and reader being so so SO patient (more on that later but sel shes literally my Wife i love her to death)

i think gojo is very much afraid of love, and that wounded part of him shines through so effortlessly in the way u write him here….. its such a realistic and grounded take and it just feels so right. which is probably also why it hurts so much :’3 but ive been thinking abt this a lot tbh, not just in regards to col but ALL your fics, just….. how good you are at really looking at a character and seeing their human side. and capturing it!! expressing it!!! lil habits of theirs, or vulnerable aspects that others might stray from…… im sure ive already said this and ill definitely repeat myself LMAO but!! youre such a wonderful writer sel. i really was so floored by all this!! how u make gojo feel so genuinely human, just in the way his ears go red or he bites his lip….

ohhhh also!! before i forget!!!!!! the divinity theme……. the god theme……. (explodes). literally every single time u write abt it i picture our braincells connecting PHDJDF i LOVE ur take on it so much!!

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

^ LIKE………….. this entire paragraph. how he feels himself seeking the ’gojo’ in his name instead of the ’satoru’… n how reader always only calls him satoru!! he is slipping away!!!! n distancing himself from the person who makes him feel most human!!!!! im rattling at the bars of my cage sel. 

BUT okok. lets talk abt my favorite part of this fic. there are Many bUT…… i think overall what affected me most and had me crying most (and obv also the main theme of the fic!!) is gojo’s relation to Love. his fear of it. but also his yearning for it. u show everything so subtly yet vividly and it feels so grounded and real!!! such a bigbrained take on him. how he loves reader but also fears how she affects him, how HE affects her…….. the softness he feels but also that panic. and just how closed off he is….

aaaaa there were just SO many lines that explored that part of him in so many different ways and i loved them all to bits:

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away." (....) “I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” <- THIS… gahh… how he has to physically avert his gaze to lie to her. the symbolism here too… how his eyes reveal how he truly feels. im so weak for it sellllll ;w;

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. You think you want to cry. <- ME TOO READER ME TOO .. the helplessness here. the helplessness and discomfort that gojo must feel….. oughhh

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

(…) how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. <- if u listen closely u can hear my muffled sobbing in the distance

But it doesn’t come. You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong.

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. <- (SOUND OF GLASS SHATTERING) SELLLLL I AM GRABBING U BY THE SHOULDERS…. this is sooo… so………… i cant speak just know i resonate a lot w col!gojo + i cried LMAO

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again.  “I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

^ this entire moment…… GOD. the fact that he isnt incapable of it or anything, he just literally doesnt know how!!! and the frustration of that…. someone like gojo, who is good at Literally Everything EXCEPT for giving and receiving love. ack. it hurts but its such a real aspect of his character and u depict that side of him so well…….. how he wishes he could give u this One thing. when ur so patient. :( hes a sweetie and hes flawed and hes trying his best.

i know ive said this before but…. i really do identify so so much with col!gojo!!!! im kind of in love w col!reader bc of that LMAOO she’s just….. to have someone love you so gently and patiently……… with so much care. yeah. i get why gojo is literally gutted by her presence. hes so Me. 

and THATS my segway into col!reader <333 my beloved. my angel on earth. i love her!!!!! so so dearly!!!!!!!!! she has this older sister vibe that just makes me want to hug her ☹️☹️🤧 

i talked abt this a tiny bit before but she really has this resiliance abt her!! shes so so strong and kind and those traits melt together so seamlessly. i love how gojo is physically the stronger one, but when it comes to the emotional aspect reader is just so much more brave and willing to be vulnerable….. even when its scary for her too.

and how that rubs off on toru!!!! i adore their dynamic SO much and you wrote it so thoughtfully sel!!! i lovelovelove them. and its so perfect for gojo too…. i know u and i agree on this but i genuinely dont think any trope works better for gojo than slowburn/friends to lovers…. u just Get it

there’s just something so sweet about the way they interact, how they help each other!! their love is so so so tender and gentle and just. loving. its a slowburn and thats comfortable for both of them. there is just so so much care between these two!!! and getting to see the way their relationship slowly blossoms was such a treat 🥺🥺

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

^ this gutted me like a sad fish. ive said this before but ur ability to turn my heart into sashimi w only a couple of finely chosen words kills me every time

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. <- FUCKKKK . sorry. im just ;; shes just ;;;;; the way she ALWAYS gives him an out in case its too much. she loves gojo so patiently and tenderly and thats exactly how he deserves to be loved :(

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. <- THISSSS GOD ur choice of words sel….. u really get such a good grasp on their dynamic and love just from this single sentence

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). <- THE SUBTLE INTIMACY;;;;;;;

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. <- SHOKO MENTION but also i adore this line. stuck out to me a lot while reading!! tbh i think this is all love needs to be; it doesnt have to be labelled to mean something. theyre happy and its good!!

(i always get so giddy when i see how much our views of gojo overlap also .. i have a fic thats literally just this one line!! a relationship w gojo that isnt quite a relationship but the love is there and thats enough :’3 im just. aaa. im so thankful for u sel!! our gojo discussions mean the world to me <3)

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?” <- MY HEARTTTTTTTT SHES SO….. shes like if someone gathered a bundle of the softest sweetest loveliest flowers n turned em into a person :< theres so much love in her heart!!

if i was gojo i’d be bawling LMAO just!!! to be treated so tenderly!!!! so patiently!!!!!! i doubt he’s has ever been met w so much tenderness and love :( it must feel scary to him but reader is just always so reassuring… to me the One dynamic that will always make me crumble is a patient, kind person who chooses to love someone who’s damaged and afraid. its difficult and tough but!! the love is there!! and the patience is so healing to me.

and needless to say u portrayed it soooo wonderfully…. u show how hard it is for both of them, how much theyre both struggling but still willing to bare their hearts to each other… how reader has to tiptoe that line between fondness and love and intimacy, not get too close but not too far… how its kinda like trying to take care of a wounded animal — if you move too quickly itll try to stumble away.

CAN U TELL IM NORMAL ABT THIS phddjjd i just. sel………… there is a tiny lil portion of my heart that belongs entirely to u and ur gojo and ur delicious takes on him <3333 

but angst and hurt/comfort aside theyre also just. SO cute. i was gushing over them the whole time!!!!! im especially weak for shy nervous gojo SEL HES LITERALLY SO…… i dont know who im more jealous of at this point. theyre both so cute. u can sense their history and fondness for each other just in the way they speak, and the air between them is just so so so warm. i want them to adopt me i think. or just be their friend. or join their relationship 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….” “Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.”  You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

^ GOOD GOD (i exploded.) sel im literally so serious u r DAMAGING my brain hes way too cute. i think that if i flustered gojo like this i would simply fall to my knees and cry. hes just the cutest guy in the world i think. blushy and sweet. its embarrassing how down bad i am for him

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you.  <- cutiepie 😭

“Too sweet.” “Like me, right?” he winks. “Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?”  “Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming.

^ CUTIEPIEEEEEEE 😭😭😭

“There’s a secret ingredient.” He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” (...) “Love?”  You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it.  (…) “if it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee.  Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

^ this whole scene……. psjdksbxjdbjxkzkz. so cute.

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more).  Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

^ sel 🤝 the most gutwrenching heartfluttering depictions of subtle intimacy i have seen in my life

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. <- the banter!! the playful teasing n laughter!!!!!!! theyre so comfortable with each other and its so fun to read. :>

and sel…… just as a final note; this should hopefully be obvious atp but i ADORE ur writing. so so so much. i love the way this is written and i had to stop literally every two seconds to write down a line that i loved. i think the only ones i havent mentioned yet are these!!:

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart? <- SO PRETTYYYYYYY

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday.  When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

^ this one means so much to me. ive run out of brain juice atp but like … sel ….. 🥺🥺🥺😥😥 the way u just understand him. hes not perfect, hes not a saint, but he loves and he loves and he loves even when it only ever hurts him. there’s something so human about gojo and ironically i think it hinges on how isolated he is? just… the fact that he continues to love despite that gap is so telling to me!!! i agree w reader so much, he doesnt understand how kind he is :( but he has a lot of love in his heart too.

u can probably tell but this rly did just tear my heart right out of my chest sel………….. im sniffling. tearing up. but im so so so happy and grateful that i found u and ur fics <3333 this really felt so healing!! im so excited to read more col sometime soon <33

give col!reader and col!gojo a lil kiss on the head from me pls 🥺

₊˚⊹｡ tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

wc: 7.4k

summary: you teach gojo how to love. 

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent

a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

.

.

.

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

.

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.

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.

You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon). 

.

.

.

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

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.

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

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.

.

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to. 

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

.

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed. 

Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

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.

.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

.

.

.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. 

What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees. 

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

.

.

.

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

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.

.

The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you. 

“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Like me, right?” he winks.

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

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.

.

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same. 

.

.

.

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. 

So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

.

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

.

It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[prose-for-hire]

Shared Affection

Pairing: Willow x fem!reader; Xander x fem!reader [Bi reader !!]

Request: Hey! can you please write a Willow/Xander x fem reader story where they both have crushes on the reader and they're trying to figure out if she likes boys or girls only to find out shes bi?

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I feel like I’m still a little rusty but I did like writing a little something for this request !! Hope it’s what you wanted and I’m sorry about the wait 💖

You were a new transfer to UC Sunnydale. You could sense that you were on a Hellmouth as soon as you set foot in this new place you would call home. You could sense things, energies and what some may call magic. It just hadn’t occurred to you that this was any different to how other people felt and experienced the world. This would all change, however, once you met who would be your new group of friends. They would show you new possibilities as well as showing you just how powerful you truly are.

You met Buffy in a class you had both taken and subsequently bonded over how much you regretted it. From that first day you both vowed to help each other get through the year. It was as if you just clicked, she was an instant best friend, you could feel it. She then introduced you to her other friends, Willow, Anya and Xander. The latter didn’t actually go to college but he would sneak onto the campus so often and he was good company so you were pleased at this. You got on with everyone so well, it was clear that they had become fond of you almost instantly. Some, more than others.

Over the next five months, Xander and Willow had found themselves adoring you. Neither realising that the other held feelings for you. Xander and you both loved films. You would watch them together all of the time and it became a weekly tradition. You would either go to his basement or he would spend time in your dorm. Sometimes you would forget that the film was on and laugh until you cried at the comments he would make. He was so funny and you couldn’t help but feel so comfortable in his presence.

Willow and you spent time together, she had shown you some small spells for you to practice and you described to her the energy you felt especially now you were in Sunnydale. You could spend hours through the night, just talking. Laughing and sharing your deepest thoughts. She was so sweet to you and you really valued all of the time she spent with you.

Both of them had made you feel so welcome and you enjoyed the attention you had been getting more and more of from them both. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t suspect that one or both of them may have feelings for you. Although, whenever you thought this you berated yourself for assuming more from their friendly natures.

You couldn’t help loving them, they were so kind and they both looked after you in their own ways. Willow and her magic, Xander and his courage. They were truly now extremely important people in your life. You were thinking of this as you saw Buffy saving your usual seat in your class.

She smile and got you up to speed on all of the latest news you might have missed since you saw her last night on patrol. She was now your closest friend and you basically told each other everything. She had finished telling you all about Riley and what she had found out after the Gentlemen had finally been taken care of. Although, she suddenly changed the topic with a smile and a glint in her eye. She wouldn’t go into detail although she happened to hint about you having a ‘secret admirer’. 

Your mind went to Xander and then to willow in almost the same second. Who you suppose you wished it to be. But then, would you want to choose between them? Hurt one at the expense of the other? Would you even be able to choose? Or could you share them both, forget about monogamy, or would that put a strain on their friendship?

Stop. You had to halt all of the scenarios spinning around your head. It was possible it was nobody in your new little friendship group. Perhaps it was a pretty demon that Anya used to know from the olden days that had seen you from afar.

Willow and Xander were sat in the college canteen while you and Buffy were finishing your lecture. Xander had slid in with a group of guys that had finished a game of football so that nobody would question him. They sat and talked for a little but both of their minds had been on you. On their feelings for you. Neither knew that they had never felt this strongly for another person before. They just didn’t know how you could take it.

Willow had been thinking though. She had told Buffy she was gay. She had finally done it. She was a lesbian. She liked girls and only wanted to date girls now. Specifically, you. God, she adored you. Buffy had been surprised at her coming out but after a few months found herself being Will’s biggest supporter. It was easier to accept as Buffy already knew about your sexuality. You had always been open with her about being bi, you just hadn’t gotten around to telling anyone else.

“So, what do you think?” she asked after her usual rambling as she tried to broach the subject with Xander. She needed to see what he would say. She had realised instead that he had zoned out. His eyes watching for someone who was supposed to be here soon.

“Hm?”

“About y/n. I was thinking of asking her out-”

“You can’t!” Xander said, his voice had gone high-pitched at the suggestion. He then coughed and deepened his voice more than he would usually speak it to compensate, “…She’s not gay, Will”

“You don’t know! What are you th-the king of gay people now?”

“No!” Xander said quickly but his heart wasn’t really in their conversation. All he could ever do now was think of you. There was a pause for a while as both of them thought of the other, knowing now that they both felt the same for you. Then they thought of you. Of how close you had become. How kind and affectionate you could be with them. You cared for each of them but neither of them could help but wish for more. Xander suddenly spoke up again, still staring into the distance, “I know, of course I know. Do you, uh, really think… you know?”

“Sometimes she looks at me and I forget to do the breath-y thing” Willow admitted, now rubbing her hands together in her anxiety.

“Well, yeah she does. She’s- Y/n!” He suddenly said, his voice announcing you as he saw you walk towards them. You smiled and waved a little as you weaved between the tables to get to your friends.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’s-” Willow replied, not realising you had been standing behind

“Hey, Y/n! Our Y/n, uh, Y/n our friend!” Xander said a little more urgently, over whatever Willow had been trying to say about your sexuality.

You smile and slide into a seat beside them. Both of them made you so comfortable to be around, you had this sense of home around both of them.

“Buffy caught up to Riley in the corridor, so it’s just me today,”

“That’s good!” Willow said, “Well, n-not good that she isn’t here but good that you are and that they have time together”

“Yeah, I think they’ll be okay. I hope so anyway, he could be good for Buffy right? I don’t know much about Angel but she looks so sad every time someone talks about him”

Willow nodded but Xander wasn’t quite listening. He was trying to think of a way to subtly change the subject from Buffy’s love life to yours. He ended up throwing subtlety out of the window an blurt it out.

“So, Y/n, how would you describe your type. What would your ideal man-”

“O-or woman! Or anybody else!”

“Oh, uh, well I’m not sure I have one type. I fall for people for more than their looks I guess. It just depends on the person!” You smiled but faltered slightly as their brows furrowed at your answer. It wasn’t specific enough for them to gauge who you might be interested in.

However, Willow loved your answer, as did Xander. He was usually a little insecure that he wasn’t the best looking guy or that he made too many jokes to be taken seriously by anyone. But of course, with you, it was different. You could sense goodness from them. You could sense love and promise and potential and you adored spending time with them so much.

But you could feel there was a slight tension. As if they were competing where usually they wouldn’t. Or that they were in some kind of unresolved discussion.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity! We are, um, curious cats”

“If for example, Willow asked you on a date and uh, for the sake of this totally hypothetical situation, I also asked you out too – who would you pick?”

“Well, I think that I would be happy with either of you” You shrugged. And their mouths both widened in surprise at the same time. Neither of them had even considered you might like men and women. Even after you said this as you had to elaborate, “I’m bisexual”

They smiled at you, somewhat satisfied with this answer and both hugged you tightly at you admittance. You couldn’t help grinning so wide at their warmth. Then they caught each other’s eye and saw that they mirrored each other’s expression. That they saw that they had a chance with you. At your love. As you got up and excused yourself that you had to get to another class, there was a silent agreement. Both of them were set on competing for your attention. Especially now that they knew they definitely could have a chance to be by your side.

You weren’t really sure what to make of their question, you told yourself not to think too much into it. Just in case your mind began to spit out unrealistic scenarios that would disappoint you. You left them, not aware that they were both intently watching you leave. Your form dancing away from them in that way that they loved. Their eyes never left you and their thoughts lingered even longer.

One day, you would probably have to make some kind of decision. For now, you were just pleased that they accepted you for who you were. That you couldn’t sense even the smallest change in their fondness for you when you told them. For now, you could enjoy their love, whether platonic or otherwise and keep spending as much free time as you could with them.

[pyrefell]

Helllo!!! I’m loving your headcanons so far!!!

Do you have any general personalities descriptions for your boys yet?

a of all, bsdaifjkbfjkowp thank you!!! b of all, im sorry this took so long?? i rewrote it like 3 times & it still might change bc im indecisive. also it turned into a lil bit of a headcanon post. i hope its understandable?

once again i am struck with the fact that the boys need nicknames. hmm.

UNDERTALE:

Sans: Guy who is deliberately and unabashedly Cringe. Overall, fairly laid back. However, he still prefers to maintain distance between himself and most people. It was already a natural facet of his personality but it was exacerbated by the Timeline Jank. People tend to forget he’s as smart as he is, they don’t think he’s stupid, they just mostly know that funnyman side of him. If you're a dick to Papyrus, he's gonna be a dick to you.  

Papyrus: Things are so exciting and fascinating to him, even the most mundane things. Despite seeming completely oblivious to things that seem completely obvious, he's very smart and deceptively cunning. Even though he knows how people see him (a big loud child) and he doesn't get quite the reception his brother does, he knows he'll win them over one day! He tries to avoid thinking about how lonely he actually is. It’s fine. He knows Sans is dealing with something (he won’t tell him what) but he figures he doesn’t need much else on his plate.

UNDERSWAP:

Sans: In this post, I mentioned that he's kind of always naturally been the more outgoing brother and that he's taken on this much more outgoing and bubbly persona as a result of the impact the timelines have had on him. He's competitive in a more aggressive way (maybe not quite the right word to use but), by which I mean he's kind of a sore loser sometimes. Also? He's a huge flirt, he's pretty skilled in the art of flustering.

Papyrus: Also in this post, I said that he's pretty chill until the conversation turns to something he's passionate about, then he reaches True Papyrus Volume Levels (and Chaos Levels). He is fairly relaxed, yes, but part of it is compensating for how awkward he can be. He gets embarrassed really easy, even something as small as misunderstanding something that was said. However! He’s a pretty popular artist online! Though he uses a pseudonym, being recognized and talked to by a stranger in public is not something he would look forward to.

UNDERFELL:

Sans: He’s cruel and crude, that’s kind of his whole thing. He’s not really the best at keeping a hold on his temper (though there’s a few other factors at play there). Keeping up the whole tough guy persona is the number one priority thus he doesn’t deal much with his emotions or inner turmoil or any of that other crap. Like US!Sans, he’s a flirt, except his flirting is mostly crude comments and jokes. And yet, somehow it works? Guy who is a disaster. He’s oddly nostalgic, mostly about his relationship with Papyrus. He wishes he could have been a better brother, but it seems like their relationship is too far gone.

Papyrus: He also doesn’t have the best control of his temper but he has an image to keep, one of a cruel and cold Royal Guard Captain. He didn’t used to be like this, but it’s necessary for his survival. He’s still surprisingly empathetic, something that could never really be beat out of him. HUGE perfectionist nearly to the point of it being debilitating. He oscillates between hating how weak he is and desperately wanting to be able to be weak. While he acts prideful about his ‘work’ int the Royal Guard, he is genuinely prideful about things like his cooking. Often to the point of arrogance.

SWAPFELL:

Sans: He’s seen as very cold and calculating, well-spoken. But he also knows when and how to turn on the charm. That’s how he’s even made it this far in life, it’s vital to his survival. He can also be very prideful, particularly in his position as Queen Toriel’s right hand and in his ability to remain cool in high stress situations. He’s well aware of how overprotective he is with Papyrus, he’s terrified of how cruel the world is and terrified that he’s stunted him to the point of not being able to cope with it.

Papyrus: He’s deathly shy. If it were safe/a good idea to use his own brand of shortcuts to get out of situations, by god would he. He, like his non-Fell counterpart, thrives in the relative anonymity of being online. Past that barrier of shyness, he’s excitable and surprisingly jovial. He tries to find some reason to be at least content, he thinks it helps Sans worry less (even if it doesn’t really). He’s actually pretty mischievous, though only dares to pull pranks on his brother.

HORRORTALE:

Sans: Horribly cynical and jaded. He’s working on it, even if he doesn’t particularly want to sometimes. He’s not home, so to speak, most of the time. He’s easily frustrated by the gaps in his memory, then he forgets why he’s frustrated and gets even more upset. He’s naturally very wary of everyone else and again, very much prefers to keep distance between himself and most everyone he comes into contact with.

Papyrus: He definitely tries to hide everything behind a happy demeanor, he tries to fix everything for just about anyone (especially his brother) without any fuss and tries to make it seem like he’s totally fine. There’s also this sense of jadedness, he tries to curb it but sometimes it still slips out. He still tries to act like himself, like he’d been before the Famine, but it’s exhausting and he’ll eventually come to terms with the fact that he’s no longer the same.

HORRORSWAP:

Sans: His competitive nature has morphed more into him being more of an aggressive hothead (though not quite to the level of UF!Sans). He’s really self-conscious about his new stutter and bringing it up frustrates him the same way treating him like a child had before. He has terrible mood swings, he can ruin his own day over nothing and it kills him. He’s really trying to get better, but he still has a hard time being honest with people.

Papyrus: He’s gotten pretty cynical since the Famine, he puts part of the blame on himself (if only he'd just been brave for once), even though he knows there's not really a whole lot he could have done. He’s even quieter than he used to be, he’d prefer if he could just fade into the background. He hates how much he stands out in any crowd and tries to avoid going out at all costs. The only one who can get him out is Sans because at least they can ignore everyone else and concern themselves with each other.

HORRORFELL:

Sans: He’s...mean. Like. He tends to be a major jackass. He can’t help but think well, humans aren’t exactly gonna wanna know a monster, much less him. And hey! Might just help keep his newly expanded family safe! He ain’t complainin’! He’s really just bitter about how things have gone for him and his brother (and about how things will likely go in the future). For as many dark jokes he makes to Frisk and Aliza, he’d be the first one to come to their rescue, he’s just that kind of friend.

Papyrus: He’s fairly quiet these days, but don’t think he’s not going to find some way to give you some kind of attitude. He’s been putting a lot of work into taming his anger, which is no small task considering everything. He still has his moments, but he prides himself in being able to cool off and keep himself somewhat calm. He still hasn’t been able to do much about his perfectionism, in fact it’s gotten worse, but he’s trying. And he, like his brother, is extremely protective of his little family, and god help anyone who dares try anything.

A B-Bonus????

UF!Comic Papyrus: (he’s the only one with a nickname...lol) Reggie here struggles a lot with who he is as a person, is he more Sans? More Papyrus? An even 50/50? Or is he someone else entirely? He’s introspective and hyper aware of his mannerisms, particularity in the ones he deems too Sans-like or too Papyrus-like. He’s not exactly the nicest, partially as a mechanism to keep people away (it’s just...easier that way). Reggie keeps to himself most of the time. He’s not shy though, he’s more than willing to speak his mind, even if it comes out more crass than it was intended.

[opbackgrounds]

Hi there Sarc' ;) I am sorry if the question has already been asked but I thought it could be interesting to have your opinion about this. While I love most of the female characters in OP and think that most of them are well developed and can be truly good role models for girls I still feel that Oda sometimes has a sexist view on female characters (the jokes about the naked bath scenes for example or Kororo being considered ugly make me really uncomfortable). What do you think about it?

Ah, I wondered when I would get this question. 

When people talk about sexism in One Piece they typically are referring to two different things: How women are drawn, and how they’re treated within the narrative. While there’s some overlap here, there’s enough distinction that I want to address them as two separate points in two separate posts, because I guess I had Opinions, and by god there should be a limit to how much text one tumblr post can be expected to hold. Consider this an introduction.

Buckle up, kiddos. This is gonna be a long one. 

Nami Face Syndrome Isn’t the Problem...

An important thing to remember with Oda’s art and storytelling style is that almost everything is hyper exaggerated for effect. You don’t go into One Piece looking for realism. You don’t go into One Piece expecting the characters to act like normal people. Everything--from the art to the humor to the battles--is stretched and pulled to its absolute limit in hopes of garnering a particular reaction. When a character is sad they cry big bubbly tears with dribbles of snot coming from their nose. When they laugh their mouths take up half their face. 

And when a girl is hot, her tiddies are two great big watermelons stuck to the center of her chest.

What is often dubbed “Nami Face Syndrome” within the fandom is somewhat misleading. After all, why was Wanda, who is a literal dog that walks on two legs, decried as yet another Nami clone at her introduction? I would postulate it’s less to do with her face and more to do with the fact that from the neck down they are virtually identical, something that’s made more obvious because Wanda is literally wearing Nami’s clothes

What makes this frustrating for a lot of people, myself included, is that it’s not that Oda is incapable of drawing more diverse body types, but that he often chooses not to. Take for example the Kuja tribe

or the Charlotte family daughters (thanks to Arthur at Library of Ohara for the resource). It’s pretty clear Oda has the chops to make his women as weird as the men, and he often does! For important characters, even. And yes, as the Kokoro example given above sometimes the gonkness is brought attention to, but for others like Lola and Chiffon it’s...not. 

(more on mermaids later)

But Sarcasticles, one might protest, even Oda’s “ugly” characters have ginormous boobs! Where is my itty bitty titty committee representation >:(

To which I can only shrug. For Oda, boobs on a woman are like abs on men. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, they’re gonna have ‘em

Seriously, Oda. What the fuck.

...So What Is?

I have a theory that’s impossible to prove, and that the problem isn’t so much Oda’s character design so much as the ratio of his male to female characters in general. It’s not that every female character is a Nami clone, but Oda has a template he uses for attractive female characters ages 16-25, the same way he uses Robin as a template for attractive women ages 26-35, which is how you get cases of mistaken identity like Viola for Robin or scenes during Reverie where one could be forgiven for thinking Nami’s supposed to be an identical triplet

 Oda does this for his men, too. It’s not as obvious because 1) Even men with similar facial features can have a wider variety body types due to Oda having a sliding scale of buffness he’s willing to attach to a pretty face and 2) There are more men. 

There are a lot more men.

In groups where the male to female ratio is more or less equal (Baroque Works, Big Mom’s kids) you get a wide variety of designs. But there’s only one female Supernova. There’s one female Warlord. CP9 only has one female agent. Only one of the Revolutionary Commanders is a woman. There are very few female background characters in crowd shots, especially among marines. Big Mom might be the only female Emperor, but she’s not young, In fact, when drawing her at age 28, Oda defaults to a much more generic “pretty girl” face before giving her much more striking, memorable features in her 40s

If you look at Oda’s male characters, the ones that are supposed to be hot are often given the same square jawline and the thin-bladed nose that at one point in time was reserved for Robin. Both Coby and Sabo had very distinctive noses before their glowups, while Ace must have had a laser treatment done on his eyebrows sometime between Alabasta and Marineford. 

But the biggest difference on the men has got to be muscle mass. The overgrown noodles of early One Piece are lost to the annals of time. Shanks alone must have gained 30 pounds of pure muscle from the time Luffy got his first bounty to his appearance at Marineford. 

Now, I will acknowledge that there is a difference between the increasing sexualization of female characters and the male power fantasy of giving Zoro bara tiddies post-timeskip. While I do think there are certain male characters specifically designed to be the Hot Dude, what I’m trying to emphasize here is that Oda works with templates for both men and women, and both of those templates have been exaggerated over time. Bigger boobs for women, more muscles for men. And when you’re only slotting for one girl in any given group, and that one girl has to be The Hot One then you’re going to have a lot of ladies that end up looking the same. 

My love for Otohime on this blog is well known, and I want to use her as an example of what Oda can do when he works beyond this template, because it’s really freaking good  

Otohime is neither conventionally attractive nor gonk. She’s dressed in very conservative, traditional clothing and has a narrow waist and small chest. 

There are no sharp edges on Otohime. Not her eyebrows, not her jaw, and most of the time not even her hands, emphasizing her gentle nature. You don’t see it as well in this panel, but Otohime’s head is often drawn wider than her shoulders, emphasizing her frailty. Oda gives her a longer neck to compensate, and the overall effect is a very soft, willowy figure. 

Her headpiece looks like a sunburst. The audience never sees her fins, so Oda gives her a scale patterned kimono-dress-thingy (my knowledge of Japanese clothing is, uh, not good) as a visual reminder that she’s not human. The sash that circles around her head harkens back to Japanese mythology as a symbol of divinity, similar to a halo in Western culture. And fun fact: Otohime is named after a god, just like Neptune, while her goals and ideals are pure enough to be heaven-sent. 

I’m not an artist, but this is a really damn good character design. A lot of Oda’s older female characters are. Dandan, Tsuru, O-Tsuru, Shakky, Kureha, Big Mom, and Nyon are all instantly recognizable and have strong designs, even if a few of them fall into the hourglass figure that Oda often defaults to. It’s just...there aren’t that many of them.

So the question becomes why aren’t there more women, and I think the answer is because, ultimately, One Piece is a series geared at boys. While I wish there were a few more important ladies, I can understand why there aren’t. 

Note, that doesn’t mean I think it’s right or that Oda is obligated to include more women. It’s just one of the facts of the shonen manga industry at this point in time. 

A more important question, I think, is why does every younger woman have to be attractive? And why do the attractive ladies have to wear outfits that are blatant fanservice? This is something I don’t have an answer for. Oda has said on more than one occasion that he writes One Piece with his twelve year old self in mind. It could be that it’s a calculated move to appeal to his audience, in which case it’s certainly worked because said Hot Ladies are constantly used in marketing and merchandising. It’s the Hot Ladies that top the popularity charts (although, to be fair, who’s there for competition?). In the most recent chapter a new Hot Lady was introduced, and the fandom went batshit crazy for her.

Even the fans who are very vocal about how Oda sucks at drawing women. It’s interesting how that works out sometimes.

Or maybe I’m giving Oda too much credit, and he’s just horny. Not having direct access to Oda’s mind, I don’t have an answer. If I had to guess I’d say it’s a little of Column A, a little of Column B, because that’s usually how life is. 

But in a vacuum big tiddies are just a design choice. An exaggerated aesthetic, in a series full of exaggerated aesthetics. It’s when that design choice is paired with in-story comments, actions, and decisions where things really start to get heated. But that’s a whole other ball of wax, and there should be a limit to how much one tumblr post can be expected to hold. I promise I’ll get to the meat of your question next time.

Thank you so much for your patience. I really do think it’s important to start here before diving into everything else, if only because it helps keep my thoughts organized. I hope you’ve found this helpful, and if not, I hope to do better next time. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Workout.”

Forgive me for being short today, But I have a Russian test in less than an hour, and it is on numbers which is the most excruciating part of this language lol.

Hope you all have a good day :)

The human pulled to a stop huffing and puffing, hands on his knees as he took in great big breaths. Krill could see ribs through his skin as the great bellows expanded and then contracted. Sweat slicked the skin as the body desperately tried to cool itself.

“Heart rate 165.”

The human straightened himself out coughing once or twice to clear his throat, reaching out and wiping his face with a towel.

He threw the towel over one shoulder and stretched the large muscle groups in his chest, stomach and back pulling tight.

Sunny leaned against the wall just to their right both sets of arms crossed over her chest, “So, what is this supposed to be fore. Is this like a dominance thing or something.”

The human wiped his face again and raised an eyebrow, “IT’s exercises,  Sunny. You know so I can be fit enough to pass the UNSC PT exam, or perhaps so that I can do my job better, or maybe because I look better whenI’m more fit.

Sunny turned her head to look at him, her eyes scrunching down a little as Krill went to take notes on a clipboard.

“You mean…. You didn’t just grow to being that size?’

The human glanced down at Krill incredulous, “IS she serious? Do the Drev like, not have to work out?”

Krill shook his head, “Drev do not have subcutaneous fat deposits like humans do. Any acquired deposits are stored below the carapace between the connective tissue, padding them down and giving them more protection.”

Sunny looked between them in confusion, “Wait, hold on…. I’m confused.”

The human towelled off his hair, “I have to work out to look like this sunny. IF i don’t use it, I lose it.”

She turned to look at Krill.

He tucked the holo-pad under one arm, “You see, Sunny. Humans are meant to adapt. They can adapt mentally, and they can adapt physically. The body changes to match the requirements of its environment. Sometimes this takes years to do, for instance if you take a light skinned population of humans and put them somewhere with a lot of sun, and keep that population in complete isolation, after a few generations, the skin will darken to compensate for the increased UV light. However these things happen on a smaller level. The body fluctuates to adapt to the amount of physical work which is required.”

The human nodded, “Exactly. Running strengthens the heart, and it increases the hemoglobin in my blood, so that I can run for a longer time with more oxygen. If I were to stop running, I would loose all of that and have to work back up.”

Sunny stared at him incredulous, “So, you have to force your body to be able to perform correctly. Like, It can’t just DO what it needs to do, but you have to convince it over years of training to be able to do what you want.”

The man shrugged, “Well anything sucks when you phrase it like that.” He turned and motioned them to follow, “Historically, humanity was evolved in an environment with little food. We ate a diet heavy in proteins, fiber, and natural carbs from fruit. Fat is an essential part of a human’s diet, but it is relatively difficult to find in nature because of this, the body adapted to make humans love and crave fatty and sugary foods for energy. Well since well into the twentieth eighteenth century, fatty foods were becoming commonplace, and easy to get our hands on, but the body wasn’t aware of that, so it continued to treat these new fatty foods the way our bodies would have treated them back when we were hunter/gatherers storing every last bit up for use later.”

Sunny followed after in fascination, “I see, so now you have…. Too much of a food that your body craves.”

The human looked over his shoulder, “You got it, and the body doesn’t know when to stop storing fat. It’ll just keep going. So if I were to sit on my ass all day eating chips, I would lose the muscle and I would get bigger as fat deposits were stored up for energy.”

Sunny shrugged, “What is the problem with that?”

The human tapped his chin lightly, “A few things, I guess. For me, at least, if I were to just stop working out, I wouldn’t be able to do my job as well, I wouldn't be able to run as far, or to jump as high, or to lift as much. And lifting myself up in a pullup would be impossible, and considering the amount of times we have all almost fallen off a cliff or had to haul ourselves up rope, you would think that would be a bad idea. Not to mention that the larger you are the harder your heart has to work as the blood supply is forced to expand, and since you aren't working out your heart it gets weaker but has to do more work, which --in turn-- increased the risk of heart issues. Compounding all that I wouldn't be able to sit in a cockpit or pilot a jet properly.”

Sunny shook her head, “That seems like a very… annoying model. You can never just relax. You always have to work to keep your body where it should be. And the amount of self control you have to have….”

The human laughed, “You have no idea how much self control  I need when a box of doughnuts gets in my way.” He sighed, “Keeping my abs as been a real struggle, but the UNSC drilled some self discipline into me when I was still young.”

“So you weren't always this big.”

The human snorted, “no not in the slightest. In fact, I was so skinny, you could see my heart beating through my rib cage.

Sunny grimaced.

“Yeah I know, kinda gross. Those are your two directions. If you don’t work out your either super scary skinny, or you get a bit big. If you’re working out right you get muscles.” He turned around flexing proudly for them to outline the lines of his biceps, chest and stomach.

Sunny would have rolled her eyes back into her head, but she supposed, now that she knew he had to work for it, she was at least somewhat proud of him.

“Ok, I have a question  then.”

“Shoot.”

“Can you get bigger?”

More laughter, “Oh yeah, totally, but I’m not THAT dedicated.”

They were just coming around a corner when the commander skidded to a halt eye to chest with an absolutely massive human.

Even sunny stepped back in surprise.

This human was large enough to look sunny in the eye, with shoulders about as wide as her, and a chest that looked like it could have benched a small car.

It was almost comical, a moment ago Sunny had assumed that the commander was a large human.

“Wow there big mean. I’’d rather not get steamrolled today, thanks.”

The large human glanced down at the commander.

“Sir.” He grunted before stepping around and walking up the hall.

Sunny watched him go, “What do you have to do to get that big!”

“You practically have to live at the gym.”

They turned the corner walking into a large room, with strange machines of unknown use.

ANd in here there were humans of all sizes and shapes, but most of them absolutely massive. Those who lacked height, did not lack muscle.

Male humans, female humans, all of the above.

A tiny female human stood at one of these machines carrying a bar on her shoulders with enough weight that sunny assumed it might crush her. Instead she squatted down to the floor and stood back up.

The captain blinked, “Holy shit.” He motioned towards her, “She squats more than me by the way. You see these guys are insane. I work out to maintain, these guys do it because its their hobby.”

Krill floated upwards to whisper in sunny’s ear, “For the muscle to enlarge, the fibers must tear open, and then the body comes back and repairs the tear to withstand the pressures that tore it in the first place.

Sunny stared at Krill incredulously, “So you're telling me, they just…. Tear themselves apart to get like that.”

The Commander left them standing in place walking over to the wall and jumping upwards, catching his hands around a black bar welded to the wall, the muscles in his back, just below the shoulder blades flexed as he pulled himself upwards, the muscles in his shoulder blades rolling under the skin.

They continued to watch as the commander did his set, a little bit of everything for demonstration purposes. Getting off one of the leg machines, one of these large female humans walked past sitting where he had just sat reaching out pulling out the peg and and bringing the weight almost to the bottom of the plates.

The commander leaned in, “See her, she could probably crush your skull using just her legs.” He sighed, “Man, I only WISH I could be that  badass.” He looked up at sunny, “Sometimes I come here just to knock myself down a peg.”

Across the room, one of these massive humans was hauling a huge bar lined with weight on either side up over his head like it was nothing.

“You see that, that would probably invert my spine if I tried to do it.” “Must you be so graphic?” Krill wondered 

“Yeah, because that’s how much of a wuss I am.”

Looking around, Sunny wasn’t convinced entirely of his status as a wuss. He had all the requisite muscle groups of, even the largest humans, and more than some. There were great swatches of the human population who,even here, were missing some things. 

A few of the humans had large arms, ut small legs, small legs, but large arms, no chest, or  chest and no abdominal muscles.

Yes sure, he may have been smaller than their largest, but he WAS well rounded arms, chest, stomach, legs, back and shoulders.

She found herself surprised at the smug satisfaction in comparing her human to the other humans.

Sure her human couldn’t bench THAT much, but he also had better legs, so there.

“You ok, Sunny?”

She turned her head to look at him.

“Just thinking.” She said 

He shrugged at her and returned to his work. 

It’s hard to be a human.

They have to work for everything they have, especially when it comes to their body. 

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Thoughts on Un ballo in maschera (San Francisco, 2014)

As promised for the ever-lovely @monotonous-minutia.

Ballo is a weird opera for me: I love it (it's definitely in my top 3 or 4 favorite Verdis), and it was my absolute favorite opera for...actually about a year or so, and while it's no longer my absolute favorite, it's still very high up on the list. However, I have found that it is almost impossible to find a production (or for that matter a recording) that gets the opera completely right for me or is in any way definitive—but then again, this is an opera that is also pretty hard to badly screw up. In fact, I think I've only seen one production that's managed to badly screw it up, which was from Leipzig and which has possibly the single ugliest production aesthetic I have ever seen in an opera. But I digress.

This production isn't perfect or definitive, but it is a damn good show.

Before you ask: yes, this is set in Sweden (good) and yes, Anckarström does shoot Gustavo (even better) as Verdi, history, and the universe intended. None of this stabby-stabby kitchen knife nonsense.

My biggest complaint is honestly that I hope the San Francisco Opera has changed their prompter in the past six years because whoever was prompting apparently decided that it was necessary and good to practically yell a lot of the lines, most noticeably in Act III, Scene 1. It got really annoying really quickly.

Also I wasn't a huge fan of some of the sets, in particular the set that seemed to (with slightly different pieces) be both the first and the last set. The gallows set looked really cool but was not very well-lit, causing a whole lotta darkness instead of what it was supposed to look like:

which would've been way cooler. The study set was pretty nice, though.

This production was veritable costume porn and I loved it. I want Amelia's Act II outfit immediately. Also that ensemble Oscar wears to the ball.

The conducting by Nicola Luisotti was excellent overall; I loved how fast-moving it felt (because this is a fast-paced opera!) and how each scene felt like it went by in the blink of an eye. My only no is that I feel like the strings were slightly underbalanced overall (particularly in the last act), although I may be biased as a longtime string player.

The chorus and orchestra were both excellent. The smaller roles were all well-taken; Scott Conner (whom you, @monotonous-minutia, may recognize as Bernandino in the Amsterdam 2015 Benvenuto Cellini) and Christian van Horn were luxury casting as Those Two Counts Where No One Can Tell Which One Is Which. Great singing-acting duo.

Dolora Zajick absolutely BROUGHT IT as Ulrica, with all the ghostly creepiness, charismatic flair, and powerhouse singing one would expect of her in this role. I always love seeing her in Verdi. And her costume made her look freakin' cool.

As I posted earlier, OH MY GOD HEIDI STOBER IS CUTEST OSCAR. This Oscar is ALWAYS sassing people around and being funny and really running the behind-the-scenes; everyone both loves and fears him. He's always making mischief (in particular wreaking havoc upon the Chief Justice) and trying to have a little fun and hating it when people take his fancy hat and start throwing it around (as happened multiple times). And he's also so concerned about his King 24/7, even though he can get annoyed with him. (Gustavo pretends to have a heart attack when Ulrica gives the prophecy, and while he thinks it's funny, Oscar very much does not.) And at the ball, all the attenion ends up on him and the commedia dell'arte dancers. It's amazing. And don't even get me started on how talented of a singer Heidi Stober is.

You want photos? HERE IMMA SPAM WITH PHOTOS:

Thomas Hampson isn't my favorite singer in the role of Count Anckarström—his voice often comes across as a little dry for my taste here—but he does very well nonetheless, with a fantastic "Eri tu". Where he really shines, however, is in his acting and use of the text. You can hear the feeling behind every individual word and thought he sings, which I think is incredibly hard to do. He makes so much out of it all and milks every moment for its dramatic potential, which helps create this wonderful sense of character—you can really believe in him from start to finish, through all his moods and his descent into murderous jealousy and hatred, and his remorse at the end. And those costumes, and how stylish he looks in them? Perfection.

And I'm just gonna leave this photo here:

(his FACE. it's PRICELESS.)

Julianna di Giacomo is just *heart eyes*. She can sing and those high notes are going to be ringing in my ears for a while. Amelia is not an easy role in any way, shape, or form, but she made it sound so easy, especially those two (very difficult!) arias. I think she also did a great job at finding her personality and capturing not only her inner conflict but also her innate strength beneath any fears she may have; a moment that particularly stood out is that in the Lot-Drawing Scene, she stood her ground even after Anckarström told her to draw a name, and in fact, he eventually had to physically force her to draw by grabbing her arm and putting it in the urn because he could not otherwise force her to take part. Also, may I say she is very pretty.

Ramón Vargas is not a popular quantity on here, and sure, it's not a perfect voice, but I do hear plenty of real Italian sound in his voice, which more than compensates for the fact that's it's inherently somewhat too light for the part. Nevertheless, he acquits himself very well in this long and demanding role, and I particularly enjoyed listening to his take on the I Am Totally A Fisherman Song. Also, he's just such a naturally cheerful and sunny personality, which melds really well with the character; he is also very convincing in the more serious parts, especially because it feels that the whole time, he is acting out of love and a zest for life, which fits pretty much all the problems Gustavo has really well.

In short, a really wonderful take on a really wonderful opera.

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week 2020: Day 6 - Tarot

Summary: After a crappy post-college first year, Laxus jumped at the opportunity to leave town for a week for a road trip with his friends. He intended it just to be a week away with his friends, but when he meets an unfamiliar stranger, the vacation turns into something much more. [Fraxus Multichapter]

This is the sixth part of my Fraxus Week admissions, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. This year I’ve made the prompts into a single multi-chapter fic. You can see all the chapters in the Masterpost linked below. Hope you enjoy.

You can read this on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, and under the cut. Read the other chapters from this masterlist.

Chapter Six – A Carnival Reading

Bickslow had claimed it was an accident, but Laxus called bullshit. To Laxus, this seemed as though it was Bickslow and Evergreen's way of giving their new relationship their blessing. But Laxus didn't particularly care, because he had woken up sharing a relatively small bed with Freed, arm wrapped around the man's waist while pulling him close, and the man nuzzled into his chest as he slept. And, although Laxus had no intention on trying, he couldn't think of a better thing to wake up to.

With a soft smile, he shuffled slightly and pulled Freed closer. The sleeping man hummed and moved his head, revealing a small smile on his face.

This was rather a charmed life, and Laxus could get used to it.

But that was wishful thinking. They'd had their first sober kiss only a day prior, and it had exhilarated Laxus to a point no other relationships had. After that, they'd spent some time atop the RV's roof, Laxus looking up at the stars while Freed continued his book. That too had been exhilarating in a way Laxus couldn't put into words. After that, they'd eaten with Bickslow and Evergreen, spoken about how they were something of a couple but hadn't yet put a label on it, but they certainly weren't platonic.

Their friends had been supportive of that. They knew both men weren't the most emotionally vulnerable people, it seemed.

And now Laxus had woken up in the small double bed at the back of the RV, with Freed in his arms. Seeing as the man was sleeping softly, Laxus leant down and pressed his lips against the crown of Freed's head, smiling down at him.

"That was adorable," Evergreen's voice cut through the silence, and made Laxus' head snap up. He didn't think she was awake. "I didn't know you had it in you to be sweet."

"Shut up," Laxus groaned, voice a tired croak. He quickly glanced through the rest of the RV and his eyes settled on Bickslow, who was curled up awkwardly in the passenger side seat snoring and drooling onto the pillow he was spooning. He was glad that only Evergreen had seen that, as Bickslow would have gone into an overly dramatic meltdown. Which would have woken Freed up and ended the situation.

Huh. Laxus really meant it when he said he cared more for Freed than his dignity.

"I won't say anything more," Evergreen said with a smile. It was annoyingly kind. "I just think its nice. Besides, after you fell asleep we took loads of pictures," Laxus glared at her, and she laughed. "I'm joking. Well, I think so. I fell asleep before Bix so you might want to check."

"Thanks for the warning," Laxus said softly, perhaps sarcastically.

"Well, I'm only really being nice because I have something else I need to tell you," Evergreen said with a small trace of guilt in her tone. "I found that we're pretty close to a well-reviewed circus carnival, and I mentioned it to Bickslow. As you can guess, we're spending the day there."

"Why d'you need to butter me up for that?" Laxus said, not aware that he was running his hands through Freed's soft hair.

"Well, Bickslow made it pretty clear that we'd be leaving the two of you alone," Evergreen sighed. "Essentially, we're forcing you on your first date. Which might be a tad annoying to your plan of not putting labels on what you are."

Laxus glanced down at the sleeping man in the bed with him, and smiled softly. While they were taking things as they came, it certainly wasn't a bad thing that they would be spending the day together.

"I'm sure we can handle it," Laxus said softly.

"You're a hero," Evergreen laughed quietly. "Well, since you're awake now, I'm going to go for a little morning walk. See you later; oh, and keep up the kisses because it's adorable."

If he weren't wrapped around Freed, he might have thrown the pillow at the woman's retreating figure. Instead he did his best to raise his middle finger at the woman without moving Freed to a point where he would awaken. Evergreen let out a quiet laugh as she left the RV, leaving Laxus as the only person awake in the truck. As he was essentially alone, he looked down at the man wrapped up against him.

Freed really was a man of many faces, all damn appealing. Right now, his contented sleeping expression was pretty damned cute. But the night before, on the roof of the RV, he had been more handsome than any man Laxus had laid eyes on. Even the smug and cocky expression he had given Laxus when challenging him to a race at the waterpark had been hot.

It was really quite unfair that he got to be that attractive in that many ways.

"Urgh," Freed murmured quietly, and Laxus looked down at him with an expression of quiet contentment.

"Morning," He greeted.

"Morning," Freed parroted, eyes fluttering open softly. He smiled when he made eye contact with Laxus. "Well you're rather cuddly, aren't you?" Freed chuckled, but cushioned the tease with a soft kiss against Laxus' jaw.

"People always get shocked by that," Laxus commented quietly. "I've never understood why."

"Oh I fully expected you to enjoy hugging, why else would you have a body like this," Freed chuckled, moving slightly so his head was level with Laxus'. "I just expected that being in the presence of the human embodiment of annoying gossip might make you a little hesitant."

"With another guy, maybe," Laxus said the words before he could think. Was that too far for their relationship?

"You're charming too," Freed replied with a soft chuckle. "I thought that was going to be my thing."

"I gotta keep you on yer toes somehow," Laxus said with a grin. "Speaking of, Ever warned me that Bix's been plotting and apparently they're taking us to some carnival or something, and they're gonna ditch us and basically put us on a date together. You okay with that?"

"Of course," Freed nodded a little, and his nose gently traced Laxus'. "Spending time alone with you is quickly becoming a pastime of mine that I love, so you can safely assume I'll enjoy any dates we might go on. Forced on us or otherwise."

"I'm glad," Laxus smiled, jutting his chin forward so he could press his lips against Freed's in a chaste kiss. It sent a shock through him. "And I'll get to kick your ass at carnival games."

"Rather cocky attitude there, Laxus," Freed chuckled. "Misplaced, too."

"You said something similar when you challenged me to the water park race," Laxus grinned. "And remind me, who's got their lock screen as a picture of them on a waterslide screaming like they're about to piss themself."

"True, but in a carnival, you can't repeatedly push me into water and trip me up just to get your way," Freed said with a good-natured smile.

"You're really underestimating how much I like winning," Laxus grinned. "But if your so confident, we can make a bet."

"You truly are a competitive man, Mr Dreyar. I like it," Freed chuckled. "How about the loser pays for our first real date, and the winner choses what the date is."

"Sounds fun," Laxus smiled, leaning down, and pressing their lips together.

It was a slow and somewhat sloppy kiss, and both men melted into it without any difficulty. Laxus brought up one of his hands to cup Freed's cheek, smiling as the man in his arms pushed further into the embrace. Even in his half-awake state, Laxus felt a thrilling rush of excitement flow through him. Freed really did have some kind of effect on him that he couldn't describe, nor did he care to try. Because that moment was perfect.

Well, it would have been perfect. But then they heard the sound of Bickslow's phone taking a picture, followed by a loud cackling.

~~~

"I feel this is what Bickslow's mind must be like."

At Freed's comment, Laxus let out an undignified snort. The two men were walking side by side in the carnival, looking forward at the large and flashy spectacle before them. Multiple stalls lined a long pathway leading towards a circus tent, of which Bickslow was dragging Evergreen towards. Past the tent were large attractions and rides, each blurting out energetic music. It was somewhat overwhelming, but was helped by the fact the mass crowds had yet to arrive.

"I always thought it'd be a nightclub," Laxus commented, grinning. "A really loud and tacky one."

"I can see that," Freed agreed, and Laxus felt a chill run down his spine as Freed's hand grazed his own. "I haven't been to a carnival like this in years. The town I grew up in used to host one once a year."

"You used to enjoy it?" Laxus asked, looking down at the other man with a smile.

"Not exactly," Freed said with a chuckle. "It only started when I was a teenager, and I deemed myself too educated and adult to enjoy myself. So I mostly spent them in my bedroom reading, and wishing death on the people who turned the music up so loud that I could hear it half a mile away."

"So you were an edgy teenager huh?" Laxus asked with a teasing grin. "You know if you had a goth phase then you have to show me pictures so I can laugh at ya."

"Fortunately, I didn't," Freed said with a smile. "But the same goes for you. If you've any embarrassing childhood photos then it's required I see them."

"That's fair, I guess," Laxus nodded. "But don't think I didn't see what you just did. I asked for goth pics, you asked for embarrassing pics. So if I show you anything embarrassing, you gotta compensate."

"I had hoped you hadn't noticed that" Freed chuckled good naturedly.

The two continued walking down the row of stalls, eyeing the food vendors. It was a little after when they usually ate lunch, and they had decided that they'd get something to eat before playing any of the games or visiting any other attractions. That way there were nothing to distract them from the bet they had made, and neither man could blame their losses on being hungry. Laxus paled a little when Freed suggested that, as feigning weakness from hunger had been an option if he lost at a game he should have won.

After eventually settling on a food vendor with sweet smelling meat wafting from their stall, they had a quick meal and further discussed the rules of their gamble. They would both play every game available in a clockwise pattern, and would work with a points system. In the event of a draw, they would flip a coin.

The first game they played was an archery range, which was relatively simple. Laxus had gone first, claiming he had earned that by winning their race at the water park. He had done okay, managing to hit the target with each of his arrows, though with a wide range of points. He ended up with sixteen over his four arrows, which was a serviceable score. But the look on Freed's face told Laxus that the man was confident that he could win.

He did.

He got eighteen points, and even Laxus could see that there was a lot less luck in Freed's performance. Laxus would have focused on that, had he not been distracted by the confident posture, determined expression and flexing arms as he pulled the string back and took aim.

"That was," Laxus began when Freed returned with a satisfied expression. "Kinda hot, honestly."

"I'm glad you think so," Freed said, and his voice was just slightly deeper than normal. He leant forward so that their faces were almost touching, but stopped just short. "Consider it a consolation prize, as I'm winning."

The smug expression on the man's face drove Laxus almost as crazy as his teasing had. And he could do was let out a muttered 'asshole' before following in his footsteps.

They continued making their way through the games at a leisurely pace, playing each of them and teasing each other as they did so. They fell into a quick pattern where the winner of the individual game would flaunt their victory in a flirtatious and teasing way, and the loser would have to stand there and take it. Laxus felt a rush every time, because the ease at which he could be his competitive self with the other man shocked him. The fact Freed was just as confident in himself was an added bonus.

None of his past attempts at relationships had been like this. In fact, he had been so busy trying not to show the more flawed side of himself that he often forgot to be himself. With Freed, it felt like the inverse of that.

After the archery game, they had moved onto a game where they had a minute to score as many points with a basketball hoop. They had been relatively evenly matched, but Laxus' high school year as a basketball player gave him an edge. He gloated his victory by rolling up his sleeve and flexing his bicep, with a teasing 'these ain't just to look at' aimed at Freed. He didn't miss the other man's smirk at the movement.

Next was a game wherein you threw darts at balloons, and each balloon you popped had a certain score inside of it. They had five darts each, and Laxus managed to win that too. He had wrapped an arm around Freed's shoulders and made a gloating show about how he had won two games in a row, and Freed had not.

The next game had them both aiming water pistols at moving targets. The person who inflated their target's balloon fasted would win, and Freed proved to have better aim. Rather than gloating, he had twisted his water gun to the side so that a cold splash of water hit Laxus on the side.

"I'm gonna get you back for that," Laxus promised, grinning.

"Why," Freed feigned innocence. "I thought you might need some cooling off. Losing that badly got you rather heated."

"So, you thought I looked hot, huh?" Laxus said, crossing his arms.

"No," Freed said, not shying from Laxus' gaze. "I thought you looked warm. You looking hot is a… continuing issue."

Laxus grinned at the compliment, but shunted his own water gun to the side so a stream of water hit the other man. Freed let out a small noise of protest, but laughed it off as the owner of the stall asked them both to move along for the next customers. Laxus wrapped an arm around Freed's shoulders as they walked, and murmured into his ear.

"You looked pretty hot yourself," He said with a grin.

"I'm aware," Freed snarked back, and Laxus laughed with a grinned.

This was new as well, the ease of flirtation. It was ridiculous to think that a day ago, Laxus had been beating himself up for the idea of having some kind of crush on Freed, and now he was openly calling the guy hot in public. It was a testament to how comfortable Freed had managed to make him, Laxus supposed.

As they walked to the next stall, they noticed how different it was. Whereas the others were open and painted with bright colours, this stall was a small purple tent with dark colours and candles surrounding it. A sign beside the door claimed 'Mistress Cana Alberona's Tarot.' Laxus rolled his eyes.

"You don't believe in fortune telling?" Freed asked, apparently having seen the eye movement.

"Nah," Laxus shrugged, then looked down at Freed curiously. "Do you?"

"No, I think it's absurd. The idea that some cards magically know the intricate futures of everyone, or the fact your personality and what you'll do is written on your hand is ridiculous," Laxus chuckled a little at Freed's dismissal of the subject. "For whatever reason, it seems like everyone I know believes in it though."

"I know," Laxus grinned. "Ever once dragged me to a psychic. We got kicked out when I found her 'one of a kind crystal ball' on Amazon for twelve dollars."

"A merciful escape for you, then," Freed smirked.

Laxus agreed, but was then struck with an idea. He reached into his pocket and fished out a coin, flipping it in the air and catching it quickly. He covered it before he or Freed could see which side it had landed on, and looked to the other man with a challenging smile. Freed looked back at him with confusion.

"Heads or tails," Laxus demanded. "You get it right; I'll get a fortune. Get it wrong, you have to get one."

"Okay," Freed nodded. "Heads."

Laxus revealed the coin, and deflated at the sight of a clear head facing upwards. Freed sent him a grin that rivalled Bickslow's for its enjoyment of suffering, and he had the balls to pat the man on the shoulder in a faux comforting way. Laxus looked at the tent with a pained expression; he really couldn't be bothered to deal with the overly dramatic lies of someone with a deck of cards and an inflated sense of self-importance.

"Have fun," Freed taunted, giving him a gentle push towards the tent.

All but trudging towards his destination, Laxus placed the money in the bucket outside and rolled his eyes at the overly mysterious sounding demand that he enter the tent. He walked in, and saw a heavily cushioned room with a low table, and a woman mainly covered by purple scarves sitting at it.

They weren't scared of stereotypes, it seemed.

"Hello, lost one," The woman greeted, still forcing a weird voice. "Take a seat, my child."

Laxus did as he was told, biting his tongue when he realised that he was probably older than the woman performing the reading. He was glad this wasn't a palm reading, having a stranger grope at his hands would be too weird.

"You wish to have your unlived days laid before you?" The woman asked.

"Sure," Laxus said without enthusiasm, not entirely wanting to play along.

"You don't believe in this stuff, do ya," The woman asked suddenly, her voice a lot more normal now. Laxus, momentarily shocked by the sudden change in atmosphere, took a second to reply.

"Not really," Laxus shrugged. "Made a deal I'd come here though."

"That's fair," The woman said, and started to remove the scarves from her face. She was certainly younger than Laxus. "You don't mind do you. This place is hot enough without the candles surrounding it and the scarves. You have no idea how sweaty it gets."

"No, that's fine," Laxus said, at a loss for words when the woman pulled a beer from behind one of the cushions and took a swig from it.

"Okay, so you don't believe in this stuff, so there's no reason to lay it on thick," She said after taking her drink. "But you did pay, and just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it's not true. So, you wanna do this without all the added on stuff that makes the experience better, get it over and done with?"

"I guess," Laxus frowned. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening.

"Okay," The woman began, picking up her tarot deck and shuffling it like a poker player. "I'm gonna spread these you, you have to pick three. Usually I'd say there's spirit guardians guiding you, which there is but I doubt you'll care about that. Once you've picked them out, we'll turn them over and I'll explain what they mean. First individually, then as a whole."

Laxus nodded in understanding and watched as the woman laid out the cards in a smooth curve. With more care than was probably needed, he looked over the cards before picking three of them at random. Or maybe it wasn't random. Maybe it was a spirit guide.

He almost laughed at the thought.

Watching absently, Laxus saw the woman turn the left most card over, revealing an image of someone in odd clothing standing at the end of a cliff.

"The fool," The woman explained, and Laxus felt slightly offended by it. "Each card has a wide range of interpretations. In its most pure form, it can mean you'll make an ass out of yourself soon," Laxus glared at the woman for that. "But in a more spiritual sense, it speaks of a greater acceptance of the self. You will embrace the fool within you, becoming more of your real self and less burdened by your anxieties. You will find that you don't second guess your actions. You'll be as much a fool as you need to be."

Laxus almost scoffed, and tried to ignore the fact he had been considering just how much his interactions with Freed were devoid of his second-guessing nature. He didn't say anything as the woman turned the next card.

"The sun," She commented. "In its most literal sense, it means brightness is coming to your world. There will be light and growth and nurturing in your future, a new sense of happiness perhaps. But it also means the start of a new cycle. Rebirth if you will. It seems to be that you might be starting a new chapter in your life."

It was annoying, but Laxus found himself wondering if Freed would play a big part in this new chapter. He remained silent as the final card of his choice was flipped over.

"The world," The woman said, and she was smiling now. "This can mean a lot of things. Often it's further a signifier of growth and nature. But it also means that the world is literally open to you. New pathways, new experiences, a new life. That's all coming towards you, and coming soon."

"So, err," Laxus began, embarrassed that he was even entertaining the possibility of this being real. "What do they all mean together."

"I think something big's happening in your life, and pretty soon. It might have already happened. Something life changing. Something that'll open up a whole new world of possibilities, that restarts your life with something new, that allows you to be your true self in a way that you've never been before. Maybe it's an event, maybe it's a revelation or an epiphany. Maybe it's a person. But you're in for some change, and I think it's for the better."

Laxus mind forced him to think of the man waiting outside of the tent for him. The handsome stubborn man that had already had an affect on Laxus that nobody else had. The man who allowed him to have fun, and seemed to energise Laxus in a way he couldn't describe.

Maybe Freed was the change in his life.

He dismissed the thought instantly; this whole this was pointless, and wrong. He bid the woman a goodbye, and started to leave the tent. Even with his surety that fortune telling wasn't real, Laxus couldn't help but notice the similarities of what he'd been told.

Not could he help the smile that those similarities caused.

[fvlminare]

✗✗✗   you see [ camille rivas ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis female ] is up to no good. [ she / her ] has been here for [ three years ] now but they’re still pretty [ calculating ] which is fine because they’re also [ ardent ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-six ] year old [ dancer at mayhem ] actually looks like a lot like [ sofia carson ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ the rush of cocaine in her veins & a vice grip on her throat ]. 

henlo it me again! i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc here’s my other bb! say hello to my boss-ass bish gal camile! she’s sassy, classy and a lil badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger who cba with ur bullshit tbh n she’ll tell u this too if u piss her off enough! she’s lowkey cutthroat and always out for number one, aka: herself. but, i mean, she does have some redeeming qualities and her hair is bomb af so that makes up for it all really, doesn’t it? basically that meme: ‘ she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face. ’��anywho, you know the drill, slap a lil luv on this n i’ll come pester u for all the good stuff : - ) 

fundamentals.

CAMILLE ALARA RIVAS     —     twenty-six, dancer at mayhem,   +   an honest-to-god vixen   /   hellcat   /   lil demoness ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dresses of black lace and red velvet, the scent of chanel perfume lingering in the air as she floats past, blood-red fingertips coiled around the pistol grip of a gun, red-bottomed heels clicking against marble floors, rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, satin dresses draped over a svelte frame that is shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue, baby pink roses in a vase on the window sill, deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long raven locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, a sense of freedom and carelessness when dancing for fun, & a sense of allurement and captivation when dancing for work.

nicknames. cam, cami, mil, millie, spawn of satan >:~)

date of birth. april tenth.

gender. cis female.

pronouns. she + her.

birthplace. manhattan, new york.

orientation. pansexual + demiromantic.

education. bachelor of dance degree obtained from nyu tisch school of the arts.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, caustic, brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, poised, elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

talents. ballet, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, horse riding, figure skating, piano, violin, painting, singing, & dancing.

physiology. hazel eyes. dark brown hair. five feet, four inches tall. of a petite, slender stature with subtle curves and long hair. has a long silvery scar on her back. her skin is clean of any tattoos. has both earlobes pierced. requires glasses but wears contacts most days. is right-handed.

psychology. aries zodiac. fire element. ravenclaw house. istp-a. true neutral. type seven enneagram. choleric temperament. intra-personal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and abandonment issues. her vices are lust, greed and wrath. her virtues are ... ( again ) honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   child abandonment, abandonment issues, foster homes, alcohol, drugs, violence, gore, blood, murder, & death.

a synopsis.   ok so for this gal, let’s all give a big, warm welcome to sadness ( no, i was in no way at all inspired by salem from sabrina for that line ) bc boy oh boy, her life has been constant grief and pain, tbh. strap in for the bumpy ride, i’ll give u cookies for compensation. OK SO, camille was abandoned as a baby, never did—and still doesn't—know her biological parents and she doesn’t want to either, tbh. she bounced around from foster home to foster home, never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. it didn’t take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, camille knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. she always felt starved of love: as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void that nobody could ever fill. anywho, she fell in with the wrong crowd which did little to aid her foster families hostility toward her. truthfully, most of her experiences in various homes were ... not pleasant. she’d encountered abusive ‘parents,’ horrible ‘siblings,’ and even worse schooling days. pressing the self-destruct button is this gal’s speciality thus she found herself gravitating towards her vices: things and people she knew were no good for her. drink, drugs, people, you name it. quickly, she realised that these things were no longer any good at keeping her dark side at bay: she needed something more, something deeper. thus, she began going down the road of petty crimes—stealing cars, smashing windows, theft, setting fires both metaphorically and literally. due to this lifestyle, she wound up entangled with some real shady folk who did … even shadier things. most specifically, she started dating a real jackass who was violent and truthfully, a horrible person, really. stupidly, she decided to run off into the metaphorical sunset with him * insert eye roll emoji here. * so, fast forward a year or so and things took a swift nosedive when her lowlife boyfriend’s hands were round her throat and not in the kinky way. while she’d clawed at him and tried to fight him off, she struggled against his weight and strength until, eventually, she lifted the first makeshift weapon she felt: a rusted pair of scissors. [ TRIGGER FOR VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER, DEATH ] and, in a blind state of panic, she jammed them right into his jugular vein, his blood squirting out and decorating her face in crimson splatters. he’d stumbled backwards, clutched onto his neck, blood spurting from the webs between his fingers. naturally, camille was shook about this but somehow managed to flee the scene with less guilt rattling her soul than she’d imagined. [ TRIGGER OVER ] in her mind, it was an act of self defence. it wasn’t too long after the incident that she found herself in a rather perilous situation that resulted in her sudden realisation that she needed to get her damn life on track. therefore, she done the responsible adult thing and got herself a decent education. somehow, she managed to get into university where her life started to shape into a positive one—the kind she’d always dreamed of. once she graduated, camille decided that she wanted to see the world. following a couple of years travelling, she wound up in santa ysabel where she quickly fell into the employment of mayhem. admittedly, this was a far cry from the future she’d envisioned when she was just a sweet, innocent lil child. still, all in all, she kind of digs who she is and what she is: after everything she’s been through, she loves herself. it’s been a long and winding road but camille finally believes that she’s settled in her life now. tho she still refuses to let people in, her abandonment issues terrifying her to the degree that she feels that anybody she’d ever let into her life would eventually leave her in the end. * insert sad face emoji here. *

random extras.

her tell? playing with her hair: when she’s lying, nervous, flirting—you name it!

can drink any man under the table. 

she loves art in every form: paintings, sculptures, music, dance, people, etc. she loves the freedom that expressing herself through these mediums gives her.

she’s ... experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people ...

can be hella calculating and vindictive so do not cross her.

quite power-hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century-long list shkjsh.

high key is not above killing people who don’t do things her way.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

she’s lowkey a perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, also cutthroat and egotistical.

if ya ain’t of use to her, then what the heck is ur purpose???

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be ... aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues.

dry sense of humour one million per cent.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. and always carries one on her person at all times.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo lighter. it has her initials engraved into it and where she got it from, or who is something she’ll never tell.

always says she needs to quit smoking but never does and probably never will either.

did someone say ... resting bitch face???

tho when she smiles it’s like sunshine uwu

high key will sleep with anyone.

first place is the ONLY acceptable place, ok??? 

one of those people who just excels at everything she tries her hand at.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

much too sassy and sarcastic for her own good.

really, she does what she wants to, when she wants to, without seeking the approval of others.

truthfully? she’s a bit of a spitfire if you really irk her. so, watch out.

you can find a pinterest board for her by clicking anywhere here.

[seeroftodayandtomorrow]

A Musical Affair

Chapter 12

Read on AO3

Kurt felt firm and strong in his arms, and whatever nervousness he might have felt soon dissipated when they kissed. Their kisses tended to have that effect on Blaine: calming, most of all, so that everything but the kiss and Kurt disappeared. Arousing as well, to be sure, but it took a while for that to make its way to his brain.

When they stopped kissing, Blaine felt very much in love, and curious about what there was to come.

He took Kurt's hand and pulled him to the bed, but Kurt stopped him, and with a look that might have been a question, began opening the buttons on Blaine's shirt. He was very careful, slowly opening every button so as not to loosen one to much or unnecessarily crease the shirt, and it reminded Blaine to do the same. He did it because Kurt did not have a servant to iron his shirt or sew on his buttons, but there was also a sensuality to it, and he began to relish every sliver of skin uncovered. He looked at Kurt by the light of the only candle, and while he might have liked to see him when it was brighter, he knew that to him, Kurt was the most beautiful man to have ever existed.

He stopped at Kurt's trousers, suddenly too shy to go further. Gently he took off Kurt's shirt, putting it away as carefully as any valet, before quickly getting rid of his own shirt and then returning to Kurt, who was finally ready to go to bed.

To Blaine's dismay, the shyness seemed there to stay, and though he wanted to have everything, experience everything, he needed something familiar first. Lying on his side next to Kurt, he kissed him, gently at first, but with growing arousal when he found that kissing half-naked in bed was less familiar than exciting. Still, he was on known terrain here, and so he continued for a while, Kurt kissing back with equal enthusiasm. With kissing, though, came touching, completely naturally, and so reassuring. They were still wearing their trousers, and while mouths strayed to neck, shoulder or nipples, their hands were sliding deeper and deeper, fingertips digging under a waistband more than once.

When Kurt's hand crept down to Blaine's cock over the trousers while his mouth was occupied with his nipple, Blaine decided he had been shy long enough. He pressed himself against Kurt's hand, and reluctantly taking his mouth from Kurt's neck, he panted,

"Can we...naked, please?"

Kurt looked at him and nodded, and then took his hand away from Blaine's cock.  Blaine bit back a protest—that was not what he had intended - but instead moaned when Kurt deftly opened the buttons on his trousers and much too slowly pulled them down. When Kurt licked a long stripe over his cock, Blaine bit his hand to keep from crying out, but Kurt didn't give him any further attention until he had freed Blaine from his trousers completely and then got up and slowly, slowly, got rid of his. Blaine was torn between hungrily watching Kurt undress, and wanting him to hurry up so they could continue what they had been doing. Thankfully, Kurt didn't take quite as much care with his trousers as he had with his shirt, and so he was soon back in bed with Blaine, who now felt he hadn't had enough time to admire his nakedness.

But to more than compensate for that, he now could feel him. Kurt stretched out beside him, and Blaine quickly pulled him close so their bodies touched. He couldn't help but moan, and he felt Kurt inhale sharply, and also Kurt's cock twitch against his leg. He badly wanted to touch it, and with a glance to ask for Kurt's permission, he pulled apart a bit so he could get a hand between their bodies.

He had touched a cock before, though not too many besides his own. He had even, one unforgettable Wednesday afternoon, touched Kurt's cock, if, as he remembered rather proudly, for only a short time. He still moaned along with Kurt as his fingers closed around it. Silken skin above a core of steel—nothing had ever felt better in his hand.

It would feel good in his mouth, too, and even better, he thought, in—but all thoughts fled as Kurt now returned the favor. He closed his eyes and for a while, just felt, until he felt a bead of moisture on Kurt's cock and decided they had better stop, or this would be over much too soon.

"Stop," he said, somewhat reluctantly but with purpose, but it must have come out too strong, for Kurt took his hand away as if it were on fire.

"What?" he asked. "Do you want to stop? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Blaine said, trying to get his breathing under control. "I just don't want to spend too soon. I want you inside me when I -"

"Oh." Kurt smiled. "I was caught in the moment, I fear. But—did you say you wanted me to...? I mean I would love to, but since it's your first time, I thought you'd want -"

Blaine liked that idea, too. But—no. He'd been building up to this, on and off in his head in his lonely bed at his grandmother's house, and especially today after convincing Kurt to spend the night with him. He wanted this, very badly, but to be perfectly honest, he was a little nervous. Doing it the way Kurt suggested would feel like the easy way out, and he feared he'd never find the nerve again.

"No," he said. "Please. I want this. You. I want -"

He broke off when Kurt took the bottle of oil from the nightstand, worked off the stopper, and poured a little of it into his hand. He swallowed.

He watched when Kurt lathered his fingers in the oil, and then closed his eyes when Kurt's hand strayed downward, brushed and then closed around his cock. He moved his hand a few times, and it sufficed to get Blaine near desperate again—everything since the last touch had merely let his arousal rest for a bit, and it awoke now with a vengeance. As he moaned and squirmed, he didn't even really notice at first when Kurt's hand moved further down, but it had his full attention when an oiled finger touched his hole and then, carefully, breached it.

Blaine gasped, and Kurt looked up and smiled at him. "This is not absolutely necessary, but I want you to get used to the sensation. And it feels nice."

It didn't feel too strange yet, not even when Kurt's finger pushed deeper, but when Blaine imagined his cock there instead of his finger, he didn't think he'd ever get used to the sensation. It did feel nice, though, until Kurt's finger brushed a spot that made him feel like a spark had been lit inside him, filling his body with fire. He moaned and pushed against the finger, wanting to feel it again and again, and Kurt smiled and obliged until Blaine was a quivering mess.

Blaine felt he could maybe spend just from this, and the temptation was great, but he resisted. In an abrupt movement he dislodged Kurt's finger, his body pretesting at the sudden withdrawal, and sat up.

Ignoring Kurt's look of confusion, he took the bottle of oil from the nightstand and poured what he judged was a generous amount into his hand. He took Kurt in hand, distributing the oil evenly and maybe a little too long on his cock, until Kurt closed his eyes and started to breathe more harshly. Then, Blaine lay back down and, in a bold gesture he couldn't quite believe he was capable of, spread his legs.

For a few long seconds, Kurt just stared. Then he looked into Blaine's eyes, grinned, and said, "So that's how it is, is it?"

Blaine's nod was interrupted by a surprised gasp and then a groan, as Kurt pushed into his willing body with one slow, long stroke.

It did burn. Quite a bit, actually. Maybe Blaine hadn't used enough oil, or should have used some on himself as well. But he didn't care. He relished the burn, rocked into it, hoped that he would feel it tomorrow still. For a moment, he was caught in the significance of this act—that he was here, in a guest bedroom in a house that he had thought would be his, committing this crime with a man he cared for, who he more and more thought he loved.

The thoughts fled when he started to really feel. Past the burn, there was a feeling so intense it quickly made everything revolve around itself. Kurt moved inside him, slowly, carefully, and Blaine moved with him, clutching his arms, as he felt the pressure build in his belly. He did not want it to end, did want nothing about this to end, but they moved towards their release, and when Kurt closed a hand around his cock, it was too late. With a groan that was almost a sob, he watched his own spend coat Kurt's fingers, and then he felt Kurt tense and knew it was over.

Afterwards, they lay in silence. Blaine felt sated, happy and...sad. He had read somewhere that this was regarded as normal, as a philosophical concept almost, but he couldn't think why. He had...reasons to be sad, after all, reasons that, say, a happily married couple wouldn't have.

"Are you all right?" Kurt asked after a little while.  Blaine nodded without looking at him, then put his head on Kurt's shoulder to make up for it. He felt better when Kurt put his arm around him and pulled him close.

He didn't want to talk about why he was sad, mostly because there were feelings involved he hadn't quite processed yet.

But he felt he should say something, because he could feel that Kurt worried, about having hurt him maybe.

"I want to do that again," he ended up saying, which was also true.

"What, now?" Kurt asked, relief and laughter in his eyes.

"Well, yes," Blaine said. "But, as they say, 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak', and so I fear we might have to wait a little while."

Kurt smiled and kissed him,  and they were silent again, lazily kissing every now and then.

"I also want to do...that...again," Blaine said after a while, gesturing between them in a general way. "Just...being together, alone. With time."

"Well, we do have a few nights of this," Kurt said, then grew serious. "I'm sorry that I'm so...careful. About being seen with you, going to my room with you. But there was—there was a raid in a molly house a few weeks ago. Someone - an acquaintance - was arrested. I -"

"No, I understand," Blaine said quickly. He hadn't wanted to make Kurt feel bad. "I just sometimes wish things were different."

"Me too." Kurt seemed to want to say something else, but then just shook his head and smiled. "Let's just...enjoy what we have here, now."

Blaine cuddled closer to Kurt, and they kissed for a long while, until Blaine felt at last desire overcome tiredness, and took pains to make sure Kurt felt the same.

[nyx-9com]

Request: Scorpio ASC + Virgo Sun + Capricorn Moon | Exact Birth Time: 9AM | Birth Date: (09/20/1999) | Birth Place: Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam | Name: Anh | Sex: Female | thank you!!

(: Thank you all for your patience, I’ll be trying to get caught up on these now. I feel a part of me may have been aware of just how long this response would turn out to be and procrastinated quite a bit.

A note: You may notice that I use Mars for primary rulership of Scorpio. I do in fact regard traditional rulers of the signs (Mars-Scorpio, Saturn-Aquarius, Jupiter-Pisces) based in the inner, more personal nature of those planets. I do consider Pluto, Uranus, and Neptune if they are prominent by angle, conjunction, or aspect, especially the traditional ruler is not. This may indicate more public bent to the way that individual expresses the signs energy. The energy may not be used in a personal sense. Otherwise I consider their influence over a sign minimal; largely contained to house placement and activations by transits/progressions/solar arcs.

Scorpio ASC + Virgo Sun + Capricorn Moon

1H Mars/Pluto + 11H Sun + 3H Moon

Wow, wow what a beautiful chart. I hardly know where to start, so forgive me if I jump around. There are a couple of things aside from your ASC + SUN + MOON components that I think are important for me to point out. First off, your 1H Scorpio Chiron is at the anaretic degree: 29. This indicates a crisis around the themes and lessons represented by your Chiron. You are expected to integrate these lessons this lifetime—in fact, you must. More and more intense situations will arise until you are forced to confront and learn these lessons. Some would say that this is your most mature energy, in this lifetime you must pass the exam to show your mastery of it. What a wonderful individual you must be, Wounded Healer.

Chiron in the first house deals with a wound to the personal identity or sense of self, and in Scorpio this may have come through loss or death. There can develop and unhealthy obsession with death, loss, lack. Don’t focus on these thoughts- you will attract more of the same. This is because the universe doesn’t seem to recognize negatives in focus- that is to say: focusing on how much you don’t want to lose someone can produce loss. The universe just feels you focusing on ‘losing something’, it doesn’t seem to be receptive to the “I don’t” in “I don’t want this to happen”. A more positive way to attract would be focusing on how much you DO want something or someone in your life. Ie; visualizing your grandmother being in your future childrens’ lives rather than focusing on not losing her before they are born. (Random example!) The difference seems like nuance, but the effect on your psyche and your life in general will be large.

There can be a tendency to sublimate the self, almost as if to control the ‘death’ of the self before uncertain circumstances can take that control from you. Frequently, people with Chiron in the first house have a rough start in life. They learn they can rely on themselves though they don’t always necessarily like themselves or have a healthy portrait of who they really are. Sometimes out of a misdirected loathing for the things that made them, they mistakenly come to hate the who they have become. Interestingly, they are often the greatest healers of people. They give others the right to forgive themselves their darkness but they deny themselves that same right. Perhaps this is because a sign like Scorpio comes with killer survival instincts and the grit to claw oneself tooth and nail through situations that would rend most limb from limb. Scorpio will gnaw off its own leg to free the rest of the body, kill with bare hands to survive, Scorpio will cannibalize to avoid starvation. If that seems graphic, I apologize, but I mean to illustrate that Scorpio will go to extremes that other signs don’t have the guts to tolerate, Scorpio is self-protective, Scorpio is “at all costs”. (And to be clear, I am speaking strictly in metaphorical terms of the energy of the sign Scorpio- not calling Scorpio people cannibals or anything. :P ) The thing is, when you “survive at all costs” you reach the light at the end of the tunnel. And when you get to that point and normalcy begins to resume, you can look back and be horrified at the individual you became to traverse that inferno. The fact that we have such darkness in us can be frightening, “at all costs” is never a pretty situation to look at. These types of behaviors might still exist in you long past their use-by date, making one feel dangerous and perhaps ugly. This is where the self-denial and self-hatred can come from.

I can only hope that you don’t need to hear any of this, that this placement didn’t manifest this way for you. But in case you need to hear it: forgive yourself. You are who you are, a complete person, and you have a right to love everything about yourself, even the parts that are frightening or messy. If you seek the positive expression of this sign (any sign really), then you will know that you are everything you could be and everything you should be. You won’t have to worry and wonder. Subconsciously negatively expressing the traits of this sign can become a way to confirm self-hatred which becomes a vicious cycle. The more you bash yourself, the more depressed you become, the less likely you are to seek positive expression, the more you reaffirm yourself to be a negative person. Be careful you are not setting yourself up to behave in ways you don’t approve of, always choose your personal high-road.

With that aside, let me continue on to the rest of your chart. You have this lovely Virgo Sun in the 11th house, a very public house and one tied with large associations. It’s also the house of hopes and dreams and greater fortune. While you likely display the regular logic and organization of a Virgo outwardly, I can see that you’re an emotional and compassionate individual. You keep that largely to yourself, in fact I don’t think most people realize what high ideals you hold for society. Now I wouldn’t call you outgoing by any stretch, but I would bet that you have plenty association with people. Probably through work. You’re a highly capable and very structured individual, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find you in leadership. You’re still young so it’s possible you are not involved with your career just yet. Your Sun rules the 10th house cusp and is placed in the 11th, or 2nd from the 10th – earnings from career – so at some point in your life, your career will be prominent and I don’t doubt that you’ll earn a pleasant living. With your Sun owning that 10th cusp, I don’t doubt that career has always been an important focus for you, even when young.

That Capricorn Moon. Now Moon is in detriment in Capricorn, describing how uncomfortable you can feel expressing your emotions or even having them. Moon gets a little boost from being a triplicity ruler of Capricorn, it’s a fertile sign that likes to provide. So while emotions and expression may feel somewhat uncomfortable for the native to have, Moon typically compensates by quietly caring for others, in a way, cultivating life. You might enjoy caring for plants more than people. You may fuss over the health of those you care about. Sometimes others think you’re picking at them or criticizing them, but you wouldn’t do that if you didn’t care. You’d just let them get on with their dumb lives and their dumb mistakes. Note that the Moon joys in the 3rd house, so that helps your Moon feel a little comfier too. A lot of your care could be fraught with worry, if you have siblings you may be close, probably with a more unspoken bond. You may have been the one to take care of them growing up. You’re probably known as a kind but serious and reserved individual when it comes to your neighbors. The trine to your Sun should help you to be aware of your emotional needs a bit more than some Cap Moons, but this trine is part of a Grand Trine formation which includes your retrograde Saturn on the Taurus 7th cusp. Frequently this indicates a lack of a father figure, you may have had to be your own dad. This is probably linked with the themes of your first house Chiron. You might lock up emotionally in romantic relationships because of this. It’s perhaps something that you inwardly berate yourself for and can become rather depressed about, feeling hopeless to change the pattern. Perhaps you know when you should open up or should be warmer, but you feel like you can’t. It’s especially unfortunate because you are very, very loving and so very serious about commitment. You want your relationships to stand the test of time. I will point out the mutual reception of your Moon with this Saturn- you can solve this, these planets want to help each other, it’s just hard work. The blockage comes from being so very, very cautious and careful that sometimes you paralyze yourself. You may also allow yourself to miss worldly opportunities due to a lack of a sure outcome. Change is not something you are comfortable with; in fact, you can be a very rigid individual. This structure will take you far in life but make sure you don’t completely box in your soul during the process. Sometimes you must keep in mind that you can’t plan everything (and you are probably thinking ‘yes I can’ right now), because of the uncontrollable element of surprise. Which I’m sure you hate. Looking at this chart, I can see how sometimes this extremely rigid way of public/romantic behavior can actually create obstacles for you in the area of your career. Sometimes you need to let go a little- not only will you feel better, but it can be helpful to your success, which is what really matters to you. It causes problems in your home life as well; sometimes you might just flip out uncharacteristically because you’ve been repressing and controlling yourself so hard. This is a very visible part of your personality, people see you as a sober, reliable individual, withdrawn with a depressive streak but loving.

People feel Scorpio ascendants intensely. With your ascendant ruler and co-ruler in your first house, you come off as extremely intense to others. In fact, while in public you can seem withdrawn, people are surprised when dealing with you one-on-one that you come on strongly with single-minded purpose. You create your own images and slip between them as needed, in the typical manner of Scorpionic transformation. You know how to present yourself to get what you want. For this reason, your appearance is very important to you. When people use the term “commanding an appearance” they’re talking about you. You select your clothing, hairstyles, mannerisms for a specific effect. Nothing is trivial. You are not to be trifled with, a formidable opponent, and people do sense that about you. This danger forms part of your innate sex appeal; you are a black widow. Do they want you to fuck them or kill them? They don’ t know…maybe both? You are truly a creative force though, and people see readily the huge amounts of energy you encompass and the countless irons in the fire that you so innately maintain. You have a great deal of power over others, even in a social sense- people are commanded by you. You are a highly passionate person, the fires that burn within you sizzle through that famous Scorpion stare. You are such a brave person. A born leader. Because of all this, it can be challenging for you to stand aside and share power with others. In fact, you may have literally no desire to do this. You are a very capable leader and most probably the one who should be in charge in a given situation, just make sure you take charge in a non-despotic sort of way. Express your energy and enthusiasm for success rather than your control and natural power. See where others operate from and seek to unite them with their goals and they will happily follow their brave, benevolent leader and they will praise you while they do. Oh, a last note that I forgot to point out. Your North Node sits smack on your Leo MC. Leadership in your career is simply a part of your destiny in this life. Strive and go towards it- do not lock yourself at home and deprive the world of your power.

[kyarymell]

Glaciers

Pairing: Vergil x GenderNeutral!Reader Rating: Explicit towards the end (lol) Note: Hope you all enjoy! Some DT Vergil in here too. There is pining. 2389 words. 

There’s a new person at Devil May Cry. You’ve seen him on occasion whenever you drop by to pick up jobs or pay social visits. Always in the corner of your eye but never saying as much as a word to you- naturally, you’re curious.

“So who’s the guy with the spiky hair? Black jacket, katana?”

Trish pauses from her magazine to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Dante’s brother, Vergil. I don’t recommend him though.”

Blinking, you wondered what she meant by ‘recommend’.

“I don’t have any ulterior motives, just wanted to know.”

She nodded, swiping her tongue against her finger before turning a page. Trish intimidated you, but there wasn’t anyone else present to ask. Lady and Dante were on a job and Nico was tagging along with Nero someplace else.

You were only here today to note down expenses made by Devil May Cry and figure out the budget. Nobody would be paid accordingly otherwise. Business was lively after the Qliphoth incident but there still needed to be some semblance of order.

Heavy footsteps were heard descending the stairs and without looking up, Trish nodded her head.

“Speak of the devil.”

Her words are ironic and you feel a little awkward that they pretty much confirm you were talking about him. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it- simply walking over to the kitchen and making toast. It seemed like he just washed his hair, looking almost like Dante in the morning light with the white tresses lying flat.

Shaking your head, you busied yourself with some papers from last week’s job on the outskirts of Red Grave. There were an excess of demons and someone just had to use more bullets than usual. Biting your lip, you couldn’t help but take a peek towards Vergil once more.

If he was Dante’s brother, then by default that meant he was half demon, right? Dante, who seemed to have pizza when possible and never eat anything else… it was strange seeing Vergil have something so simple.

Back to the budget reports, you calculated in your head the amount needed to compensate for the lack of bullets. There’s some noise from the kitchen as Vergil’s cleaning up after himself, then he disappears up the stairs once more. Shrugging, you figured you wouldn’t see him again, your curiosity ended.

This was proven to be wrong, as you heard footsteps again moments later.

“You’re not thinking of using the Yamato to teleport to the library, are you? It would be better for all of us if the humans knew as little of our existence as possible.”

Trish speaks deadpanned, as if such an occurrence had happened before.

“What happened to not being my mother?”

His jacket is slung around his shoulders and his hair is now slicked back. It’s the appearance you’re used to seeing around and not Dante’s ghost.

“I just don’t want Dante bitching to me about it later. He always finds out what you’ve been up to.”

There’s a quiet clicking noise. It sounds almost like a sword being sheathed, but you’re not too sure.

“As if I would use the Yamato for something as frivolous as that.”

Trish smirks as if she has struck gold.

“Why don’t you take this one with you? If you keep company during the day, maybe Dante’s spies will back off.”

Vergil looks at you properly for the first time. You’re trying not to squirm under his stern gaze. Accompanying him would be a good opportunity to learn more about the mystery that is Dante’s brother. However, his facial expression makes you assume your mere presence is an inconvenience. You open your mouth to protest, something about having work to do-

“Fine. If they agree to it.”

To your mortification, Vergil brings his weapon to the library and all of the staff seem too intimidated to say anything. He stalks off to his preferred section like he’s visited many times before. Grabbing a few books, he settles into a seat that’s far from prying eyes. What’s more surprising is with an incline of his head, he motions for you to sit near him.

Thus began regular library trips with a son of Sparda.

 ---

You’re thinking about him a lot these days. You hope just maybe he’s thinking about you too. At all. Maybe as a friend. Hopefully.

Vergil starts conversations with you on his own now and over time you’ve learned a little about his likes (poetry, silver accessories and quiet mornings) and his dislikes (a lot of things but mainly Dante, if you were to summarise). Sometimes, if you were to squint, you swore you saw an older Nero in those tired eyes of his.

...You wonder what that meant.

---

He’s quite the skilled swordsman, taking up a few jobs of his own. There are also times where you run into him in action, always taking down demons with a grace his brother lacks. Dante, of course, is overjoyed that his brother is in the ‘workforce’ but you figure it’s because Vergil is another source of income.

Vergil brushes it off as having ‘something to do’ but never fails to acknowledge you out in the field. It’s nice to see a familiar face amongst the sea of demons but sometimes you’d prefer it if he didn’t steal so many of your kills.

The things you know about Vergil are superficial, for the most part. As time goes by, you become quite taken with the man who has his personal life shrouded by mystery. You’re aware that it’s not the proper basis for a relationship, him being somewhat closed off by roots of trauma, gnarled and twisted around his heart.

As much as your heart yearns it so, you do not pry. You are only aware of the shadow looming over him when he struggles to talk about certain topics, or the faraway look in his eyes. The few times he opens himself up to you (through circumstances out of his control, he was unaware that Nero was his son until recently), the memories are stored away like something precious.

Dante has been teasing Vergil in your presence, saying he’s ‘softened up’ a little. You wonder what sort of person would have that effect on him and feel a little envious- even if you have no right to be. After that, you strangely see him less and less.

---

It’s a regular day, weather fine and you’re minding your own business. Things are quieter without trips to the library and coincidental run-ins with a certain son of Sparda. There hasn’t been much activity lately, so you’re unprepared when your phone harshly rings.

“I’m an associate of Devil May Cry, how may I help yo-“

“Hey. Need you at the shop. We got a problem. No weapons needed, though.”

It’s Dante, sounding serious for once in his life. The way he abruptly hangs up makes you nervous. Grabbing your jacket and keys, you make a beeline to the familiar establishment with its garish neon sign.

When you arrive, you spot Nero sitting on the couch, tapping his foot nervously against the floor. He’s never usually here, his base of operations being Fortuna where his love, Kyrie lives. Dante greets you, ushering you up the stairs immediately.

“Don’t mind him. He’d never admit it but he’s worried for his old man.”

“Is his condition really that bad?”

“Guess I’ll let you see for yourself.”

“Wha-“

“Heyyyy Vergil. Comin’ in!”

“I told you to leave me alone!”

His voice sounds distorted, otherworldly. You should be frightened, but something is drawing you in. As soon as Dante opens the door, he quickly shields you.

A shimmering blue sword of hard light is embedded immediately into his shoulder. Barely flinching, the Legendary Devil Hunter sighs. You’re slightly off-put by how easily Dante shrugs it off, despite the blood forming on his shirt.

“Ouch, brother. Way to greet someone.”

Vergil hisses, the sword dissolving.

“Dante-“

“Brought you something!”

You’re suddenly nudged forward, stumbling slightly. Dante is already gone, closing the door behind him.

“You... you shouldn’t be here.”

It’s Vergil that much is certain. He’s hunched over in the bathtub, which looks all too small for his form. You approach carefully- not wanting to be pinned by one of those spectral swords of his.

He stares at you, eyes half-lidded and hair sticking to his face. He’s definitely seen better days than this. Trying not to gasp, your eyes travel unabashedly at his naked form. Up close, you’re able to see the state he’s in.

Raised spikes run the down the column of his spine, iridescent scales littering his arms. No longer present are the calloused fingers that flick through book pages reverently- only blackened claws. There’s a tendril wrapped around Vergil’s leg and from what you’ve seen of demons in your life, it had to be a tail.

The bathtub is almost filled entirely with ice, Vergil’s pale skin red and raw from the contact. There’s a thin sheen of sweat covering his arms and legs. Was he trying to cool himself down? The weather had been mild this season, not warranting such drastic measures.

Not to mention the demonic attributes...

“Vergil. What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me.”

The man shifts in the bath, wrapping his arms around himself. There’s a rattling noise as the ice is disturbed under his weight.

“Have you suddenly lost your hearing? I said you shouldn’t be here. Leave.”

You stayed put, leaning on the edge of the tub. So he wasn’t going to address the elephant in the room. Up close, you’re able to see hollowed out horns atop his head, grooves and indents reflecting blue light.

“I’m not leaving. I’m here.”

Vergil turns away from you slightly and mumbles.

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less. It’s why I’m so fond of you...”

You heart skips a beat. Did you hear him correctly?

“Vergil...?”

He sighs, biting his lip hard enough for it to bleed. You can tell he wants to say something but is extremely troubled by doing so. Knowing you had to be patient, you reached over and swiped his lip clean with your thumb. It doesn’t surprise you that the wound is already healing and you sit in silence as he leans into your touch.

“I didn’t think it were possible.”

You withdraw your hand to let him speak, studying the hardened mandibles along his jaw.

“That I could find,” he licks his lips, uncharacteristically vulnerable, “someone that appeals to me greatly. After everything that has happened.”

It’s such a roundabout way of confessing his feelings for you and you almost want to say something. Except, this is more words than you expected out of him, so you keep your mouth shut. A wry smile graces his lips at your widened eyes.

“…Appeals to me so much, my demonic side just reveals itself at the most inopportune moment and refuses to leave.”

Tentatively, you hold one of his clawed hands in yours. Vergil lets you, showing his trust. It makes his words hold all the more weight.

“Could it be… you’re lovesick? That sitting in a tub full of ice would make this all go away?”

His hand trembles in yours as he makes an utterly soured expression.

“How arrogant of you to presume that your mere presence has that much of an effect on me… believe what you want to believe.”

Shrugging, you made a show of leaving. If he was going to continue being dishonest to you, it was probably better if you left. You were aware of the walls he had built in order to protect himself but there was only so much you could take. The man did tell you to go away after all.

“Right. Sorry for bothering you. Dante said you were in trouble, so I came but clearly-!”

Gasping, you’re pulled back against the bath by a tail wrapping around your waist. It holds you tight, almost reminding you of a boa constrictor. There’s a sense of awe, the fact that he could lift you so easily. Turning your head, you looked at Vergil who looked equally dumbfounded.

It seemed like his body was way more honest than his mouth was.

“I…”

Vergil’s tail loosens its grip on you and he pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

“So you do want me here. If I’m the cause of this half-transformation, there must be a way I can help. Let me help.”

“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“Of course I do. I can make my own decisions.”

“Could you possibly feel the same way I do?”

You press a kiss to his temple, about to voice and unravel all the tension that had built up over the weeks. Apparently, that was all the encouragement his lovesick-addled brain needed- for he hoisted you straight into the bath before you had a chance to speak. Pressed up against his chest fully-clothed wasn’t enough to stave off the chill of the ice bath.

Squirming, you tried to move from his embrace.

“Ack- Vergil- It’s cold! Cold!”

Vergil’s clawed hands cup your face.

“Stay still, let me taste you…”

 ---

You find yourself at the mercy of Vergil’s demonic stamina as he fucks you into the mattress with reckless abandon. At your insistence, the pair of you ended up in his room after he had you against the wall of the shower. There would be hell to pay later for the ice all over the floor of the bathroom, but for now you let yourself be lost in the sensations.

There’s minimal scratching on your hips from when he was a little too hasty with you. Whispered apologies and sweet kisses later, the pain is momentarily forgotten. It was awkward getting intimate at the start, Vergil’s scales and horns getting in the way.

He’s looking more human now- as it turns out, reciprocated feelings was all that was required. Reduced to an unkempt mess, you try not to cry out as he hits a sensitive spot within you. A hand pushes your knee against your chest, allowing him to go deeper.

“Vergil…!”

He knows exactly what you need, leaning forward to capture your lips in a heated kiss.

“I’m… I’m here.”

Smiling, you run your fingers through his hair.

“I know. Me too.”

[40sandfabulousaf]

Hey hey guys. Just popping by for a little bit because things will get even more hectic from tomorrow onwards. I'll likely only be able to post on weekends, although I hope to write more often than that! Still, it's better to be busy rather than bored. An interesting update about a possibly forgotten topic by now - COVID-19 research.

I'm sharing a report which states that traces of the virus was found in Barcelona's waste water from as early as 12 March 2019. The latest discovery suggests that this infection could've been lingering before it was first discovered in December last year. Rather than rely on mainstream media, which might choose to keep mum about such findings, it's beneficial to read widely and keep abreast of developments elsewhere in the world.

Viruses can occur anywhere; history has shown us this time and again. Thus, I believe in being forgiving rather than seeking compensation from any 1 country. Rather, it would be good for all nations to improve sanitation and hygiene standards as well as adapt to any circumstances. Right now, masks are a way of life here. Friends, family and I wear them once we leave our homes, although that could change once an effective vaccine is widely available. You know what? So be it.

Gloves are just as uncomfortable to wear but I carry some in my bag for those times when I need to touch something, such as elevator buttons or hold onto a handrail. Social distancing whilst in public has somewhat become second nature and there're playful ways to remind strangers of it without offending anyone most of the time.

I'm still eating balanced meals as well as keeping to a moderate exercise regime daily. Several friends as well as family members maintain regular cardio workouts for heart and lung health as well as blood circulation. Grace is in confinement right now after giving birth to her precious little prince almost 2 weeks ago, but she intends to resume her walks as soon as possible.

This is how we're dealing with it. As always, protecting the elderly and immunocompromised is our priority. Being prudent and careful isn't just for us, but also for our loved ones. At least this is the culture here and many of us observe it. Can't wait for someone, somewhere, to come up with an effective vaccine already.