#clans treasures{headcanon}
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Just thinking about Jealous Porter ☺️
Imagine Vincent and Treasure being on mutual terms later in their relationship with Porter.
Treasure has Vincent's phone number, "just in case" he says. Ya never know what type of emergencies can come up when an unemowered human is new to a sketchy vampire clan *cough* *cough* looks at Lovely. And on top of that, having your lover who is a hitman for a morally grey King.
After a long night of..... fun, Treasure is in a deep peaceful sleep when their phone screen turns on, signaling a text notification. Porter, assuming it's their toxic friends, picks it up to see what they could possibly want from them at the dead of night and to send a quick but assertive response, telling them to fuck of.
But oh, what's this?
Vincent!?
Why does Treasure have Vincent's phone number? Why does Vincent have his Treasure's number?? Why is that spoiled prince bothering them while they sleep? Especially after all the "fun" they had?! He knows Treasure would NEVER cheat-they just aren't the type. They've stuck around their shitty friends for long enough. Treasure is loyal. And Vincent would NEVER be the type to homewreck or step out on Lovely.
But still, Porter is jealous 🤗
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redacted headcanons#redacted solaire clan#redacted audio porter#redacted porter#porter solaire#redacted audio lovely#redacted audio vincent#redacted lovely#vincent solaire#redacted audio treasure#redacted treasure
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Redacted Audio Characters as Conan Gray Songs (as of right now)
Sam, Milo - Family Line
Damien - Winner
Darlin' and Quinn - The Cut That Always Bleeds, Wish You Were Sober
Lasko - Found Heaven
DAMN Crew - Comfort Crowd
Huxley and Damien - The King
Pre!Freelancer Gavin - People Watching
Baby (before they took Ivan back) - Memories
David and Asher - Best Friend
Cutie and Geordi - Movies, Telepath
Porter and Treasure, Vincent and Lovely - Overdrive
Elliot and Sunshine - Summer Child
Blake and Bestie - Maniac
Anton and My Love - (Online Love)
Shaw Pack - Little League
BONUS
Asher x Milo - Heather
Gabriel Shaw and Gregory Keaton - Memories
Solaire Clan - Bourgeoisie
Frederick and Bright Eyes - Astronomy Tags: @pandoraroid @dukecollinsbf @dawnofiight @moronkyne @jamieeeeee33333 @morgansplace @urfrenfishy
#redacted audio#redactedverse#redacted asmr#redacted fandom#redactedasmr#redacted shaw pack#redacted david#redacted milo#redacted asher#redacted sam#redacted darlin#redacted freelancer#redacted gavin#redacted headcanons#redacted lasko#redacted porter#redacted vincent#redactedaudio#redacted damien#redacted damn crew#redacted huxley#redacted baby#redacted cutie#redacted geordi#redacted treasure#redacted elliott#redacted sunshine#redacted gabe#redacted solaire clan#for some odd reason it wont let me put lasko's tag
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i don’t understand erik’s intention behind treasure and porter having this serious conversation about wanting to get to know each other on a deeper level than just sex, and then having their very next audio be them getting handsy on a ferris wheel. like…
in porter’s latest video we definitely see parts of him opening up to treasure and them having little moments like when he says, “i can see you,” or him being overall more playful than we’ve seen him be in previous audios. it’s sweet but it all feels like it’s just building up to the sexual content later in the video. i get it, its “hot boi summer” and erik’s been doing this on his channel for a while now, but why not pick a different couple to showcase? why them? let’s flesh out treasure’s character more or have porter face some consequences of his past, literally anything but having porter bite them on a ferris wheel would’ve been good. sometimes i wish erik would tone it down with the sexy stuff. there’s other ways to write intimacy then just sex.
i think it would’ve been more impactful for the story if the video would’ve ended with them just talking. maybe porter tells treasure about magic and the rest of the supernatural world, they freak out a bit, but he promises to protect them. or treasure opens up about feeling lonely around their friends and that’s something porter knows all too well, to be surrounded by others and not feel seen. there were so many routes erik could’ve taken but all were brushed over because horny, sex, blah blah blah
TLDR; don't let sex overshadow good storytelling
#the people want lore erik#but quick to the point lore not yapping#theres a difference between lore and yapping#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redacted asmr porter#redacted asmr treasure#redacted treasure#redacted porter#redacted vincent#redacted solaire clan#redacted sam#redacted asmr vincent#redacted headcanons#redacted fandom#redactedverse#redacted asmr drama#redacted drama#redacted asmr sam
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Guess whose on his nerdy shit again
THIS GUY 😈😈😈
Redacted Fandom, I bring upon you more color coding or whatever of the Redacted characters but this time it's for the Solaire Clan:
King William Solaire: Gravel Grey Blue (637A82)
Freelancer Sam Collins: Vintage Scotch (EAC067)
Duke Vampire Sam Collins: Pine (234F1E)
Darlin': Brunette (4A2511)
Porter Solaire: Maroon (78081C)
Treasure: Wintergreen Dream (56887D)
Prince Vincent Solaire: Prismatic Reflection's Shade (CA0123)
Lovely: "Slate Blue" (266CC9) (there was no "official" name for this color so I went with what Google gave me as the closest named color to it!)
🤢.Alexis.🤢: "Olive Drab" (635012) (same thing for Lovely's color!)
#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted vampires#redacted solaire clan#redacted lovely#redacted treasure#redacted darlin'#redacted darlin#redacted shaw pack#redacted william#redacted samuel collins#redacted sam#redacted porter#redacted vincent#redacted alexis#redacted headcanons
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Porter Solaire ‼️
Not my best work but it was rushed asf ���
Unlike Alexis Vince and Sam, I went for a more like traditional vampire look with Porter (the grey-ish looking skin, the ears, the fangs poking out, etc.)
🎀Tags: @plutobutartsy @xanyiaz @cyc-chilla @dani-ya-dig
#My special interest since childhood has been vampires Erik is literally feeding me rn#I'm in love with him#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted porter#redacted porter solaire#redacted treasure#redacted solaire clan#redacted vampires#redactedasmr#redactedaudio#redacted fanart#redacted asmr fanart#redacted audio fanart#redacted headcanons
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I really hope the summit is like 40 mins long
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redactedverse#redacted#redactedasmr#redacted headcanons#redacted summit#redacted monarchal summit#redacted vampires#redacted vampire clan#redacted vincent#redacted vincent solaire#redacted lovely#redacted porter#redacted porter solaire#redacted treasure#redacted sam#redacted sam collins#sam collins#vincent solaire#porter solaire#redacted darlin#redacted tank#redacted david#redacted tanker#redacted david shaw#redacted shaw pack#redacted asher#redacted asher talbot#david shaw
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Porters halloween costume is Harry Hook
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redactedverse#redacted headcanons#redacted porter#redacted solaire clan#redacted treasure#redacted vampires#iwanttoeathimsobadlyomg
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As a shinobi, Kotaro can detect people's presence as a colour code along with a feeling. This is canonically evident when he could detect a presence from Raikou during Onigashima but I want to expand on that there. Different colours whether a single or blended colour indicate what the person's personality is, for example Ozymandias is bright and blinding yellow and orange like the sun, it gives the shinobi a warm and vibrant feeling and for Sanson, it's a single soft blue like the ocean- melancholic and safe.
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Cardfight Vanguard Clans Themed Headcanon Questions!
Royal Paladin: Does your muse prefer to tackle problems alone or with others?
With others, for sure! Aichi is definitely the kind of guy who is all ‘power of friendship’ and all that. The only time he usually goes at it alone is when he feels like it will put others in danger (Like with the whole S4 situation)
Shadow Paladin: Is your a muse the ends justify the means kind of person?
99% of the time, no. However, when there are desperate times (like again S4), there come desperate measures. For the most part when it comes to Aichi, he doesn’t like doing anything if it means someone else is going to get hurt, even if it is to save the world. Like if he had to sacrifice a friend to save the world he wouldn’t do it.
Gold Paladin: Does your muse have trouble asking others for help?
Depends on what it is. Aichi can be pretty stubborn. If it’s something small like help with a homework problem or a suggestion on his deck, then he can do it easily. It’s more the big personal stuff he can have trouble with sometimes.
Oracle Think Tank: What does your muse see for themselves in the future?
Aichi sees himself not as a professional cardfighter, but rather a professor at a university teaching astrophysics and astronomy, all the while researching Earth and Cray’s connection on the side. He plans to go for his P.H.D!
Genesis: Does your muse often read their horoscope?
Aichi isn’t into things like that. Just not his thing! I think he wouldn’t mind hearing about it from someone else. It’s more he won’t go out of his way to read it.
Kagero: Has ever been a time where your muse has just been like: Man I just wanna burn everything down to the ground?
Nope. Even after all the pain Aichi has gone through, he’s never really had that sort of thought before. He does know people who have though and how destructive that mindset can be (COUGH KAI KUN COUGH)
Narukami: Does your muse like storms?
Aichi doesn’t mind them. When he was younger, he was pretty terrified of them, but that fear has faded away. The only time he’d really not like them is it was super severe weather (like a hurricane or typhoon).
Tachizake: What dinosaur would you associate with your muse?
I feel like Aichi vibes well with a Plesiosaurus, which is a type of aquatic dinosaur. IDK why, but that’s just what I feel.
Murakumo: How would your muse react if they found out they were a clone?
Oh goodness...He’d uh...Not react well at all. A full on meltdown and extensional crisis. It would just be a hot mess, let me tell you.
Nubatama: Is your muse good at gathering information discretely?
Being subtle is not a strong suit of Aichi, so I’d say no. He’s not the person you trust to gather info on what to get someone for your birthday, or to secretly follow someone to get information about them.
Nova Grappler: How much does your muse rely on technology?
Honestly, Aichi could live without it. He doesn’t always have his phone on him, doesn’t really use a computer unless it is for school, and isn’t glued to the TV. He’d be content with just his physical Vanguard cards, honestly.
Dimension Police: Does your muse have a strong sense of justice?
Yes, even if it may not seem like it from the outside. Aichi very much embodies the knight archetype when he matures, and takes to heart what those values of courage, nobility, and justice mean.
Link Joker: Has your muse ever lost all hope and fallen into despair?
Several times, actually. Aichi may be a very hopeful person, but there even times when that hope can die out. Season 4 is a great example of this since not even he believed there was an answer to the Link Joker seed other than sacrificing himself.
Spike Brothers: Does your muse enjoy sports?
No, unless you count Vanguard as a sport (which Aichi doesn’t so). He’s not very good with much anything that involves a lot of physicality.
Dark Irregulars: How well does your muse handle horror and general scary things?
Not well...Aichi is very easily frightened so even the most tame horror movie will cause him to get all spooked. Avoid that as a date night thing, folks.
Pale Moon: Does your muse enjoy being the center of attention?
Absolutely not. Aichi hates whenever unneeded attention is on him, which is why he prefers to sit in the back of the class in a corner where no one will notice him. He also has stage fright and sucks at public speaking.
Gear Chronicle: Does your muse think they are running out of time?
Not really. He still think there is a ton of time he has left on the planet, and looks forward to his future.
Granblue: If your muse could bring back anyone from the dead, who would they pick?
His father, no question.
Bermuda Triangle: Does your muse enjoy idols?
Even with some of Aichi’s friends being idols (AKA Ultra Rare), it’s not something he’s into. He could enjoy their music, but wouldn’t be an obsessed fan or anything. If it was one of his friends though, he would of course support them. Depends on the context and the person.
Aqua Force: Is your muse afraid of the ocean?
Nope! Aichi enjoys the ocean very much. He finds it relaxing. If he does swim in it, he won’t go very deep, but he enjoys it.
Megacolony: Is your muse afraid of bugs?
Aichi is not a fan of bugs and will get anyone else to get rid of one. So, yeah. He is not a fan.
Great Nature: What animal do you most associate with your muse?
I know this is kinda obvious considering his deck/aesthetic, but a puppy. Aichi is a cute, soft puppy who is very loyal, loving, but will not hesitate to bare his fangs at anyone trying to hurt his loved ones (if they cannot be reasoned with, of course. He is, again, a pacifist).
Neo Nectar: What flower do you most associate with your muse?
Blue Hydrangeas! They are the blue flower that is seen in the movie version of him and Kai’s meeting. It is a flower that has various meanings, but the most relevant ones to Aichi are apology, understanding, and gratitude which I think fit Aichi very well.
Tagged By: No one! I made this up cause I thought it be fun and wanted to share!
Tagging: @abysseeker (Choose your fighter) @duskshrouded @fragmentedimensions (Choose your fighter) @highseaskxng @whorunthewcrld (Choose your fighter) @thcsevoices (Choose your fighter) @tcthinecwnself (Choose your fighter) @adversitybloomed (Choose your fighter) @acollapsar and anyone else who’d like to do this!
#💎 Paladin Treasure (Aichi Sendou)#💎 Paladin Plays Along (Aichi Dash Games)#💎 Paladin's Glimmers And Glitz (Aichi Headcanons)#tw long post#(ICB I THOUGHT OF A THING FOR ALL THE MAIN CLANS LOL#(BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN DOING THIS XD
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Also, whoever started the head canon that Porter is Pakistani-British, then said that they won't stop until everyone accepts it---congratulations. Everytime I think of that man, that's exactly what he looks like to me. And I love it.
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redacted headcanons#redacted solaire clan#redacted audio porter#redacted porter#porter solaire#redacted audio lovely#redacted audio vincent#redacted treasure
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ㅤ ㅤㅤ‹ CRUEL INTENTIONS.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ‹ 𖤐 pairing. new era! bi-han x gn! reader | platonic! liu kang x reader!
ㅤ ㅤㅤ‹ 𖤐 setting. mk1 timeline.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ‹ 𖤐 type. headcanons. | this part focuses more on reader's relationship with their friends and family than actually adding anything to romance (or in relationships with other yandere). some characters may be ooc, but everything here is for fun and writing exercises.
ㅤ ㅤㅤPART ONE | MEMES | PART THREE.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Immortality was not a gift but a curse, a heavy anchor. A cruel burden that Liu Kang, a monk who once felt the relentless touch of time, began to bear after gaining control over the sands of time. Since then, the God of Fire and Thunder was left alone with the stories he wove, his creations, and the ghosts of a bittersweet past.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Geras was a familiar face, but not quite the same. Merely a shadow. Liu Kang was, without a doubt, alone in this timeline, serving his own creations. Over time, he came to understand that, despite all his power, fate did not always respect his scripts.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— It was in that quietude that you appeared in his life: a sweet child, with curious eyes and an easy smile.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Loving you was easy. For the first time, Liu Kang could realize the fantasies he had shared with Kitana: he finally had a family. Becoming a father became his greatest honor, and he embraced this role with pride. You were his treasure, an unexpected variation in the code he had written, which made you unique in his eyes.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Liu Kang was a devoted father, always indulging your wishes but also knowing when to set boundaries. Beyond that, he was an excellent mentor. You grew up with everything you needed: knowledge, diplomatic training, and physical strength.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Johnny Cage, a champion of Earthrealm, would say that your essence was radiant, like a little sun. Inspired by your father's actions, you strove to be kind and strong. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy for you to be seduced by the empty promises of the Lin Kuei Grandmaster. Love, loyalty, honor— qualities you valued and sought in your marriage. But instead, you found a painful betrayal.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Sektor was a loyal friend, and although you noticed how her gaze lingered on your husband, she never acted on those feelings. You were always grateful for that. When the monks from the Wu Shi Academy came to collect your belongings, she was the first to try and understand your motivations.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Without hesitation and without shedding a tear, you revealed the truth. Bi-Han had made his choice, and you would respect it, even if it was a foolish one.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ“The Grandmaster wouldn’t be capable of such an offense,” Sektor murmured, shaking her head in disbelief, her braids mirroring her movements. “He respects you deeply.”
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— You laughed. The truth was already public. Everyone in the clan had seen what was truly happening between the Grandmaster and Sareena, who now wore the colors of the Lin Kuei, leaving the scarlet garments behind.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ“I believed that too, but maybe I never truly knew the real Bi-Han. And I don’t even know if I want to.”
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Even so, you were happy. You still had the support and affection of friends. After your departure, Kuai Liang and Tomas found time to visit you, often bringing Cyrax and Sektor along. These visits warmed Liu Kang’s heart, though he harbored a quiet fury. You were his greatest weakness, and any offense against you was enough to awaken the brutal side he tried to suppress.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— With the distance from Bi-Han, you returned to training and began building new connections. The champions of Earthrealm were captivating companions, each in their own way. Eventually, however, it was inevitable that you would find yourself in your ex-husband’s presence. On one of these occasions, you congratulated him on his victory over the Black Dragon.
ㅤ ��ㅤ “It was an easy fight,” Sareena replied before Bi-Han. A sharp smile on her lips. “We make a great team, I must say.”
ㅤ ㅤㅤYou laughed, with veiled cynicism. “Of course you do…”
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— Despite keeping up appearances, Sareena’s presence and that of her sisters caused a noticeable discomfort for Liu Kang. But he knew how to hide his feelings. The real tension arose when you and Bi-Han were alone. Your calmness and the innocence he always criticized remained, as if those three years of marriage had never existed.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— The first direct confrontation came from him, during a gathering that Liu Kang had organized. Dressed in the colors of the Academy, you were cheerfully talking with Kung Lao, exchanging cheeky smiles.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ “Now I see why you went back to your father,” Bi-Han growled, once the meeting ended. “To stay close to that weakling?”
ㅤ ㅤㅤYou paused, confused. “Are you being sarcastic?”
ㅤ ㅤㅤ— It was impossible to forget: he had brought another woman into your home, someone with whom he spent more time than he ever had with you. Needless to say, that night ended in a fight. Kuai Liang had to drag his brother away while Tomas apologized repeatedly to Kung Lao and Liu Kang, who watched the scene in disbelief.
#ch:. bi-han#game:. mortal kombat#mortal kombat x reader#gn!reader#mortal kombat incorrect quotes#self indulgence hc.#yandere subzero#yandere bi-han#yandere bi han#bi han x reader#bi-han x reader#mk 1 x reader#yandere mortal kombat
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DITTO — Gojo Satoru a rewrite of this post.
prologue. → brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.
pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader
warnings+. unfulfilled/unresolved love. angst, hurt, comfort, fluff. your usual shenanigans. sfw! implied, minor satosugu (mb because geto is my beautiful sad princess and i love him so he has to be a part of everything). pining, idiots in love. grief, and what you do after you've lost what you treasure the most etc u get it. reader is from an unnamed clan, has a younger brother. reader also wears skirts, dresses sometimes, character death + injury
word count. 11k! 😭 song inspiration. ditto — newjeans / 뉴진스 (2022) a/n. i wrote rough headcanons and posted them yesterday but i woke up thinking dang i should actually write something better about that lmao. update: i thought i'd finish this in a few hours, why did this take me like 2 days? update #2: dawg this is long as fuck...this kinda depressed me to write CROSSPOSTED ON AO3 <3 💙
mp3. do you think about me now, yeah. all the time...
✉️ — 1995. 💬 — gojo.
these meeting rooms were hushed, grand, and the kind of place that simply swallowed up any sound and echo; where the wood-panelled walls were lined with the tapestries and polished symbols of his clan.
and in the hush, gojo had sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, trying to listen to the conversation of the adults, with their low and steady voices that droned on. this was so boring. they were always speaking of things that he just couldn't understand, but his parents said these meetings were important, and so he was dragged along - much to his eternal chagrin. still, he shifted in place, glancing around at the detailed screens painting around the corners of the room, in varying shades of blue.
across the room, there was another kid. one who sat beside her father, fidgeting just as he was. and gojo could tell by the way that you kept glancing towards the door that you, too, longed to escape. your gaze caught his, and there was that flicker of mutual boredom that sparked between you two. you had scrunched up her nose, as if to say 'this is so boring, isn't it?'
gojo grinned, stifling a giggle. he had leaned back, just a little, surveying the adults who paid no heed to him, before letting himself inch across the rough texture of the mat towards the door.
"do you want to see the garden?" he mouthed silently, his words exaggerated and slow, so you would understand.
your eyes had lit up, and you nodded, just as your father (well, he assumed it was her father) leaned down to whisper something in your ear, his voice a low rumble that was far too quiet for gojo to catch. you were nodding obediently, but your eyes were now fixed with the glimmer of excitement, and he quickly held the door open for you as you scrambled out the door, following him quietly as they creaked down the long hallway.
and soon, they reached the back of the estate, where the garden stretched out like a hidden oasis, filled with the flowering bushes, the winding stone paths, and the pond that glistened in the morning light. suddenly, he stopped by the edge of the pond, brushing pale hair out of his stinging eyes, "i'm satoru, by the way."
you had sat down quickly, as though the long walk had winded her (gojo had barely needed to stop to catch is breath), and your robes dipped into the pond, letting the water seep up slowly, "i've heard of you. my parents say you're an only child."
gojo shrugged, trying to think of something important he could tell you, "it's not so bad. one day, i'm going to be the head of my clan," puffing up his chest a little.
you had nodded, "i would like to be too, but my younger brother would get it. because...you know."
gojo didn't quite know but he nodded like he understood, and he tried to think of something smarter to say, "well the job isn't that fun anyway. it's just sitting around reading papers, and telling people what to do."
you had pouted, frowning, "i want to tell people what to do all day. and i would get the nicest robes too as clan head."
and you had looked so unhappy at the prospect that you were being robbed of a stellar wardrobe that gojo made up his mind, right then and there, "tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?"
your face had lit up, holding your little pinky up to his, "promise?"
gojo linked his finger with hers, sealing this silly vow and laughing, "why not?"
✉️ — 1996. 💬 — you.
when you're seven years old, you’ve resigned yourself to trailing behind gojo, watching as your friend takes on the world with the same reckless, eager energy that he seems to pour into everything that he does.
his voice has picked up a confidence that you haven't felt yet, and there's a permanent, flashy grin on his face that says he doesn't care what anyone thinks about him, not his parents, nor his clan.
and today, gojo's decided that the old shrine on the edge of your family estate needs exploring. you're a little less certain, especially since your father had told you that this shrine was haunted, but you find yourself following the boy anyway, and there's that silent agreement in place: he leads, you follow. you're alright with that, that's just the way it's always been.
he's dressed, as usual, in a loose grey hoodie that's two sizes too big for him, and his jeans have a hole in the knee; some small rebellion against his clan's strict sense of tradition. even his hair is awfully emssy, tousled and getting a little too long, and you know he hates it when his mother tries to comb it down, and you easily suspect that gojo just ruffles it on purpose to get a reaction out of those around him. he probably does everything on purpose for a round of reactions, honestly.
you, on the other hand, have your nicest lilac skirt on, and there's a small bow in your hair that the maidservants had pinned themselves (your mother had been too deep in her cups all morning). but you had fluttered around, feeling quite pretty in your skirt; like you were a fairy that would sprout wings and live in the clouds.
gojo glances back at you, and rolls his eyes, "you know, you look like you're going to one of the clan meetings," he mutters, but there's a playful glint in his eye. he's pulled a twig from the ground, and he's waving it around like a sword, slicing through imaginary enemies as he marches forward like an idiot.
you just shrug, quietly watching him cut through the tall grass ahead, "i like looking nice," you mumble, a little embarrassed. you can feel the careful way the sweet, old servant (she turned seventy last week!) had arranged your hair, and the press of the bow keeping it every lock in place.
"well, if you ever decide to look like you're not on your way to sit for a court painting, let me know," gojo says, smirking (he thinks he's funny) as he waves his 'sword' around, battling on the false frontlines.
but despite yourself, you laugh, and quicken your pace to keep up with him, and so, gojo slows just a bit, enough that you're walking side by side now, and his arm brushes against yours.
"did you know that they say that this shrine is spooked?" he asks, his voice falling to a dramatic whisper.
"i live here, satoru. obviously, duh," and the shrine comes into view, and it's small, weathered with age, but to you, it looks grand and mysterious, even magical, "do you believe it's haunted?"
gojo shrugs, unfazed, "nah, probably just an old rock. but it would be cool if it was. maybe, we'll see a ghost."
now you've taken a hesitant step back, but gojo just grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, and his hand is warm and steady in yours.
"c'mon, don't be a chicken," he teases, laughing as he drags you closer, and you plant your feet firmly in the ground, watching as clouds begin to roll over the sky, ominous and gloomy.
oh, this place is definitely haunted. your father was right, it's so over for you now. a massive, ugly curse is going to pop out and eat you alive, and steal your pretty hair bow. you mutter a small prayer under your breath. gojo satoru, you will pay for this.
✉️ — 2000. 💬 — you.
you'd always heard whispers about yourself from the other kids, how you were too quiet, or you tried far too hard to be perfect — unwilling to roughhouse the way they did. perhaps they were right, and it was true that you preferred to sit alone. you think it was the feeling of order you enjoyed, of a world you could control, even if it was just through lines on a piece of paper.
but today, their voices were louder than usual. a small group had gathered near the cherry blossom tree where you'd settle yourself, and they circled around like hungry wolves sniffing out something they could tear apart.
one girl wrinkled her nose and called you prissy (well, okay) and another boy had snickered and muttered that you were so boring, and it was a wonder that you even had a friend like gojo.
ouch.
their words felt like small, precise cuts, sharper than expected. you had heard these things before. after all, everyone had reached the age where they were aware of their abilities, their techniques as jujutsu sorcerers.
you didn't mind your own technique, making sure to channel time and energy to learn so you could grow up and be as good as your father one day (a well established sorcerer in his own right, if a bit out of shape).
but you didn't have to be very smart to know that gojo's abilities stood out entirely in a different way, and you heard your parents whisper in hushed tones at how lucky his clan was to have a child like that. with the right training and moulding, he could be the most powerful man to walk the earth.
how silly. gojo was all laughs, and smiles, and stupid jokes and bright, clever eyes. you thought it was dumb how they all spoke about an eleven year old boy like he was a weapon, kept in its sheath until it was ready to be drawn.
but of course, all the kids wanted to be friends with him instead. and today, these barbs hurt more — and you kept your eyes down, clutching your books a bit tighter, willing for these supposed 'friends' of yours to go away.
but before you could say anything, you heard his stomps.
"hey!"
gojo's voice was unmistakable, sharp and sudden as he clamoured over, all brashness and bravado. he had gotten a bad haircut recently (entirely his own fault for thinking he could put scissors to his own hair, but you had laughed so hard as he swore curses) so white tufts stuck out all over his head, making him look like he got stuck in a wall socket, even crazier than usual.
but gojo didn't look at you, just planted himself between you and the group, bruised fists clenched (they trained him too hard), and shoulders set, "what's your problem?"
the other kids stammered, clearly surprised, but that didn't stop him, he who looked like a small, lanky and angry polar bear.
"you think you're so funny? talking like that? say it again, and i'll knock your teeth out."
"ah, satoru -" you ran your tongue behind your teeth, the last thing everyone needed was another fight of bruised pride, and yanked hair, rolling around in the dust.
but one of the boys had muttered something under his breath, taking a half-step back. the others followed, shuffling, rolling their eyes and looking anywhere but at you and gojo.
and your best friend didn't move until they had scattered completely, leaving behind only the faint echos of their derision as they fled. and then he turned to you, his scowl fading into something kinder (good, you didn't like seeing him so upset) as he dropped onto the bench, beside you, pulling his knee up onto the bench so he could rest his chin against it casually.
"they're just idiots," he said, rolling his eyes, and his voice was softer, playful again, "don't listen to them."
you gave him a small smile, nodding, as the knot in chest loosened a little, "i wasn't really listening to them," you murmured, even though you probably knew that was a bold-faced lie.
gojo released a loud laugh, much too loud and forced, as he nudged you with his elbow, and he must have known it too, but he was smiling, "good, that's the spirit."
You managed a small smile, nodding, the knot in your chest loosening a little.
the world was quiet again as you both sat in silence, the soft breeze ruffling the grass and the cherry blossoms overhead. and then, with a shyer glance, you managed to look over at your friend, watching as messy tufts of his snowy hair moved ever so slightly in the breeze.
"thanks, 'toru," you said, quietly, but he just shrugged it off, brushing it away as though it was nothing.
"hey, what am i here for?"
✉️ — 2003. 💬 — you.
gojo was sprawled across your wide bed, looking at you as if you were the most ridiculous person in the entire world. his own suitcase sat beside him, already paced with the very few things he needed, and now he watched you with that eager, restless gleam in his blue eyes, like he could barely sit still.
"you're so overthinking this," he said, bright voice full of impatience, "just throw some stuff in a bag, and we're good to go. it's just tokyo, not the end of the world."
you scowled at the boy, holding up two sweaters; one sensible in a shade of pale blue, and the other thick, deep red and woollen, "but what if it gets cold? or rains?"
gojo rolled his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically onto your pillow, hands behind his head as he sprawled around like a snooty prince with all the time in the world.
"it's summer, it's tokyo, and it's not like we're moving to america," he smiled, "besides, if you pack any slower, we'll miss our first year."
you tried to brush it off, and something about his easy confidence made you feel a sharp twinge of nerve. this was really happening, you were truly leaving the bounds of your family estates, stepping out into the world, to attend jujutsu tech, a school in tokyo that you had heard so much about. well, there was another school here, in kyoto, but god, it would just be nice to get out of these ancient walls.
and yet -
gojo simply looked like he couldn't wait to shake the dust of his home off his sneakers, you felt something pull at you, like a sudden-appearing string that tied you to your home city, and it wouldn't let you go.
your best friend had caught the look on your face, and softened ��� just a bit, as he twiddled with a brand new pair of sunglasses, and he sat up closer, watching you carefully, "you're really going to miss it here, aren't you?"
and you shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeves of the red sweater, "i don't know. maybe, i suppose. don't you feel that way at all, satoru?"
he shook his head, resolute, "not even a little," but he saw your uncertainty, "listen, you'll be fine. you'll love tokyo. and hey," he nudged you gently with his knee, "i'll be right there with you anyway."
you appreciated that his confidence felt like a promise, something that you could at least hold onto, even in the big capital, and with a big, exaggerated sigh you tossed both sweaters into the suitcase.
"finally!"
✉️ — 2003. 💬 — gojo.
the both of you had arrived, bright-eyed and tired, as he clambered off the tall bus that had parked on the outskirts of tokyo, where jujutsu high was located.
gojo stood beside you, hands stuffed in his denim pockets, plastering a disinterested expression on his face. but he couldn't help how his eyes flittered to the sid,e underneath the dark shades of his glasses, watching you fawn over another new student, another boy who had arrived from some small town, who-knows-where, from a non-sorcerer family.
geto suguru.
well it was no lie that gojo liked him a lot too. there was no denying that he seemed polite, clever, maybe a bit shy. and effortlessly cool.
gojo had grown up in the stifling, grand estates of the big clans, constantly fussed over, and robed in fine silks printed with his clan motifs. all of those stuffy rules would sit, push around and make space in one's head, like a constant mantra from the elders.
he didn't need to look at you too closely to see what was going on, and he could tell right away, just from how you reacted. your smile stretched wider, and your eyes lit up like you were meeting someone who you really wanted to talk to.
geto who hadn't even changed into his uniform yet, with his stray strands of dark hair falling out of the knot on the back of his head, looking politely aloof, but cheerful, in worn black jeans and converse, and some baggy band t-shirt that would get gojo scolded by his mother for even wearing that inside the estate.
gojo noticed everything, especially the way your fingers slipped up to tuck your hair behind your ear when geto grinned at you (all because you’d recognised the band on his t-shirt, so what?) he saw how your eyes brightened, like geto suguru had unlocked some hidden code only you could decipher.
it annoyed him to realise that geto's calm, quiet charm was exactly the kind of thing you’d be drawn to. that’s what you liked, wasn’t it? the understated, thoughtful types who let the world come to them. not the loudmouth who cracked jokes at every opportunity, hoping to pull a laugh from his best friend.
well, fuck, he had to be a part of this too now.
✉️ — 2005. 💬 — both.
gojo's new obsession had a sleek, silver body and an olympus logo stamped on it in black, a camera that he'd been itching to buy; refusing to settle for anything less than the latest model. suddenly, he was determined to capture tokyo through his own eyes, and you and your friends had quickly become his reluctant muses on an impromptu day trip to the ameya-yokocho market.
"stop! stay right there, don't move! fuck, no! a little to the left!"
he waved his hands around, motioning for everyone to gather just as he wanted. you all exchanged amused glances, with shoko huffing around dramatically, as gojo crouched down on his long legs, then stood back up, and then crouched down again, as one of jujutsu high's most powerful sorcerers struggled to bring a camera into focus.
eventually, geto had laughed — raven hair falling over his beautiful face, and had gotten up to help gojo, fiddling with the lens as the rest of you milled around.
and then, suddenly gojo turned the camera directly on you. he pointed his finger your way, wide grin half-hidden but unmistakably earnest, 'c'mon, turn that frown upside down!'
he needn't have said a word, just seeing your best friend there, with his hair tousled and carefree grin, with the camera strap hanging off his neck, was enough to make you laugh, the kind that felt as bright as it sounded.
and so, you found yourself standing in the middle of the bustling market street, surrounded by friends and fellow students, and the lively hum of the weekend crowds, as you looked directly into the lens, with your smile softening under his gaze, as though the rest of the world had blurred into the background.
afterwards, gojo had taken a good look at the photo, and he didn't say much, but the look on his face lingered, almost like he was seeing something that he wasn't sure he was allowed to hold onto. you had shyly asked him later, coming up beside his shoulder, whether he had printed a spare copy of the photo, but he shook his head with the lie rolling off his tongue.
love was a selfish endeavour, to its core. he wasn’t about to tell you that he wanted to keep that photo for himself. and later, when no-one was looking, he slipped the small print into his wallet, right between his train pass and some spare change.
✉️ — 2006. 💬 — you.
your best friend, your dear satoru, had always been resilient; the kind of guy who threw himself at life with reckless energy, shrugging off injuries like they were just a part of the ride. he'd laugh off a scraped knee or a bloodied lip, flashing that cocky grin and a shrug as if pain was something for other people.
life for you went on, with your own routines and small moments. you learnt long ago that you didn't quite possess the natural, raw sheer jujutsu power that gojo had (or geto for that matter) but you could certainly hold your own in a scuffle. regardless, you had chosen to turn to academics, flitting between classes and study sessions, arm in arm with sweet shoko.
there was joy in sneaking off campus with friends, or scrolling through lists of new albums to download onto your mp3 player (you had been partial to the south korean boyband, tvxq!).
and so, life seemed both incredibly mundane and slightly electric, with days marked by shy smiles and inside jokes, with walks home on the streets wet from the spring rain.
but it had been late summer when gojo had returned from that last mission, when the days were still long and hot and the afternoons were bathed in a thick, heavy amber. and he had come back...different.
he moved carefully, as though each step was suspicious and took more effort than he'd let on, and his usual bright glimmer was dimmed, his laughter quiet, and his smiles withheld like a rare currency. he'd sit through the long evenings with you, in silence more often than not, hands stuffed into his wide pockets as he stared at a place that you just couldn't reach.
when you'd catch him alone in the courtyard after class, he'd be training hard, working through his cursed techniques with a relentless focus, perfecting each hand gesture as if he could shake off whatever shadow lingered behind him. and sometimes, he'd stay for hours after school, practicing beneath the dying and dusty light of the last days of summer, as if he could not afford to stop, to rest.
“gojo?” you called, hesitating as he finished a strike to some poor unsuspecting pile of soda cans, leaving them obliterated in the heat. “what's going on with you?”
he paused mid-motion, glancing at you, his face carefully blank. and you hated that, you hated how the flicker of distress would pass from his face before being schooled into that carefully constructed mask of 'the strongest.'
i love you, idiot. i love you, i love you, tell me what's bothering you and i will help, you're my best friend.
but these words never saw the light of day, always curling up and choking up in your throat, and instead being twisted into feigned, casual interest. losing the cloak of deep devotion that you held for a friend of ten years.
"oh - hey! nothing," gojo replied, too quickly, with that half-cocked smile that painted over his pink lips, "nothing that deep."
lately, this repeated lie had been hanging in the air between you, clear as the last streaks of summer sunlight that would soon give way to fall.
you crossed your arms over your uniform, dark fabric crinkling, "you're not fooling anyone, you know. geto told me about the mission, he said that you —," you swallowed, with the words just as heavy as the steadfast beat of your heart that you kept under lock and key, "he said you shouldn't have come back. what does that even mean?"
gojo's face flickered again, just for a second, before he barked out that irritating, false chuckle, "guess it's a good thing you weren't sent on tengen's fuckin' mission then," before reaching out and snatching your strawberry milk carton from your hands with a grin.
after a few punctuated slurps and lip-smacking (just to watch your face redden in fury, gojo would admit) he spoke again, voice strained, "you'd probably be crying about it still."
"hey!" you protested, grabbing for the carton again, prying his slender fingers off your sweet treat, "i don't cry that easily."
"could've fooled me. you cried during that american movie about zoo animals."
"madagascar was a sad movie about displacement and the loss of home! i know animal rights activists hate to see your ass coming to the zoo."
gojo snickered, drawing out the words, "fuck that zebra," but now, he was looking off into the golden haze of a beautiful sunset, with that frayed grin, "seriously, though. it's fine, it's all in the past."
over time, gojo never spoke many a word about what happened to the star plasma vessel, but he just seemed to move forward, like he always had. his resolve somehow sharper, tighter, and his laughter more intense when it finally did return. there were moments when you'd catch him staring into the great expanse of nothing, haunted (but beautiful), though he'd just shrug and smile when you prodded him about.
✉️ — 2007. 💬 — gojo.
gojo thought he was astoundingly self-aware, in his own humble opinion. he never let anything get to him, that was the trick, you see. to take life as it came at you, to carry that fire and stubbornness and throw it back in the face of the trouble.
and so he wanted to be angry, to be furious. why had suguru done this? why?
he had known that geto, one of his dearest friends (one who always been so sure of himself) had fallen into disquiet lately, and even gojo had prodded him on whether he had lost weight through sleepless nights. but suguru would have just turned his head back to his book, lost in thought, with his dark hair loose around his face.
had he been blind? how had suguru's silence been covered by what gojo (privately) considered his own loud, defiant return? no, he knew of ghosts. he knew that some spirits and spectres could not be shaken, and sometimes when gojo himself closed his eyes, he could feel the sharp sting of an assassin's blade ramming through his throat, leaving him for dead.
but to murder over a hundred innocent people...
you had found him alone that evening, where he had sprawled over the stairs as the sunset blazed, painting them aglow in dusky hues. but gojo could barely notice any of this beauty, and so he just stared, lost in his thoughts that wouldn't settle.
(are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?)
he didn't hear you approach, until you placed a gentle hand on his shoulders, causing him to flinch, surprised out of his sorrowful reverie.
the warmth of your touch steadied him, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and he wondered how you could always seem to know exactly when he needed you most.
but the thought twisted, sharp and bitter, for what if you would follow suguru the same way? had you not often looked at geto with light in your eyes? and you had never looked at him like that.
what if, someday, you left him the same way? what if you turned around and saw someone else worth following? he couldn't help his fists from clenching, tension rippling down his shoulders and painfully gripping his head.
"suguru..." his voice came out quieter than he meant, with a crack that he couldn't quite hide, and he heard you sharply inhale, "i can't believe he's gone. i don't know if...if i'll ever see him again. why would he -?"
you still didn't say anything, just tightening your hand on his shoulder. and satoru hated it. hated that he wanted to lean into the weight of your touch, hated that this is what being the strongest now entailed. that now he was plagued by fear, of losing you, of watching you slip through his fingers into another's orbit.
i'm only seventeen. what happened to my youth?
the thoughts are acidic, cynical and they leave him angry (with the world, with the higher ups, with himself, with his parents) and he can't help himself from blurting out the next question.
"did you like him?"
gojo tries to keep his tone light and casual, but he loathes how he sounds pleading, heavier. he feels the embarrassment of vulnerability shroud him as you meet his eyes, and he hates how your eyes are teary too.
you shouldn't cry. ever.
"like? as in like?"
"as in love," gojo mutters, "shoko said you did."
you sniff, and now your head is leaning on his shoulder and he can inhale the scent of your shampoo (apples? caramel?) and despite the crick in his neck, he lowers his shoulder further down so you are more comfortable.
"shoko talks too much sometimes," you laugh weakly, "but probably. i think i did."
gojo tries to tamper down the acrid lurch in his stomach, but you continue, "i think i did love him. but so did shoko. so did nanami, and haibara back when, -" you sigh, "and so did you. we all loved him. he was our friend."
his fingers had been hovering close to your hand for a while, almost as if he couldn't help himself, the pull. finally, he slid his smallest finger to let it curl around yours, drawing out a memory from over a decade ago.
"tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?" "promise?" "why not?"
how silly that the hardest things in life had once been a bored child, and his new friend who fretted about her future wardrobe.
and when you clasped in hand entirely in its return, gojo's breath caught, his throat tightening. the words that he wanted to say, to spill from his throat, hovered in his mind but there was no infinite word strong enough to bring them out.
he wasn't an idiot, he wasn't daft and unobservant, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you, to tell you from his lips to yours. but the way his heart laid itself bare in that moment unsettled him deeply, not the yearning itself, but how fierce it was. it disgusted him, the rawness of his desire, exposed right there in the open, where anyone could see it, including you. especially you.
with a realisation that was long coming, beneath the golden wash of the setting sun, he sighed deeply. if he ever lost you, if you ever looked at him with the same betrayal that he'd seen in suguru's eyes, he didn't know if he could survive it. it would cut deeper than his infinity could bear.
he tried speaking again, "if you ever -" but he doesn't get the chance to speak before you're leaning further into him, a quiet sniffle punctuating the silence.
"i won't."
✉️ — the next decade... 💬 — you.
"sweetheart, honey, my precious pumpkin pie."
you shot gojo a death glare, his attempt at flamboyant charm bouncing right off you, "i hate you. never speak to me again."
and your gaze dropped to what was left of your beautiful hermès scarf, once a beautiful concoction of cream-white silk, now reduced to tatters that fluttered pitifully in your hands, stained with some suspicious green goop.
you had cherished this pricey product, but gojo, in his infinite wisdom had decided to pick it up as a perfect blindfold right before a gnarly mission. and so, it got tangled with a nasty curse, and met its tragic, shredded end.
gojo raised his brows, feigning the innocence of a cherub, blinking his long lashes, "i'm sorry, i'll get you a new one, baby."
he drew out the pet name with exaggerated gusto that made you snarl, "enough with the pet names. you are a grown ass man."
and you gave him a first shove in the ribs that made the strongest sorcerer in the world stagger dramatically, only to catch himself with that easy grin still plastered on his face.
but before you could storm off and mourn whatever was left of your one-million yen possession, gojo darted in front of you, blocking your path with his ridiculously long arms. "come on, let me make it up to you, what if i had died on that mission?" he pleaded, looking at you with mock sincerity.
"i wouldn't have even come to the funeral," you sniffed, sticking your nose in the air, ignoring the fake choking sounds that came from the man as he clutched his chest.
months had turned into years, where you and gojo had grown up and graduated jujutsu tech together, carrying triumphs (you won valedictorian, out of a grand total of eight students), losses (gojo was a notoriously bad driver and almost crashed the car that the two of you were in) and countless moments in between.
the two of you had returned to your alma mater as teachers, and mentors, guiding younger sorcerers who were much like you'd once been; eager, impatient, and a little rough around the edges.
gojo took to teaching like he did most things, with his own reckless charm and devil-may-care attitude. he'd joke about skipping staff meetings, but he'd be there anyway, leaning back in his chair with his legs sprawled underneath him, mouthing snarky comments that only you could hear.
you'd like to think you'd grown more confident, no longer the uncertain teenager who used to glance at herself twice in the mirror. time had given you the chance to learn your strengths, and exorcising curses had left you all the more enduring.
gojo had noticed, though he'd never say it outright. he'd make some teasing comment about the way you would boss around a room, and you'd roll your eyes as you nudged him telling him that you had learnt from the biggest ego in tokyo. but sometimes, he'd watch you a little longer than he should, with that flicker in his gaze that he thought you hadn't noticed.
some things hadn't changed at all, and he still came back to you after every mission, every right. you'd hear him shuffling in from down the hall, his paper bags of desserts swinging as he tried to balance it along with his jacket, and whatever ridiculous trinket he'd picked up for you that week (you kept every single one).
and there the two of you would be, sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor, sharing sweets straight out of the boxes. he'd pass you a slice of cheesecake that he insisted that you simply must try, nudging your hand until your fingers enveloped his.
wouldn't it be a lie to claim that you didn't bask in the warmth of your best friend's gaze, even as he feigned interest in some story that he had overhead from the students on his way over from the school, with his low laughter filling the quiet around you.
sometimes, in the silence that would fall after the conversation ebbed, he’d reach over and trace circles absentmindedly on the back of your hand with his thumb, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. neither of you would move or speak. gojo would be looking anywhere but at you, yet his hand wouldn’t let go, tethering you to him in a way that made the apartment feel smaller — almost as if you’d already crossed some line neither of you dared to talk about.
what a pain to be haunted by someone who was already living and breathing right in front of you. sometimes, it left you nauseous, ill, and even screaming into your pillow after he left, and dialing shoko's number so she could give you an earful.
✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.
your car idled at the curb, the sounds of the city filtering in through the barely open window, with the faint chill of the october night brushing against your skin.
gojo looked up from his phone, tapping his fingers on the screen, and there was a sober look on his face that made your stomach twist. you watched as he ran his head through his white hair, and sighed, his eyes still on the screen.
"apparently i was summoned by name," he said quietly, "to shibuya. whatever curtain's been set up is only allowing sorcerers through."
you kept one hand on the wheel, "ijichi reached out to me too, but he wants me covering the perimeter on the other side, away from the metro. but who would summon you by name?"
"i know. do you think it's...?"
"the traitor everyone's guessing about? who else?"
gojo scoffed a little, "fuckin' surprise," he muttered, casting you a glance that spoke volumes of protectiveness, one that made you lurch ever so slightly. his eyes met yours, an unspoken worry passing between you. you bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from blurting out the words that lived in the forefront of your mind.
and so, gojo reached for the door handle, and you saw him hesitate as his fingers drummed against the door, before pulling his blindfold up, "well, stay safe, yeah?"
you swallowed, trying to find some false platitude to offer back, "hey, i will if you will."
he gave a short laugh that must have not fully reached his eyes, but it softened the rest of his beautiful face in that way that you loved, "y'know, we could have been going trick-or-treating. dressed like idiots, stuffing our face with candy."
"tweedledee and tweedledum?"
gojo snorted, "next year then."
you hummed, "i'll keep that idea then, tweedledumb."
the bow of his lips quirked, and he looked away again before pushing himself out of the car, stepping out onto the suddenly cold, quiet sidewalk (too quiet, where was everyone?)
he paused, turning back to you through the window, as he lifted his hand up in a small wave, and you could tell he wanted to say something else — but the moment passed, and he closed his mouth, smiling instead in that way of his that said everything without a single word. and he pushed his hands back into his pocket, strolling away as you sat there, suddenly ever so lonely in your silent car, as chills went down your spine.
✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.
"gojo satoru has been sealed."
what the fuck?
the world has slowed down, every sound muffled as if you'd been submerged underwater. shibuya had left gojo sealed in the prison realm by...no. it couldn't be.
suguru geto was dead. dead, executed. had it not been almost a year? you had mourned, gojo had grieved. and yet, the impossible had clawed its way into reality, leaving you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something dark and unknowable.
soon the shock twisted into dread, an icy grip that clenched tight around your chest, left the blood draining from your face. god, your hair must just turn as white as his from the stress alone. your best friend, the one who had been beside you in sickness and health.
it was cruel, you thought, to not even be allowed the time to fall apart, now now. there was little space for it in the chaos that had erupted the next day, when waves of curses crashed through the city like nothing you had ever seen. what fresh hell was this, you wondered as you nursed a nasty set of wounds, trailing after (tormented, sweet, far too young) itadori yuji, and his supposed older brother, some blood manipulation user that had done his fair share of damage throughout the night.
the culling games.
the brutality of it shocked you, and several times during the upcoming days, you had to blink back hot tears as sorcerers were summoned, drafted, and thrown into what was quickly a gladiator spectacle, some devilry concocted from geto's, no, kenjaku's mind. and the stakes were not just your own survival, but the students you had mentored — the young souls who had grown under your watch, and needed you now more than ever.
it quickly cost you an eye. a clash with a fierce, blood-thirsty wayward sorcerer had left you bloody and bruised with a clean gash that ran through your right eye, and you had screamed, taken a life even. only the baritone, dulcet tone of the yuji's half-curse brother (choso? a member of the kamo clan? since when did half-curses even exist?) had pulled you away from launching the contents of your stomach over the pavement, as you stared at the crimson dripping off your hands. were you supposed to be grateful that you had survived this, when so many others had not? yuji's tears had kept you awake in the night, his sobs when he thought that no-one could hear him.
gojo's absence had become a wound, raw, with a side of constant ache that you could feel with every waking heartbeat. and so you tried to fight hard with his voice echoing in your ears, remembering the half-smile he'd flash when you'd land a difficult hit, or the grateful look in his eyes knowing that his students were safe.
days blurred together, and nights bled into ceaseless combat, of the terror of being on the run, and still gojo was with you. the thought of finding him, the thought of him being unsealed from the prison realm almost had you blurting false, desparate promises to the sky that you would tell him exactly what you felt for him, bare your heart out in its entirety for him to hold in his hands.
like it had always been.
✉️ — november, 2018 💬 — you.
it was surreal seeing him again, unsealed and standing there against the burnt umber of the sky, rough around the edges but undeniably gojo. nineteen days of living with the ache of his absence, of waking every morning with a hollow flower blooming in your chest, he was here — alive, breathing, real.
but god, it had been so beautiful to meet his blue gaze once more, and that fleeting smile cross his face before he rushed to pull you into his arms, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms with a new strength that almost lifted you off your feet. and if you closed your eye, you could pretend that nothing had happened, nothing at all. that it was just you pressed against the warm, beating heart in gojo's chest, unrestrained and fierce as thick arms pulled you close, filling your senses with smoke, and earth, and long-spilt blood.
"don't you look eye catching?"
you huffed and leaned away from him, slamming your fist on hard muscle in exasperation, but if you hadn't turned your gaze away, you would have seen gojo's eyes twitch as he took in your battle-worn appearance, the scar that ran underneath bandages where an eye would have once been. if you had paid more attention, you would have heard his intake of breath as he ran his tongue behind his teeth, with a vow, a promise.
"guess who's going to kick sukuna's ass so far back to the heian era," gojo murmured, and you let out a shaky laugh that echoes all the way down to the marrows of your bones.
"yeah, i thought you were just all talk."
"i'm still alive, aren't i?" he shot back, cocky and boyish once more, and your eyes traced over him, drinking in every small change, the sharper clench in his jaw, the tautness in his frame, the way his shoulders seemed broader, like he had been carved up in the prison realm anew. and it leaves you melancholic.
in another universe, the two of you were still young, hand in hand underneath the blue sky as the cool breeze ran through your hair. but battles had turned to war, and the night had no time for what ifs.
"hey, don't go worrying about me," gojo murmured, almost as though he had caught the shadow in your heart, and he plastered a grin on his face, stretching his toned arms in some show of nonchalance, but his gaze lingered on the ruins too long, on the mottled group of assembled sorcerers who seemed to brim with new-found confidence at his return.
and when he finally looked back at you with a new dullness in your eyes, a heaviness you hadn't seen in a long time. it left a dead weight in your chest, but you forced yourself to return his own bland smile, playing along with the front he was trying to maintain, "well, i guess i'll have to keep you out of trouble from now on."
✉️ — november-december, 2018 💬 — you.
the month began to stretch and pass in a blur on the endless horizon, complete with the aching and unbearable waiting where you knew something was going to happen, and yet you did not know when and where. shoko had forgone her own exhausation to see to the rest of the wounds, the ones that had festered under bandages and grimes, leaving faint trails over your skin but she had shaken her head sadly when it came to the socket on your face, even she could not restore an eye.
gojo had swapped his suits and jackets for loose martial pants, and a tight black top that had clung to the muscular frame that he'd honed over the years, laughing off your concerns like they were nothing more than passing clouds.
"don't fret," he'd say, "how bad could this be? you know i told yuji once that even if sukuna was at his full power, i'd still wipe the floor with him. you believe me right?"
you weren't sure if his question was cocky, or a plea, and the fatigue had caused you to snap, "and now, yuji flinches when he hears loud sounds, and he's just another kid who can't fuckin' stop wringing his hands in blood! look what you've done to him!"
gojo's eyes had twitched afterwards, the corner of his mouth pulling down, but he hadn't gotten angry. and you hated it. you hated it all.
but you had wanted to believe in him, in his optimism. you wanted to let his smooth words settle into your bones like the warm comfort they should have been. but how could you feel at ease when everyone was now playing a role? each sorcerer in this building was feigning whatever mask or persona that they had painted and drawn across their face, just as you had. just as gojo did.
but nothing was the same anymore.
and neither were you.
the loss of your eye, the streaks of scars on your skin haunted you. it felt cowardly to say, but this was not the life you should have lived. you simply just didn't see yourself as strong enough, and your eyes watered thinking about the days when you dallied under a clear sky, skirts swaying along the grass as you trailed after your best friend, catching fireflies, exploring shrines, falling to the earth in child-like innocence.
the hollow space on your face, the empty socket served as a reminder of what you had survived, of the world that had fallen into pieces. was there anyone here who would recognise themselves in the mirror anymore?
some nights, the world felt impossibly still, and you would sit at the window and press your hands to the cold of the glass as you watched a scarred city sprawl ahead of you.
you didn't turn at the sound of footsteps at first, and you sat there, with your fingers still dancing on the edge of the window. you closed your eyes as you felt him approach, close, but not enough — you wished he would sit by you, press his soft head to your own, close enough for you to hold him in your hands, curl into his skin.
"satoru, can you make another promise?"
gojo's steps had paused, just a breath but it was enough to know that you had his attention. but when he spoke, "please tell me we're not doing theatrics right now," his voice was laced with that same dismissive edge that he always used when he was trying to push the truth far away.
"can't you shut up, just once? promise me you won't let sukuna kill you, i can't even imagine -" and how irritating, and how melancholic (fuck, this was like a bad soap opera) that your throat was already tightening, your voice wavering with tears that you had been holding back for weeks.
for a moment, gojo didn't respond, and he just stood there and you needn't have turned around to know that there was no trace of laughter nor joy on his face. no easy smirk to deflect the gravity of your well-founded fears. and the silence left you cold.
for the first time, you were suddenly hoping that he might say something blasé, to tell you to stop worrying, to brush it off and just reassure you. but he didn't, he was quiet.
and so you turned to face him, and you felt almost villainous for verbalising your future grief like this, to one who must already have carried such an eternal, heavy burden.
no longer did the blue of his eyes shine like a spring sky, with feather-like clouds that danced in his iris. now, there was only a fractured storm. and god, you loathed that for the first time in what must have been years, his own face was reddening, his eyes suddenly teary, clouds gathering torrential rain.
you knew he hated being seen like this. over a decade of holding him close to your heart had made you privy to his ways, to the way that he'd furiously rub at his face when upset, as if he could will the distress away and hide his tears.
gojo had outstretched his little finger towards you now, hooking it with your own, and your heart stuttered as he brought your finger to his lips, so quick that a ghost may have brushed your skin, with the seal of a promise.
"i will try. god, i swear, i...i promise, i will try." and you knew that gojo satoru was scared, terrified even of what december 24th would bring.
"i -"
you wanted to say it all, wanted to tell him everything. but the words stuck in your throat, love and want and need and ferocious, capricious grief all sat lodged within your beating heart that was so tightly bound in iron chains.
it was a shameful thing. you should have sat there, and comforted him instead. should have told him that it was alright, and you did not know a more powerful and capable sorcerer than he, that he'd leave sukuna in ashes. should have laid your hand on his brow to soothe the lines away from his pale, streaked face.
but you had always been selfish, held onto your heart like a being of folklore, guarded and self-assuming. you wept heart-aching tears, feeling them pool in your sleeves, and run hot salt trails over your lips. maybe it was a testament to how much gojo satoru loved you too, that he could not bear to see you in such grief, and he hesitated.
then he turned to leave you by the window.
✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.
the turn of the year felt cold, far too chilly, even though the night was still young. the city lights twinkled in solitary clumps outside, but they were just as dim as the heavy weight in your chest. the walls seemed to close in as gojo prepared to leave, to face sukuna — the king of curses. and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers, something that you would never be able to grasp again, no matter how tightly you gripped.
everyone had wished him luck, calling your their bravest words of encouragement as he walked past them, their voices echoing through the hall, as they slapped him on the back.
they all cheered the same platitudes.
"go fuck sukuna up!"
"language!"
"sorry, choso."
"show him what you're made of!"
"prove that you're not just a pretty face, gojo!"
and so you had plastered the same smile on your face, hoping that it would reach your eyes as gojo winked at you, "hey, before you start telling me off, now it's your turn to promise me something."
you had cocked your head up at him, ignoring shoko's narrowed, tired eyes, "yeah?"
"mhm," satoru nodded, pulling his arms around you, "after this, after all this bullshit, we get to take a vacation."
a barked laugh escaped you, before it collapsed into a giggle, "you want paid leave? that's all it is?"
your best friend's large hands gripped you, flat against your back, "yeah, that's all there is. we're gonna go take a holiday, sit by the beach, watch the ocean. keep it simple."
"a picnic too, eh?"
gojo nodded, humming, "we'll plan everything. about time we got to take a break. i'll be back before you even know it."
you felt his voice hitch against your ear, and your heart twisted painfully in response, he wasn't saying it but you both knew the cold truth, there was a real chance that he may never come back. before your vision could blur, you pressed his lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a moment on smooth skin (and you felt his arms tighten around you) and hoped that whatever you hoped to say, whatever spine you lacked, could be expressed so swiftly.
"come back then, please. i'll be ready." you whispered between his skin and your lips, the tremble leaving no space for air in your lungs.
for a moment, he didn't answer, just held you, and you tried to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. then, just as you were about to pull away, he spoke, the words falling from his mouth, so familiar and so effortless.
"of course i will. i always do."
there was a flicker of something raw there in his eyes, and you had seen it both before and after shibuya. his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but whatever it was, it never came. instead, he just nodded, a silent promise — unspoken, but felt deep in your bones.
without another word, he turned toward the door. and just before stepping out, he looked back one last time. that smile, that arrogant, confident smile that always made your heart race —i t was there, but it wasn’t the same. it was stretched thin, fragile. his blue eyes were tired, haunted, and for a moment, you saw the truth — the part of him he always kept hidden. the fear. the doubt.
"i'll be back," he repeated, but this time, it didn’t sound like a joke. it sounded like a prayer. a desperate, half-broken promise from the closest thing that the world had to a god.
you couldn’t speak. your heart was lodged in your throat, and the words that you needed to say just wouldn’t come. you wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you always had, that you were scared to lose him, that the world without him in it felt like a hollow echo of what it could be. but you couldn’t.
instead, you just nodded, your face a mask of emotions you couldn’t express.
and then, with one final look, a look that held everything neither of you had the courage to say — he stepped out into the cold, his footsteps fading into the distance.
✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.
gojo satoru was dead.
dead. killed.
for a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway of shoko's office, numbness seeping into your bones with a furious grief as you stared at the cold, unmoving form that was once satoru.
fuck, there was bile in your throat as a once lively boy now lay in four pieces, cleanly sliced by sukuna's unforgiving technique, and the sight was a nightmare made so real, something that you just couldn't reconcile with the man who had once been so vibrantly alive.
the warmth that had always clung to him had vanished, leaving his skin pale in the grasp of rigor mortis, and his lips were still flecked with dried blood that had painted a stark contrast against his stiff skin.
and his eyes, those striking blue eyes that used to glint with love and hope and dreams, were now dull, and still open. you had not the heart to close them, for once your hand pulled his eyelids down, you would never see them again, never look into his eyes until it was your time to pass from the circles of the world.
the last thing you’d seen of him had been that cocky grin, that wink that seemed so unbreakable, that laugh that lingered even as he left your embrace. he’d held you, promised you that he would come back, but now, as you stood there, that promise felt like a cruel lie, something that should’ve warned you but instead gave you nothing but hope.
you choked on a breath, your hand coming up to your mouth as you felt the weight of your unspoken words sink down like lead. i should have told him. you’d wanted to say it all, to let him know how much he meant to you, to tell him that he was your everything. but the words had died in your throat, held back by fear, by the delusion that there’d always be another chance, that he’d always come back.
you’d believed him. you’d believed, with every part of yourself, that he’d make it out alive.
but here he was, torn apart, the last shreds of life stolen from him by the king of curses. you had seen him being cut down, like a sheaf of wheat under a god's sickle, how sudden and gut wrenching it had been, and for the second time in a month, you had been on the edge of hurling onto the stone. but this time, the half-curse beside you, choso, hadn't stopped you from losing the contents of your stomach, as instead he had pressed his younger brother's cries to his broad chest, the grief swallowing the entire room.
gojo hadn’t been given the chance to fight back, hadn’t even been able to draw a breath before he’d been torn apart. and that final thought — that he’d been caught off guard, helpless, alone in his last moments — left you feeling shattered, grief clawing at you with merciless hands.
your knees felt weak as you moved toward him, your trembling fingers reaching out to touch his face, cold and unyielding beneath your hand. you traced the lines of his face, memorising every detail, as if somehow, through touch alone, you could keep a piece of him with you. a tear slipped down your cheek, landing on his lips, lips that had once murmured promises, had brushed against your skin in fleeting, unspoken moments. the tear brought moisture once more to the blood that splattered his face, but quickly, it disappeared, drying and taking away any life.
"i should’ve told you,” you whispered, your voice broken, raw, laced with the pain of regret, "i don't know if you ever knew how much i loved you."
you closed your eyes, the silence thickening around you, pressing down until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. your mind replayed every smile, every laugh, every word he’d ever spoken to you, each memory twisting the knife of grief deeper into your chest. the emptiness of the room swallowed you whole, and all that was left was the aching, unbearable reality that he was gone — that the man who had been your best friend, your confidant, your everything, was nothing more than a memory now.
you stayed there, your hand resting on his cold cheek, as if the warmth of your touch could somehow reach him, bring him back. but he was gone, and with him, he’d taken the words you’d never been able to say, the love you’d never been able to give.
and as the silence closed in around you, suffocating and absolute, you knew that part of you had died with him.
✉️ — not so long later. 💬 — you. it could only be you now, for you are the only one left.
the sun was beginning to set as you reached the shore, casting an amber glow over the ocean. the waves lapped quietly against the sand, as a gentle roll becoming a reminder that the world was still moving, even when the battles were done.
even though everything within you felt like it had come to a standstill. you clutched a folded piece of glossy card, and a box. two things that shoko said she found on him, things that she thought you should keep, she added quietly.
and so, you sat down on the sand, letting the evening wind sweep over you as you gazed out at the endless stretch of water. the ocean had always been something you had dreamed of seeing together, an endless horizon that was wild and untameable, just like gojo satoru had been. but he was gone, gone, and that promise would forever remain unkept.
you opened the folded glossy card, wincing as you tried not to press the faded creases further, brushing over the faded edges. it was dated to the fall of 2005, and you bit your lip as you saw your own image stare back at you. when the world had felt endless, and you had two wide eyes to see it with. there you were, that day in the market, laughing in the photo with your head thrown back sweetly, and you wetly laughed as you saw geto suguru's confused expression in the background, clearly exasperated with gojo's photography skills.
a choked sob escaped you as you traced your smile in the photo, so oblivious to what would come. you’d been so happy then, wrapped in a moment that had felt simple and whole. gojo had teased you relentlessly that day, snapping photos every chance he got, and you’d thought he was just being his usual, silly self. you’d never realised he’d kept this one one, never knew it meant enough for him to carry it all this time.
with a shaking hand, you opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. fuck.
it was beautiful, impossibly beautiful, as if he’d carefully chosen each detail with you in mind. the diamond glistened in the fading light, flecked with small blue stones that reminded you of his eyes, the eyes that used to light up every time he looked at you. this ring was supposed to be a promise, just as the ones you made when you locked little fingers — a promise he never got the chance to make, a life together that you’d both been too afraid to admit you wanted.
the first tear fell, splashing onto the sand below, followed by another, and then another, until you were trembling, the grief tearing out of you in waves, raw and unstoppable. you held the ring to your chest, clutching it as if somehow, by holding it close, you could feel him, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his arms around you.
you could almost hear his voice on the wind, that playful edge mixed with tenderness as he called you by one of his ridiculous pet names. sweetheart, honey, my pumpkin pie, followed by your irritated huff telling him to drop those names.
but truly, here was nothing. just the sound of the waves, relentless and indifferent, echoing the hollow ache in your chest.
the what-ifs clawed at you, memories replaying over and over in your mind: moments when you’d almost reached for him, almost whispered the words, almost let your heart break free. but each time, you’d held back, too afraid to disrupt the delicate balance between you, too certain there’d be another day. but now, those moments were gone, scattered like dust in the wind, and the weight of those unsaid words felt unbearable.
you pressed the photograph to your lips, closing your eyes as if you could summon him back, if only for a moment. but when you opened your eyes, all that greeted you was the empty horizon, stretching out into nothingness.
"i love you,” you murmured, voice broken, barely more than a whisper. "i love you. i always loved you."
the words hung in the air, unheard, unanswered. it was too late, too late for confessions, too late for promises. the life you’d wanted with him, the life he’d carried in his pocket with a ring and a photograph, was gone, lost to the cruel twist of fate that had taken him from you.
you stayed there on the sand as the sky darkened, the weight of his absence pressing down on you like a storm. the wind whipped around you, cold and biting, and you shivered, clutching his ring, his memory, as if that alone could keep you grounded.
as night fell, the stars began to appear, dotting the sky with fragile points of light, distant and unreachable. and you sat there, letting the grief wash over you, lost in the silent, aching expanse of the ocean and the memories of a love that would remain forever unspoken, forever unfulfilled.
wasn't love the greatest curse of them all?
#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#jjk angst#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo#gojo x reader#gojo angst#satoru gojo#works#lol ive spent too long on this. will proofread later <3
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things i really want erik to explore for each redacted character
☆ vega :: him pulling a gavin 2.0. as in - warden’s asleep. and vega confesses how he feels in their mind. more physical interactions as well
☆ david :: shifting. MORE SHIFTING. CUDDLE AND SHIFT. PLEASE. SCRITCHES AND SCRATCHES.
☆ milo :: fashion shopping. i want to know what exactly milo would be shopping for. and how he’d dress his mate.
☆ vincent :: his family. his life before the surge. how he used to have fun with friends, the games he enjoyed, his favorite food, places he used to go, his dreams and ambitions… + heart to heart convo with porter. i feel like they’d actually get along if they were willing to listen to one another
☆ sam :: interactions with other characters besides the clan and shaw pack
☆ porter :: soft and cheesy moments, just drunkenly in love with treasure. also life before turning too. i will always grip onto my lawyer!porter headcanon
☆ huxley :: breaking up with damien so i can have him
☆ damien :: breaking up with huxley so i can have hux
☆ lasko :: dying
☆ gavin :: his relationship with other daemons
☆ vega :: kissing me
☆ aaron :: cooking with him and spending more time. smartass telling aaron how he means to them, and aaron being more affectionate. also him spoiling them
☆ ivan :: his past with baby (before vega)
☆ elliott :: BIKER ELLIOTT BIKER ELLIOTT IDCCCC
☆ ollie :: venting to baby. like. i wanna hear about the man’s struggles. his insecurities? his past?
☆ guy :: idk
☆ brachium :: how his heart aches everytime he sees a young soul crossing the river
☆ avior :: idk
☆ vega :: kissing me okay i’m like out of ideas idk
@breezysuffers @dukecollinsbf @marlowlvsu @ashertickler @porters-fangs @capitalisticveins @ilovealotofwomen @achios @mokozroach @lexdoesntdraw @jaxfart @honeymarune @infinitelovewiithoutfulfilmentt @everything-redacted00 @n0r @professionallyyappinabtangst @poedays and anyone idk
#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted vega#redacted david#redacted milo#redacted vincent#redacted porter#redacted huxley#redacted damien#redacted fuckass annoying femboy twink#redacted avior#redacted headcanons#im so out of ideas
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hello! I hope you're doing well :) Its my birthday tomorrow, so I want to request birthday headcanons for some of my favourites (if you write for them, ofc): Ayato, Wriothesley, and Alhaitham!
Thank you so much! 💞
𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔
he wouldn't want to miss out on your special day <3
a/n: hi hi!! i'm doing okay 🥹 i really hope i did your request justice seeing as it is your birthday! i might have gotten a bit excited with this and realised my headcanons followed a little storyline but i do hope you enjoy, and a very happy birthday to you! wishing you all the best for the year 💝🎉
AYATO
Honestly, a small, traitorous part of you believes that the Yashiro Commissioner might have forgotten your birthday. With him being so preoccupied with his work, and much of his days scheduled to the minute by his retainers, you secretly wondered whether he would make time for you. That is why you freeze in shock when you open your front door early in the morning to see your partner at the doorstep. Chuckling at your groggy appearance, he holds your waist and gently combs a hand through your hair to fix it. In your half lucid state you swear you’re dreaming.
Ayato assures you that all the tasks he had to do for the day had been settled, and that nothing would distract him from celebrating with you. His retainers had even encouraged the idea, leaving small notes at his desk to remind him of your birthday to hasten the completion of his work. It was one of the few plans he offered up to them that didn’t leave them absolutely panicked.
There’s no need to worry about what is planned for the day, Ayato naturally has everything prepared. If you enjoy food and drink, he has a table booked at Uyuu Restaurant with an eight course meal specially created just for you. If you’re more partial to rest and relaxation, he has ensured private baths at Aisa Bathhouse (Archons knows, he needs a spa day as well).
As for a gift, Ayato’s observant nature serves him well to pick the perfect one. On your walks about the city, he took note of the objects your eyes sparkled most at. Ones that you picked up, looked at the price tag, then put down in disappointment. In the weeks leading up to your birthday, much of his downtime was spent thinking about what would suit you best. His retainers would catch him with a furrow between his brows, staring into the distance. They would chatter about how committed the clan head is to his duties, even mulling over them during his short breaks.
In the end, he decided on getting something custom-made for you. A kimono made from a fabric you couldn’t stop admiring at the textile store. A purple silk brocade with delicate white flowers. You had draped it on yourself asking Ayato for his thoughts. Eyes trailing your body, the colours complimented you perfectly. For the first time, Ayato seemed at a loss for words.
He makes you feel treasured. Despite the obstacles your two had faced, from the critical eye of the public to the hushed whisperings between clans, Ayato’s loyalty was unwavering.
AL-HAITHAM
As someone who has proclaimed how overzealous people can be about birthdays, your excitement in the lead up to yours is actually infectious to him. The night before, he’s surprised to hear humming from the bathroom as you get ready for bed. He can’t contain the fond smile on his face at your slightly off-key tone. The book he was holding has already been stored away on the bedside table as he closes his eyes to focus on your voice.
Whilst Alhaitham always kisses you on the forehead in the mornings before he gets up, when you wake on your birthday you are being smothered with kisses. You giggle, trying to swat him away, worried about your bad breath, but he’s relentless and you concede. He whispers a ‘happy birthday’ to you after the final peck, content with the reaction he has provoked in you so early in the day.
Although it is your birthday, it is unfortunately still a workday. The very last thing you expect to see is Alhaitham walking into your work area during the middle of the day. Rushing over to him, your eyes wide in surprise, you ask why he’s here so soon. He plainly replies that he had no other essential meetings today, so he left. You’re flabbergasted, but you can’t complain. Especially since it meant more time together on your birthday.
He follows you around as you tend to the plants at the garden, making small conversation with you. You inwardly observe how he looks somewhat like a puppy — cocking his head to the side at a unique flower, curious about your craft. Arms folded, he waits for you to finish up and take your early leave (granted generously to you by the kindness of your supervisor).
Lambad’s Tavern is quiet in the early evening, the low chatter of few patrons providing a peaceful ambience to your dinner. Rounding the meal off with drinks and a customary dessert. To onlookers, this celebration would seem unusually casual. However, it’s that exact sort of comfortability with him that makes you feel so secure.
He waits until the private of your home to give your gift. Sitting on the couch, he brings out a small box containing a timepiece in it. Alhaitham remembered how absorbed you often got in your work, even forgetting to take breaks. Even though the Akasha System can instantaneously provide the time upon request, a physical object serves as a better reminder of time for you to eat and step away from work. You return your thanks to the practical yet thoughtful gift by placing a kiss on his cheek, feeling how warm they are under your lips. He’ll assert it’s from the liquor he drank, and surely not the burning affection he feels for you in this moment.
WRIOTHESLEY
Clorinde had to endure some minor lecturing after being entrusted with the Fortress of Meropide for the day so Wriothesley could celebrate your birthday. The Duke did not want to be interrupted on this day unless the situation was dire, so he made his instructions clear. Arms folded, Clorinde stopped herself from rolling her eyes (‘He’s acting like I’ve never stepped foot in here before’), but she couldn’t help chuckling at how determined her friend was at wanting to spend time with you. And so, the missive was given that the Duke would be heading to the surface for urgent matters (the nature of such matters left omitted).
It was a beautiful day on the surface, made even more so when Wriothesley sees you waiting on the street — hands interlocked in front of you, rocking on your heels. Though he did find your pose endearing, he internally curses himself at leaving you waiting on your birthday. He didn’t realise how much he ached for your presence until you looked over with a beaming smile and began running towards him. Gentleman that he is, he hurriedly apologised for making you wait.
High tea is a must to celebrate, so the two of you head to Hotel Debord or Café Lutece, finding a private corner where you can freely talk. He updates you on the affairs at the Fortress, and he listens attentively at your news about the surface.
You order different types of teas to try along with complimenting snacks. Wriothesley nods thoughtfully with each cup, but you notice with amusement that he’s holding himself back from truly commenting (“These teas are nice, but I think your collection is better”, you say. He smirks knowingly, but raises his hands in innocence, “I have to say I agree with you there”).
He’s had your gift planned since the beginning of the year. On a rare outing to the Court of Fontaine to conduct business, a silver necklace on display at a jewellery store halted his stride. It had a red oval-shaped gem as a pendant, which the salesman claimed was the jewelsmith’s symbol for passion. The jewelsmith supposedly fell in love with someone who lived far from Fontaine, and created this piece to commemorate his devotion. It was an obvious marketing technique — one that would entice any imaginative lay person. Despite knowing the salesman’s clever ploy, something did stir within the Duke’s heart.
Wriothesley sees you almost on the verge of tears when he presents the necklace to you. Embracing you tightly, he whispers promises into your ear. Every birthday feels more intimate than the last, and you can’t help but picture what a future with him would be like.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
#🌷〰requestodora#odorawrites#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#genshin headcanons#genshin impact ayato#genshin ayato#genshin ayato x reader#ayato x reader#ayato x you#genshin impact wriothesley#genshin wriothesley#genshin wriothesley x reader#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley x you#wriothesley x y/n#genshin impact alhaitham#genshin alhaitham#genshin alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you
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Righto, I've had my brekkie, it was mediocre. Let's continue. To followers: I do my best to tag my shit now, so keep your Xkit or other tools updated, as I return to form with my long-winded, acidic essays on good old Dragon Age. It's like we're back in 2017 again! Now I want to offer commentary on an IGN article from September 25, 2024. And I briefly surmise on how evidently, Epler and friends either didn't play, or didn't understand their own home company's game, DA: Inquisition.
By giving up the Inquisition, the Inquisitor also surrenders all their power, gained lands and bases, influence, and treasure. All the Inquisitor has after disbanding or handing over the Inquisition is their personal reputation. The manpower, estates and so on is gone, not in small part because the Inquisitor's enemies don't vanish with the Inquisition, they are not just a splinter in Solas' eye, but there are a lot of powerful factions in Thedas who would very much like to see their investment in Inquisition to pay off. Especially since not nearly all of them threw in their lot with the Inquisition not to stop the world-ending threat, but for power and money. By deleting the Inquisition, the Inquisitor has absolutely robbed these powerful factions of their mail-clad, holy fist, as well as a lot of money. Not to mention everybody else you offended.
Also is gone the thing that made you special in the first place: the Anchor. You're nobody now. You're just a regular person with a great story, and nothing more. By the stinger at the end of Trespasser, you are Rook: you have a very small contingent of ordinary people, and you're back to having to handle everything by yourself again because your ace in the hole and all your resources and manpower are gone, gone, gone.
This quote also doesn't acknowledge the fact that until the very end, the Inquisitor faced distrust from every angle, and the only ones trusting you completely were the pilgrims and refugees, the contingent of people with the least amount of power to actually make meaningful change. Hell, even when you reached Skyhold, there was only one conversation about taking the Inquisition in a more cohesive direction back in Haven. Leliana and Cassandra and Cullen and Josephine virtually sprung your your new title on you by surprise. They ambushed you on a staircase, in front of a crowd, and shoved a sword in your hand. You had no way to say 'oh fuck no' without the desperate crowd below tearing you from limb to limb... in the isolated mountains. On an isolated mountaintop keep's grounds. There was never a choice there. From then on, you had to beg, connive or kill to get people to support you, and Trespasser directly dealt with the fact that people still wanted you gone or harnessed to the church. Your Inquisition wasn't united by the faith of all that contributed to it, it was united by lying, begging and killing. All that really united you was money and fear. The Inquisitor had to earn respect and fear. they had to beg and kill. Nobody in the Inquisition handed you stuff, you had to work for it.
Whose Inquisitor, Ms. Busche? Yours? Because if mine was headcanonically alive, he would not feel even a shred of remorse over being played like a fiddle by a literal elven god, thousands of years old, whereas all he ever was was a 30-year-old drunk soldier brought up in the societal isolation of a Dalish clan, and being functionally illiterate to boot. My Inquisitor is very clear: Solas' choices are his own, his deeds are his own, his manipulation is his own. The Inquisitor, especially the unfriendly-to-Solas Inquisitor never once had any control over Solas. It does, however, play into what's been my most consistent criticism of Solas, but more importantly, Bioware over the past 10 years: it acts like Solas is your fault. It acts like you getting manipulated and played by a vastly more powerful and older and cleverer person is your own fault, or your own responsibility. It's the epitome of Bioware trying to sneakily communicate: "Look what you made me do." And that's Solas' whole deal in Inquisition: he burdens a single, young mortal with proving to a literal god why he shouldn't kill the entire world. And if you fuck up, then Thedas dies. It's not unlike the nasty phenomenon of "if a white person does it, he's mentally ill and an outlier, if a black person does it, all black people are Like That." This is Solas: 'if I do it, I'm a sad rebel making big mistakes. If you do it, you're the reflection of all members of your kind. And my Inquisitor had none of it.
Very telling, Epler. This is you saying, in Bioware style, that there's a correct way of playing Dragon Age games, and there's 'any other ways'. The correct way is 'romance Solas'. The others are just variations on a theme that, in the end, don't really matter. And it shows in Veilguard, it shows. The very least you can do is prioritise your intended path, Epler, while not actively disregarding other paths. This isn't the case. It isn't the case with the entire Thedas universe from these four games, because Veilguard nuked all of the Southern regions in a not so veiled way to say: 'They don't matter. What happened there does matter. You might've felt like each of your PCs achieved a victory, but they were just officers stalling for time. They were all losses in a war that now has to be won, and they just don't matter.' No. My Inquisitor doesn't feel guilty. My Inquisitor is meta level enraged that all he ever was, was an unknowing valet to Solas, and somehow that's his own fault.
Sure. It's not like Tevinter has been ever-present throughout three games, with important NPCs hailing from there, North's influence on the South, and endless codex entries and book material talking about Tevinter. The lore isn't gone, Bioware. It's not a brand new region, it has always existed in Thedas, we just haven't been there personally, but we've read about it. A lot. And you cannot just delete it all like you did in Veilguard. The place has a well-known, established lore to each of its nations. It's not a clean slate.
OH, REALLY???
Really? Really-really??? Really-really-really????? Reeeeeeallly? Reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally----
Fair. Reasonable. Expected. But you're not writing a book that requires no personal hands-on involvement by its reader. You're writing a roleplaying game where the player is as much a storyteller as a spectator. And you just wiped the slate clean. Nothing stayed even a little bit fixed. So I, as a player and a fan have to ask: why should I care if all the places in Thedas I mended and helped get destroyed and deleted. Why should I care if the people I care for in the game are all dead. You could argue 'it's for the experience, the transitional nature of time, what matters is the moment and not the end goal' and it's a noble sentiment. But does it make for a great game? Because it's one of humanity's key questions and grievances that has been pursued, fought over, died for: 'Does anything I ever do even matter?' And in real life, the answer is: "It matters if you think it matters." But Dragon Age is not a real world, it's our escape from the real world. It's a place where people come to matter more than in the brief cosmological second we inhabit this universe. We want things to matter in Dragon Age, because in real life they don't. It's why we tell stories, Varric. We want something to last, and something to matter. We want to engage with what hurts us in real life, and we want to change that, and achieve at least some permanence. Because we cannot have that in real life. And Bioware proudly and self-assuredly has said to us: "Nah."
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Clan Toreador headcanon: their bodies are just as cursed as Nosferatu, except instead of twisting into a sordid monster, they change against their will into beauty as their Sire sees it.
A perfectly regular looking person slowly finds their pores minimising and seemingly vanishing, their face bones realigning, disturbing symmetry intruding into a face they once knew, and every night they become more and more a picture of what someone else wants, and less themselves.
Beauty as a weapon, but also beauty as a purely subjective horror. You are not yourself, and you never will be again. You’re an object, a treasure, a prize for someone else, always someone else, and never living for yourself again, because someone else wanted to make you beautiful.
#vtm#vampire the masquerade#the beautiful and the monstrous are two sides of the same coin when you think about it#this is cause you cannot tell me that every single person ever embraced into Clan Toreador is Ultra Hot Smoking Babealicious okay it is just#not possible#and yet#they remain beautiful#in a dangerous and detached way
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