#despite this being the day of a funeral (the whole reason I was here)

[ryukatters]

swipe right — k. bakugo x fem! reader

✮ a/n: i remember seeing a post on here a long time ago about a character making a fake tinder profile for their gf and realizing how many people want her. (if someone knows the OG post please lmk so i can link it!) so now i present to you: bakugo falling to his knees in the middle of your apartment bedroom for the exact same reason.

✮ content/warnings: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp but when do I ever write him as being otherwise??

✮ summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

✮ word count: 4.2k (i'm so sick)

Bakugo can remember how this all started. In very vivid detail, actually. He remembers because Kaminari had pissed him off so much to the extent that it took him a very substantial amount of effort to refrain from bashing his friend’s face in.

It all started during the last monthly hangout amongst Bakugo and his friends— one day out of the month designated to make sure that they all had time to catch up with one another despite their busy schedules.

Everything was normal, with all of them getting more than enough of their fill of food and alcohol while idly playing video games and talking about random topics to fill in the silence in Kaminari’s living room. 

Perfectly normal, until Denki decided to open his stupid mouth, at least. 

He goes off on a tangent about a trend he saw on social media where someone makes a fake Tinder profile for their partner to see how many matches they’d get. He proceeds to tell Bakugo that he should try doing it, for “funsies,”— to which Bakugo scoffs at. 

“Aren’t you curious, Kacchan?” Kaminari smiles cheekily, wrapping an arm around his blond friend’s shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bakugo’s becoming visibly more upset with every passing moment. 

“Your girlfriend is really pretty,” Mina chimes in, sticking her tongue out when Katsuki whips his head to glare at her. “I’m still surprised she’s with a grump like you.” 

Kaminari butts in, “I bet there’s a whole line of guys around the block just waiting for a chance to get with her. I mean, just look at her! Hell, I’d even let her peg m—”

For a moment, Bakugo swears he wants to bash Kaminari’s face into his flatscreen. And for a moment, he lets that impulsive thought win— getting up and grabbing two fistfuls of Denki’s shirt before promptly getting cut off by Kirishima.

“Alright alright,” Kirishima forcibly pries Bakugo off of the other blond, pushing him off to the side. “That’s enough, you two. Kaminari was just messing around. I’ll admit, it wasn’t a good joke, but no need to hurt the guy, okay Bakugo?” 

Kirishima knows that Kaminari wasn’t being that serious, but Kirishima can also admit that what he had to say held some ounce of truth. And Kirishima knows Bakugo well enough to see how your boyfriend tends to be rather skittish and protective with matters concerning you— which is exactly why Eijiro had to stop him before it was too late. He really didn’t feel like preparing for Denki’s funeral or helping hide Katsuki escape from a homicide charge.

And that was that…up until a few minutes ago.

Katsuki’s tried to forget that conversation. But try as he might, his mind betrays him and can’t help but wander back to what Denki said that night.

He trusts you of course, and has complete faith in your relationship. However, he’s curious to a fault, just about perhaps too curious for his own good. 

How badly could this end?

As it turns out, this whole scheme seems to be playing out very poorly. 

Dozens of photos of you— screenshotted from your social media accounts— fill Katsuki’s screen. He had to choose photos you uploaded yourself, because most of his photos of you were either too…suggestive or too domestic (and he wants to be the only one to see you in those moments).

He swipes through “your” profile one last time before clicking “done” to officially put you on the market. And just like that, Bakugo’s met with the faces of men who are nowhere near your level. He goes through the batch of profiles, scrutinizing each one he comes across. He’s (un)surprisingly selective with the ones he chooses to swipe right on— making sure that they’re at least somewhat conventionally attractive. To his surprise (or dread, rather), his phone pings right away with a notification from someone who swiped back. Another ping. A message. 

You free tonight? 

Bakugo scoffs. He looks through the guy’s profile— a picture of him at a party with his arms around some girls, another with him doing a victory pose presumably after hiking, and one with him holding a fish. He feels his mouth curl in disgust, about to give into the urge to reply and give this guy a piece of his mind, before he realizes he’s pretending to be you. He takes a deep breath, closes out of the app, and puts down his phone. 

He’s starting to regret this.

Bakugo’s phone has gone off 15 times in the last hour. Bakugo has also felt the need to strangle some stranger through the phone 15 times in the last hour. Your (read: his) profile has existed for less than 60 minutes, and you already have a whole address book of nobodies trying to link with you and get a quick fuck. 

He feels the familiar beginnings of a headache creeping up the back of his skull. He thinks he might need a drink. Why did he decide to do this again?

In hindsight, he probably should have known this is exactly how it was going to go down. 

What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

Yeah.

He was never great at self-preservation in the first place. So this, the feeling of overwhelming jealousy, frustration, possessiveness brewing up a storm threatening to pour out of every single fiber of Bakugo’s being— was no surprise.

He watches as the numbers at the bottom of his screen increase steadily, before tapping on the star icon. 

‘99+ likes!’ it reads. Over 99 people who saw your profile and thought you were beautiful. Bakugo pales, and he can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of his neck. He grips his phone, knuckles turning white. Is he shaking from anger or nervousness?

Anger because all these guys think they even have the slightest chance with someone as amazing as you. Nervousness because what if you decide that they do? You wouldn’t actually leave him for one of these guys, right? Right?

None of these men would walk through hell and back for you. They don’t know how you like your coffee, the details of your skin care routine, how you like to binge watch shows and talk Katsuki’s ear off about them (not that he ever minded, of course). They don’t know you, not like he does. Katsuki looks at you like you hung the moon. In fact, he’s pretty convinced that you did. Everything good in his life— the warmth, the color, the joy,— is encompassed by you. He’d be damned if he lets some greasy little nobody take that from him. Because the moment Bakugo fell in love with you, you became a part of him— inextricably and indefinitely. Loving you has become so intrinsic to him, that even the mere thought of another person loving you or looking at you the same way he does has him going insane. Not that anyone could love you like he did, though. That thought brings him some comfort, but not for long. 

One last notification he sees sends him spiraling. Bakugo swears that he can see red. That’s when he deletes the app, and throws his poor phone in some random corner of the living room, which is markedly one of the smarter choices he’s made as of late. He marches to your bedroom with a fire burning in his chest. 

He stops short of the door and finds you sitting at the edge of your shared bed, fresh out of the shower. You’re applying lotion, and he watches the cream absorb into your skin wordlessly, in awe at how overwhelmingly beautiful you manage to look in the most prosaic of tasks. For a second, he almost forgets the reason he was upset in the first place.  

Your hair is still damp, water droplets accumulating at the tips, and Katsuki feels his mouth run dry the minute he watches a stray bead fall and make its way down your neck and stop perfectly in the dip of your collarbone. Your very existence is forever etched into his heart, every inch of you carved into his memory, but even still he can never get tired of looking at you. At every angle, in every lighting, he needs to see you in it. You could call him obsessed, but he’d simply laugh and agree, because what’s so wrong with that? Especially if it’s you. 

You’re one to be studied— to be adored, Katsuki thinks, to the greatest capacity. It’s what you deserve. And what better person for that task to fall upon than him?

He finds himself naturally gravitating towards you, his finger tracing the same exact path the water had carved just moments before, wordlessly. You try to pay no mind, but it’s difficult as you realize just how close Bakugo was and how your towel barely manages to cover up your most intimate parts. One wrong move and you’d be exposed. With how things were playing out, and the predatory glint in the blond’s eyes, you don’t think your boyfriend would be too perturbed with your current predicament. 

Katsuki presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before he crouches down. Suddenly, you’re at eye level with one another, his hot breath tickling your lips. You think for a moment he’s going to kiss you so you lean forward, lips waiting. But he merely grazes them before he sucks a deep bruise into the juncture of your neck, biting slightly. 

You’re barely given any time to react before he’s grabbing the hand that’s securing your towel and ripping it away, the offending garment falling off your body. Your flesh prickles with goosebumps as its exposed to the sudden chill.  It’s quickly replaced by the heat of Bakugo’s body as he pushes you lightly, your back hitting the mattress. He crawls on top of you, muscular thighs on either side of your hips, your head placed conveniently between his forearms. He’s trapped you, a nonverbal challenge for you to try and escape. 

You’re a work of art, he thinks, but much more valuable than any pièce de résistance framed in any museum. 

Beautiful, yes, but far too blank for his liking. He wants to ruin you, make you his own personal magnum opus. And so he does. 

He presses a clothed knee against your bare cunt, pressing firmly. His lips continue their assault on your neck, leaving angry purpling bruises in their wake. Rough hands find your breast, and you moan in surprise when he gives both of them a harsh squeeze as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. Katsuki kisses you like a man dying of thirst, hungry for everything you can offer him and more. It’s all too much already, the way he’s kissing you has your mind reeling, and you have to turn your head away for a moment to catch your breath. Katsuki thinks it’s a moment too long without you, so he coaxes you into locking lips with him once more. A wave of mischievousness washes over you, prompting you to take your boyfriend’s lower lip in between your teeth, biting down lightly. 

You feel his breath hitch, before he lets out a low groan as he grinds his clothed dick against your bare wetness. He returns the favor, sucking on your bottom lip before letting it go with a wet pop. He pulls back with a lazy smirk, his lips pursing together to scatter messy kisses down the base of your throat and down your chest, alternating between sucking and biting at the flesh. 

He gives you a good once-over, scanning every surface, committing them to memory. You feel the need to curl into yourself with how intensely those vermillion eyes are piercing into you, memorizing every single curve, scar, freckle like he’s done time and time again. 

He drops down to his knees, broad shoulders bullying their way in between your legs, forcibly prying them open. He grips your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, and drags you down the mattress until your legs are dangling off the bed.

“Jesus, Kats, be more gentle.”

“Shhh. I know you like it when I’m not gentle,” he chuckles. As if to prove a point, he pulls you down even further, giving a harsh bite to your inner thigh. He smiles deviously when you yelp. You try to pull at his hair but his reflexes are too quick, pinning both of your wrists down on either side of you easily. “Besides, this is the perfect height for me to eat you out, dontcha think baby?” 

You want to chastise him for being so crass, so Katsuki, but the words die on the tip of your tongue the minute he gives a sweet, loving kiss to your clit, sucking lightly. 

“You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this except for me.” 

You’re not entirely sure what brought this on, but you find it hard to complain when Bakugo drags his tongue from your throbbing clit to inside your pussy, drinking everything you have to offer. 

Your hands automatically try to find purchase in his blond locks, struggling against the vice grip Katsuki has on your wrists. He decides to take pity on you, loosening his hold so you can slip your hands into his hair, moaning appreciatively when he feels you tug. He rewards you by flicking his tongue on your clit over and over again, just the way you like it. He does it until your moans begin to pitch higher and higher, the same way that they do when you’re close. He doesn’t stop his ministrations even after you cum, riding out your orgasm until your thighs are shaking from overstimulation. He pulls away from you with a loud pop, taking in the sight before him. 

He runs a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. “So fucked out already and we’re barely getting started, baby.”

Your mind is barely processing his words before you feel Katsuki’s erection brush against your stomach, his clothing haphazardly discarded on the floor. He taps the head of his dick against your clit to tease you, a feeling of satisfaction swelling when you cry out from under him.  

He watches in fascination as strings of your arousal cling to him. He positions his length at your entrance, locking eyes with you as you hold your breath in anticipation. Katsuki likes you like this. Needy for him. 

 “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?” He slips into you with a stuttered groan. 

Katsuki’s always been big. You never get used to the initial stretch, no matter how many times you two fuck. Still, that doesn’t stop him from sliding in with ease from the slick of your last orgasm. It easily coats his cock as he gives a few experimental thrusts. He groans in rapture. How do you manage to feel so good every time? It’s enough to drive him insane. Perhaps he already is. 

“So fucking perfect, no wonder why all those losers want you.” He mutters out the last part, and you’re not sure if you caught that right. 

“What?” He chooses not to respond, and you aren’t given the opportunity to think any further before your legs are thrown over his shoulders, Katsuki’s weight effectively pinning you in place. The stretch knocks all the wind out of your lungs, and all you can do is cling to Katsuki, nails leaving red, angry lines on his well-defined back.

He wastes no time before he starts drilling into you, hips slotting in between your legs perfectly. The position has him pressed against your clit, and your entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze, with Katsuki holding both the power to have it burn even brighter and the ability to extinguish it. And you’re almost there, you can feel your soul slowly ascending, your room filled with hymns of pleasure, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, threatening to unravel along with your sanity. Katsuki can feel it too— the way you’re squeezing him tighter, how your gasps and moans have climbed just a note higher, how absolutely ruined you look, how he’s responsible for your current state. Which is exactly why he wants to push it even further, he wants to see how much you’ll break for him— and only him. 

Katsuki cuts you off right before you can reach your peak, pulling out but making sure just his tip is inserted. You come to and take a look at your lover and marvel at the sight. He has a crazed look in his eyes. The way he smirks is absolutely wicked. 

You feel distraught— having been so close but having it ripped away from you. You give your boyfriend a petulant pout.

“Katsuki,” you whine, slapping a hand against his sweaty chest, “Why’d you stop? I was so close!”

“Because I didn’t want you to cum yet,” he says simply. “You’ll be good for me, yeah? I’ll give my baby what she deserves, as long as she’s good.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. That won’t do for him.

As much as he loves seeing you indulge, he feels a need to punish you— at least a little bit to even begin to atone for being the wicked temptress you are. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Bakugo growls, gripping your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks, causing your lips to purse slightly. “I said be good, okay? Wanna take my time with you.” 

There’s a moment of respite, until you sigh in defeat, knowing better than to argue with him lest you wanted to dig your own grave. “‘Kay, ‘ki.”

He flashes you a smile. Obedient, just how he likes you. “Good girl.”

Katsuki draws his hips back, thrusting just enough to fuck his tip into you. He’s teasing. The amount of willpower on his end it takes not to cum is nauseating. 

“You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” he rasps, one hand finding their way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. Your hands reflexively grab his wrist. 

All you can manage is a fucked out moan. Katsuki has to resist the urge to coo, about how he’s managed to turn you into a cockdrunk mess in such a short matter of time. The wave of possessiveness that’s been gnawing at the depths of his soul begins to seep out, and he’s reminded of the reason why the two of you are in this position in the first place. 

He gives your throat another squeeze and a rough slap to your clit. “C’mon princess, answer me. Say it.” He slowly adds more and more pressure until your ears grow hot and air feels like a precious commodity. 

“I-i’m pretty,” you manage to gasp out, tears spilling from your lash line as you begin to lose yourself between the space of pleasure and pain. 

Good. Always so pliant for him.

“That’s right, baby,” he concedes. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He punctuates the last word with a deep thrust, right against that spongy spot that feels so good. You’re so sensitive that it’s enough to send you spiraling into your second orgasm, walls spasming around him uncontrollably. 

Katsuki stills, staving off his own release with all the restraint he can summon. He silently thanks whatever divine forces are out there that he didn’t cum the minute he felt the first clench of your orgasm. 

He grits his teeth as he wills himself to move, trying not to get lost in the wetness that envelops him. You’re babbling now, senseless moans filling Katsuki’s ears like a sweet melody. 

“Kats, please, I’m too sensitive—” You’re shaking now, muscles trembling with every thrust. 

“But I’m not done with you yet,” he says simply, drawing his hips back with a particularly rough thrust. You choke back whatever you were going to say with a loud cry. “What’s your color, baby?”

You take a moment to answer, brain trying to comprehend the words just uttered to you. You look at Katsuki firmly, “Green.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, the drive of his hips beginning to shallow. He’s close, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. But for you, he tries. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, shivering as goosebumps dance across your skin. 

“Say it,” Katsuki pleads, thrusts growing sloppy by the second. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, ‘ki.” 

With that, Katsuki’s fate is sealed. He’s left groaning as a flash of pleasure shakes his very soul, filling you up with so much cum that it dribbles onto the mattress even while he’s still inside you. You follow suit, an embarrassingly obscene rhythm of squelching noises fill the silence as you spasm around his dick. He collapses on top of you, but he’s still coherent enough to not dump all his weight on you. 

Your labored breaths fill the room as the two of you come to. Katsuki pulls out of you with a wince, still a bit sensitive. He gives you a peck on the lips before he drags himself down, settling in between your legs much like he was earlier. 

You tense up, “Kats, wait—”

Any and all protests cease the moment Bakugo works his tongue inside of you, slurping lewdly as he drags out the mixture of your cum and his, swallowing. He tries not to stimulate your puffy clit in an attempt to be merciful, but you still feel yourself steadily climbing to what would be your fourth orgasm this session. While the past three have been intense and drowning, this one comes to you in waves, dull pleasure invading your senses as Katsuki continues to eat you out to clean you up. 

He pulls away when you finish, your slick and his saliva coating his chin before he wipes it off on the back of his hand. You stare at his half-hard erection with a half concerned, half quizzical look. “Do you…” you lick your lips, “need help with that? I’m a little sensitive down there  but I could use my mout—”

“Nah, I’m good babe,” he says earnestly, flashing you a smile that he only ever shows around you. “I’ll be back.” With that, your boyfriend leaves the room only to come back with a bottle of water. 

“Drink.” You comply, finishing half the bottle graciously before handing it to him. He downs the rest before he settles next to you on the bed, laying on his side. You mirror him, shifting your body so that you’re both facing each other. 

Katsuki reaches out, finger idly tracing random shapes and lines onto the bare skin on your hip. He has a pensive look on his face, one that he usually doesn’t hold after stolen moments like this; it’s an expression he wears when he’s in deep thought. 

“Baby,” you call out. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha thinking about?” You watch as a hesitant look flashes across your boyfriend’s face before he shakes his head.

“S’nothin’. Just thinkin’ about us two.” He speaks lightly. It’s always been difficult for him to voice his inner thoughts and feelings, so he tends to beat around the bush. You’ve learned that if you ever want something out of him, you’d have to pry a little. Katsuki always indulges you though. 

“What about us?”

“Do you- do you think you’ll ever get tired of this?” He repeats himself, clearing his throat. The question is followed by a weaker, “...of me?”

You think it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever asked, because the answer should be obvious. “I’d never get tired of you, Katsuki. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replies automatically, “but if I ever do anything that upsets you, or if I get too much for you, or if I—” he’s rambling now. Yes, it’s difficult for Katsuki to talk about his feelings, but once you manage to get him to open up, all the walls of his self-made fortress come crashing down and it’s up to you to pick up the pieces. 

“Baby,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips, cupping his sharp jaw with one hand. “Look at me.” And he does— ruby eyes meeting yours. “I love you because you’re you. And I choose to be with you everyday. It’s not always gonna be perfect, no relationship is. But I know that I will always wake up and choose you.” 

You can see the anxiety melt away from Katsuki’s body, shoulders slumping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Love you too, sap,” is all he says before he’s pulling you against his chest, squeezing you into a bearhug. You two stay that way until both of you are lulled to sleep. 

You’re laying in bed with Katsuki, both of you dozing off when you hear a slight buzz from your phone on the nightstand. You squint as you try to read the notification, and make out that it’s from your friend.

Denki Kaminari: So did it work?

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, giving a quick glance over your shoulder to check on your boyfriend— fast asleep. You turn back to your phone, your thumbs making quick work at your keyboard. 

You: Just like I said it would. Thanks Denki :)

Writing belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not share my work on Tiktok.

[nightingale-fic-recs]

Some things can only be cultivated under pretenses [Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader]

Summary: You were eight years old again, hiding from Satoru's parents in his treehouse. "Then you can marry me, silly!" You sat bolt upright. "Marry me!"

Author's Notes: My first ever anime/manga fic, 17.1K words of fake dating/friends to lovers/idiots to lovers that no one asked for!! The fic practically wrote itself. If you’re reading, I hope you enjoy it! Being an American, my knowledge of Japanese language and culture is quite slim. The Japanese honorifics and nicknames I’ve used are meant to be affectionate, but I realize that the relationships themselves may have quite an American slant. I did my best, but if you notice anything off or out of line, please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Jujutsu Kaisen

Warnings/tags: non-cursed AU, best friend! Satoru Gojo, fake marriage, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, VERY suggestive content, language, minor character death(s) (past, mentioned), mention of (medical) drug usage, spoilers for/references to episodes 25-29/chapters 65-79, not beta’d!

You’re half asleep in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window when you hear a key turn in the door. Groggily, you sit up and rub your eyes, picking up your phone. 

“Babe? You home?”

You’ve got a missed text from Satoru that probably explains his otherwise unannounced arrival at your apartment. 

“In here,” you call, yawning. His snowy head pokes through the doorway and, despite the wide grin plastered on his face, you can tell something is wrong. 

“Sorry to wake you. Are you hungry? I brought ramen.” He’s disappeared into your kitchen but, despite this fabulous announcement, he comes right back around the corner to throw himself dramatically onto the opposite corner of your couch. 

Something is definitely wrong.

“Satoru?” You lean forward to touch his elbow, but he throws the arm over his eyes. He mutters something you don’t quite catch. “Say again?”

“It’s finally happened!” he shouts, though the sound is muffled by the hands he’s moved to cover his face. The same hands fly up as his head flies back, long legs kicking up to land on your coffee table with a loud bang. He turns to you with a wild, sarcastic smile. “My parents want me married, and by the end of the year. Or else I forfeit any rights to the family business, the house, my apartment, everything else.”

“Oh, Toru,” you breathe. You feel your heart lodge in the back of your throat before dropping to the ground with a dull thump. He shrugs, not meeting your gaze. 

“It doesn’t matter. I can sign over The Amanai Project to Nanami, go back to the Jujutsu Corporation…” But his voice trails off against his will and you’re already shaking your head. 

He’d started at the Jujutsu Corporation, a private security company, straight out of university. It’d been good for him- structure and discipline, and a new best friend you’d spent years convincing yourself you weren’t jealous of. You and Satoru hadn’t lost touch, but there were huge gaps in your days where he should have been. Until that new best friend called you from the hospital after a job gone wrong. 

Satoru had been hurt, badly. Multiple stab wounds, vicious and tearing. He still had scars from shoulder to hip, and a small one on his forehead from the butt of a gun.

Suguru hadn’t seen it happen; he’d watched their charge die. A bullet to the brain. Quick and clean, unlike the shooter. Satoru had sliced him up before collapsing in a pool of his own blood. 

When he woke up, he was different. 

You’d worried you’d lost him for good, for different reasons than the wounds, for months. Barely eating, hardly sleeping, withdrawn and absent. Suguru told you that at the girl’s funeral, carrying Riko Amanai’s corpse, Satoru had asked why they didn’t kill the whole family who’d ordered the execution. 

Suguru had disappeared not long after, and despite getting your best friend back, you still didn’t quite know why. You didn’t want to bring it up. 

You shuddered, remembering how… hollow Satoru had been after the entire incident. Your other friends had wanted you to drop him, offended for your sake that he’d let your friendship slide in the first place, but you’d remained steadfast. Long nights spent holding him, stroking his hair; long days of pulling him gently up to walk, of coaxing him to eat when he had no interest in it; even stripping him down to his boxers to shoulder him into his ridiculously fancy shower, washing his hair in your bathing suit until he halfheartedly pushed you out to wash himself. 

He’d been a shell, until he hadn’t. You’d shown up after work, armed with takeout and romcoms, and he’d been gone. You’d panicked, calling Suguru, who didn’t pick up, calling the housekeeper his mother had hired in an effort to keep you away, nearly breaking down and calling his mother. Then he’d barrelled through the door, smiling wide enough to showcase those tiny dimples, gushing about the non-profit he was going to start and the teenagers who’d inspired it. 

You sucked in a sharp breath. 

“You could lose The Amanai Project.”

He nodded slowly, not meeting your horrified stare. 

“That’s why I’d go back to Juju-”

“No,” you hissed. You weren’t prepared for the hopeless look he turned on you. He loved The Amanai Project, he loved the teenagers he worked with. He reached forward, clutching both of your hands in his tightly.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he pleaded. And then you were eight years old again, hiding from Satoru’s parents in his treehouse. 

“They said.”

“Grown-ups always say.”

“What if they make me?”

“They can’t make you!”

He looked at you, much too seriously for an eight year old.

“They made my dad marry my mom. They’ll make me marry someone, too. And then what am I supposed to do?” He crossed his arms, pouting, and grumbled “Don’t wanna get married.”

You grabbed his little hand with your own, beaming with all of the sincerity and cleverness of a child.

“Then you can marry me, silly.”

You sat bolt upright. 

“Marry me!” you half-shouted. At Satoru’s flinch back, you apologized softly and lowered your voice. “Marry me,” you repeated. You leaned forward, excitement brewing at the ingenuity of such a simple plan. “We can get married for however long it takes to cement your place in the family business and then get a divorce.” You squeezed his hands. “Whaddya say?”

Satoru spluttered a bit, pulling his hands back to run them through his hair- a nervous habit you hadn’t seen him make since childhood. “Babe, you shouldn’t- we can’t just- I can’t ask you to-”

“You’re not asking me for anything, I offered! Besides, think of all the fun we could have. It’d be just like our sleepovers from when we were kids.” A strange look had crossed Satoru’s face, hesitation and something like pain. You sat a little straighter, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “U-unless you don’t want to, of course. I just, I thought-”

“It’s a good idea,” he interrupted. He was focused on your hands, intertwined now in your lap. He spoke slowly, measured and thoughtful. “I just don’t want… you know how my parents can be. And what if…” He grimaced. “What if you find someone you want to be with? I don’t want to stand in your way.”

You waved this off airily. “Oh, Toru, you’ll always be part of my life. If I find someone, they’ll just have to accept the situation. Besides, there’s no reason I can’t see someone else, so long as I’m careful. It’s not like we’ll really be married.”

Satoru stood abruptly, pacing to the other side of the room, one hand raised to his chin. He stood, silent, for a long moment. You opened your mouth to say something to fill the suddenly charged space between you, but then he spoke. 

“Let me think about it.” And then in a blink, he was gone, takeout forgotten on your countertop, leaving you to blink in the void created by his absence. 

——————————————————————

The silence lasted about as long as you’d expected it would. Satoru came crashing into your apartment bright and early the next morning, singing your name. You groaned, rolling over to pick up your phone. 6:48. 

You were going to kill him. 

“Satoru Gojo!” you yelled, pulling the covers over your head. You heard him skip down the hallway and into your room. If he noticed that you’d used his full name, it didn’t deter him a bit. He flung himself down beside you, dragging you onto his chest, blankets and all. 

“My future wife!” he crooned, kissing your covered cheek. “How did you sleep?”

“It’s not even seven.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You fumbled the blankets off your head, baring your face to the weak sunlight coming in through the open window. “How am I supposed to know how I slept when it’s so early?” You rubbed at your eyes while Satoru laughed heartily, making himself comfortable on your mountain of pillows. You paused. “Did you say future wife?”

His smile widened as he sat up, shifting you from your live body pillow. “Well, yeah. That is if the offer still stands.” He twisted himself off the bed to kneel on the floor, turning you to face him all in one smooth motion. Now he held up a small, black velvet box, which he opened the moment he had your full attention. 

A stunning engagement ring glittered up at you, catching all of the light in the room and beaming it upward through the diamond in the center. 

You blanched. 

“Satoru, what is this? This must have cost a fortune-”

“Easy,” he chuckled, setting the box aside to slide the ring onto your left hand. A perfect fit. “If we’re gonna be married, we’re gonna have to put on a good show. Starting with a beautiful ring worthy of the most beautiful woman in the world.” You hadn’t said a word, dumbstruck as you gazed down at your hand. Satoru spoke more softly now. “What do you think?”

“I think you picked my dream ring,” you breathed. He beamed up at you. 

“So does that mean yes?”

“What?” You looked at him sharply, at the hopeful expression he’d turned up to you. “Of course yes, you dork. Remember that this was my idea?”

Satoru launched himself up, bearing you backward onto the bed with his arms around you. “Yay!” he squealed, and then he was kissing your cheek and nuzzling the side of your neck. “I promise to be a good husband,” he mumbled. 

You laughed, somewhat breathless. “I wasn’t worried about it.”

You felt his smile curl up against your neck while he squeezed you impossibly tighter. “You were right, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

You were gasping now, struggling to breathe beneath his weight and in his tight grip. “Toru, can’t breathe.”

He let you go with a soft “oops”, shimmying over to lay beside you with his head propped up on one hand. His eyes shone with something you couldn’t quite place, lips curled in a gentle smile as his cerulean gaze trailed lazily over your face. He finally settled on your eyes, sharing the tranquil moment with you before leaping up. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” He careened out of your room and down the hall into your kitchen, returning a moment later with a sly grin. “Close your eyes,” he sing-songed. 

“Close m-?”

“Close ‘em, woman!”

With a dramatic sigh, you did. If you hadn’t felt the slight dip in your mattress, you might not have known he’d come back until you felt his hand trace your knee lightly. “Open,” he whispered. 

Your vision was flooded with white and green; Satoru held out a colossal bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus, tied with a fat black ribbon. 

Your jaw dropped. 

Satoru straightened in pleasure. “See, I told you I’d be a good husband!” he crowed. 

You swatted at him playfully before taking the roses out of his hands. “Satoru, you know I don’t need all this.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “I have never, never seen any boyfriend spoil you before. I think it’s time someone did.”

You snorted. “You’re gonna ruin me for all other men if you keep it up.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked pleased by that. But before you could analyze the thought, he reached a hand out to you. 

“My lady.”

You laughed out loud, but took the proffered hand and slid out of bed, letting him lead you down the hall. You felt your jaw drop again when you stepped into the kitchen to see a silver tray laid out on your tiny dining table, laden with pastries and fresh fruit and a steaming pot of coffee. 

“Consider me ruined,” you mumbled, beelining for the coffee to the sound of Satoru’s raucous laughter. You smiled to yourself, and over your shoulder at him. 

This would be fun. 

——————————————————————

Reality set in slowly over the course of the next few days, for both of you.

Satoru’s parents were furious, as expected, but enough to call you directly, which was not. After all, they had always refused to acknowledge your existence, as though hoping you might disappear entirely if they ignored you for long enough.

“We know that you’ve always had a bit of trouble staying away, dear, but we had never quite expected this, this…”

“Devotion, ma’am?”

“Parasitic behavior from you!”

Ouch. 

“I assure you, Gojo-sama, I’m not marrying your son for money. As you know, we’ve always been close. I’ve always loved him.” All true, as you’d agreed the story should be. The only lie in it lay in the implication of one, tiny word. 

If anyone was close enough to spot it, it certainly wouldn’t be his parents. 

All the same, his mother groaned and his father scoffed in the background. The elder Gojo’s voice was muffled by distance when he said “Of course she has, but I’d expected Satoru, at least, to outgrow it by now.”

What?

You weren’t given an opportunity to question it, though. Satoru’s mother dismissed you, something about “being in touch” soon. Whatever that meant. 

You sat for several long moments, puzzling over that last comment. Outgrow what? His parents couldn’t possibly mean that he’d been in love with you, you would have known. Certainly, you’d had a crush on Satoru for years- your first and most long-standing crush, at that. That must be what they meant. He must’ve had a childhood infatuation, as well. Nothing more. 

You shook yourself, content to be back on solid footing, and dialed Satoru’s number by heart. He picked up on the third ring, yelling to one of the teenagers he was training, before greeting you warmly. When you relayed the conversation with his parents, minus that strange comment from his father, you could feel the waves of rage rolling off him through the phone. 

“They called you a parasite!?” he shouted, and you heard his students drop their voices to whispers. 

“Parasitic, not a parasite.”

“Oh, don’t you bullshit semantics with me,” he seethed. “How dare they, who do they think they are to talk to you that way? I won’t stand for this. They owe you an apology.” You tried to cut in, to reassure him that you were less bothered than you were, in truth, but his tirade went on without any sign of stopping. You could hear him put his phone down, still swearing and half-shouting to himself. You heard something that sounded suspiciously like wood cracking, heard him pick up his phone again, heard the bell on the gym door opening. 

“Satoru!” you shouted. 

“What!?” he shouted back. You waited patiently as he drew in a deep breath. More calmly, he repeated himself. “What?”

“Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

He was angry enough to sputter, his usual cool, smooth speech long-gone. “They can’t talk to you that way! You’re going to be my wife!”

“Fake wife,” you muttered, half amused and half touched by the vehemence of his outburst. 

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve been my best friend forever. It has to stop!”

You sighed. “You know that they’ll only think I’m a whiny, sniveling leech if you say anything.” He was silent, and you could tell from the steady hum of traffic that he’d finally stopped walking. “Go back to your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” The reply was automatic, an old joke between the two of you about his students. You heard him start walking again, and a moment later, the bell on the door jingled again. 

You heard the students perk up, clamoring and calling to him. 

“Gojo! Is everything okay?” Yuji Itadori, a selfless orphan with reflexes almost as sharp as Satoru’s. Quick to protect anyone and everyone around him. Heart of gold, worn proudly on his sleeve for all to see. 

“Where do you think you’re going? Were you just going to leave us here?” Nobara Kugisaki, a spitfire girl who masked every insecurity with arrogance to rival Satoru’s, though she hadn’t mastered his admirable level of control. 

“What crawled up your ass?” Megumi Fushiguro. You didn’t like to pick favorites, but you couldn’t pretend you didn’t hold a special fondness for him. Unflappable, unshakable. Level-headed and calculating. He reminded you of Satoru the most. Maybe that’s why you liked him best. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, the gym would collapse without me in it. Get back to work.” There he was, all smooth edges and silken confidence. Like nothing ever happened. To you, he grumbled, “This isn’t over.”

Once upon a time, you’d believed that nothing could get under his skin. In all your years of friendship, you’d never seen him lose his temper until after the incident. Even since, it was a rare occurrence, but you’d quickly learned how to reel him back. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Not over, but over for now. 

——————————————————————

One thing you hadn’t put much thought into was telling your parents. They reacted about as you’d expected, though- thrilled to be welcoming their bonus child to the family in an official capacity, “after all these years”. 

“Oh, hime, how wonderful! He’s such a sweet boy. I’ll come dress shopping with you!”

Your heart twinged with guilt. Your mother would be heartbroken when you inevitably divorced a year or two down the road. 

“Maybe we should tell them,” mused Satoru. He tilted his head back to look up from your lap. “What are the chances that they’ll ever talk to my parents? Or tell anyone else? They can keep a secret.”

You shook your head slowly, focused on a point somewhere past where your fingers threaded through his soft hair. “I think they’d be more heartbroken to hear that we aren’t really in love.”

When Satoru didn’t say anything, you looked down at him. He was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t read, eyes darkening to a rich turquoise. He’d reached up to loop his hand loosely around your wrist without you noticing, stroking the sensitive skin over your pulse. Something about the look in his eyes had you suddenly incapable of thinking of anything but his father’s strange statement. 

“I’d expected Satoru, at least, to outgrow it by now.”

You swallowed, hard, scrambling for some way to ask without making everything incredibly awkward. You knew you were just friends. Hearing him say it would settle it once and for all. 

“Right,” Satoru drawled. He sat up, rising from the couch. “Better to tell them marriage just wasn’t what we thought.”

Somehow, somewhere, you’d made a wrong turn in this conversation. You weren’t sure what had happened, but something wasn’t right. You were getting to your feet when Satoru turned in the doorway, smirking with that wild spark in his ridiculously blue eyes. 

“You probably shouldn’t say it to your parents, but you can tell anyone else who asks that I couldn’t keep up with your appetite.” His smile only widened when you tilted your head in confusion. “Sexually.”

Your mouth dropped open on a gasp of his name, blood flooding your cheeks. His laughter was pealing off your hallway walls by the time you thought to throw the cushion in your hands. It bounced harmlessly off the wall, falling lightly to the floor. 

You sprinted down the hallway, raining your fists down on Satoru’s turned back as he laughed, before jumping up and locking one arm around his neck. You used the other to ruffle his hair as he instinctively took hold of your thighs, giving you just enough height to lean over his shoulder and bite the lobe of his ear gently. 

You were the one laughing uncontrollably, now, but you didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath or the way he tensed within your hold. Interesting. You tucked that away with every intention of examining it later. 

“That’s it!” His voice was slightly hoarse as he spun, racing across the hall to your living room. You shrieked as he wheeled this way and that, his strong grip the only thing keeping you secured to his back. He turned and abruptly released his hold on you, sending you tumbling back onto your couch in a cacophony of giggles. 

He turned a smug smile on you. “And with that, no dinner for wifey.”

You let out an indignant squawk, scrambling down the hall after him. Despite his threats, he was spoon-feeding you miso soup within minutes, smiling wide as you stuck out your tongue. 

“I’m not telling anyone that,” you muttered. 

Satoru nodded sagely. “You’re right, can’t go tarnishing my reputation.”

You let out a loud, undignified guffaw of laughter. “Reputation? You?”

Satoru pulled back indignantly. “You think I don’t have a reputation?” You leveled him with your blankest stare, but he stared right back, one eyebrow quirked up. You found yourself crumbling first, suddenly unsure of yourself. “You have a reputation?”

That broke his stoicism. He cracked a wide grin, looking down to stir his dinner. “Nah, just wanted to watch you squirm.” You both smiled, shoving each other playfully from across the table. 

“I’m sure there have been… people though, right?”

Satoru’s head snapped up, eyes almost comically wide in some combination of shock and… nerves?

“What?” he rasped. You caught him with a mouthful of miso – he was probably trying not to choke.

“I mean I’m sure there have been girls, or boys…” you trailed off at the puzzled expression he wore. But now that you’d thought about it, you’d never seen him with anyone, not since high school.

“How did you know I’m bi?”

Not the question you’d been expecting.

“Satoru,” you deadpanned. “Do you remember when you got caught kissing Yoshio Kiyama under the bleachers in sixth grade?”

A faint blush rose in his pale cheeks. “Oh, right.”

“Yeah, genius, I’m the one who found you?” You started laughing, memories of your eleven year-old self bubbling to the surface. “I remember I was so disappointed, but then you asked out Akiko Hoshino for the school dance and I-” You stopped speaking abruptly, horrified at your partial admission, and prayed to the gods that Satoru wouldn’t notice. 

Of course where the gods were concerned, Satoru would always find favor. 

You swore you could see his ears perk up. “Disappointed, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you mumbled. 

“Oh no no, you’re not getting out of this one.” He stood, coming around to your side of the table and pulling you up. Then he sat in your chair, dragging you unceremoniously down onto his lap. “Disappointed why?”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, turning your face away. “Because I had a crush on you, Satoru! We were eleven years old and I had a crush and I thought you only liked boys and so I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have a chance with you. But then you asked out Akiko Hoshino, so then I knew that you liked boys and girls.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And then you pined away for me for the month that I dated Akiko, right?” he crooned, obviously delighted. 

You scoffed, but felt your throat closing slightly. “No, then I got over you.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “That fast, huh?”

“Yeah, it was pretty quick.”

He released you in favor of clapping his hands to his heart, head thrown back.

“My darling wife, you wound me so!” he cried. You laughed, tapping your ring finger.

“That’s fiancé to you, I’m not your wife yet.”

He sat back up, grinning. “Soon enough.” His cerulean eyes glittered in a way that sparked something deep inside you, excitement and anticipation lighting in your veins. 

“Two,” he murmured. 

You blinked. “Two what?”

“Two people.” He reached up to smooth a stray hair from your face, a gesture so tender that your breath caught. “One boy, one girl. And now, you.”

“Well, sort of.” You meant to be teasing, but it came out shakier than you meant. What was happening to you?

And there was that unreadable expression, paired with the slightest of smiles. “Yeah, sort of.”

——————————————————————

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get to see the dress.”

Satoru whines from the other end of the phone. “Why nooot? I’m paying for it, aren’t I?”

Despite your mother’s wish to come dress shopping with you, she’d been unable to make the journey. Despite his protests, she couldn’t bear to leave your father alone. He needed her too much after his accident; slow and unsteady on his best days, bedridden on his worst. So you’d settled on FaceTime instead. Now the four of you were on a call together- you, your parents, and Satoru- as you made your way down the busy Tokyo street to your car.

“You know I don’t actually have the dress with me, right?” you said wryly. Satoru’s confused outburst blended with your mother‘s tinkling laughter, tugging at the little girl deep under your skin. You felt your lips curve up in an involuntary smile.

“Patience, bocchan. You’ll see her on your wedding day.”

“That’s so far, though!” whined Satoru.

“It’s only another month, my dear! So eager.” You heard your father chuckling in the background, making some muffled statement about your parents’ traditional, long engagement. Your mother murmured something sweet back to him, but when she spoke into the phone again, her voice was filled with mischief. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant, hime?”

“M-mother!” you sputtered. On the other end, Satoru howled with laughter. All the same, he composed himself much more quickly than you. 

“Okan, no. That would be impossible. I’ve been a perfect gentleman! Besides, we’re not even living together. 

“Oh!” Your mother seemed genuinely surprised. “Well no, I suppose neither of you have said that you are. I see that I simply assumed…”

“Actually, we haven’t discussed the living situation yet.” You leapt on the opportunity to change the subject, still trying to get your breathing under control. For some reason you couldn’t quite pin down, your mother‘s joke had left your heart racing long after the shock should’ve worn off.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make either of you uncomfortable, we’re just so exc-”

You and Satoru cut her off simultaneously, talking over each other to assure her that she hadn’t.

“We’ll just move into your place, right babe?”

You stopped walking. “Satoru, why would we move into my shitty apartment when yours is twice the size?”

“Because your place is so much cozier!” 

Then there was an almighty crash and Satoru began swearing. A moment later, after making his apologies to your mother, he was saying he loved you and hanging up. Your heart raced a bit, even as you giggled with your mother over “his kids”.

As you walked up to your car, you heard your father ask for a glass of water. “Oh, dear, look at the time. I’m sorry my darling, but I need to go. I have to leave now if I want to get to the bank before it closes, and then I have to go to the shops, and then I have to make dinner…”

You smiled to yourself, sliding behind the wheel of your beaten old sedan. “Have a good night, mama. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You turned the key in the ignition and looked at your watch. Satoru’s class would be ending soon. You could spend that time doing errands, washing your car, or even tidying up your apartment. But you felt lazy and lightweight and you hadn’t seen the kids in some time. 

With a smile, you drove to the juice shop you and Satoru liked, ordering the too-sweet strawberry smoothie he loved and something new for yourself to try. After only a second’s hesitation, you picked out an assortment of treats, putting everything on Satoru’s card. Today, for the kids, you’d let him spoil you. 

Arms filled with sweets and smoothies, you managed to get from the shop to your car and your car to The Amanai Project. The gym was housed in a metal and concrete building on the border of one of the poorer neighborhoods in the city. Posters advertising free self-defense classes, public safety seminars, and charity races papered the windows beside a much more understated plaque offering pro bono legal counsel for kids victimized by violent crime.

Every time you came here, you couldn’t squelch the feeling of your heart growing several sizes. You were just trying to decide how best to manage the door when it swung open. Kento Nanami, Satoru’s somewhat business partner and the lawyer offering his services, held it wide and nodded a greeting as you shimmied through. 

“Thanks, Nanami. How are you?”

“I’d be better if I didn’t have to deal with that crazy man,” he grumbled, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I hear congratulations are in order, though.”

Startled, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “O-oh, yes, thank you so much!”

He nodded again, turning to step through the doorway, but paused. “You’re good for him, and you’ll be good for each other.” With that, he turned again and left you staring at the swinging door. That was as much a speech as you’d ever heard out of Nanami, but you didn’t have time to digest it. 

Kugisaki shrieked your name, abandoning her training to race across the room to you. Her squeals drew the attention of everyone else in the room, too. Itadori looked up from where he stood patching a hole in the wall, dropping the putty knife he was wielding into a can of spackle, and made to run toward you before Satoru’s sharp voice cut him off. 

“Itadori!”

“Aww, Gojo, I’ll fix it in a second!”

You giggled at the interaction. Clearly, the source of the sound Satoru had hung up for. 

Fushiguro nodded politely at you from his place in the ring, taking advantage of your arrival to gulp down a bottle of water. 

And then there was the man himself, lifting the blindfold he used when he sparred- “to help him hone his senses”. His eyes looked bluer than ever against the black and white contrast of material and hair. He smiled when he saw you, looking surprised but immeasurably pleased. 

Then Kugisaki was shoveling everything out of your arms, extending her hands to grasp yours. “Let’s see this ring!”

At that, Itadori did drop the putty knife, tuning Satoru’s warnings out with admirable success. Even Fushiguro sauntered over, hands tucked into his pockets, to lean down. You locked eyes with Satoru, cheeks warming under the kids’ attention.

Kugisaki and Itadori took turns bouncing on the balls of their feet, shrieking, alternating between hugging you and each other. Fushiguro studied the ring and then turned back to the ring, tossing a genuinely impressed “Nice job, Gojo” over his shoulder. Satoru sidled up to you, snaking an arm around your waist to draw you close enough that he could kiss your cheek. 

He was still smiling at you when Itadori shouted. “Hey Gojo, what was that? You gotta kiss her for real!”

Satoru whirled. “What!?”

“Yeah, kiss her for real!” squealed Kugisaki. She and Itadori swatted at each other in excitement, eyes glued to you and Satoru.

He pointed menacingly at them both. “You little pervs-”

“You can’t shut up about her all day, and now that she’s here you won’t even kiss her?” You laughed at the deadpan stare Fushiguro gave his teacher, highly amused by the entire ordeal.

With a rush of boldness, you grasped Satoru’s collar, turning him to face you, and pulled him down to your mouth. A bolt of electricity shot through you when your lips touched, and if Satoru’s muffled gasp was any indication, he wasn’t unaffected either. The kiss was brief, a slide of lips that was over much too soon, and then you were releasing him. You heard Kugisaki squealing, a loud clap as Itadori and Fushiguro high-fived each other, their thrilled chatter; it all faded to the background as you looked at Satoru.

Eyes half-lidded, color high in his cheeks, he seemed unable to catch his breath. He stood, still bent to your height, staring at your lips. You felt heat rising in your own cheeks, boldness entirely dissipated as you wondered whether you’d crossed some line or other. His tongue darted out to swipe his lips. The tittering in the background was quickly dying. You’d expected Satoru to have some ready quip, to turn and showboat for his students. It was becoming increasingly obvious that you’d have to be the one to act.

Thinking fast, you reached over to the counter where Kugisaki had dumped the haul you’d brought, fumbling a smoothie into Satoru’s frozen hands. You pasted a smile on and patted his cheek, turning to the collection of treats.

“Alright, you hooligans, I brought something for you. Courtesy of Gojo Sensei.” 

The boisterous sounds of teenagers started up just as quickly as they’d stopped, with Itadori and Kugisaki fighting over who got first pick of the sweets. Fushiguro waited patiently for the other two to dispense with their theatrics, picking up a sweet roll with a quiet word of thanks. You waved it off as you raised your smoothie to your lips, flinching when you tasted how overwhelmingly sweet it was. You turned to find Satoru standing behind you, holding out your smoothie. Besides a slight dusting of pink across the tops of his cheeks, he seemed entirely composed again. 

“Sorry,” you murmured, trading cups with him.

He quirked an eyebrow at you as he raised his smoothie to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he licked the side of his straw, finally drawing it into his mouth. He took several long swallows, holding your gaze unwaveringly as he did. Something about the action seemed intimate, provocative, and it was heating your insides. What on earth was happening to you?

“Oh, please.” His voice was lower than usual, husky. “Don’t be.”

——————————————————————

For once, you wound up at Satoru’s apartment. He’d walked you to your car, only half a lot away from his, only to find that it wouldn’t start. Why drive across town to your place, only to need a ride back in the morning to meet the tow truck, when you could simply stay the night with him? You had your laptop, there was no reason you couldn’t work from his home office the next day while he was away at family business meetings.

As he unlocked the front door, you tried to remember the last time you’d been here, rather than having him over to your shabby, cramped shoebox. You never could quite put your finger on why, but he loved your place. Cozy, he’d called it. And you guessed it was, in comparison.

He flipped on the light, the sound echoing down the hall, and stepped over the threshold, gesturing for you to step inside. You toed off your shoes, padding through the house to the kitchen. Satoru followed, stripping off his jacket and the blindfold he’d been wearing like a headband.

“I don’t think there’s much in the fridge, but we can order takeout. You remember where the menus are?”

“Of course.” You opened the right-most drawer in the island, withdrawing a stack of takeout menus with a grin.

Satoru grinned right back. “Order whatever you want, pick something good for me. I’m going to take a shower real quick.” You hummed as he dropped his wallet on the counter, thumbing through the worn pages before you.

When Satoru had first moved into this apartment, his mother had hired a maid and a chef. Only the best for her precious son, you thought wryly. Satoru hadn’t been having it. He’d been polite to them, of course, but kept an impeccable house with nothing for the maid to clean, and ordered takeout every night, leaving the chef’s meals untouched in the refrigerator before insisting she take them home herself. When his mother had shown up to scold him, he’d listened patiently to her lecture and then promptly changed the locks. 

You grinned at the memory, but it was short-lived. Your thoughts drifted to the time after he’d come home from the hospital, silent and uninterested in food, keeping a clean house, or anything else. His mother had hired a housekeeper again, insisting that your presence was unnecessary. In spite of her cold words and colder attitude, you’d stuck around, trying to get Satoru to take an interest in… anything.

He’d lost so much weight in those months.

You shook yourself out of your spiraling thoughts. Whatever had prompted him, he’d bought the gym for The Amanai Project, sent the housekeeper home with her next month’s pay, a bouquet of flowers, and his thanks, and changed the locks all in one day.

His mother had been furious.

That thought made you smile, despite yourself.

You heard the shower start, picked a menu at random, and called the number. You ordered enough sushi to feed a small army- an assortment of maki and uramaki rolls, nigiri, sashimi, miso soup, and two servings of deep-fried bananas- and smiled when you opened Satoru’s wallet to a picture of the two of you.

You made a circuit of the apartment while you waited. It looked just like it had the last time you’d been here, neat and bare. You walked into the home office, the only room with any personality, and smied at the photos scattered over the walls and shelves. You and Satoru as children, as teenagers at prom together, beaming together on the day you’d both graduated university; photos of him standing with his parents and grandparents, more serious than you were used to seeing him; and then, another photo, tucked behind several others. You stopped to pick it up.

Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru sat in a line, all beaming at the camera. Satoru’s arm reached around Shoko’s back, hand resting on Suguru’s shoulder. You could hardly see his eyes behind the dark glasses he wore, but you thought his eyes might’ve been on Suguru.

You swallowed back a painful lump in your throat. You’d lied when you said your crush on Satoru had been over quickly. It had lasted well into your teenage years, only abating when you assumed Suguru had taken your place as his best friend. Tall, handsome, charming Suguru with his smooth voice, soft smile, and never putting up with Satoru’s shit. That was until he disappeared, right when Satoru became a shell.

You knew the events were related, but you’d never found the courage to ask. Now, looking at this photo, you wondered what had happened to him. You wondered what had happened to Shoko, too. You knew she and Satoru still spoke from time to time, but they’d been closer before. Jealousy pricked at your heart before you stomped it ruthlessly out.

It had been a silly crush, nothing more. You were best friends. That was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and more than you could say for the other two.

You scolded yourself for being uncharitable, returning the picture frame to its place on the shelf before stalking from the office to Satoru’s bedroom.

The bed was perfectly made, unrumpled and unslept in. You realized with a jolt that the last time you’d been in his bedroom had been during those awful months, two years ago. You scowled lightly, turning back to the living room, and noticed for the first time that the larger couch looked slightly rumpled, with a throw blanket haphazardly hanging from the back- the only item out of place in the whole apartment.

In the bathroom, the tap turned off. You darted out of the bedroom, opting to sit at the kitchen island, watching the city lights from the picture window. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before you could feel Satoru behind you, even though you hadn’t heard him approach. 

When you turned, he was smiling softly at you. 

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

You knew you’d shocked him by the smile he flipped up. “Whaaat? No, of course no-”

“Toru.”

He glares at you, but doesn’t answer. He’s saved by the doorbell, which he bolts to answer. 

You let out a breath, turning to the fridge to get drinks. You pull out two bottles of tea, along with a glass and a container of honey for Satoru. He’s laying out your feast, eyes pointedly on the food. 

You decide not to push the issue. For now. 

“I left some clothes for you in the bathroom,” he says. 

“Thank you,” you hum. “I’ll shower as soon as we’re done here.”

He hums in return, mouth already filled with food, then swallows. “Sorry about the kids,” he says. 

You grin. “Sorry for rocking your world.”

A strange look passes over his features, and when he speaks, you get the feeling that he’s not saying what he had intended to. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re not that good.” The words drip with his customary, good-natured arrogance, complete with the full-blown smirk you’ve only ever seen on him. He winks, making you laugh, but there’s some tiny part of you that’s oddly wounded by this. 

He’s returned his focus to his meal, but then he looks up at you from under his stark, white lashes. His voice is softer, more sincere when he speaks again. 

“We should practice.”

And for a moment, the absurdity of the statement is so intense that you can’t, won’t understand him. 

“Practice what?”

“Kissing.” He says it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to say. 

You choke on your tea. 

“We should practice kissing,” you drone back. 

Satoru throws his hands in the air. “Exactly! I’m glad you agree.” When you continue to stare, he chuckles, going back to his food. “I think the gig would be up if something like that happened in front of our wedding guests.” 

And after a moment’s contemplation, you have to admit that he’s right. You hadn’t considered the way you’d appear to onlookers. Years and years of close friendship had you comfortable with each other, in each others’ space, and you knew you’d look genuine to anyone close enough to see you, because your affection for each other was genuine. You and Satoru had always been touchy- leaning on each other or holding hands, arms around each other or brushing when you walked or talked. Physical closeness was natural to you both. 

But kissing each other was not natural, you told yourself. Even as your mind unhelpfully reminded you that it had felt quite natural to lean up and press your lips to his. You blinked away the memory, pasting on a smile to hide your unease at the way your heartbeat sped. 

“Oh yeah, I’d expected a smoother recovery from you,” you teased. “What did the kids have to say about that?”

He grumbled something that sounded distinctly like “lovesick fool”, but when you asked for Satoru to repeat himself, he said “They said it was so cool.”

You giggled. “It’s ‘cause they’ve never seen anyone shut you up.”

He lay a hand against his heart. “It’s because they never believe me when I say the ladies love me. Victory has never tasted so sweet.” You laughed, Satoru smiled, and what little tension had managed to build dissipated. 

You stood to stretch. “I’ll make us breakfast tomorrow if you do the dishes.”

Satoru scoffed. “I have a perfectly good dishwasher, and we both know I’ll be up way before you.”

You stuck your tongue out, earning you a snicker. “I’m going to shower.” Satoru waved you off, stuffing the last of his deep-fried bananas into his mouth as he brushed off his hands. You padded into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and stripped off your clothes once the door shut behind you. Stepping into the shower, you let the scalding water soothe your muscles as your mind kicked into overdrive. 

Practice kissing Satoru Gojo. Something pooled low in your belly, something hungry and molten.

You knew, logically, that having the friendship with him that you do put you in a position most girls would be wildly envious of. You’d always known that, even if it hadn’t affected you. So why is it affecting you now? 

You knew, logically, that Satoru is insanely attractive. You’d seen it firsthand countless times over the years. Any time you’d go out together, you could feel jealous stares on you, even if Satoru never noticed. It used to make you feel somewhat smug, and somewhat guilty, as though your presence could keep away the girl he was meant to have. You would tease him, shamelessly mocking the fluttering lashes and starry eyes turned his way. So why did you feel so starry-eyed yourself?

You knew, logically, that this was a good and smart plan. His parents would be looking for any sign that this marriage was less than what it seemed, and it was wise to cover your bases. You just had to think about it intellectually. Just had to remember that it was all part of the trick.

Dressing in his boxers and sweats and a shirt two sizes too big, you step into his bedroom to see him reclining on the bed, face flushed and chest heaving, and all wisdom deserts you. 

His eyes are closed. He’s got one muscled arm propped behind his head, while the long fingers of his other hand stroke that damn blindfold thoughtfully. He turns and pierces you with that blue gaze, eyes darker than usual, and inclines his head slightly as he takes in a deep breath. His eyes rake you from head to toe, taking in the way you swim in his clothes. You pad toward the bed, crawling over the expanse of it until you lay next to him, hands laced nervously over your stomach.

He sits up to place the blindfold on the nightstand, then rolls so that he’s hovering over you. “Shall we?” he murmurs. His voice is velvet, soft and rough, and intellectual thought becomes more difficult as you try to remember the last time you kissed anyone before today.

You nod. It feels stiff, and you hope that he doesn’t notice. Hell, of course he notices. You hope that he can’t see why you’re so uptight, and do your best to tuck away your racing thoughts so that you can’t examine them either.

He raises his free hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek, touch so feather-soft that you could’ve almost imagined it. You don’t know which of you moved first, but you’re inexplicably closer to each other now, noses nearly touching. Satoru’s warm, sweet breath ghosts over your lips. His luminescent eyes scan your face, searching for… what? you wonder breathlessly.

It’s an agonizingly long moment in which your traitorous brain chants kisshimkisshimkisshim.

“Relax,” he whispers, and you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

His lips brush yours, lighter than his fingertips on your jaw. Then again, with the barest hint of pressure. You’ve only just begun, but your heart is already pounding. Satoru kisses you a third time and the trick is all but forgotten.

He moves his lips slowly, carefully against yours. You exercise every last ounce of restraint to move as slowly, as carefully as he does. Gentle as this is, your lungs are burning for air by the time he pulls back, only far enough so that you can both gulp down the warm air between you. He shifts so that his body partially covers yours before descending again. This time, in addition to the soft pressure, his tongue slides delicately over your bottom lip. 

Forgetting yourself, you grip the front of his t-shirt, dragging him down so suddenly that he grunts, mouth parting to allow your tongue to explore. You run it along the back of his teeth, the inside of his bottom lip, sliding it against his as he presses into your mouth for his turn.

His tongue is slow, gentle, as he maps the inside of your mouth. The hand that’s not propping him up is on your neck now, thumb across the front of your throat, caressing the flesh there. You begin to lose patience, unable to grasp how unaffected he is by this when you’re so close to abandoning your dignity for more, more, more. 

With as much self-control as you can muster, you slide one hand around his side under his shirt. His breath catches. Your hands must be cold. You use your grip on his shirt and his waist to pull until he loses his balance, body pressed against you for one short, blissful moment. Your eyes shoot open, meeting a roiling ocean as your hips meet and you feel something hard against your inner thigh. Wait, is he…?

He lifts himself so that he hovers over you, body too far away now for you to confirm what you thought you felt. He kisses you several times in quick succession, lighter than before, as he holds himself up over you. You wonder if you’re imagining the quiver in his limbs; you must be.

Then he pulls back with a crazed smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. His cheeks flame and his blown pupils snap with something you don’t have a name for.

“Well that was much better,” he says. Then you blink and he’s up, sitting on the side of the bed for just a second before standing up. He walks out of the room and you’re left reeling, lifting a hand to your swollen lips.

What just happened?

Anxiety is beginning to build before he’s back in the doorway with a glass of water in hand. He hits the lightswitch before coming in, hiding himself from your searching eyes in the gloom, backlit by the lamp in the living room.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass. You sit up and take it from his hands, draining the whole thing to wash the addictive taste of him out of your mouth enough to concentrate. It hardly works.

He’s halfway across the room before you realize it, and you find panic flooding your chest again.

“Wait!” you call. He stops, turning so that you can just make out his profile in the dark.

You feel tongue-tied. Against your will, you remember the way you felt at eleven, at fourteen, at sixteen, unable to speak or move or breathe around him, so in awe of his presence.

This would be a really, really bad time for those feelings to resurface.

But you can’t seem to stop them.

“What?” You must have been quiet for too long, because his voice is tinged with worry.

You scramble for any coherent thought.

“Where are you going?”

You see him raise a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous gesture startlingly like one the boy from your scrambled thoughts makes.

“The couch. I figured you could sleep in the bed, and I-”

“You should stay,” you cut off. After what had just happened, after knowing what it felt like to kiss him, if you’d put any thought into anything else first, you’d have never gotten the words out. 

But you couldn't think. Not now, not with the taste of him on your tongue. Regardless of your mounting fear and his being the source, you couldn’t bear for him to be away from you. Not now.

Satoru didn’t say anything. He stood frozen, and again, you began to wonder whether some invisible boundary had been crossed.

Maybe this was why friends didn’t kiss each other.

Shame and nerves choked you. You shouldn’t have touched him, shouldn’t have embarrassed him like that. Of course it was natural for his thoughts to wander, it certainly had nothing to do with you. A natural response, nothing mo-

“Okay.”

You let out a breath and the pounding in your ears subsided. He left the room, returning after flipping off the light in the living room, and lowered himself gently into the bed. He stretched out on his back, hands at his sides, and you lowered yourself to the cushions with yours tucked to your chest.

The silence was deafening. You weren’t used to it, banter flowing easily from both sides for all your lives.

You turned abruptly, unable to bear it any longer.

“Toru, what happened? With Suguru? And with Shoko?”

He sucked in a breath from his place across the bed. You worried again, as was becoming too common, that you shouldn’t have spoken. He didn’t speak for so long that you thought he wouldn't answer you, and then you started to worry that he’d call off the whole fake wedding or, worse, your whole friendship.

You’d never asked, too afraid of sending him spiralling off the precipice and losing him entirely. But you were so off-balance from the raging storm of your emotions that you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Amanai died.”

You counted several beats before speaking. “I know that part,” you said softly. “Suguru was with her when she was shot, right?”

A long pause. “Yeah.”

“And you were outside.”

“Yeah.”

“Satoru, it wasn’t your fault.”

“We were arrogant.” There was self-loathing dripping from the words. “We shouldn't have assumed the estate would be safe ground.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. This had been a mistake. Damn your curiosity, you should never have dredged this up. 

“I wanted… I killed that guy, the shooter.” You’d known, but the jolt that went through you reminded you that he’d never actually said it out loud. Not to you. “And I wanted to kill the whole group of them, that whole family that ordered the execution. Everyone who stood there, applauding that a fifteen year-old girl was dead. And I would have snapped and done it if Suguru hadn’t stopped me.”

Your heart constricted painfully. Suguru had said, but you hadn’t realized it had been so serious. Satoru let out a long sigh. Subconsciously, you reached out to loop your fingers through his. He squeezed gently.

“Remember the week after the funeral, that day I left you here? When Shoko called?” You nodded. You’d handed him the phone when Shoko asked, watching wordlessly as he stalked out, and then sat in his apartment, drowning in terror until he’d walked back through the door, silent as when he’d left. He turned to you now. Even in the dark, you could make out the faint gleam of his eyes. “Sorry for scaring you, back then,” he whispered. You reached your other hand out to lay it on his chest.

He took in another deep breath. “Suguru went out on a job. He was supposed to bring some guy in for questioning.” You waited with bated breath for him to say the words you didn’t want to hear. “He killed him.”

You sat up, peering down through the darkness. “What?”

“He killed him. Told the board that it was self-defense, but Shoko and I knew it wasn’t. He confessed it to her, and she told me.” You sat in stunned silence. This was so much worse than you’d imagined it could be.

“And you?” Satoru said nothing. Dread pricked your spine. “You… you wanted to…”

“I didn’t, though.” He’d tensed, as though he expected you to draw away at any moment. “Shoko had already built a case against him when she called me. She just needed a confession. So I got it. Even if I thought that it wasn’t fair.”

You scooted the tiniest bit closer. “Not fair?”

Satoru looked at you out of the corner of his eye, seeming to consider his next words. “That he found the absolution he denied me.”

You considered that. “Did you ever find it?” you finally asked. “Absolution?”

He seemed to hold his breath. “I think so,” he said softly. You nodded, and for long minutes, you each sat lost in thought under the cover of darkness. Then, when sleep pressed you down, you closed the last distance between you to lay your head on his chest. You felt Satoru start before carefully wrapping an arm around you. And maybe you were already dreaming, but you thought you felt him press a gentle kiss to your temple.

You wondered again if you were dreaming when you woke, warm and comfortable. You blinked yourself awake, squinting at the clock across the room. Too early. You flopped your head back down and then froze when the arm around your waist pulled you back against a feverish body.

Satoru.

You raised your head, blinking at the clock again in disbelief. Satoru was always up at the crack of dawn. 7:45 was not late, but most days he’d already be out and about. Carefully, so as not to wake him, you turned your head. His brilliant white hair flopped over his eyes, making him look vulnerable. Young, so like the little boy you’d said you’d marry all those years ago.

You smiled at the memory and rested your head back on your pillow. You looked at the clock. 7:46. You’d let him sleep until 8:00. You began to snuggle backward and froze.

You could feel Satoru’s length pressed against the curve of your butt. For one, heartstopping moment, you let yourself melt back. Then you were berating yourself. 

He was asleep, nothing more. No man woke up in bed with any girl without a hard-on and it had nothing to do with you.

The moment you broke contact, that arm tightened again, drawing you back more firmly. You muffled a groan, letting your eyes slide shut. 

A really, really bad time for those feelings to resurface again, you thought dryly, heart speeding against your ribcage. You glanced up. 7:47.

You couldn’t lay here like this for thirteen minutes. You’d just have to slide out from his grasp and hope you didn’t wake him.

Just before you moved though, Satoru breathed in deeply. His arms tightened around you again, one hand lowering to your hip to press you back against him. You held your breath as he nuzzled the side of your neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. He curled further around you, molding your body against his. It made you feel weak. “What time is it?”

You turned to the clock again, cheeks burning. “7:48.”

“Shit!” Satoru flew up, making it from the far side of the bed to the bathroom in one fluid motion. The door slammed and you stared at it for a moment before you started to giggle. Well, so much for breakfast.

It’s 7:51 when the bathroom door flies open to reveal Satoru in all his shirtless glory, muscles rippling as he tears through his closet, toothbrush clenched between his teeth. Then it’s back to the bathroom, door not quite shut, and you have to make yourself turn away from the sliver of pale skin you can see through the crack. You hear him spit, then the door swings open again. 7:53. He’s fumbling the last few buttons on his shirt, long legs carrying him to the mirror in the corner.

“Sorry, babe, I have an errand I have to run before the meeting this morning.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning his head side to side, and then spins and walks toward you. “Tow company will be here to pick you up at nine.” He bends down, planting his hands on either side of your shoulders, and kisses you passionately before sprinting out the door. “Call me if they give you any trouble!”

The front door slams, and seven minutes after waking up, the whirlwind that is your best friend storms out the front door. You raise a hand unconsciously to your lips.

What in the world?

By the time you manage to haul yourself out of bed, after an already eventful morning, you’ve convinced yourself that this is simply more practice. Building habits, as it were, so as not to raise suspicion when you inevitably end up out with his family, out with friends.

It makes perfect sense. 

You brush your teeth and get dressed, in the same clothes you wore here yesterday, and open your laptop to get a little work done before the tow company picks you up. Just as Satoru said they would, they ring the bell at nine sharp. You stuff your laptop into your bag, locking the door with your spare key, and follow the driver to his truck. 

You make polite small-talk with the driver- mostly about your crappy car- for the short drive to the tow yard, thanking him as he holds the door open for you. When you turn toward the office, he stops you.

“Oh, miss, I have your key right here.”

He hands you a key that certainly isn’t yours. You look from it to him.

“This isn’t my key.”

The driver scratches the back of his neck, pointing across the lot. “Well, according to Mr. Gojo, it is.”

You turn to see a shiny new coupe with a massive red bow on the hood. You blink at it, then turn back to the driver. “Where’s my car?”

He shifts his weight nervously. “I don’t rightly know, miss. Mr. Gojo called yesterday and said not to worry about it. Said he’d be dropping off a new one- nothing but the best for his fiancée. Came by this morning, handed me the key himself.”

You turn back to the car in stunned silence.

“I can see about getting your old car back, miss…”

“No, thank you.” You turned to smile at the driver. “I can take it up with my fiancé.” 

The driver nodded, shuffling off to the office in the center of the lot at great speed. You walked over to your new ill-gotten vehicle, circling it slowly. This was a huge gift.

You let yourself into the driver’s seat, reveling in the luxury of a vehicle younger than yourself, let alone one of such caliber. Then, calmly, you dialed Satoru’s number.

The phone rang twice, and then he picked up with a joyous “Love of my life!”

You sucked down a breath, and then roared into the phone. “GOJO!”

——————————————————————

The final weeks until the wedding are so busy that you hardly have time to think about the day itself, but they’re a raging success.

You and Satoru go apartment hunting, despite your protests, and end up with a penthouse apartment with an office, a guest room, and more space than you know how to decorate. He hires a moving company to pack your humble, cozy apartment and his sleek one, refusing to hear any protests about keeping your lease.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to get you out of that shithole for years. You really think I’m letting this opportunity pass me by?” You grumble about making rent and he tugs you close with an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Rent, as if. Consider it repayment for going along with all this.”

You don’t bother pointing out that “all this” was your idea in the first place; you know it would be useless.

Your parents fly in the week of the wedding and insist on taking you and Satoru out for dinner “one last time before the big day” as thanks for Satoru’s generosity in putting them up in “such a lovely hotel”.

You go to your final fitting and your dress is perfect, curving and flowing in all the right places. Your mother cries, and that sets you to crying too. 

Satoru kisses you, more than once. He kisses you first thing every morning when you emerge from his room, kisses you each time you pass each other over the course of the days, kisses you last thing at night before making himself comfortable on the couch. You have to force yourself not to ask him to stay in the bed with you, afraid of what you might do if he agrees.

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real.

Shoko comes to town, determined not to miss the big event despite the space that’s opened up between her and Satoru. Seeing them together, you realize that it probably never opened at all. It’s Suguru’s space; a tiny, infinite rift between them. You can see how bittersweet the reunion is, for both of them, and find yourself hoping that it won’t be the last time they meet. Hoping that they can both heal until they can really be friends again.

You have an incredibly tense dinner with Satoru’s parents, made all the more stressful by the agreement to do everything to sell them on the idea that you’re hopelessly in love with each other. At dinner, you hold hands through every course, constantly looking at each other with syrupy smiles and fluttering lashes. When you retire to the restaurant’s overpriced lounge for drinks, Satoru pulls you down into his lap, holding you firmly in place the entire time. He only has one drink, but he gets noticeably more handsy as the contents of his glass disappear.

You ruffle his hair affectionately, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

Only the fact that his parents are sitting feet away stops you from asking whether there’s something in his pocket, or whether he’s just happy to see you. “Lightweight,” you breathe instead, trying not to move too much lest he notice his body’s reaction and push you away. He giggles, dragging you forward to plant a sloppy kiss on your mouth. You allow yourself to relish the moment, embracing the longing you’ve begun to feel. For his parents’ benefit, you tell yourself. You’re only doing your part to sell the lie.

You can practically feel the steam coming from his mother’s ears.

Standing on Satoru’s balcony the night before the wedding, he levels you with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen from him. “Are you sure about this?”

You think back on the past months, comparing them to all the years before. What had even changed, besides the fact that now, you were friends who sometimes kissed? Who sometimes came dangerously close to feeling each other up? What had changed, besides the fact that now, you were almost certain that you’d never moved past your feelings for him?

You forced yourself to relax and smile. “I’m sure.”

Satoru took your hands in his, turning you to face him. “You’re giving up a lot for me.”

That made you laugh. You looked up, pleased to see the curve of amusement on his lips. “What am I giving up? It’s not like I’d be spending my time with anyone else. Besides, you’ve bought me a beautiful ring, a gorgeous dress, and a brand new car. I think I’m actually gonna come out of this pretty far ahead.”

“Don’t forget the penthouse,” he teased, and your smile dropped to a deadpan.

“Satoru, we’ve discussed the penthouse.” He waved this off. “I’m not keeping it!” you protested.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” He grinned down at you, breeze lifting his hair from his forehead. Without meaning to, you reached up to smooth it back, thumb running over the scar over his eyebrow. He cleared his throat, growing somber. “This time tomorrow, we’re going to be married.”

You let your fingertips drift down his cheek, allowing yourself just one more private moment of weakness before your heart ended up on display tomorrow for everyone to see. Hopefully, everyone but him. You nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. For all his sweetness, you’d seldom seen the tenderness he bent on you in the smile he offered. His eyes were liquid, soft as ever, when he raised your hand to his lips.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he murmured, and you agreed, if only to escape before his attention caused you to crumble.

——————————————————————

The wedding day itself is surreal, and it passes in a blur. You wake in Satoru’s bedroom with a bouquet of roses on the bedside, along with a note in his bold writing.

“To the best friend I’ve ever had, thank you for putting up with my shit and having my back. We both know that I’m a treasure. I only hope you know that you are, too. You deserve the world, and I will lay it at your feet. On this, our wedding day, I alone am the honored one.”

The note is signed with a flourish of his name. You smile as you raise it to your lips, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. You are the honored one on this day. You lay the note next to your bra, fully intent on keeping it close, and then you hit the ground running.

You shower and brush your teeth and after that, it’s out the door to the waiting car to be driven to the vast Gojo estate. Despite spending time here as a child, the place is still incredibly intimidating with its marble arches and sprawling gardens. You feel your heartbeat speed as you see the decorations- fairy lights and tulle, vines and roses, black silk ribbons and eucalyptus branches.

It’s more beautiful than you could have imagined.

You make your way to the guest house and sit through an hour of hair and makeup, laughing with your mother about all the childish shenanigans you and Satoru have gotten up to over the years, and calm your anxious hands and stomach by sampling the hors d’oeuvres arranged prettily on silver platters.

Your father sits in the corner, eyes shining with pride and unshed tears. He’s got a cocktail of painkillers ready to go; nothing will keep him from walking with his little girl today.

You would feel guilty if Satoru weren’t already such a fixture in all of your lives. You only hope that your parents won’t be too hurt when this is all over.

It’s only once your parents step out so that you can change into your gown that Satoru’s mother visits you.

“Tell me, my dear, must we really continue this charade?”

You feel your heart prick with ice. “I assure you, Gojo-sama, that there is no charade,” you lie smoothly. “I love your son.” Just enough honesty to ring true.

Her glare is frozen. “I will give you six million yen if you walk out of here and away from my son.”

You raise your chin in defiance. “No.”

“Seven million.”

“You cannot buy me, no matter the price.”

“Ten million yen.”

Your ire has been steadily rising since she stepped into the room. Now, it eclipses your anxiety like a crashing wave. You lean forward, well into her space, and feel a mean thrill when she leans away from you. Your voice is cold. “I do not care what you think of me. But it’s clear that you have no concept of your son’s worth.” You tilt your head, summoning the haughtiest tone you’ve ever used. “You dishonor him.” His mother reels back, scowling.

“You don’t deserve my son,” she sneers.

You laugh at that. “I agree. Yet somehow, he’s decided otherwise.”

She peers down her nose at you. You expect another round of vitriol, but to your surprise, she turns on her heel to leave. Round one, you.

You blow out your breath, shake your hands, and straighten your shoulders. Within a few minutes, your parents are back and then it’s smooth sailing again. 

Right up until you and your father hobble to the door to walk to the ceremony. 

Your father starts to sniffle. You turn and realize that he’s tearing up, putting on his bravest face and doing his utmost not to blubber. 

“Oh, papa,” you murmur. You turn to take his face in your hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, hime.” He reaches a hand up to your face, carefully avoiding your hair and touching lightly so as not to smear your makeup. “I am just so happy. Your mother and I used to talk about what a wonderful life you and Satoru would build together and now it’s finally beginning.”

The shock nearly knocks you off your feet. “You… what?”

He sniffles, patting your cheek and lowering his head to compose himself. “You make an old man proud. There’s no one else I’d rather give you away to.”

You move your mouth, but can’t form any words.

And then, it’s time. The great door creaks open and you tilt your head down to hide your expression. You take a few deep, steadying breaths before raising your head… and promptly losing them.

The lawn is surprisingly empty, though you suppose his parents planned it that way. Regardless, every face fades as you set eyes on Satoru.

Satoru, the best and oldest friend you’ve ever had.

Satoru, who’s always been in your corner, no matter what.

Satoru, who looks devastatingly handsome in black and white, with a boutonniere of one, single rose almost the same color as his eyes. Almost, but not quite. Satoru, whose eyes are wider than ever, staring slack-jawed as you make your way toward him down the aisle, moving slowly for your fathers’ sake. Satoru, whose hands drop from where they’d been fiddling with his cuffs.

Satoru, who looks at you with such longing that you nearly collapse.

Your heart stops, and then sprints to make up for lost time.

This day is going to kill you. 

You know that your face is bearing every emotion, that nothing is hidden in this instant. 

And it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you.

It’s all an act, you remind yourself. Tears spring to your eyes. All an act, but every person in this room is eating it up. Including you. When did he get so good at acting?

The corner of his lip curls in an awestruck smile and you’re a goner.

Who were you kidding?

You let the tears stream, grateful at least that they would lend authenticity to the performance. And for the first time, you feel your heart sink. 

You’re just as in love with Satoru Gojo now as you had been at eleven years old.

You’d been a fool to think you’d get out of this unscathed.

Over the course of your mental collapse, Satoru’s smile widens until you can just make out the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth that only ever show themselves when he’s at his happiest.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You just have to remember that it’s all for show.

You force yourself to smile.

And know instantly that you’ve made a mistake.

You had to be twenty paces or more away, but those dimples disappeared the moment your lips spread.

No one else would ever notice, but you did.

Because no one else would ever notice, but he had.

Those cyan eyes narrowed fractionally and you knew that he could tell that something was off. You could see the anxiety surfacing as you got close.

To feel so seen…

You pursed your lips, just by a hairs’ breadth, and Satoru’s face relaxed. The silent conversation you had in those last few steps did wonders to ease your nerves, and you could tell that it did the same for him. Between one heartbeat and the next, your father was kissing your cheek, placing your hand firmly in Satoru’s outstretched one.

You couldn’t hear a word anyone said- not your father, not the priest, not even Satoru. You blinked rapidly, finally locking eyes with your fiancé.

“Baby? Are you okay?” he whispered, and you could tell from the slight strain in his voice that he was repeating the question.

You squeezed his hands. “I’m okay,” you whispered back. You let yourself fall into your role, embracing the fantasy. You felt nearly giddy. “Let’s get married.”

And oh, there was that smile again, canyon-wide and dimpled just for you. “Let’s.”

You could hardly concentrate enough to repeat your vows, too caught up in the way Satoru’s eyes sparkled, locked onto you. Too mesmerized by the way his mouth moved to truly hear what he said. Before your head could catch up with the feelings speeding through your heart, Satoru was wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you firmly to his chest. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his smile.

“Hi, wifey.” And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You couldn’t stop your hands coming up to cradle his face; couldn’t stop your mad smile when he bent you back nearly parallel to the ground; couldn’t stop the shudder that ran down your spine at the soft moan he let out when you ran your tongue along the seam of his lips. They parted, allowing you to lick along the inside of his lip before you bit down softly.

Only the applause from your guests covered the animalistic growl that tore itself from his throat.

You felt a heady thrill at your apparent power and giggled. After a heated moment and a shaky breath, so did Satoru. He straightened, pulling you up with him, and raised your joined hands overhead for all to see.

Mr. and Mrs. Satoru Gojo.

——————————————————————

For being largely made up of Satoru’s colleagues and the elder Gojo’s business acquaintances, your guests were incredibly gracious. Every person seemed to want to personally convey their best wishes; a happy marriage, good fortunes, continued health. You and Satoru thanked each person in turn, holding hands all the while.

And each time someone new came to express their pleasure, you felt your mind and heart crack just a bit more under the weight of the lie.

“We’re almost done,” he murmured against your ear. You’d finally made your way to the dance floor, taking solace in the security and solitude of Satoru’s arms. You nodded, cheek rubbing against his chest. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded again. “Just counting down the minutes until we can go home.”

He chuckled, drawing you closer. “Well, tell you what, then. Let me go say goodnight to my parents and then we can leave, okay?” You smiled up at him, grateful.

“That sounds wonderful, husband.”

He grinned at you with a childish sort of glee. “Glad to hear it, wife.” He leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and then spun you away from himself. “I’ll meet you by the altar in a few minutes?”

You smiled over your shoulder, turning to survey the crowd. Your parents had left an hour ago with profuse apologies; your father’s medication was wearing off and he was going to need to be off his feet, quickly. You waved and smiled at the few friends of Satoru’s you knew- Kento Nanami, Yu Haibara, Utahime Iori, Kiyotaka Ijichi- and waded through the crowd of celebrating people.

Satoru had asked whether it bothered you that none of your friends had come. The truth was that when life got busy and your friends stopped reaching out, when no one could accept how much time and emotion you put into Satoru after the incident, you’d let most of those friendships slide. Why should you beg for anyone’s attention when the only person whose attention you truly craved centered on you to begin with?

You’d never regretted that conviction, never even questioned it. Not even today.

You made rounds to the tables that gestured you over for long minutes before excusing yourself, breaking for the altar. You were passing an alcove when you heard Shoko’s voice, and you felt yourself perk up. You hadn’t had a chance to thank her for coming, and you wanted to make sure that you didn’t miss the opportunity to talk to her. Even if you didn’t feel the need to have a lot of friends, it would be refreshing to have a girl friend again- and she’d been important to Satoru, once. You wanted to make sure that she knew her presence was more than welcome in your lives.

It was only once you reached the garden wall that you realized she didn’t sound happy.

Then you heard Satoru’s voice.

“I just really don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this!”

“Because, Satoru! I understand that you care for her, but I really think you’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Then let me make it!” Satoru roared, and the words had you breaking out into a cold sweat.

They couldn’t mean…?

He seemed to remember where they were and lowered his voice. “Then let me make it. If it’s such a huge mistake, you’ll be the first to know, alright? I’ll call you myself. ‘Shoko, you were right, I never should have married her.’ Is that what you want to hear?”

Your hands flew to cover your mouth, but they weren’t quick enough to muffle the pained sound that escaped you. You darted to put your back to the bower leading into their little section of the garden, praying to all the gods that you hadn’t been heard. For once, despite Satoru’s involvement, they listened.

Shoko sighed. “No, Satoru, it’s not. I just want you to be happy. I just don’t think you’re-”

You raised your hands to cover your ears and bolted away. You didn’t care how childish it was, you couldn’t bear to hear another word. You ran, heels catching small rocks and roots as you held your breath in an effort not to cry. If the tears fell, your face would puff up and your makeup would be ruined. There would be questions. You couldn’t deal with questions, especially not now.

You tucked yourself into the greenhouse and sucked down mouthfuls of cool air, staring straight at the ceiling. That was supposed to help, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t stay here for too long. You had to get control of yourself, and quickly. You tried desperately to conjure up any happy memories that didn’t involve Satoru and came up woefully short.

Maybe you needed some friends of your own, after all.

You breathed in, held, released. Breathed in, held, released. You repeated this until your hands stopped shaking, and then did it five more times for good measure. You straightened your shoulders. Then you walked back out into the throng. Head held high, smile firmly in place, you strode to the altar, catching sight of Satoru as he stepped out of the shade of a tree and into view.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was so beautiful. He beamed when he saw you, looking a touch deflated, but irritation all but vanished. You knew by the subtle shift of his eyebrows, though, that your own smile wasn’t fooling him.

——————————————————————

The ride back to your new penthouse was blessedly short, and blessedly quiet. With a driver from his parents’ staff, neither of you dared to say a word of meaning, settling on holding hands and whispering to each other about dinner and movies and sleep instead. When the car stopped, Satoru was out in a flash to open your door, handing you out like some Victorian lady. No matter how confused you felt, it made your mouth twitch up in a smile.

He led you through the apartment lobby and into the private elevator to your new home, even holding the door open for the driver following with a cart of wedding gifts. You clutched his hand the whole ride up, gluing yourself to his side even if you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. You could feel the worried glances he shot your direction when the driver wasn’t looking, though.

As soon as the elevator door opened, he was sweeping you up into his arms, striding purposefully across the short hall to your front door. You let yourself laugh as he managed to fish the keys out of his pocket without letting you slide so much as an inch, and swooned dramatically as he kicked in the door. He kissed you again and you felt your heart clench painfully. Then he turned to the driver, thanking him for his service and advising that he leave, lest he see something he’d rather not.

You’d never seen someone excuse themselves so quickly.

You both paused once the door clicked shut, waiting for the chime of the elevator, and then Satoru lowered you gently to the floor. You turned quickly, practically running into the living room. You began unfastening your jewelry, anything to keep your hands and eyes busy.

“Sweetheart?” He was worried. You knew better than to try to hide from him, but you’d hoped you could have even a moment longer to collect your thoughts. The drive here hadn’t been nearly long enough. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He was halfway across the room already. You knew that if he touched you, you’d lose your nerve.

“What did Shoko mean by ‘the biggest mistake of your life’?” The words were out before you could think better of them.

Abruptly, his footsteps stopped. The silence was deafening. With shaking hands, you laid your wedding jewelry on the coffee table, steeling yourself for whatever answer Satoru gave you.

You turned to face him and found him looking ashen and sick.

He swallowed hard.

“You heard that?”

Somehow, you’d expected something different. A denial, an indignant retort, even a joke. You scoffed in disbelief, only it didn’t sound much like a scoff. It sounded like a sob.

Satoru took two steps forward before stopping at your raised hand.

“Listen, I can explain.”

“Explain what, Gojo?” A look of profound hurt crossed his face at your use of his family name, but you couldn’t… You had to put some distance between you. You didn’t want to believe that there was any truth to the words, but you knew now that there had to be.

“You didn’t even argue with her! ‘The worst mistake of your life’?” He flinched then, finally breaking eye contact to look across the room past you. You choked on your tears, voice coming out harsh around the growing lump in your throat. “I know you never wanted to be married, but I-I thought I was helping you. I thought you wouldn’t care since it was only temporary. I thought you said this would be fun! You never told me you were having second thoughts!” 

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he said softly. “Shoko thinks I’m making a mistake because… because I’ve been in love with you since we were children.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was reeling back, breathing ragged as his hands went to his hair, as though maybe he’d never said the words aloud. As though maybe he’d never admitted them to himself. You nearly staggered backward, too. “Please, sweetheart, just let me explain. I swear, I-”

“You’re in love with me?” you whispered. Your heart raced, hope lighting your veins aflame. Tears had been building since the conversation started. They began to run down your cheeks now, and you saw Satoru move as though he was going to come to you, to do anything to make them stop, before forcing himself to stand still. He’d always hated to see you cry.

He clenched his fists. His eyes slid shut, and the pain evident on his face was so great that you flashed, for a moment, to him waking up in that hospital bed; bindings around his wounds and tubing in his arms, oxygen mask on his face, waking so slowly, so grievously wounded that he’d asked you if he was dead.

“I would never,” he began slowly, “have made you stay.” He let that sink in before continuing, so softly that you could barely hear him. “I thought…” His voice trailed off as he sank to his knees, almost as though the words had sapped him of the strength to bear his own weight.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I tried so hard not to feel the way I felt. I know you never felt the same about me.”

Just like that, all of the pieces clicked into place. Every blank expression at every stupid joke or offhanded comment you’d made about your inevitable divorce; every flash of doubt, of disappointment in his eyes when you brought up that it was only a fake marriage; the way he’d answered Shoko, as if it hurt him to say the words; the fury he’d felt toward his parents; even the way he’d detached himself from you when your kisses had been too heated. He’d been afraid.

You began to shake your head.

Shoko thought he was making a mistake because she thought you didn’t love him. 

Because Satoru thought you didn’t love him.

He hadn’t stopped talking while your world crumbled around you.

“I thought that this was it, my chance for a little piece of all my dreams. I thought that I could have you by my side, just for a little while, that I could kiss you just once, and that it could carry me through the rest of my life.”

Your mind was spinning in a thousand directions, including a hysterical amusement. “You kissed me a lot more than once,” you whispered, a near-automated response borne of your shared sense of humor. 

Satoru let out a strangled noise. “I was selfish.” You opened your mouth to protest, to deny it, to say that you didn’t mean it like that- to tell him you loved him. But he barreled on, voice strained. 

“When you said you’d had a crush on me all those years ago, I thought ‘what if I could make her fall in love with me?’ I thought ‘this could be the rest of my life.’ And then you kissed me in the gym, and I knew that I had to try something, anything, everything. I knew that I…” He sucked in a deep breath and let out a breathless, awful, self-loathing laugh. “I thought that I couldn’t survive on just one kiss.”

He hung his head, burying his face in his hands. “Shoko knew the moment that she saw us together that I’d never told you how I felt. She figured it out so fast, I didn’t even get a chance to deny it.”

You’d unconsciously moved closer as he’d spoken. You threaded your fingers lightly through his hair and the air went out of him. He folded forward, hands coming to rest on either side of your feet.

“Please, baby, please forgive me. Shoko was right, it was unfair. It was so unfair to you. I’m so sorry.”

You tilted his head back to look up at you. He let you do it with a sharp intake of breath, gazing up at you with so much feeling that it nearly swept you off your feet.

“Please, sweetheart, say something. Anything,” he pleaded. He’d leaned forward to wrap his hands around the backs of your knees, drawing you closer to him. “Please.”

You had never in your life, ever heard Satoru beg for anything. Your heart galloped in your chest. 

“You weren’t unfair,” you whispered. You opened your mouth to say more, but he was already stuttering out more apologies as if you hadn’t spoken. If he was experiencing anything like the roaring in your ears, he probably hadn’t heard you.

“Please, please, forgive me. I’ll do anything. We can get an annulment tomorrow if you want, to hell with my parents. Just please, let me make it right. I’ll never say another word about this, not one.” He pressed his face further into your thighs, murmuring against the fabric. “I can’t be without you. I would die without you.”

Everything in your chest constricted violently. 

Of course, Satoru had a penchant for wild dramatics, making insane exaggerations out of anything and everything. A papercut was a mortal wound, a stubbed toe a shattered leg; a few degrees too warm and it was the seventh circle of hell, a few degrees too cool and it was the ninth; a runny nose might as well be a terminal illness, and boredom was just as serious.

This was not one of those exaggerations.

You didn’t want to think about a life without him, couldn’t dream of it, not even in your worst nightmares. Separating the two of you from each other was impossible, in any circumstance, in any world.

You knelt down, slotting your legs with Satoru’s, and tugged him forward by his hair. Your breaths mingled in the infinite, infinitesimal space between you, before you kissed him. The groan he let out was that of a wounded animal- pleading, haunted, and full of despair- as his hands rose to your cheeks. You could feel his restraint in the way his hands held you from coming any closer, in the way he barely moved his slack mouth, letting you kiss him. 

“Please,” he whispered again, and you could hear his heart breaking on the word. “Please don’t leave me. You can’t say goodbye to me. Not like this.”

“You idiot,” you whispered. Slowly, between kisses, you murmured, “Don’t you know I’ve been in love with you since the day we met?” Against all odds, Satoru pulled back from you, holding your face away from his between shaking hands. 

“Say it again,” he whispered, voice shot. 

“I’ve been in love with you-” And then, he’s kissing you, and there’s nothing restrained about it, and you realize just how much he must have been holding back when he’d kissed you before.

This isn’t his stunned inaction from the kiss in the gym; not the gentle exploration of your practice kissing, where it should have been obvious that he meant to memorize the way it felt; not the giddy, showy kiss from the altar and certainly not the chaste, PG kisses you’d shared throughout the reception. 

No. This kiss was all-consuming, desperate. Like Satoru meant to devour you, and maybe he did. He lapped at the inside of your lips, moaning softly. His long fingers roved over your body, pulling you closer until you gasped, and even that seemed to be not enough. 

He let out an impatient noise, low in the back of his throat, before dragging you forward and up in one fluid motion. His hands gripped you with near-bruising force, pulling you by your knees to wrap your legs around him, and then your back hit the cool glass wall of your penthouse with a dull thud.

You half gasped, half giggled through Satoru’s apologies, muffled by the incessant slide of his lips on yours. His lean, hard body pressed fully along yours, moving against you almost of its own accord. You could feel the thundering of his heart against your chest. With his hips pinning yours to the wall, he lifted one hand from its place at your waist to grip the back of your neck. 

Your hands finally, after all of the shock and movement of what was probably only the last 20 or so seconds, landed in his hair to tangle in the snowy strands. Satoru keened into your mouth, pressing even harder against you, a vibrating mass of wiry muscle and lanky elegance. You dropped one hand to squeeze at his bicep and wondered how you had ever ignored how hot your best friend was. 

The hand on the back of your neck tightened, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, allowing Satoru to stroke your tongue with his, gentle and searching and urgent all at once. The hand at your waist pulled you relentlessly forward, molding your bodies together, and you squeezed your legs to keep his hips locked against yours.

Satoru was murmuring against your lips, against the sensitive skin of your throat, against the shell of your ear, hot breath lighting your skin on fire where it touched. You caught only snatches of what he was saying, a litany of praise and pleading.

“I love you, I love you, I want you, I need you, stay with me, don’t leave me, let me please you, my wife, my wife, my perfect wife.”

Your head thumped against the wall as you tilted it back, granting him access to leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your mouth to your ear, down your throat to your collarbone, across the sheer material of your wedding gown to bite softly at your shoulder.

“Marry me,” he groaned.

You couldn’t help the airy giggle that bubbled up. “I already did.”

“Marry me for real,” he whined, breathless.

“Yes. Of course, yes.” “Yes,” he hissed, finally shifting away from your poor living room wall with you in his arms. He stumbled down the hallway, drunk on you, toward your marital bedroom, unable to stop kissing you. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t even know who I am without loving you. If I’m even a person without loving you.”

“I was so afraid that you didn’t love me the way I loved you that I spent years trying to convince myself that I didn’t love you, but I never could,” you confessed, words rushing out, and Satoru let out a sob against your throat.

“I could never not love you,” he groaned. “Never in a million years, not in any life. I have wanted you…”

He bit the sentence off, stumbling as his knees hit the bed. He lowered you reverently to the plush duvet with an arm braced above your head, kisses slowing and softening as he stroked your cheek. “I’ve always wanted to marry you,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you for so…” He trailed off, trembling as your hands slid up beneath his shirt to trace the lithe muscles of his back, and nuzzled behind your ear. He moaned brokenly. “Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he whispered. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

You traced your hands down his sides, revelling as he panted in your ear. You raised your knees to stroke his thighs, his hips, before wrapping your legs slowly, deliberately around his slim waist, locking your heels at the small of his back. He took a great, shuddering breath, instinctively bending toward you when you raised your hands to shuck off his tuxedo jacket. Your fingers danced up to unbutton his vest before moving to his shirt, torturously slowly. You forced yourself to take your time, forced yourself not to yank and hope that the buttons would fly off like in some cheesy rom-com.

By the time you finished, you almost worried that Satoru would shake apart above you. He looked absolutely ruined; jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, a euphoric pain painted across every feature. You let your eyes rove his beautiful body, tracing scars with sight and touch alike until you reached the waistband of his trousers. All of the breath went out of him in a loud whoosh, and he dropped the hand stroking your face to the mattress to stop himself from crushing you. His eyes snapped open, a brilliant, dark turquoise nearly eclipsed by shimmering black. His mouth hung open, lust and love and disbelief warring as he frantically searched your face.

You crooked a tiny smile at him, and then leaned up until your lips brushed his. “I don’t want to stop.” He whined, surging forward to kiss you, grinding his hips down to yours with delicious pressure. “I think… we’ve waited… long enough,” you panted between kisses.

Oftentimes, Satoru couldn’t shut up. You’d been friends for so long that his incessant chatter ceased to phase you in the slightest. But you’d never heard him talk so much.

Any time his smart mouth wasn’t occupied with you, it was running. He alternated between babbling praise and incoherent adoration and begging you, though for what, you couldn’t be sure, since he was, by his own distraught admissions, getting everything he’d ever wanted, dreamed of, hoped for, waited for. He couldn’t seem to stop, and it stoked your ego in ways you’d never known you’d wanted, never imagined could turn you on so much.

And despite his obvious anguish, despite the delicious agony it took to exert his control, despite fifteen or more years of never daring to hope, or perhaps because of that, he put you first just like he always did, following only once he was satisfied that you had been, too.

——————————————————————

It hadn’t been the wedding night you’d expected- as far from traditional as it was from the plan- but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, no matter how it had come about. 

In the watery sunlight, you rolled to face your husband. Husband. He loosened his grip to let you, hand coming to rest on your bare hip as you settled to face him. His eyes bored into yours, sharp and bright as a storm.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he replied, and the low rumble of his voice sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine and straight between your aching thighs.

You reached up, carding your hands through his hair, and marvelled at the way his eyes fluttered closed. He was like putty beneath your touch. He turned to kiss your palm, drawing your hand down to cover his heart. He stared at you intensely.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmured.

You raised one eyebrow in amusement. “That’d be some dream.”

“Best dream of my life.” He pulled you flush against him, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue across your teeth, morning breath be damned. “Be better if it never ended.” He kissed from the corner of your mouth across your jaw, to that sensitive spot behind your ear. “Be best if it wasn’t a dream at all.”

You gripped his neck, pulling him closer, drowning in him. “It’s not a dream,” you whispered.

“Thank goodness,” he groaned. He rolled over to pin you to the bed, hands coming up to lace his fingers with yours. “I am so in love with you.” He traced your rings with one finger, lips spreading in a sleepy, adoring smile. “My beautiful wife.”

You giggled, face splitting in an uncontrollable smile, and leaned up to kiss him. “And I am so in love with you.” Another kiss as you stroked his ring in return. “My handsome husband.” And if the curve of his lips against your jaw and the movement of his body against yours was anything to go by, you were about to be shown how in love with you he was all over again.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

[missglaskin]

i feel like Otto would use Daemon and Rhaenyra’s secret wedding, mere days after their partners funerals, as the sole ammunition to have Rhaenyra disinherited and second-born!Reader named the Princess of Dragonstone after Otto reminds Viserys the sole reason Rhaenyra was chosen was to prevent Daemon from having the throne. and Alicent will begin planting the seeds of a doubt in Viserys mind that some may not want a the Reader on a throne because she’s adopted but if she married Aegon, the firstborn son, she wouldn’t be contested. that Aegon was better fitted as a consort anyways.

and the Velaryons have mixed feelings about the whole ordeal because Corlys really wanted his blood on the throne but Rhaenys believes the reader will be a much better ruler.

she’s kind of like the “peoples princess” if that makes sense. from a young age she began serving as the king’s cupbearer, allowing her the opportunity to watch the council work, and even there were times when she spoke up. advocating on behalf of the servants for better living conditions or pushing for repairs on the sewage system underneath the city.

not even Rhaenyra could deny that the reader would make a good queen but there’s some resentment directed to her father, angry he still won’t accept that she loves Daemon and there confusion as she watches Daemon wrap a beautiful necklace around the reader’s neck

I apologize for the long haitus, I wanted to return with something so here it is.

The plot just thickens

Before Daemon and Rhaenyra secret wedding, Alicent was already sowing seeds of doubt in Viserys's mind (the reader doesn't have any bastards, last she checked but even so it doesn’t count).And it would be a great irony if Viserys sent Otto away thinking he wanted Aegon to be king (which might be partially true), when in reality it’s the reader he desired to be in the throne. With Lyonel's death, and Rhaenyra's decision to move to Dragonstone with Laenor despite wanting to stay with her sister. Otto and Alicent are only given a better advantage to continue casting doubt on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage seals the deal, and soon after, they are summoned by a raven from King's Landing.

While the Velaryons may have mixed feelings, they are all in support of the reader in being the chosen heir. It’s Rhaenys who encourages Corlys’ decision to swear his fealty to her. It doesn’t help that Rhaenys believes Rhaenyra and Daemon are the cause for her son’s death and them marrying right after Laena’s death only adds salt to the wound. Rhaenys genuinely believes the reader will be a much better ruler. 

When the reader is named heir, there is one final step for both Alicent and Otto to ensure her position (or as they like to say). So it comes as little surprise when the reader is revealed to be wed to Aegon. She already has gained a great deal of knowledge regarding politics throughout the years she was compelled to relocate to accommodate the entire family, from Driftmark to King's Landing to Dragonstone. Alicent and Otto took a step further in letting the reader act as the king's cupbearer, and Viserys naturally agreed. Unlike Rhaenyra who felt undermined in the council, the reader isn't cut off when advocating for herself, rather, she's backed by the green council. 

As you mentioned, she has earned the title of the "people's princess” through her charity, her advocacy for improved living conditions for the castle's servants as well insistence on repairing the sewage systems and for better roads. Tales abound in the city about the princess who visits orphanages, escorted, of course, by the finest knights, among them Ser Criston Cole. With all of that, simply wedding the reader to Aegon, already wins him favor at king's landing, besides, it's evident to the court that it's the reader who holds all the power.

It's an internal struggle for Rhaenyra; she feels waves of resentment and anger, sometimes aimed at her father and other times at the reader. But, she can never take the reader's actions personally, not after she offers Rhaenyra dragonstone or when she vows to make her the hand when she ascends the iron throne. So how can she ever be genuinely upset at her beloved sister whom she also thinks would make a wonderful queen?

And for Daemon, whom she observes draping a beautiful necklace—akin to the one he gave her years ago—around her sister's neck. She observes as her ever naive sister turns to face him, beaming as thanks him for the gift.

And for Daemon who she watches wrapping a beautiful necklace around her sister’s neck, similar to the one he gifted her a long time ago. She watches as her sister turns to him, beaming and thanking him for the gift, her sister so naive and innocent. But it won’t be long before Viserys catches wind of it, and if not him, Otto and Alicent will and this is the last thing they ever wish to happen. For they know, no matter how many times they Banish Daemon, he will always find his way to return to your side.

[v3suvia]

On Diomedes of Argos.

Typically, when people think about their favorite heroes of the Trojan siege, they think of the likes of Achilles, or Odysseus, or even Agamemnon (or if you’re based, Hector.) And while these are all valid to whatever extent— because let’s be real, no one is choosing favorites based on who has the purest moral standpoint— they’re not exactly remembered for the noblest of reasons.

Achilles spends half of the Iliad inside his tent as a sulky burrito, and the other half slaughtering Trojans and crying over the consequences of his own actions. Odysseus is a chronic liar, and Agamemnon is Agamemnon. But at the end of the day, they’re still remembered (for better or for worse, really.)

Though, on the topic of Homeric heroes, I feel there is one who is often overlooked despite achieving great feats over the course of the epic; Diomedes of Argos. (Note: arguably the most metal of the Achaean heroes at Troy.) So, let’s rant talk about him!

Diomedes was one of the key players in Homer’s Iliad— a recount of the last year of the Trojan siege. Being summoned to fight under oath, Diomedes headed his fleet of 80 ships to Ilium. As well as having a whole chapter dedicated to how kickass he was [read more about that whole thing here], the king of Argos was also a master strategist, and extremely noble— not just in his war efforts.

For example, there are multiple points in the Iliad where he checks the leader of the Trojan expedition, Agamemnon, calling him out on his cowardice or for otherwise being an inadequate leader, [Book 9; ‘Agamemnon, I will begin by taking issue with you over your proposal… do you really believe the Greeks are the cowards and weaklings you say they are? If you for one, have set your heart on getting away, then go.’] [‘Zeus has granted you many things… He gave you the sceptre of power and the honour that comes with it, but he did not give you courage— and courage is the secret of authority.]

And one instance where he truces with the Trojan hero, Glaucus— both of them exchanging armors (on an active battlefield, btw) to honor the fact that their grandfathers had been allies, [Book 6; ‘So let us avoid each other’s spears... And let us exchange our armor so that everyone will know our grandfather’s friendship has made friends of us.’]

He is also one of the only soldiers in the war who avoids committing hubris in the entire epic, which is probably the most telling of all his virtuous traits.

Diomedes also has a proverb named after him! ‘Diomedean Necessity/Diomedean Compulsion', which basically means when someone does something for the greater good (despite the reluctance of the person in question.)

This is taken from the myth of Odysseus and Diomedes taking the wooden statue of Athena— dubbed the Palladium— from Ilium. During this heist, Odysseus tries to stab Diomedes in the back to steal the acclaim of taking the Palladium for himself.

Rather than punishing Odysseus on account of betraying his ally for personal gain, Diomedes ties him up and drags him back to camp instead, because he knew the Greeks couldn’t win the war without Odysseus’ wisdom.

Anyway, why the rant? Sure, I could sit here and convince you that he’s the coolest Greek hero, but what would I be trying to accomplish in doing so? Well, it’s simply because while every other Homeric hero is recognized and represented in modern media, Diomedes isn’t.

He wasn’t even mentioned once in Troy (2004), the film adaptation of the Iliad! Despite him being the focus of multiple chapters in the book, as well as playing a big role in the Achaean army’s over-all victory.

I’m sick of everyone (and by that, I mean most modern media) depicting him as though he was just some dude™ in the Iliad when he was actually (from a mildly biased standpoint) one of the best of the Achaeans at Troy.

TLDR; Diomedes of Argos = Based. He solos ur favs (probably. He almost killed Ajax the greater at Patroclus’ funeral games 💀)Put him in more movies/shows/games so me and the other two Diomedes fans can be happy.

[melrodrigo]

When The Night Falls - W.A.

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wednesday isn’t soft. But when it comes to a certain someone…

Warnings: Angsty fluffy crap mixed together, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: HA! You guys thought I would do something from the poll? I’m an uncontrollable creature. Also, this is semi inspired by ‘reckless’ by madison beer.

Wednesday Addams was not soft. In fact, that was the last word she would ever use to describe herself.

But today, when she had swung open her door, ready to give whoever woke her up at 2 a.m. hell; she was surprised to find out she felt a little bad after seeing your crying figure.

“Wednesday?” You sniffle, swiping at your eyes desperately in an attempt to look somewhat presentable.

The raven-haired girl stares at you blankly, refusing to give away any of the emotions she was feeling.

Eyes all red and puffy, nose tinted pink; she hated to admit it, you look cute.

The thing was, for the past few weeks, Wednesday’s been feeling weird around you.

At first, she thought that maybe you were using your powers to cast a poisonous spell on her. But on further inspection, she realized you were casting a spell on her, just a very different one from what she expected.

It’s a peculiar feeling, having feelings for someone.

She doesn’t think she’s ever really experienced all that “crush” or “love at first sight” nonsense Enid keeps gushing about.

But right now, with you standing in front of her, she thinks she finally feels those funeral flowers budding all throughout her chest, wrapping itself tight around her heart.

“Do you mind if I come in?” You ask timidly.

Wednesday steps back without a second thought, still staring hard as you walk in. She’s suddenly struck with the realization that you came to her first, out of everyone in the whole school, even her bubbly roommate. It makes her heart sing.

You and Enid had a thing going on. The whole school knew that. You weren’t exactly together, but the look on your face when you talked about Enid was enough for Wednesday to keep her mouth shut about her feelings.

But she came to me, Wednesday thinks.

She walks towards you, tapping you softly on the shoulder.

You whirl, and immediately throw yourself at her, letting your whole body engulf hers.

You hear Wednesday let out a quiet gasp and it makes you giggle a little.

You know she’s not uncomfortable, and you know the tap was an invitation or at least an allowance for you to touch her. You have a bit of a reputation for being the only person Wednesday was willing to let hug her, apart from Enid.

Days spent with Enid usually meant days spent with Wednesday, and by now, you were fluent in the language of her.

“What happened so suddenly that you felt the need to wake me in the middle of the night?” She finally asks, failing to sound sympathetic.

She doesn’t expect it to sound mean, and you know that, so you pay her tone no mind.

“I found Enid w-with Ajax.” You tell her, voice cracking at the end of your sentence, tears welling at the corners of your eye.

Wednesday wasn’t an idiot. She knows what “finding them together” means, and despite all her fondness for the young blonde, she can’t help the anger that stirs in her immediately.

Here you were, crying and troubled over her stupid roommate (crying very prettily might she add), and what, Enid was with Ajax? Of all people?

“I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N. I know how much you adored Enid.” She murmurs, ignoring the instant tugging in her heart at the sight of you wide-eyed and looking up at her.

To her surprise, you giggle a little, and it sends shockwaves through your and her own body.

You reach up gingerly, pausing long enough for Wednesday to refuse your touch if she wants to, but the goth girl stays quiet, and so you brush away some of the bangs that are covering her face.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, staring at her eyes and then her lips. “To be honest with you, that’s not even the whole reason I was crying.”

“Why were you crying then?” She inquires, and you notice her hands flexing at her side.

“I think…I might like someone else. And I was kind of upset, because- I thought Enid really liked me. But I guess not, so it all works out doesn’t it?” You laugh dryly.

Wednesday’s eyes widen at your confession, suddenly feeling squirmish underneath your gaze. Her whole body freezes, and her mouth feels dry.

It would work out if I was your partner, she thinks.

“Relax, Wends.” You murmur, placing your head back down to her chest. Your words seem to calm her down a little.

“It’s funny, I don’t like her anymore, but when she gets with someone else, I get sad. How messed up of me is that?” You tilt your head up, watching Wednesday gulp once before speaking.

“It is a stupid thing to feel.” Is what she answers, racking her brain to think of something better to say.

You hum, and everything goes quiet for a while. You feel safe, in Wednesday’s arms, in her bed, and you don’t care if Enid comes back to the dorm and sees this.

Before you know it, you’re drifting off into some walmart heaven- the smell of Wednesday encompassing you and the softness of her skin pressing against you.

“YN?” She whispers, stirring you from your so-close-to-sleep state.

You hum in question.

“Now that you aren’t interested in Enid, are you interested in anyone?” She asks, trying her best to not sound too interested in what you have to say.

You smile soft, the drowsiness making your critical thinking skills all mushy.

“Yeah, I told you that already.” You tell her and promptly snuggle yourself further into the girl.

When Wednesday finally gathers up the courage to ask you who it is, you’re fast asleep, snoring quietly on her.

-

The next morning, when you wake up alone, feeling the most well-rested you’ve felt in a long time, you barely notice the dark colors of the bedsheets.

It takes you a minute, but you prop yourself up on your elbow, trying to figure out where the hell you are.

But as the events of the night prior come back to you, you find yourself grinning.

“Stop smiling like that. You look weird.” Wednesday quips, and your eyes dart to where she is, hunched over by her typewriter. There’s a glint in her eye that tells you she’s joking.

You flash her another toothy grin, surprised when she sends you a tiny smile back. And then, as if she’s just gotten shy, she turns back to her typewriter and ignores your teasing remarks.

You sigh dramatically and flop back onto her bed.

“I’m gonna sleep here from now on!” You announce.

You take her silence as a quiet acceptance.

[ninzied]

weeds

based on the prompt: a kiss on a falling tear. brownstone/bonus chapter era. 600 word ficlet.

Henry has been surrounded by flowers all his life.

Flowers in every hallway and room. Atop every table and flanking every door that led to yet more hallways, yet more rooms. Flowers that were fussed over, flowers that were arranged to perfection despite being replaced at least once a day. Flowers in the palace gardens where Henry used to escape as a child, wishing the mazes could swallow him whole.

Flowers at the funeral.

Flowers at the royal wedding, when his life jump-started again.

And now, flowers in the brownstone that Alex has just moved into with him. They’re daisies in an assortment of colors. Nothing extraordinary, though they would’ve turned heads at the palace for that very reason alone. Henry’s pretty sure they’re classified as weeds, technically speaking.

He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

That is, apart from the man who’s just brought them home on a whim, who’s now calling to Henry over his shoulder, “Babe, do you think these would look good in a mug?”

Henry thinks he would love them anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever he can. This little life he’s building with Alex is the brightest, fullest, most incredible thing, and he will not take a single bit of it for granted.

.

They go to the MoMA. It’s the first touristy thing that they’ve done since moving in together. And, Henry realizes, watching Alex tear through his wardrobe looking for the perfect cover, it’s one of the first museums he’ll have been to during normal daylight hours.

Alex gleefully poses Henry in all the various hats that he owns. He makes a grave miscalculation when it comes to his black Stetson, which delays their leaving the house by many, many hours. Alex finally comes to the breathless conclusion that it would draw too much attention if Henry were to wear it outside.

(“Mm,” says Henry, still catching his breath back himself. “You can’t possibly mean from you, of course.”

“Definitely not,” Alex agrees, already moving to kiss him again.)

They walk hand-in-hand through the museum sometime even later, in baseball caps and soft t-shirts, and Henry can’t believe this gets to be his life now. They let themselves be jostled along with the crowds, Angus up ahead of them. He needn’t be; no one so much as looks at them twice.

Eventually, they wander their way up to the fifth level. They step into a room where Henry finds himself once again surrounded by flowers.

The largest painting occupies three panels, spanning a significant length of the room. Gran has taken great pride in the royal collection over the years, pieces the family could access in private whenever they so pleased. But there’s something about standing here, with Alex. Just two people, being in love while looking at art. Like it’s something extraordinary, this beautifully ordinary thing they can do.

“Huh,” Alex murmurs, reading the placard. “Took him twelve years to paint this.” He squeezes Henry’s hand, then adds almost offhandedly: “I think that’s about how long it took after seeing you in J14 for the first time. Getting to finally kiss you, I mean.”

Henry looks at Alex with a feeling much too big for words. He smiles, his chest aching with it. The feeling wells up, touching the edges of his vision until he sees in watercolor. “Darling,” he says. “Are you comparing our love story to a Monet?”

“Please.” Alex looks affronted. “This guy’s got nothing on us.”

It’s blasphemous, surely. But as Alex leans in, kissing away a tear on his cheek, Henry thinks he’s secretly rather inclined to agree.

also on ao3.

[ecargmura]

Wind Breaker Episode 10 Review - Yesterday's Enemies Are Today's Friends

Did you know that only three days have passed in-universe? Episode 1 was a whole day. Episodes 2-4 are the second day and Episodes 5-10 are the third day. Crazy, right? It’s also crazy to have a picnic with your enemies, right? Well, that’s what Umemiya decrees, so it must happen. It’s like that quote, “Yesterday’s enemies could be today’s friends.” Come to think of it, that quote is heavily applied here! Bofurin and Shishitoren are now on good terms with each other!

The picnic scene with Bofurin, Togame and Choji was nice. I guess my only little gripe was that only Togame and Choji were present and not Sako, Arima and Kanuma. I guess it’s a bit more meaningful if the two tops were there and not minions. It was still a missed opportunity for the anime to add the other three, honestly. Anyways, I do like Umemiya’s philosophy on what it means to be the top of a gang. He equates it to eating. He loves eating and wants to be with people as he eats. Having people gathering around him while he eats is the same as being the top of the gang. He gets to do something he likes and do it with others. He’s here because he has people he can count on and people who look up to him. Being the top wasn’t a solo effort, but a team one. It’s a good lesson for Choji as he once had people whom he could count on but chose to leave behind. It’s also a good lesson for Sakura who has always been alone and doesn’t understand what it means to not be alone. It’s a good growing experience for him. 

The scene with Bofurin hanging out at Cafe Pothos was also a nice scene too. Umemiya wanted to know if Sakura was able to convey his words to Togame. However, Sakura never heard a voice or anything. It turns out that Sakura took his words literally instead of figuratively. What Umemiya was trying to get at was for Sakura to feel something for his opponents. I believe it worked because Sakura did try to punch Choji when he kicked Togame. I do believe Togame is the first time he connected with someone through his fists, hence why their bond is rather unique. He’s the reason why Togame was able to make amends with Choji and Shishitoren and deal with that comes after together. No matter how much Sakura denies it, he does like Togame which was why he was very fervent on wanting him to become a cool guy.

Other than the good scenes with Bofurin, I also liked the parts with Choji and Togame. The part where they were prostrating and Sakura scolding them was so cute. However, my favorite part was when the two were sharing anpan together. When Choji was laughing and enjoying the taste of squished anpan, the scene moved Togame so much that he lied about the rain when it was bright and sunny. It reminded me a lot of the scene in Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood where Roy cried at Hughes’s funeral and lied to Hawkeye about the rain. Since the anime, Togame has become one of my favorite characters and to see him cry over the fact that his sun has returned got me emotional. I’m so happy for you, Togame.

However, the best part of the episode was Sakura spitting out his coffee at Umemiya and him actually reacting poorly to the coffee in his eyes. That part was the needed comedy in an emotionally heartwarming episode. Then, the part where Sugishita was threatening to throw a chair at Sakura was also hilarious. I’m surprised he hasn’t been banned from Cafe Pothos yet.

Good news for Wind Breaker fans, there are thirteen episodes, which means that there are three episodes left. As a manga reader, I think there’s enough room to have a good conclusion for the first season. Who knows if a second season will be announced? I sure hope it does because next week is definitely the debut of Tsugeura and Kiryu who are also important characters, but it’d suck if they only get minimal screen time despite having high quality voice actors. What are your thoughts on this episode?

[dlanadhz]

Last Twilight Ending Reaction

As someone who can't see without a strong prescription, I really felt connected to Day's struggle. How his vision was shown is like mine but with that extra level of fuzzy. I can't see further than a palm's distance either. The longer the show went on, the more I noticed myself in the way Day did certain things - like leaning in way too close to see things and patting his hand around to find an item he knows is around there somewhere.

Obviously Day was worse than me. I put on my glasses every morning and go about my day. I don't need a caretaker. But without my glasses, we are so similar.

So I spent a good portion of the show wondering why the heck Day didn't get glasses for the time he was waiting on a potential surgery. They never explained that glasses wouldn't work for him, so it seems like a logical step to try.

Because of this, and because corrective eye surgery is actually so common, I walked into this show on day 1 fully ready to accept an ending where Day got his eye surgery and was able to see again.

We spent 12 episodes following Day's journey of learning to accept himself as he was, disability or not. He learned how to love his life, how to care more about the people around him, how to appreciate the things around him - not just what he could see. He gained a new understanding of who he was and what he needed to be happy.

Episode 12 has whole speeches about how going blind is the only reason Day knows how to be happy and what he truly wants out of life. This a beautiful message that we got throughout the whole series. He was loved when he was blind. He was loved when it seemed he would stay that way forever. He accepted himself and loved himself. And he was still loved when he got his sight back. He became a better person.

So to come online and see the absolute vitriol being thrown around like somehow this ending ruins the entire series, like somehow him getting a very realistic eye surgery to correct damage done in an accident erases all the character growth and the message of loving yourself, finding people who love you regardless of illness or disability, and appreciating the world around you....

It's really ruining the show for me. Day's surgery didn't do that. The fans are doing that.

Day getting his sight back does not erase his experience as a blind person. Just like a cast and pt doesn't erase your experience with a broken leg. Just like time and healing doesn't erase your experience with traumatic brain injuries. Just like getting a prosthetic doesn't erase the experience of losing a limb.

Like, damn. Someone get me some eye surgery pronto. It still won't change the last 27 years of my life.

And to suggest that bad things should happen to the director for such a choice is a really terrible thing to do.

When I saw Day looking at Mhok while they knelt by Rung's grave, I felt overwhelmed with emotion, because Day has been wanting to see clearly for so long and here he was, staring lovingly at his boyfriend - the boyfriend who chose to be with him despite everything. I thought it was beautiful.

And all these haters are really making it hard to even search for gifs. I wanted to roll around in the joy and emotion of the episode, but there are too many people treating it like a god damned funeral protest.

[chaosincurate]

My top 40 albums

Find out more about the albums and my thoughts on them below!

So I've been gone a little while, and part of that just comes from demotivation from a feeling that the work I'm putting in is going to waste, at least in the way I'm doing it, but most of it was the fact I was doing this. Turns out listening to about 50 albums and making a top 40 out of them isn't a quick done-in-a-month project. Whodathunk?

Sidebar: Anyway, I'll get into the write-ups in just a second, but I want to establish something first: this list is very subjective and one of the most obvious ways that shows itself is in regard to the ages of these albums. I grew up in the 00s and 10s and generally find it difficult to really connect with a lot of highly acclaimed and influential releases from before then. I never got into The Beatles all that much, I don't get the hype around Pet Sounds, and Nico & The Velvet Underground largely underwhelmed me. I don't doubt the artistry, I just feel like a lot of that music is very of a time that I have no real connection to, so it always ends up being a very analytical listen as opposed to one where I am just enjoying the album. Because of that, the albums on this list skew newer. A lot newer. I just wanted to make it clear that I'm not saying "old music bad" by excluding so many of them. It's a me thing. Anyway, onto the list!

40. Fall Out Boy - Folie a Deux

Genre: Emo Alternative-Rock Highlights: Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On a Bad Bet, I Don't Care, What a Catch, Donnie

For me, this album comes across as a funeral for the emo scene of the 00s. Shortly after this, Fall Out Boy would go on hiatus and haven't been the same since in my humble opinion, Paramore would go on to absolutely kill it with a shiny new sound, Panic! At the Disco would become a one-man ego trip, and My Chemical Romance released what is to this day their last album. All that being said, this doesn't come across as somber. Yes, there is a little angst, there's an acknowledgement of the unfairness of it all, hell, there's even a few guests making things awkward with their self-destructive depression. But despite it all, you get the impression that there is something to celebrate here.

39. Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare

Genre: Indie Rock Highlights: 505, Fluorescent Adolescent

Any album that has 505 on it is gonna be a good one in my book. There's a reason it's a fan favourite. It perfectly balances the depiction of fawning anticipation with the need to keep things interesting enough that the listener can actually get to the payoff. It's immaculate, but that isn't all that the album has to offer.

Throughout the whole album, there's a little added complexity where the rawness of their debut once was, and sure, I prefer the debut, but it makes this a distinct enough experience that you aren't going to constantly feel like you'd rather listen to your preferred album, which I find is a trap that many young artists end up falling into. It still keeps a lot of what made the debut so exciting though, which is also a virtue, as much as I do love a lot of their later experimentation.

38. David Bowie - The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars

Genre: Glam Rock Highlights: Moonage Daydream, Hang on to Yourself, Starman

There are a lot of reasons this is a must-listen for any prospective or established rock fan, and the quality isn't even the main one in my opinion. Yes, this album is fantastic - so fantastic in fact that I had a tough time picking just a few highlights - but it's an album that, whether it hits for you or not, will tell you so much about what you do and don't like in the broad umbrella genre that is rock music. That trait is a result of the sheer amount of early exploration and pioneering Bowie does on this record. It's all close enough that it feels like a uniform experience, but you've got early templates for the all-out anthemic rock sounds with the likes of Moonage Daydream, a more dynamic, yet still anthemic style with Starman, the rock ballad of Rock 'n' Roll Suicide, and the early punk stylings of Hang on to Yourself. It makes for a great beginners guide to rock music, or simply further vindication and understanding from more experienced listeners who may just have a blind spot with Bowie.

And all of that upside comes in a rock opera package with a loose but coherent story.

37. Sampha - Lahai

Genre: Alternative R&B Highlights: Suspended, Spirit 2.0, Only

If you put a gun to my head and told me I could only use one word to describe this album, that word would probably be 'thoughtful'. Fortunately though, there's no gun to my head, so I'll expand on that.

First, the lyricism consistently comes across as mature and enlightened in the most humble way possible. It's similar to the Kendrick album he featured on in that way: Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers. It reads as someone taking your hand and calmly guiding you through difficulty in life, as opposed to a self-indulgent lecture, and it's very easy to get something wrong and have a well-intentioned message come across as the latter if you aren't very thoughtful about your approach.

Then there are the instrumentals, which I've described before as something akin to a living thing. There is so much relaxed intricacy to the sound that all weaves together so naturally that it sounds like a melodic breath of some beautiful fantasy creature that you can't fully understand. It's what makes writing about it so difficult: it's got to be all about the emotion it evokes, not how it's evoked, because understanding how it works is both difficult and feels like dissecting a magnificent creature.

36. Denzel Curry - Melt My Eyez, See Your Future

Genre: Conscious Hip Hop Highlights: Walkin', X-Wing

If you've ever tried to dive in at the deep end of a genre that you've not listened to much of before, you'll know how I felt listening to this for the first time when it came out a couple years ago. To be clear, this isn't the most hip that ever did hop or anything, but it's a pure enough form of the genre that I didn't really know how to really approach it outside of the very surface level interaction of listening to it and either liking the album or not liking the album. Even individual tracks didn't stand out to me that much because I simply didn't speak the metaphorical language of this genre, so my feelings were essentially all vibes based. I bring that up to say that revisiting it with a little more experience under my belt made me worried that I wouldn't like it as much this time. As you can tell, I had nothing to worry about.

Melt My Eyez, See Your Future is a fantastic album about continuing to mature while comfortably into adulthood, exploring trauma, and criticizing various elements of culture that made growth difficult. It's intelligent, thoughtful, and the touch of psychedelia in the sound of the album pairs incredibly well with the lyrics about self-realization.

35. IDLES - Joy as an Act of Resistance

Genre: Art Punk Highlights: Never Fight a Man with a Perm, Samaritans, Television

Joy as an Act of Resistance is exactly what the title suggests and a little more: a punk album about how, despite everything, joy is very powerful. There is a particularly refreshing angle to that though, as throughout the album there are moments where it becomes explicit that this is from the perspective of someone who has felt pressure to live up to patriarchally masculine ideals of stoicism, and some focus is given to how that is harmful to men beyond the simplistic buzzwords that get thrown around so we don't have to actually talk about it. It's rare and important that men are told, as men, that they can and should express all emotions, including joy, and the fact that it's purpose beyond the personal benefit is so clearly laid out is the cherry on top.

To be clear though, this isn't a pushover punk record, not by any means. The vibe of the album is well summed up in the line "this snowflake's an avalanche". A bold statement on how an emotionally enlightened community can become a powerful force for good, especially en masse.

34. Arctic Monkeys - Humbug

Genre: Indie Rock, Psychedelic Rock Highlights: Cornerstone, Crying Lightning, The Jeweller's Hands

The first sign of real experimentation from Arctic Monkeys was one that disappointed me personally on first listen, but eventually grew on me, with the leisurely pace that most of this album is moving at. It's a really laid-back listen for the most part, one that invites the total opposite experience to that which they were - and, arguably in the UK, still are - known for. Where they once kept it fairly light on the thoughtful aspects in favour of an adrenaline-pumping, raw rock sound, they were now placing intricacy, both in songwriting and lyricism, at the forefront.

As I alluded to, it took some getting used to, I was a fan of the fast-paced Arctic Monkeys of their debut and sophomore attempts first and foremost, but now that it's finally clicked, I can appreciate the boldness on both an analytical level, and an emotional one.

33. Paramore - This Is Why

Genre: Post-punk Highlights: Figure 8, Running Out Of Time, This Is Why

This is why I love Paramore. They have such a creative integrity about them that is on full display here. While their contemporaries have turned into desperate trend-chasers or cheap nostalgia acts, Paramore keep reinventing themselves with a sense of sincere curiosity and adventure, while also nailing every single sound they've attempted. This newest sound is a natural progression from their initial sound almost, taking the maturity of their albums post-punk-sound and combining it with elements of their pop-punk roots, adding some extra musical complexity, and coming out with a post-punk album that feels like such a natural fit that in retrospect it seemed inevitable.

But all of that is pretty conceptual. It tells you where it sits in Paramore's discography, and that of their 00's pop-punk contemporaries, but not how the album holds up on it's own. Naturally, with it being on a list like this, I'm going to say it holds up well, but this is a question of why, not if, and I think there are plenty of reasons. First I'll start with Hayley Williams' lyrics, which are, as they have been for a while, refreshingly emotionally mature. Then there's the willingness to try out some really unique guitar sounds and effects for a band this popular. They really push the instrument further than most things you expect to chart. I'm trying to keep this brief, so I'll aim my last compliment towards the vocals, particularly on Figure 8. There's such a visceral strain that makes it hit so hard.

32. Michael Jackson - Thriller

Genre: Dance Pop Highlights: Billie Jean, Thriller, Beat It

Is a write-up really necessary for this one? It's held in high regard as one of the best pop albums - if not the best - and it is a well-earned title. This album is stacked. There are the three highlights I've listed above, sure, but I feel like it'd be sacrilegious not to mention the likes of P.Y.T., Wanna Be Startin' Somethin', Baby Be Mine... Basically anything but The Girl Is Mine feels like it warrants a mention here. It's all Thriller, no filler. If you haven't listened to it, what are you even doing reading a music blog for music recommendations? Go listen to it. Learn simple addition before learning about the niche shit that'll never come up in your daily life. And when you've done that, you can thank me and we can talk about stuff that's a little more niche. Seriously though, how haven't you heard this yet? Don't they play it when you come out of the womb?

Anyway, yeah, good album, Billie Jean is a masterpiece (and has aged very well considering we now know that he was more likely to sleep with the child than the mother), but you probably knew that already.

31. Arcade Fire - Funeral

Genre: Chamber Pop, Indie Rock Highlights: Neighborhood #1: Tunnels, Wake Up, Rebellion (Lies)

I don't think I've ever known an album to be so against the idea of you listening to songs from it individually. Don't get me wrong, I've heard better album experiences, more cohesive, better paced, more highly conceptual albums, but something about this album screams "don't you dare listen to a song off this thing. It's all or nothing". I really I can't even put my finger on why, exactly, but what I can tell you is that it makes a write-up significantly harder. Usually I can draw on my long history of casual listens to individual tracks to pick out highlights and to get a more intimate understanding of the sound of an album, but here, I've only got a handful of excellent experiences with the album that were, frankly, pretty spread out to go off.

What I can offer using that experience though, is that this album embodies a certain emotion really well, and that's the feeling of running away from home after the situation there has become untenable. It's not really something I'd call an explicit theme, but there are moments where it feels like a bittersweet nostalgia, like the feeling of someone describing a video game as a sanctuary from early familial turmoil. It's a focus on something warm in the blistering cold of a hard life.

30. King Crimson - In the Court of the Crimson King

Genre: Prog Rock, Art Rock Highlight: 21st Century Schizoid Man

45 minutes, 5 songs. That should give you some idea of how this album sounds. Each song is it's own sprawling, epic masterpiece. It spends minutes that would typically be spent on a song or two simply teasing you with playful mid-song solos that feel incomplete, only to then give you the full picture you got used to in the beginning in a satisfying explosion, bringing with it a new drive to propel the songs over the finishing line. There are of course variations on that formula to add the slight freshness required to keep these five tracks from getting stale, but regardless, you will need to approach this with patience, and if you can do that, it'll reward you for it tenfold.

29. Paramore - After Laughter

Genre: New Wave, Synthpop Highlights: Hard Times, 26, Idle Worship

I have a lot of love for After Laughter. It was one of the first albums I remember actively listening to on it's release, and was a superb example for me of a band radically changing their style in a way that feels sincere following a wave of albums that seemed like cashgrabs to a 16-year-old me. And I liked it plenty back then, sure, but it's grown on me massively in the years since then.

The way the whole album appears to be built around the concept of smiling through pain, putting on a happy act when you feel like your world is crumbling around you... It's awe-inspiring. I've mentioned it before, but the way you are pulled into that groove in the first 5 songs on the album, getting comfortable with the idea of happy pop songs with a darker underbelly, 26 comes in and absolutely blindsides you with a rare moment of lyrical-musical harmony as Hayley Williams sings about her regrets surrounding the pessimism she espoused and bought into, and how she feels trapped by it in the present. It's brutal. And then, while you're sitting with that, you're thrust right into the peppiest song on the album yet in Pool, which leaves you feeling the exact emotions the album is built around. I caught myself thinking "Wow, that's really fucked me up, but this is a really upbeat song, I'm not in the right headspace here, I gotta cheer up". I don't know if it's intentional, and the fact that the A-side ends on 26 when listening on vinyl leads me to believe it wasn't, but it's powerful all the same.

Other than that though, as much as I've seen opinions to the contrary, I believe this album is remarkably consistent. I even love the experimental spoken word track No Friend. It also happens to be an excellent showing of the band's versatility. It doesn't get much further from Riot than this, and it still just seems so effortless for them. Like a second nature. It's crazy. This is why Paramore are the sleeper GOATs of the 2000s pop punk movement.

28. Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not

Genre: Indie Rock Highlights: When the Sun Goes Down, I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor, The View From the Afternoon

The first effort from Arctic Monkeys being this good was a blessing and a curse all at once. It feels harsh to say they peaked with their first album, but in this case, I mean it as a positive. I still love the newer stuff from them, even their very divisive most recent album The Car, but the energy of this one can't be denied. It takes you by the wrist and charges forward at full pelt, prepared to drag you along if you can't keep up, and only really gives you a couple breathers.

It's because of that pace though, that one of my favourite aspects of the album often gets overlooked (even by myself initially), and that's the lyrics of the album. Now, sure, they aren't pure poetry or anything, and Alex Turner does go on to improve in that regard, but it all sticks to the theme of a young Brit's night out, and paints the picture fantastically, with all the awkwardness and charm that comes along with it.

27. Regina Spektor - Soviet Kitsch

Genre: Anti-Folk, Chamber Pop Highlights: Us, Chemo Limo, Ode to Divorce

I've written a lot about this album since starting this blog about 18 months ago, and I'm frankly running out of new things to say. If you want my in-depth write up about the album, I did one towards the end of last year, but to keep it simple, the highlight for me is the really cool and unique lyrical style in which Spektor phrases simple things in a strange enough way that you're forced to actually engage with the simple truths that often get abstracted by modern life. She doesn't say something you're likely to have heard before, like "people don't care about you as much as you do", she says "people are just people like you". The former is used in such a way that it's easy to ignore based on how people have used it before (after all, some people just are judgemental, which isn't always acknowledged). But when Spektor says "people are just people like you", it's prompting you to think about yourself acting in the way you expect others to, and how you wouldn't be so unkind. It makes it more powerful because you actually have to think about the type of person you'd have to be to judge someone so harshly, and how their opinion ultimately shouldn't matter to you.

26. black midi - Schlagenheim

Genre: Experimental Rock Highlights: bmbmbm, Of Schlagenheim, Ducter

When I say this album is incredibly overwhelming, understand I mean it in the best way possible. There is so much going on at any given moment, and so little time to wait for the next moment, that it took me several listens before I felt I could even truly grasp it. And usually when I say that it comes from a lack of experience with the genre, but while I hadn't heard anything quite like black midi, I have been a fan of rock and rock-adjacent music for most of my life. It's just so much album that it took a while for me to digest it all. And even now, every listen feels fresh because it's so difficult to memorize every aspect of it.

Another crazy thing about this album is how it doesn't even feel like your typical balance of intensity and intricacy, which is probably a massive reason for that overwhelm I mentioned. It's not less intricate in favour of intensity or vice versa, they just turn both of them up to 11 and expect you to get with it, and I have a lot of respect for that approach.

25. MF DOOM - MM.. FOOD

Genre: Hip-Hop Highlights: Deep Fried Frenz, Rapp Snitch Knishes, Kookies

If you want the delectable dessert of DOOM's discography, dare I say it doesn't get more delicious than the divine rhymes of MM.. FOOD. Maybe Madvillainy is more of a main course meal; the mandatory musical meat that you must make your way through first, but the flavourful fun follows shortly after for me. MM.. FOOD is a concept album, using food metaphors throughout, and that sounds like a really cheesy idea, but it's surprisingly satiating in practice, and is the ingredient that really elevates the album to point where, to me, it's a classic.

24. Japanese Breakfast - Soft Sounds From Another Planet

Genre: Dream Pop, Indie Rock Highlights: The Body Is a Blade, Boyish, Road Head

What's not to love about Japanese Breakfast? The instrumentals never failing to perfectly replicate even the most specific of moods, the evocative and often wise lyricism, the soothing vocals... This album in particular is often verging on meditative, with even most of the upbeat songs having a comforting quality to them that makes them work as a late night lullaby. Even the one song that I'd consider a poor choice for a sleep playlist, 12 Steps, feels like a rock song in a fluffy jumper. It's got all the elements you'd expect from something abrasive, but performed in a way that makes it sound sweet and cozy instead.

As for the wise lyrics I mentioned, it doesn't get much better than The Body Is a Blade in Japanese Breakfast's discography. It's about the idea of perseverance, basically, but in a way that feels very passive, like all the effort the protagonist can muster is put into keeping it together and the rest of their life is on autopilot. It's excellent and well worth a listen. It also stands on it's own if you don't feel like listening to the whole album.

Try not to get so righteous

About what's fair for everyone

Find what's left in you

Channel something good

23. Björk - Homogenic

Genre: Electronic, Art Pop Highlights: Bachelorette, Hunter

On Homogenic, Björk creates a balanced, maximalist electronic soundscape that lends itself to repeated sessions of critical listening, which serves as a backdrop for her passionate, emotion-filled vocal performances. It's an immersive style that really needs to be felt and not described for it to really be understood, but suffice it to say that if you're a fan of music that rewards focused listening, and are not averse to electronic sounds, you'll find something to love here.

22. Jeff Buckley - Grace

Genre: Singer-Songwriter, Alternative Rock Highlights: Hallelujah, Lover You Should Have Come Over

The one and only record from one of music's most overlooked great artists, Jeff Buckley, is a beautiful and thoughtful album. An expression of pain from a tender soul, communicated by way of one of the most beautiful voices to grace a rock-adjacent sound atop instrumentals that at once accept flaws as part of the process and demand perfection to the greatest extent possible without losing the human touch.

21. Alvvays - Alvvays

Genre: Indie Pop Highlights: Atop a Cake, Red Planet, Next of Kin

The first and (in my opinion) worst of Alvvays' albums still gives me enough hits of dopamine from their euphoria-laced sound to make it near the halfway point of this list. The only thing that is really lacking in this album for me, which they will go on to address in future listens, is the rough edges in their production (nothing quite seems to pop like it does later on) and the monotony. Luckily though, the one tone they did run with was one that I absolutely love, making listens great fun regardless.

For more of my thoughts on this album (and the other Alvvays albums we'll get to), check out my Alvvays discography post I made last year! It was an early one of mine, so it might need some revision at some point, but most of what I say in there should still stand.

20. Black Country, New Road - For the First Time

Genre: Experimental Post-Punk Highlights: Sunglasses

As someone who enjoys long songs but short albums, this is almost my dream. 6 songs over a 40 minute runtime. It's not quite around the 35 minute runtime that tends to make me love an album, but it's damn close, and those extra five minutes or so are hardly felt anyways with patient behemoths of songs being held down with an awkward post-punk groove you will have come to expect if you're familiar with the 2020s wave of British post-punk.

I've spoken a lot about how debuts can often sound a little unrefined in their sound, and usually that takes on a slightly negative but totally acceptable connotation, but here they lean in fully and it makes that rawness one of the best elements of the sound. From the album's title, to the theme of immaturity and childhood popping up on occasion throughout the album, to even the jazzy sound that sounds somewhat improvised, they don't shy away from how far they have to go, and that makes for a far more enjoyable experience.

19. Radiohead - OK Computer

Genre: Alternative Rock Highlights: Paranoid Android, Karma Police, Let Down

This is the second time I've had real trouble picking highlights for the album, because practically everything here is pure alternative rock gold. Paranoid Android and Karma Police were mandatory, sure, but beyond that it is almost literally the whole album (minus Fitter Happier for reasons obvious to the masses of people who've heard this album) begging for a spot there. Ultimately, I chose Let Down, with the deciding factor simply being that the lines "One day I am gonna grow wings // A chemical reaction // Hysterical and useless". There's a deeply mangled sense of hope within those lines, as if the sentiment is fighting itself. The crushing realism fighting with the spark of optimism, providing a counterpoint within a hopeful metaphor. One day, you may grow wings, but it's nothing more than a side effect of radiation, and they will be a useless deformation, not and escape.

I'm sure that I don't need to go over how great this album is. If you're a music fan on the internet, you already know that, or have at least heard something to that effect from another hyper-passionate fan, but if this has been a blindspot for you so far, I will be the 548th person to tell you: you need to listen to this album

18. Fall Out Boy - From Under the Cork Tree

Genre: Emo Pop-Punk Highlights: Dance, Dance, Sugar, We're Going Down, XO

This is quintessential emo pop punk. It's got the perfect blend of edge and catchiness that made that wave of music so compelling and divisive. As much as Fall Out Boy did essentially make the blueprint for that sound though, there is a uniqueness to them. The heavy emphasis on bass, constant musical shifts, and most of all Patrick Stump's soul-tinged vocals, all contribute to something that feels like more than a bland example of the genre.

On top of that, there is a perfect witty spite to the lyrics that are very rarely replicated by other bands, as much as they may have tried. When others would try, it often came across as bland woman-bashing which gave the movement as a whole a bad name as an especially misogynistic subculture. Now, I wouldn't dare take the stance that there was no misogyny to speak of, but if you take a look at the Mount Rushmore of the movement (My Chemical Romance, Paramore, Panic! At the Disco, and - most relevant to the topic at hand - Fall Out Boy), whenever there was woman-bashing, I for one always got the impression that it was about a single woman as opposed to women as a whole (with a couple notable exceptions from Panic! At the Disco with Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, and Paramore, with Misery Business).

My general point about this album is that it is very good at toeing all the lines it needs to. It goes far enough to make you feel something, but not far enough that you forget that it's not that deep, all the while being targeted well enough that it doesn't feel like it's perpetuating misogyny despite often being about criticism of women.

17. Alvvays - Antisocialites

Genre: Indie Pop Highlights: Saved By a Waif, Plimsoll Punks, Hey

I listed two flaws in Alvvays' first outing earlier in this list: the monotony and the general vibe of being rough around the edges, which didn't work for their sound. Well I'm happy to report that neither of those things are an issue here. I still wouldn't exactly describe this album as diverse (although it's definitely plenty for a runtime of just over half an hour), but the euphoria factory sound is so refined in this one. It feels like my brain is having a summer water fight where it substituted water with dopamine and also it's raining dopamine. And it gets better. Boy do I love music.

As I mentioned in the write-up of their self-titled album, I made a post about Alvvays' discography if you want some more in depth thoughts about this album and their other two. I'll only plug it one more time, I promise.

16. My Chemical Romance - Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Genre: Emo Pop-Punk Highlights: Ghost of You, Thank You for the Venom, I Never Told You What I Do for a Living

I could honestly just fill this write-up by getting the red string and push pins out and trying to string together the story of the album, deciphering what exactly is and isn't related to it, how the ones that are related progress the story, etc. but I don't feel especially qualified for that. I go through binges and fasts of My Chemical Romance, and do more fasting of this album than binging, so I don't have as much of a grasp on that as I'd like. That being said, the TL;DR is that the protagonist's wife dies, and he makes a deal with the devil to see her again after claiming the souls of 1000 evil people.

The music, for the most part, matches that grandiose, dark, theatrical concept perfectly, and manages to be a cathartic listen throughout, really giving as much intensity as possible to get you to that transcendent spot whilst not turning into sound sludge and (for most people) ruining the whole thing.

15. JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown - SCARING THE HOES

Genre: Experimental Hip-Hop Highlights: Burfict!, God Loves You, Kingdom Hearts Key

Combining Peggy's maximalist production with Danny Brown's batshit... Well his batshit everything, it's verging on perfection. It might not have been my favourite album of the year, but it has almost certainly been my most replayed. The album has a really infectious energy, is short enough that you can get a quick front-to-back listen in with time to spare for the sequel EP, and has some really funny bars as a cherry on top too, most of which are on one of the highlights I chose: God Loves You. That song is bar after bar of dirty bible double entendres and puns, and to this day some of the lines crack me up.

You can just hear the fun these guys are having making this album in every single verse, and it really helps sell the whole over-the-top vibe. It's an album made with the thought of "what happens if two technically excellent rap artists come together to shitpost?" and the answer is a hip-hop masterpiece.

14. Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp a Butterfly

Genre: Jazz Rap Highlights: King Kunta, Wesley's Theory, i

At this point I'd like to remind anyone reading this that it's my personal opinion and I'm not claiming any objectivity in it. And I'd also like to remind people I put this at least 86 spots higher than Apple Music did.

Onto the actual album though, it is, of course, incredible. It's the album that properly opened up the genre of hip-hop to me. Before I heard this I picked out the very occasional album, but had issues with it resonating with me. I still had issues afterwards, but they were the sort of thing that goes away with pure exposure.

So this album was huge for my musical exploration, but what makes it so good? Well, there are plenty of reasons and plenty of people talking about those reasons. It's an insightful description of how institutional racism effects the way black Americans respond to success and Kendrick gets very introspective to achieve that end, it's got an infectious jazzy style, the poem building throughout the album is a very useful thread in making it more cohesive and is exceptionally executed with every song feeling very relevant to the new lines that precede it... It's an exceptional album, and well worth a listen regardless of who you are.

13. Model/Actriz - Dogsbody

Genre: Dance-punk, Industrial Rock Highlights: Donkey Show, Mosquito, Crossing Guard

This feels a little dirty. Putting Dogsbody ahead of TPAB, not Dogsbody itself. Dogsbody feels downright filthy. I've spoken a lot about this album, and I always describe it as some variation on the explanation that it sounds like gay men doing BDSM. It's rough, a little scary in a thrilling sort of way, it's sexy, and it's fun. It even has the aftercare at the end. And also it's gay... Obviously...

It comes right out the gate at a million miles an hour too, with the first four songs being an amazing summary of the album's sound. If the first half of this album were an EP, it may well be my favourite EP of all time, but fortunately it doesn't end so soon, because while the rest of the album doesn't quite reach that same height for the remainder of it's runtime for me, there are still highlights to come, and a loose narrative that gets a beautiful resolution on Sun In. That narrative is one of an unrequited love within a very physical relationship. A one-sided emotional investment, which, of course, becomes toxic. The narrator relies on the sexual side of the relationship like a crutch, not quite giving them everything they need, but giving them enough that they don't mind the emptiness. The concept is executed via very heady and strange symbolism, but that is what I've managed to glean from it. I'll leave the rest of the analysis to you.

12. Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher

Genre: sad girl indie Highlights: Chinese Satellite, Kyoto

If I'm being entirely honest, my favourite song from the album isn't in the highlights section. If you've heard the album, you already know what it is. I feel like recommending it outside of the context of the album, though, is placing it in a context in which it has one arm tied behind it's back. It should be little surprise that I'm talking about the closer here, it gives me chills every time it comes on now because it was such a glorious and powerful payoff to such a slow and serene album. The album didn't need a banger, but the contrast is what takes it from good to one of my favourite albums ever (my number 1 favourite at one point)

When listening to the album, it's clear why it inspired so many copycats. It's a sound that resonates with a dejected youth that often turns to sarcasm and humour when things feel especially hopeless. This is what extreme sadness sounds like to younger generations now: a sort of "yeah, that makes sense" mentality that comes with being constantly bombarded with negativity. It's not like you can be surprised things aren't going your way when very little in the world has ever seemed to. There's not much point in making a scene when everyone who can help you is convinced you're the fool in the play. And that also happens to resonate especially well with young women, who are constantly told to deny reality or accept their awful conditions. Of course, all marginalized groups get that to some extent, but it's usually in the form of denying that there is no systemic problem, or that in any individual instance it isn't informed by bigotry. In my experience, the denial that a negative thing even happened to someone is exceptionally rampant within misogyny specifically.

With all of that out of the way, though, I think that is much of the reason nothing hits quite like Punisher for me though. The resonant aesthetics are great, sure, but so often people copy the aesthetics they like without also integrating the meaning. On the surface, Phoebe Bridgers sings in a pretty rambly, conversational way, but if you pay attention, the actual thoughts beneath the aesthetics are impressively profound. The quick, funny, personable lines stick out on an aesthetic level, but fundamentally only serve as a seasoning. Whenever most other artists try the sad girl indie vibe, it comes off as hollow because they give all the seasoning and none of the actual food. Punisher, on the other hand, is a hearty, flavourful meal with everything you could ask for from this style of music and should not be overlooked.

11. Japanese Breakfast - Jubilee

Genre: Chamber Pop, Indie Pop Highlights: Paprika, Be Sweet, Savage Good Boy

I've already made a whole post about Jubilee (mostly Paprika though, to be honest), so I'll keep this relatively brief, but this album holds such a special place in my heart. It's clearly not in my top 10, but if you told me I could only listen to 5 albums ever again, this would be one of them. It's very strange to describe what makes this special though. I know it is something to do with it's relationship to joy, but it's not like it's a happy album. There are happy songs, for sure (Paprika, my beloved), but it's about 50/50 when it comes to happiness and sadness. I mean, all the happiness Paprika musters is entirely undone by the emotional wrecking ball that is In Hell, for starters.

I think what the relationship to joy is is a sort of impression you get listening to the album that there is happiness in even the most awful situations. Sometimes it may be deeply buried, but it feels as though this album urges you to keep digging in a very implicit way. It's not explicitly about you persevering, it's about Michelle Zauner persevering and the rewards she got for it. It doesn't push expectations on you, it doesn't assume to know what you're going through, what you're capable of, or what is best for you, it sort of sneakily lets you know "hey, it's an option to keep pushing through and staying positive. This is how it benefited me." And I think that is, in most cases, more powerful than a simple "keep going".

I lied about keeping it brief, but believe me, I tried to.

10. The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead

Genre: Jangle Pop Highlights: There Is a Light That Never Goes Out, The Queen Is Dead, Bigmouth Strikes Again

Everything about this album screams indie pop masterpiece, from the driving drums on the opener and title track, to the back to back dour songs I Know It's Over and Never Had No One Ever, to some of the jangliest songs The Smiths have ever put out like The Boy With the Thorn In His Side, everything feels so classic and so influential. Even some of the bonus tracks on the deluxe edition are downright iconic. Asleep, Rubber Ring, Unloveable... All great. It feels almost as though they were destined to make a must-listen indie pop album and the gods bestowed them with some sort of artistic steroids to make that destiny manifest.

Chances are you've heard of The Smiths, and seeing as this album is just them at their best, it's hard to talk about it without getting too in-depth or too cursory, so I'll describe what makes The Smiths special for anyone who may have a blind spot there. Most of what they do is simply about excelling in the fundamentals of musicianship, with Morrissey being a spectacular lyricist, Johnny Marr being the best indie guitarist of all time, and bassist Andy Rourke and Mike Joyce on drums holding everything down well in the rhythm section to allow the other two legendary musicians to shine their brightest. That all makes for a great band, of course, but if it were just a bunch of really skilled musicians doing nothing special I don't think the band would have such status and staying power. The true value I see in The Smiths comes from the outsider vibe they portray, particularly within Morrissey's lyrics and vocal stylings. It is such a distinctive style that rarely gets mimicked very well, which has allowed them to remain unique, still retaining that outsider air about them while being popular enough to carry a torch for those outsiders on a wide scale without losing that exact power. That's what The Smiths are all about, and this album is the greatest example of that in their discography.

9. Everything Everything - Get To Heaven

Genre: Progressive Pop Highlights: To The Blade, Distant Past

I have a very strange relationship to this album. It's a relationship I do share with other albums, but not nearly to this extent. That relationship is defined by a retrospective lack of enthusiasm (although no lack of appreciation), but punctuated with an in-the-moment revelation every single time I listen to the album of just how much I loved it all along. No more intensely experienced was that exact dynamic than when I noticed that, by my album ratings, this album ended up on the shortlist for this very top 40. I wasn't antagonistic at all towards the prospect, just a little taken aback and half-expecting it to fall out of the top 40 pretty quickly. But as is always the case, I was swiftly corrected.

The album touches on all sorts of political and cultural strife in very abstract ways, but taken as a whole it is very much about the radicalization of a character into a terrorist organization. The narrative doesn't stick too close to that concept following the climax, but still remains tangentially and emotionally connected to political extremism and fear.

That narrative doesn't just stop at the lyrics being about political extremism and radicalization, the synthetic soundscape recalls the digital world where most of that radicalization takes place, and the occasionally confusing and cryptic execution of said lyrics mirrors the feelings of a young person getting whipped up into the chaotic, often nonsensical and contradictory frenzies of the right wing. It is very thorough in it's depiction of the process by which these people often come to do terrible things which makes for an incredible listen and I hope I've learned my lesson about forgetting that.

8. underscores - Wallsocket

Genre: Indietronica, Electropop, Indie Rock Highlights: Cops and robbers

I think now is a good time to quickly go over the two ways I've noticed I can adore an album: one of those ways is by an album seeming as though it couldn't have possibly been created by a person, even a group of people. As if it must have been passed down to the musician who claims ownership over it by some divine power. The other way is a clearly imperfect album where the imperfections somehow just make it even more lovable, because it could have only been made by a human. You'll see that dynamic throughout the list, but especially in the top 5.

This album is not close to perfect. It's a little erratic. underscores tries too much to maintain too much cohesion. Some of the lyrics are a little awkward. But somehow, none of that matters, it just adds to the album in a weird way, gives it a certain charm. That being said though, there is plenty to both love and appreciate too, such as the very online production which provides the vast majority of what little cohesion there is throughout the record, and the very diverse and strange subject matters that get touched on here. There's such a unique personality to the album that you can't help but recognize the humanity in it, and I think that's what makes my connection to this album so strong.

7. My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade

Genre: Emo Pop-Punk Highlights: Welcome to the Black Parade, I Don't Love You, Disenchanted

The Black Parade is undeniably the quintessential album of the movement and possibly even has a claim to the quintessential album of the era. I don't think there was a rock fan of the time that didn't know about My Chemical Romance, and I don't think there's a single person who was alive in it's hay day whose emotional dam could withstand the power of that G note. And that's the thing with My Chemical Romance (on this album especially): they are just so emotionally resonant. Whether that emotion is toxic anger and hatred, or whether it's joy, sadness, or the overwhelming nostalgia, you can't help but feel something in response to a Black Parade song.

As you are probably well aware at this point, the album isn't for everybody. It is very much a rock album and is very much sincere, and tends to actively go against the genre's typical clichés in some way. Gerard Way doesn't seem badass, and you probably won't feel badass listening to this album. It isn't really into glorifying moral and emotional shortcomings or even really accepting them. It is actively introspective, from the perspective of an awful man (one which seems to represent the typical macho and troubled-in-a-cool-way character that uninspired rock lyricists portray) facing death and losing hope at a shot of redemption, but who eventually, in my reading, attempts to face death with the grace and sincere love that was lacking in his life.

Many people write off this movement as hollow self-loathing (I even saw someone confidently compare Machine Gun Kelly's lyrics to My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy which was baffling to say the least), but you really do get what you give when it comes to the movement's big three (My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, and Paramore. Let's be real, Panic! have like two albums and no one can even agree which two)

6. David Bowie - ★

Genre: Experimental Rock Highlights: ★, Lazarus

You can't talk about this album without talking about the unfortunate death of one of music's greatest legends. I don't know how the death of the man David Jones was handled. I'm sure it was with great love, care, and no spared expense. But I do know that the superstar David Bowie went out on his own terms. Even when the album isn't explicitly about mortality, you feel the ghost of the man. It reads as though he's looking back on his life and his regrets, coming to terms with the fact that there will forever be unfinished business in his life.

It is enviable in a sense though. All of us have to die (for now), and that's always going to be painful to those around us, and ourselves in our approach. But not many of us get to make our own headstones. And that is exactly how I'd describe ★. A beautiful headstone over the grave of one of music's most influential figures. So if you can stand the morbidity of it, come and appreciate the craftsmanship, the ode to one's own life, and pay your respects. It really is an experience that I believe transcends personal tastes, even if the music itself doesn't appeal to you enough to revisit, the album as a unified project, I believe, is a universally affecting experience.

5. Kendrick Lamar - good kid, m.A.A.d city

Genre: West Coast Hip-Hop Highlights: good kid, m.A.A.d city, Sing About Me, I'm Dying of Thirst

There's one particular reason I love this album so much. Song for song it's very good, but maybe not top 5 for me. Thematically it's great, but far from something that'd resonate with me this much. The thing about this album that makes me love it this much is that it is an absolute masterclass in sequencing. Even with what I'd consider a noticeably flawed tracklist with a few songs that don't quite hit for me, there is no point where I was listening to this album and didn't feel very engaged.

The sequencing here appears to bend time, making you feel at the halfway point as if you've barely gotten started but somehow still been given almost an album's worth of thoughts already. And that might lead you to believe that it's overwhelming, but that is somehow not the case either. You'll need a few listens to properly take everything in, but it feels as though you're allowed to engage and disengage at will with the lyrics and concepts.

Essentially, my thoughts come down to the idea that as a collection of songs it's slightly lacking by the standards of a top 5 album and by the standards set by Kendrick himself, but it is redeemed and then some by the fact that it captures the essence of an album perfectly. If you don't typically listen to albums and don't understand what separates them from any old collection of songs, this album is the one I'll point to as an example of the exceptionality of the format. The flow of the album, the stories, the immersion... None of that can be matched.

4. black midi - Hellfire

Genre: Avant Prog Highlights: Sugar/Tzu, Welcome To Hell, The Race Is About To Begin

If you're looking for an intense, overwhelming-yet-satisfying listen, look no further than black midi, and Hellfire in particular. I've talked a lot about this album in the past, and I always go back to the first time I heard it and the same description: it felt like I was shot up to heaven to see the face of god and shot back down to earth. It went beyond your typical transcendent experience and into the territory where you start to feel you'll never be the same again.

Unfortunately, that faded with repeat listens as I've come to know these songs inside and out, but it remains an invigorating and awe-striking experience. The initial reaction can be put down to the breakneck speed of the music, with every instrument seemingly existing just to keep you struggling to keep up and wrap your head around their parts. The repeated experience, however, comes down to things like the lyrics and themes of the album. It gives listeners so much to dig into, and when you consider the lower-than-average runtime, it becomes truly impressive how densely packed this album is.

As the title would suggest, the album depicts all manner of evil, from fearmongering on the opener, to war on Welcome To Hell, to complex exploitation on Eat Men Eat, there is so much to explore within a cohesive package.

And somehow it was my third favourite album from that year

3. Black Country, New Road - Ants From Up There

Genre: Art Rock, Chamber Pop Highlights: Good Will Hunting, The Place Where He Inserted The Blade

The second album of the 2022 ten trifecta has a weirdly similar vibe to the first (that being the previous album, Hellfire), but if I were to describe the differences, the albums would be total opposites. Other than the fact it's hard to conceive of the process by which they were made, Hellfire goes at blazing speeds while AFUT pulls back, Hellfire channels chaos where AFUT goes for a more considered style, Hellfire makes it's points quickly and moves on but AFUT takes it's time to build it's narratives. And yet, I've scarcely seen a fan of one that isn't a fan of the other. It's a strange connection these two albums share, which makes it fitting that they are right beside eachother on this list.

Onto Ants From Up There specifically though, the album is defined by a simmering patience and desperation. Thematically depicting a relationship strained by distance, physical and emotional, but in which one side is dependent on the other. Of course, this relationship is bound to fall apart, and the album spirals into a hopeless angst fueled by regret and shame.

As you can tell, it's not a happy listen, but if you can make it through the gargantuan 12 minute closer Basketball Shoes without the album leaving an impact on you, I'm not exactly sure how. After all we go through with the protagonist, when Isaac Wood belts the words "All I've been forms the drone we sing the rest // Your generous loan to me // Your crippling interest" hit like a truck going 100 miles per hour.

In general, the lyrics throughout this album depict overdependence in a very thoughtful and heartbreaking way. It feels as though it is acknowledged that the relationship can't go on for the sake of the immature party, but regardless, the pain felt by that person is very real, and you feel all of that here. The understanding and the frustration.

2. Alvvays - Blue Rev

Genre: Indie Pop, Dream Pop, Jangle Pop Highlights: After The Earthquake, Pressed, Tile By Tile

Picking highlights for this album was a bitch.

Completing two trifectas on this list at once, we have the final Alvvays album, and the final of my three albums from 2022 I consider 10s. I mentioned earlier the two ways an album can end up meaning this much to me (although you'd be forgiven for not reading that, this is a long list with a lot of writing): first, you have the perfect, flawless albums that feel handed down by the gods. Then there's albums like Blue Rev.

The album isn't flawless. The mastering isn't too great, for example, and Many Mirrors is pretty far from the standard I find the album is usually operating at (an 8 amongst 9s and 10s, nothing major, but a noticeable outlier). But somehow, all the flaws I find make me love it even more. It's as if the album has more personality the more flaws I recognize, and I think that's all about the euphoria that Alvvays are so capable of creating. When the music makes you feel this good, there is no flaw that can bring it down. There is always that simple, invincible rebuttal of "and yet...".

For the final plug, I'll once again bring attention to my Alvvays retrospective for anyone who wants more in-depth thoughts on this incredible love letter to indie pop and all it's subgenres.

1. Radiohead - In Rainbows

Genre: Art Rock, Alternative Rock Highlights: Weird Fishes / Arpeggi, Jigsaw Falling Into Place, Videotape

I would be downright baffled if anyone needed me to tell them that this album is phenomenal. It's seen by many a music community as one of the greatest albums of all time. I couldn't possibly go over all the reasons it's beloved by so many, but here are a few of my reasons for loving it enough to consider it my favourite album.

The first thing I feel I should touch on here is the warmth of this album. It feels like being wrapped inside a warm cocoon, with the sounds of every change in your morphing body reverberating off the walls, with the sounds themselves being a mangled reflection of what was once beautiful and natural.

That metaphor (or simile, I guess?) came to me while writing it, but it's honestly very fitting, and not just in the abstract representation of all the sounds and feelings that this album represents to me. It's also fitting in that the album seems to have a running theme of impermanence. The opener, 15 Step, is about the panic of realizing that you yourself are temporary; that your very self will one day cease to exist. Bodysnatchers represents someone whose self-hood is unfixed and ephemeral. Nude doesn't fit the theme unless you consider an opposition to change as a subversion of it, but then Weird Fishes / Arpeggi acts as a counterpoint in ways to that apathetic stubbornness ("Why should I stay here? Why should I stay?"). I could go on, but I don't want to linger on this point, picking out every example. That being said though, that theme ties everything together in a very subtle way. Subtle enough that I only picked up on it this past listen, and I've been listening to this album front-to-back, intently, several times a year for about 5 years now, but I think I always picked up on the similar thematic vibe subconsciously.

One final note to end on...

I recognize that this post is a very long one, but I wanted my proper comeback to be something big. In the future though, I'll be looking to split things up a bit more, starting with a The Cure retrospective that I've already begun working on. I'll also start an alternate blog for more laid-back thoughts about music, starting with my thoughts on these types of lists in general, which is a topic I've been thinking about since Apple Music astounded people with it's bad takes on it's own top 100 while I was in the process of making this post. Once I post that, I'll edit this post with a link. (Here's the link) Thanks for your time and I hope this helps you find an album that you like, or prompts you to revisit an old favourite!

[vickyvicarious]

I greatly fear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The whole agglomeration of things—the ship steered into port by a dead man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; the touching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror—will all afford material for her dreams.

I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood's Bay and back.

This might be an answer to the question of why Lucy sleepwalks to the graveyard. I know a lot of people say it's Dracula's doing,and even her earlier sleepwalking is easier to mistake as his influence when not paying attention to dates. But we know that she's been sleepwalking for over a week now, when he was still way out at sea. Even if she is vulnerable to his mere presence in some way that doesn't require any direct intervention, that wouldn't explain her sleepwalking with that much time/distance between them. So it starts perfectly naturally.

Then, the question is, at what point does that change? And tonight's sleepwalking is such a departure from usual, one that leads her right to him to be drunk from for the first time. So it's tempting to say now is when he starts. But honestly, I don't think that's true.

Mina points out here that she thinks the events of the day will provide material for Lucy's dreams and influence her sleepwalking. Later on, we get Lucy's own account of what she remembers from that night:

"I didn't quite dream; but it all seemed to be real. I only wanted to be here in this spot—I don't know why, for I was afraid of something—I don't know what. I remember, though I suppose I was asleep, passing through the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by, and I leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling—the whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all howling at once—as I went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory of something long and dark with red eyes, just as we saw in the sunset, and something very sweet and very bitter all around me at once; and then I seemed sinking into deep green water, and there was a singing in my ears, as I have heard there is to drowning men; and then everything seemed passing away from me; my soul seemed to go out from my body and float about the air. I seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under me, and then there was a sort of agonising feeling, as if I were in an earthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw you do it before I felt you."

While there are other reasons for several of these elements, there are parallels to the events of the funeral as well. Dogs always oppose Dracula, so they may well have been truly howling... but Mina doesn't mention it, so it's possible that was part of her dream. If so it could have been related to the terrified dog she saw at the funeral. Similarly, the idea of water and drowning men, while perhaps just part of the experience of being drunk from, could have been an impression influenced by her thoughts of the story of the Captain and his companions. Another detail, admittedly more tenuous: while the lighthouse isn't in the same area as the cliffs that she and Mina walked to, or the Demeter's crash site, Lucy's spirit still goes towards the edge of water and land... towards the direction the Demeter blew in from?

Even Lucy wanting so badly to go to their spot in the graveyard despite being afraid... It could be due to the incident at the funeral making such a deep impression upon her. It scares/upsets her, but weighs heavily on her mind, and things that are on her mind can influence her sleeping behavior. Mina took her on a long walk that day as well... what if that plays in to sleeping Lucy wanting to go on a longer walk away from the house?

Mina is tired herself tonight, and perhaps doesn't hide the key as well, since she feels like the long walk will have done the trick to get Lucy to rest quietly. And we've seen a build of Lucy being more determined to try and get out anyway, with her having an odd concentration and searching for the key...

[spectres-scribbles]

Countdown

Prologue

May 3040

“It’s over, right?” Erend asked as he hugged Aloy from the side as the squad gathered around each other, reunited and victorious.

Aloy said nothing, for now.

Let them revel in this hard-earned victory. They’d earned it.

The truth could wait for a few days, until they were back at the Base.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” She said instead.

Enthusiastic agreements met that question and together, the squad retraced their steps out of the base, eager to be gone from the place.

- - - - - - - - - -

They set up camp once they were back on the mainland so that they could tend to their injuries.

Unsurprisingly, Sylens continued on his way up the coast without stopping or saying anything other than a quick “I’ll be in contact” to Aloy.

“Where’s he going?” Erend asked, watching the fake-Banuk’s Charger disappear into the darkness.

“Tilda’s mansion, I think.” Aloy responded. “It’s just up the coast from here.”

“What for?”

“Knowing him, he’s probably going to start going through the base, now that the Zeniths are no longer a threat.”

“More shiny toys for him to play with?”

“I guess we’ll see.” Aloy responded with a shrug.

“What was he talking about, with that whole ‘You people will need my help’ bit, anyway?” Erend commented.

Aloy and Beta shared a look at that.

They’d hoped to wait, but now that the question had been asked, there was no way that they could blow it off completely.

“We thought the fight was over with the Zeniths, but in truth, it’s barely just begun.” Aloy told the group.

“Barely begun?” Kotallo repeated. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll explain it all when we get back to Base. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all, in truth.”

“Must be serious if even you’re having trouble with it.” Erend noted.

“Understatement of the century,” Aloy mirthlessly told her Oseram friend. “For now, we focus on getting back to Base, then we plan our next move.”

τ - ι - κ - μ - χ - θ

After Zo had checked her and cleared her, Beta went straight to work, beginning to check GAIA’s rig. Shortly after, Aloy found her when she was cleared as well.

“The rig seems okay, no external damage.” Beta reported as Aloy approached her. “I haven’t started any diagnostics on GAIA herself, though.”

Despite the clinical air she was trying to project, Aloy seemed to sense that something was bothering her sister, for she reached out to put a hand on the younger clone’s shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Without warning, Beta turned away from the rig to bury herself in Aloy’s arms.

“He was my first real friend,” Beta murmured thickly into Aloy’s neck.

Unlike the others, Beta hadn’t had any chance to mourn Varl. Literally the minute the Zeniths returned to the base, they’d shoved Beta into the chair, chained her, and forced her to work on integrating HEPHAESTUS into GAIA. Whatever little rest she had, she was tortured via virtual reality dissociation.

Gerard had even used Varl’s murder to crush Beta’s spirits so that she wouldn’t try to fight what she was being forced to do, which had anguished her to no end. It had only been when Aloy contacted her via Tilda’s data channel that she had regained some hope, enough to hold on until Aloy and her other friends had come for her.

“I know.” Aloy murmured back, trying to comfort Beta, but feeling awkward while doing it. “I’m sorry I was so impatient and ignorant back then. I treated you the way I was, and I shouldn’t have.”

“Did you guys…?” Beta quietly asked but was unable to finish the sentence.

“Yeah, we buried and held a funeral for him.” Aloy answered with a nod. “It was the main reason why we took so long to rescue you once I stopped Regalla and her army from slaughtering Hekarro and forced Sylens to join us. His memorial is outside the eastern exit to the Base-”

“So he can see Plainsong and the Sacred Lands like he and Zo liked to do.” Beta finished, nodding. “I’m glad.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Zo, who turned her focus to the evening meal after having finished the squad’s medical exams, announced from her place at the campfire.

Aloy pulled back a little to look at Beta. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

Their meal was quick and easy: Beanweed Bites with canteens of water to wash it down. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to sate everyone’s hunger. Even Erend, who preferred ale to water, didn’t complain, glad to have food in his belly.

“You can have that when we’re back at Base.” Zo told him with a roll of her eyes, earning a chuckle from the rest of the squad as they rolled out their bedrolls.

Aloy tasked her two Clawstriders to watch duty patrolling the area around their camp to act as a deterrent for troublemakers, while the Sunwing perched in nearby ruins for a bird’s eye view of the area. Their herd of Chargers were grazing peacefully nearby but would react to fight alongside the Combat machines if there was trouble during the night.

With all that done, Aloy turned her focus to her own bedding. As she was doing that, Beta approached her.

“Can I sleep with you?” Beta asked Aloy timidly, as around them, the rest of the squad got settled for bed around the campfire. “I just… don’t think I can… I don’t want to be alone…”

Beta could still see Erik Visser stabbing Varl, hear his taunting words to the Nora Brave as the light had left Varl’s eyes, every single time she closed her own.

The psychological torment she’d endured was still too fresh, and she needed a physical connection with her kin to anchor her and keep the darkness at bay, to show her that all of this was real and not a figment of her mind.

That her sister and her other friends had really come for her and ended the Zeniths, once and for all.

“Yeah, of course. Not a problem.” Aloy didn’t hesitate to nod her head, understanding her twin’s trauma, raising the blanket so Beta could climb in.

It wasn’t long before the sisters drifted off to sleep, Beta clinging to Aloy’s arm that rested between them to ground herself.

- - - - - - - - - -

Beta’s sleep didn’t last.

Sometime in the night, the younger clone bolted upright in bed, screaming out in terror, which quickly woke the rest of the camp.

“Wha’s happening?” Erend asked, sitting up but still mostly asleep, as he frantically grabbed blindly for his warhammer. “Who’s attacking?!”

Zo scowled at him. “Stow your hammer, Erend. We’re not under attack.”

“Then why…?”

“Why do you think, given what the Zeniths were doing to Beta? She had a nightmare.”

“Easy, sister. Easy.” Aloy murmured softly to Beta, mostly ignoring the exchange between Zo and Erend, sitting up and gathering the younger woman in her arms to offer physical comfort to her sister. “You’re safe, Beta. You’re safe.”

“The Zeniths…” Beta whimpered out.

“Are dead. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Aloy assured.

“Or any of us.” Alva said softly as she sat down beside Aloy and Beta and began to rub Beta’s back to offer further comfort. “We all made sure of that.”

Eventually, Beta calmed down, but it was a while before sleep claimed her again.

Alva and Aloy stayed with her the entire time, even as the rest of the squad dozed off around them, offering comfort and assurance until she felt safe enough to try again.

“Thank you for that,” Aloy said softly to Alva as she lowered Beta back to the bedroll.

“Don’t mention it.” Alva replied just as softly as she went back to her own bedroll. “I imagine that it’s going to take some time for her to feel completely safe again after what she was put through. Makes you wish you could strangle the shitheads, doesn’t it?”

Aloy could just make out Alva’s scowl as she got settled back in her own bed, and couldn’t help but grin a little at how well and truly stirred up the Quen Diviner was on Beta’s behalf, as she only swore like that when she was really pissed off and didn’t care about being polite.

“Oh, strangling would only be the start of what I’d do to them if I could, trust me.” Aloy replied darkly before trying to clear her mind so that she could also get some more sleep. “Night.”

“Goodnight.” Alva replied.

Sleep didn’t claim Aloy again for a while after that as well, but she contented herself with watching Beta as she did, glad that the younger clone at least was getting her much needed rest.

- - - - - - - - - -

The next three days were spent travelling, their pace steady to give injuries time to heal.

Beta rode with Aloy on one of her Clawstriders, cuddled up to her elder’s back, occasionally drifting off to sleep as they journeyed.

They stopped at Fenrise the first night, Gattak happily welcoming them into the settlement and giving then food and beds for the night, and The Grove the second, where Hekarro was relieved to see Aloy and her squad return in one piece, and had happily put them up for the night as well.

From there, they made the final push to the Base.

Throughout the entire trip, it was clear that the questions about what Aloy had said about the fight having only just begun burned bright in the minds of the rest of the squad, but they respected Aloy’s need to be given a chance to wrap her head around the revelation of Nemesis and kept their talk inconsequential and light.

Even when they got back to Base, Aloy and Beta were given their space, Beta focusing on restoring GAIA after Erend and Aloy had brought the rig inside, though the squad did come together to celebrate their victory against the Zeniths with a feast the following night after their return, the feast food coming from every tribe to represent their unified efforts against their enemy.

Initially, Aloy just watched her friends enjoy the celebrations from the sidelines, not really participating herself, but eventually, Erend dragged her in, before raising a toast to their success, and she gave in and joined the revelry.

When she had retired for the night, she’d hung Elisabet’s and Rost’s pendants side by side on their display rack, contemplating them as she thought about the battle that was coming, before someone knocking on her door pulled her out of those thoughts.

Beta was on the other side, a blanket and pillow roll in her arms, and Aloy didn’t hesitate to let her in.

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

There’s another battle ahead, Elisabet.

Very different from the one you fought.

It’s not about the distant hope of creating a new world, it’s about preserving the one we have.

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

The next day, the group gathered in GAIA’s chamber after lunch, where Aloy delivered the news about Nemesis to her friends.

“Fire and spit!” Erend exclaimed as Aloy finished speaking.

The rest of the group, sans Beta, were likewise stunned.

“How in the name of the Ten are we supposed to fight such a thing?” Kotallo breathed out, tearing his gaze from the digital representation of Nemesis that GAIA was projecting for the squad to look at Aloy.

“I don’t know, honestly.” Aloy earnestly told her friends. “But this is why Sylens is going through the Zenith base; in the hopes of finding something - anything - that may help us fight it.

“When will it arrive?” Alva asked.

“According to GAIA’s calculations; sometime between May 3041 and December 3042. It should be noted that GAIA hasn’t detected it yet, as Nemesis is too far out of range of what she can hear right now. That range is based on a few assumptions about how long the Zeniths were planning to stay here. Once she detects it, she estimates that we’ll have about six months to finish up preparations for it.”

“And what’s happening with HEPHAESTUS? Are we going to try and capture it again?” Zo queried.

“HEPH’s going to be a bit of a wild card.” Beta spoke now. “Contact with the Zenith network will likely have supercharged it, giving it access to new technologies, tools and upgrades.”

“So we’re going to see even more deadly and dangerous machines popping up from now on? Lovely.” Erend drawled.

“Even though the merge with GAIA was aborted, she was able to copy some of the original HEPH code base. On top of that, Sylens has already extracted some extremely helpful data from the Zenith copy of APOLLO. Combined, these developments should enable GAIA to exert significantly more influence over the terraforming system.” Beta informed the squad. “She won't be able to take direct control of machines, or stop HEPH from building new combat units. But she estimates that by deploying a variety of workarounds, she can stabilize the biosphere within a year. So we don't all die, at least not before Nemesis arrives.”

“But to answer your question; since GAIA now has some of HEPH's source code, we should be able to develop new strategies to contain it.” Beta told Zo. “It'll take time, of course, since HEPH will likely write Omega Clearance out of its code like it did with Alpha Clearance, if it hasn’t already, so a repeat of GEMINI is out of the question.”

“So what’s the plan?” Erend asked Aloy.

“Right now, getting word out to the tribes about the coming threat is paramount.” Aloy told the group. “We need to find allies that can help and are willing to fight when the time comes. We need to be united, all of us, if we’re going to stand a chance at stopping this thing.”

“I can talk to Morlund. His family is well known in the Claim, so, between the two of us, we should be able to grab some people’s attention.” Erend offered after a few moments of thought.

“I’ll return to Landfall to inform Bohai.” Alva told the squad. “I’m sure he’ll want to return to the Delta now that the storms won’t sink what ships we have left. He’ll speak to the Emperor on our behalf.”

“And what about you? Will you go as well?” Erend asked Alva.

Alva shook her head. “I can’t, in good conscience, leave now, not knowing what’s coming. Like Aloy said; we have to fight this thing together. I choose to stay and fight. For my sister, for my parents, for my people.”

“Thank you.” Aloy said to Alva sincerely. “I know it won’t be easy to stay when the ships set sail.”

“I came to this land to find a way to save my family. I can’t leave now.” Alva reiterated. “And I’m sure that once the word spreads through Landfall, I won’t be the only one who’ll make that same choice.”

“I would like to give Bohai one of our Focuses before he departs, however, so that we can expand the network to the Delta, once GAIA’s completely up and running again, if that’s okay?” Alva continued, turning to Aloy to make her request.

Aloy nodded her head. “Of course. Take as many as you want. The same goes for the rest of you when you go. We need to start expanding the network with allies that we can call on when Nemesis arrives.”

“He’ll find a way to use it to his advantage with the Board of Overseers, I don’t doubt it.” Alva warned, regarding Bohai. “No Diviner in the history of the tribe has ever had access to a later model Focus before now, and he’ll exploit that to the fullest. But I’m sure that he will petition the Emperor for aid.”

“I figured as much.” Aloy nodded, having expected that Bohai would do as Alva described, but was willing to turn a blind eye to it if it meant that the Quen homeland would be warned of the threat and potentially send help. “Do you think the Emperor will listen?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. But I hope so.” Alva freely admitted.

“Time will tell, I guess.” Aloy responded.

“The Chorus will likely take some time to convince, but I’m sure that I can do it.” Zo spoke next. “Then I’ll head east, to the Sacred Lands. I owe it to Varl to tell his mother of what happened to him, and about her coming grandchild. And to tell the Nora of the coming threat.”

Erend looked to Aloy in surprise at this. “You’re not going to tell them?”

“I’ll have to face them at some point, being the Anointed, but for now, I’ll be staying here.” The Nora huntress replied. “I’ll have to head back east at some point, to speak with the Banuk about Nemesis, so I’ll probably visit the Embrace then. Of all the tribes, the Nora are probably going to be the trickiest to communicate with, since they’ll more then likely refuse to wear a Focus, outside of a few brave souls.”

Aloy quietly wondered if Teb, or even Nakoa, might consider it.

She’d have to see when she went there.

“Just be mindful, you might not get the warmest reception when they learn of your pregnancy, with it being unsanctioned. Especially with Varl being the War-Chief’s son.” Aloy warned Zo.

“Varl warned me when we started trying to have a child, that he’d face the wrath of the Nora for it, and me as well, because of that.” Zo nodded. “I’m prepared for whatever they throw at me. But thank you, for thinking of me.”

Aloy smiled. “It’s what friends do, right?”

“We owe you for stopping Regalla’s slaughter, as well as for what would have happened if she had succeeded.” Kotallo spoke last. “The Chief wants to repay that debt. The Tenakth will answer your call.”

Aloy nodded back, even as a plan started to form in her mind for something she could do to help Hekarro and the Marshals to rally and unify the Tenakth.

The Focus network would be part one of her plan.

Mentally shaking her head, and stowing those thoughts for later, Aloy focused her thoughts back on the meeting. “All of you, be careful, okay? Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need help, and I’ll do what I can. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to have squad meetings via holo every couple of weeks for us to keep checking in with each other for status reports and the like.”

The squad didn’t hesitate to agree to that request, deeming it essential going forward.

With the meeting done, the squad trickled out, no doubt to start their various preparations for their departure the following day.

“The fellowship is breaking up.” Beta murmured to Aloy after the others had gone and it was only them and GAIA left, clearly saddened by what was happening, even if it was necessary.

The squad were family to each other now, as well as the first real friends Beta had ever had.

It would be so different, for both of them, walking around Base from now on and not hearing Erend’s music at full blast, or helping Zo with meal preparation, or playing Machine Strike with Kotallo, or talking with Varl about whatever latest thing he’d been reading up on, or helping Alva with her research.

“For now, we are.” Aloy replied, hugging her sister from the side. “But I’ve no doubt that when Nemesis arrives, we’ll all come back together again to face it.”

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

My friends have a new mission - to spread the word and ask for help.

They’ve taken it in stride.

I think it’s because they’ve always known what I’ve only just started to understand.

That the people of this world have the strength to fight any battle, the ingenuity to solve any problem, the courage to overcome any obstacle. And the resilience to rise after any setback.

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

After having one last breakfast together, the squad, sans Aloy and Beta, began to depart.

Kotallo and Zo were the first to leave.

“A word? Aloy asked Kotallo as he was collecting his things from his room.

“How can I help?” Kotallo asked.

“I’m not sure what the Tenakth do regarding the dead, but I was wondering if Hekarro would want Regalla’s body, if we can find it?” Aloy asked, getting to the point.

“For all the heinous things she did, she did redeem herself in the end.” Kotallo replied. “I believe the Chief will want to bury her with full honours at the Grove.”

Aloy nodded her head. “Meet me at the Sunwing site above Base when you’re ready to go.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Overriding all three Sunwings without them attacking each other took timing, and a little bit of luck, but Aloy succeeded just in time.

To say that Kotallo was stunned when he emerged to find Aloy standing by one of the newly tamed machines would be an understatement.

< < < JTF-10 > > >

“Commander?” The Marshal asked, even as his heart began to soar at what he thought was happening.

“It’s yours.” Aloy told him, gesturing at the machine, confirming Kotallo’s thoughts. “I figured that if you’re to spread the word among the Tenakth about Nemesis, that you’d need a little help.”

Kotallo was speechless for a few moments.

Aloy had seen the harm the wrong people could do with tamed machines.

That she trusted him like this, giving him his own Wings of the Ten…

“You honour me, Aloy.” Kotallo, finding his voice, bowed deeply to his commanding officer.

“I’m assuming that Hekarro and the other Marshals would also appreciate their own Sunwings?” Aloy asked, but Kotallo could see that she already knew the answer, knowing what she did about how the Tenakth revered the Wings of the Ten.

Already, many Tenakth were calling Aloy ‘She Who Flies on the Wings of the Ten’ for what she had done stopping Regalla’s attack on the Grove, and Hekarro had mentioned to Kotallo, during the GAIA Gang’s stopover there days prior, that the tribe’s Painters were planning on coming together to paint a mural in the Grove to honour Aloy’s heroic actions.

“To help get the tribe ready? Most definitely.” Kotallo responded, his mind already imagining how things would change going forward.

The combination of the Sunwings and the Focus network would make the Marshals far more effective in their jobs, allowing them to travel the Clan Lands quicker than before and also be able to report back to the clan Commanders and Hekarro without having to return to a clan’s capital or the Grove in order to do so, and would make them considerably more formidable against the remnants of Regalla’s rebels, or any other trouble-makers, if they tried to act against the Chief or the tribe again.

“It’ll probably take me a week or two to override the rest and deliver them to the Grove.” Aloy told him, partially in warning.

“That’s fine.” Kotallo assured. “It’s better that you take your time doing this.”

Kotallo understood that the process could be tricky if Aloy was trying to tame more then one machine at a time, that a tamed machine could start attacking wild ones due to its programming being changed before she’d moved on to the next.

“Alright then. Ready to learn how to fly?”

All Tenakth dreamed of being able to do this, of flying in the air like the Ten had once done.

That it was becoming a reality for him…

“I was born ready.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Kotallo was a natural, as it turned out, mastering the basics of flying fairly quickly, and before long, he and Aloy, along with the two spare Sunwings, were on their way back to the Zenith base, Kotallo smiling subtly the whole time, clearly revelling in what he was doing, of the feeling of the wind on his face.

- - - - - - - - - -

Once they were flying over the base, they were greeted with an unexpected site; the previously pristine printer was now a smoking ruin of twisted metal.

“HEPHAESTUS’s work?” Kotallo asked Aloy.

“Or Gerard’s, to prevent it from spitting out any more Zero Dawn machines.” Aloy surmised. “Either way, it’s one good thing in our favour. Nemesis won’t be able to use it against us.”

“That’s certainly true.” Kotallo agreed.

“Though I suspect that that will only be a temporary setback for it, if it really wants to use it.” Aloy added realistically.

Kotallo chuckled.

It was typical of Aloy to see all sides, but that was what made her such a good leader: because she took everything into account.

Though that also worked against her, when something occurred that she hadn’t planned for, like Varl’s death, and she acted like it was her personal failure that she’d failed to predict everything.

“There is that.” The Marshal agreed.

After that, it wasn’t long before they arrived at their destination, finding a small mound of Spectre corpses and some debris waiting for them.

“A fitting death, indeed.” Kotallo commented as he took in the sight. “But how are we going to get to Regalla’s body?”

Aloy answered with action, flying her Sunwing to the topmost Specter and used her machine to start shifting the felled machine by gripping one of it’s arms in the Sunwing’s talons and pulling it down one side of the mound.

Kotallo quickly followed his commander’s lead on the other side.

- - - - - - - - - -

In the end, they moved one shy of a dozen machines before they found Regalla’s battered body, mostly intact, her greatsword broken on the ground beside her.

Aloy steered her Sunwing away from the site to land in a clear spot nearby so that she could dismount, taking something from her machine’s back before she approached the fallen woman.

Kotallo also landed his Sunwing in a clear space and followed Aloy in.

“Give me a hand?” Aloy asked Kotallo as she dropped what she was carrying on the ground, revealing that it was a bag of some sort as she unzipped and opened it up, though it looked big enough that Regalla’s body would fit inside. “I don’t think I can lift her body on my own.”

“You take her legs.” Kotallo directed as he bent to slip his arms under the body’s shoulders and Aloy did the same on her end. “On three. One… Two… Three.”

Between the two of them, they manoeuvred the body into the waiting bag.

Afterwards, as Aloy was rigging up grips for the Sunwing to carry the body with from her grapple rope, Kotallo gathered up Regalla’s sword, and her mask, and placed them in the bag as well before Aloy zipped it up.

Once Aloy was sure that her knot-work was secure, she stood to face Kotallo.

“You want to carry her, or me?”

“I will.” Kotallo volunteered.

With a nod of her head, Aloy gestured to Kotallo’s Sunwing, indicating that he should mount up. “I’ll help you take hold.”

Nodding back, the Marshal mounted his machine and took to the air, bringing it to hover where Aloy was waiting, holding up the grips until Kotallo’s Sunwing had a good grasp on them, then she stepped back out of the downdraught.

“Alright, take her up a bit so I can see if the rope will hold.” Aloy called up to him. “I’d rather test it now while we’re close to the ground then when we’re on our way back and high in the sky.”

‘Wise.” Kotallo returned with a nod, before doing as Aloy asked.

After a few minutes of hovering in the air, and seeing that the rope was still holding strong, Aloy nodded her head, then made her way back to her own waiting Sunwing.

“Ready to get out of here?” She asked once she was also in the air.

“More than ready.”

With a chuckle, Aloy recalled the spare Sunwings, who had been set to a patrolling watch once Aloy and Kotallo had started excavating for Regalla’s remains, and then they were on their way back to the mainland.

- - - - - - - - - -

As they flew, Kotallo studied the aftermath of the battle beneath them as they passed, the sparking heaps of machines - Specter and Zero Dawn alike - as well as the bodies of the fallen Zeniths.

Part of him had wished that he could have been a member of the main attacking force, to see HEPHAESTUS churning out machines to take on the weakened Zeniths and their army of Specters for himself, as well as to fight alongside the rest of the squad, but he contented himself with the knowledge that what he and Alva had been tasked with had been just as important to the mission’s success.

Not only had they given the squad a fighting chance against their enemies, but they’d also made the discovery of what would eventually lead to Aloy and Beta uncovering the truth of what was really going on, and that was something he’d always be proud of.

- - - - - - - - - -

By the time they got back to the Grove, it was late afternoon, and the sun was just starting to set in the west.

Even so, the arrival of the four tamed Sunwings caused a stir among the Tenakth who were posted there, the young soldiers gawping at the sight as Aloy’s and Kotallo’s Sunwings came in to land, though Kotallo had to carefully drop his cargo on the ground first before his Sunwing could, the spare Sunwings following their lead, which quickly brought Hekarro, Dekka and Ivvira to investigate the hubbub.

“Marshal. Champion.” Hekarro greeted them both as they dismounted from their machines.

“Chief.” - “Hekarro.”

Kotallo and Aloy returned tandem greetings.

“What brings you here?”

“We bring Regalla’s body for burial.” Kotallo told his Chief, gesturing to the bag in front of his Sunwing.

Hekarro crouched down and touched the bag. “She died a good death?”

“Her help was instrumental in helping get the rest of the squad, minus myself and Diviner Alva, past some Specters and further into the Zenith base.” Kotallo reported. “She felled nearly a dozen of them before they killed her.”

Hekarro nodded as he stood back up.

“I’m glad to hear that for her sake. She got the death she was seeking that I was unable to deliver.” Hekarro then called to two of the nearby posted guards. “Nexx. Drevva.”

The two snapped to attention and came over.

“See that the body is taken to Tevvona to begin preparations for burial.” Hekarro instructed the two young soldiers.

“Yes, Chief.”

“The rope is yours, I assume?” Hekarro asked Aloy, noting that the young woman was missing her normally ever-present grapple.

“My grapple rope.” Aloy confirmed.

“Tell Tevvona that the rope is to be returned in one piece to the Champion.” Hekarro further instructed.

“Yes, Chief.”

The four Tenakth and one Nora watched as the two young soldiers carefully shouldered the body between them and departed the throne room and trekked towards their intended destination.

“Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” Aloy asked Hekarro, her expression solemn, once the two men were out of sight.

“Follow me.” Hekarro said and led the way to the strategy room.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Does this have something to do with the mission you’ve just completed? Your attack on the mysterious island next to the Valley of the Fallen?” Hekarro asked Aloy as they gathered around the planning table, Aloy and Kotallo on one side, Hekarro, Dekka and Ivvira on the other.

They’d stopped and spent the night at the Grove on their way to the Zenith base as well as on their return back to Base, so Hekarro had been aware that something was happening, and where, but not the specifics of it, and that it was therefore no coincidence that they were back just days after completing said mission and looking quite serious to boot.

“It does. The island was home to some living Old Ones called Zeniths. They kidnapped my sister, killed one of our squad, and took something from us that was imperative that we get back.”

Kotallo could see that Hekarro and the others had questions regarding the Zeniths, about how any of the Old Ones could still be alive after the Time of Ashes, so he intervened to get their attention back on the reason that Aloy had asked for this audience with him.

“I’ll explain about the Zeniths at a later time, Chief, but for now, it’s imperative that you hear what Aloy has to say.” Kotallo told Hekarro.

“Very well.” Hekarro nodded at the younger man before focusing back on Aloy. “And what did these… Zeniths take from you?”

“A living Vision called GAIA.” Kotallo told his fellow Tenakth. “GAIA is the reason that any of us exist after the fall of the Old Ones.”

“GAIA was created by an Old One called Elisabet Sobeck while the Metal Devils were wiping them out.” Aloy picked up the explanation, projecting an image of Elisabet for them to look at. “GAIA was tasked with bringing life back to Earth once the Old Ones had been wiped out. And as Kotallo said, she succeeded.”

Dekka was quick to pick up Aloy and Elisabet’s similarities. “You look exactly like her, Aloy, albeit younger, but how can that be?”

“Because I’m a clone - a copy - of her.”

“And why is that?” Dekka asked, puzzled but curious.

“Because twenty years ago, something threatened life on Earth. To protect us, protect all life, GAIA sacrificed herself to stop it.” Aloy explained before turning to address Hekarro. “That day that AETHER fled here? The day you saw the Faraday Vision here in the Grove? That was the day GAIA destroyed herself in the east. It’s also when I was created.

“GAIA knew that only someone with Elisabet’s blood and bone would be able to gain access to certain special Old One ruins through them, be able to fix what was about to happen by bringing GAIA back to life. The Derangement, the storms, the famine, the Blight, and indirectly, the Red Raids, all of that happened because GAIA wasn’t around to guide the machines trying to fix the world.”

“And you succeeded in that mission?” Hekarro asked, though he clearly had already guessed the answer, as things had started to get better in the months since he’d first met the flame-haired huntress and she’d spoken of her mission to him.

Aloy nodded in conformation. “I, with the aid of Varl and Zo, was able to revive her shortly after entering the West. She’s in our base in the mountains above Plainsong. But even though she was restored at that point, she couldn’t yet start to fix things.”

“And that’s where what you came here seeking comes into play?” Hekarro guessed.

Aloy nodded. “AETHER, and the others like it, which we called sub-functions, are the tools GAIA uses to repair and maintain the world. When GAIA sacrificed herself, they fled, seeking refuge wherever they could find containers big enough to store them, including here, and once they’d done that, they tried to continue with their work, but without GAIA’s guiding hand, their efforts led to what happened: ruin.”

“But we weren’t the only ones seeking to fix GAIA, the Zeniths were, too. Which is where my sister comes into this. Just as GAIA knew that only someone of Elisabet’s blood could fix her, the Zeniths knew it as well, creating Beta in the same way that I was so that they could also gain access to those same special ruins.”

“But your sister defected from these Zeniths and joined you and your squad.”

Aloy nodded. “At the time, we believed that the Zeniths intended to use GAIA to clean slate the Earth, killing all human life, so that they could make the world they wanted. Beta couldn’t stand that and hated them for how they’d treated her while she was growing up, so once we discovered each other’s existence, she escaped them as soon as she was able to, sending a distress call to GAIA that she knew I wouldn’t ignore.

“But even without Beta or GAIA, the Zeniths knew that my squad and I were working on fixing GAIA, so all they had to do was sit back and wait, putting a watch on the final sub-function, named HEPHAESTUS, knowing we’d have to go after it eventually to capture it as well, as it was the most important tool for GAIA to fix the world.”

“And what does this HEPHAESTUS do?”

“It creates the machines. The Derangement is entirely its work, as it was trying to protect the machines from human hunters.” Aloy explained. “Trapping HEPHAESTUS wasn’t as easy as it was with AETHER or the others, as it had grown too large for the container I used to return them to GAIA in once I’d retrieved them, and it was spread throughout the Cauldrons. Sites where the machines are created.” Aloy added at Ivvira’s puzzled look.

“To trap HEPHAESTUS, we had to corner it in a special Cauldron, the one south-west of Scalding Spear, the one the Desert Tenakth revere as the Gate of the Vanquished.”

“Special how?”

“It has two cores, due to earthquakes occurring while it was being constructed. GAIA needed to install herself in one core and contain HEPHAESTUS in the other so that we could begin to return it to her. But the second we did that, the Zeniths knew where we were, and they came for us. They killed Varl, incapacitated me, and took Beta and GAIA. They would have killed me also, if one of them didn’t turn on the others to save me.”

“One of the Zeniths defected to your side?” asked the Chief.

Aloy nodded again. “Yes. Her name was Tilda. She helped me plan and carry out the attack on the Zenith base. She also told me about the bomb I dropped on the Grove to stop Regalla’s assault.”

“Impressive.”

“Which leads to our attack on their base. During the attack, I had Alva and Kotallo split off from the main squad to strike a critical target that would help the rest of the squad’s infiltration.”

“You speak of the knowledge-seeker, yes? The young woman with the different looking Old One relic? The one whose tribe is on the Isle of Spires?” Dekka asked Aloy.

“The one with a thousand questions to ask you about the Visions during our stopovers here?” Aloy finished with a slight chuckle. “Yeah, she’s the one.”

“Anyway, the other part of their mission, once that was done and the Zenith computers were vulnerable, was for Alva to go through the Zenith files to find out if Tilda was hiding anything from us, as I didn’t fully trust her motivations.”

“I take it from your demeanour that they did find something?” Hekarro asked after studying Aloy for a moment.

Taking a breath, Aloy began to tell Hekarro, Dekka and Ivvira about what they’d learned.

“Yeah, Alva did. And this is what I found out…”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Blood of the Ten…” Hekarro breathed out, leaning heavily on the table, as Aloy and Kotallo finished their report.

Dekka and Ivvira were likewise shell-shocked, though they stood back from the table, also trying to wrap their heads around what they’d just been told.

“That’s why we’re here now; seeking allies. No single tribe will be able to defeat this thing alone. We have to come together if we’re to stand a chance at stopping it. Because if we don’t…” Aloy trailed off.

Hekarro understood the unspoken.

“The Tenakth will answer your call. Our arakhs are yours, Aloy of the Nora.” Hekarro, pushing off the table to stand straight, pledged to Aloy without hesitation. “We will gladly fight at your side against this threat.”

Kotallo nodded, having expected that Hekarro would swear to Aloy once he heard about Nemesis.

All Tenakth loved a good fight, and there would be no greater battle for his tribe then fighting to protect their world, and all life in it, from being snuffed out.

“I assume that you want Kotallo to spread the word on your behalf amongst the Clans?” Hekarro perceptively asked, looking between Kotallo and Aloy.

It was well known that Kotallo was a member of Aloy’s squad, so it was only logical that he do this task within his tribe for his CO.

Aloy nodded. “It’s why I’m returning him to your command for the time being.”

Hekarro nodded back before he addressed the younger man. “Marshal.”

“Yes, Chief?” Kotallo responded.

“I will still require you to do your duties as a Marshal from time to time, but henceforth, your primary task is to do what your Commander has asked you to do.”

“I understand, Chief.” Kotallo nodded his head to Hekarro, then repeated the action to Aloy. “Commander.”

“Marshal.” Aloy returned the nod.

“I will endeavour to make sure that he’s returned to your command, when the time comes, in one piece.” Hekarro told Aloy seriously, understanding that the GAIA Gang would be front and center when the fight finally began.

“I’d appreciate that.” Aloy thanked Hekarro. “And I actually have a couple of things to give you to help with that, as well as to help unify and rally the Tenakth. The first are these…”

Reaching into one of her back pouches, Aloy brought out three Focuses, coming around the table to give one each to Hekarro, Dekka and Ivvira.

“Your Old One relic?” Hekarro asked as he studied the tiny piece of metal in his fingers.

“It’s called a Focus.” Aloy explained, then gestured to where her Focus sat on her temple. “They go on the temple, just like mine.”

One by one, the three Tenakth did as instructed, the Focuses adhering to their skin when they were close enough and activating, which startled them at first as they experienced the Focus’ Second Sight and what it revealed for the first time.

“This is how you see the world?” Dekka breathed out as she got used to the display around her.

“Ever since I was a little girl.” Aloy responded, sounding a little wistful as she spoke those words, and Kotallo knew why: that was what she’d said to Varl the first time he’d donned his Focus.

“You activate and deactivate the Focus by tapping it, just like this.” Kotallo told his Chief, the Chaplain and his fellow Marshal, showing them how, so that they could deactivate them for now. “I can teach you the rest of the functions with time.”

“Kotallo has the rest of the Tenakth’s Focuses, to be distributed to the rest of the Marshals, the Clan Commanders and the Chaplains, as well as anyone else he deems worthy and trustworthy of them.” Aloy explained to Hekarro. “You’ll be connected to our greater network from now on, be able to contact any member of it, if you wish, including myself and members of my squad, but GAIA can set up a seperate network, just for the Tenakth, if you want her to.”

“I thank you.” Hekarro nodded.

“The second part are the Sunwings. Kotallo has his. The first spare is yours.” Aloy said to Hekarro. “And the last…”

Ivvira perked up and looked hopefully at Aloy. “Is mine?”

“A training tool, for now, to allow the Marshals to get used to flying. You’ll get yours soon enough.” Aloy corrected with a chuckle before turning back to Hekarro. “I should be able to tame the remaining machines - for the Marshals, at least - over the next couple of weeks and will bring them here as I do. If you feel that there are others who deserve one, who won’t abuse the privilege, let me know, and I can tame more at a later date.”

“You have my thanks and gratitude for this, Aloy. These gifts will make the Marshals far more effective at their jobs.” Hekarro thanked Aloy profusely, clearly recognising, like Kotallo had, the show of trust and faith that Aloy was putting in him and his tribe in doing what she had.

“And far more formidable against what remains of the rebels, or any other trouble-makers.” Ivvira enthused. “I almost wish that they would try something, though, if only to see the look on their faces when we show up on our own Wings of the Ten.”

Kotallo chuckled at that, having imagined it himself.

“There’s one last thing that the Focus can do for you.” Aloy told Hekarro. “Perhaps the most important thing.”

“And what might that be?”

Activating her Focus, Aloy displayed a table containing the Latin alphabet for Hekarro, Dekka and Ivvira to look at.

“Carja glyphs?” Hekarro asked after a moment of studying the table, clearly remembering Fashav’s journal.

“The Old Ones called it the alphabet.” Aloy corrected. “It’s how they read and wrote. Each Focus contains an educational module that will teach you how to as well.”

Hekarro blinked at that, then pulled his Focus from his temple to look at it. “This little relic can teach me and my people the written language of the Old Ones?”

Aloy nodded. “Just as I learned when I was a girl. Just as Kotallo did when he joined my team.”

“Of all the things you’ve offered today, this is by far the most precious. Thank you, Aloy. We won’t forget this.”

“It’s why you were reaching out to Avad, isn’t it? To learn how, so that the Tenakth could record their history in another way, and not lose it?” Aloy asked rhetorically in return, already knowing the answer.

Hekarro simply nodded his head in answer.

“For you and the others who have a Focus, you can learn at your convenience, but for the rest of the Tenakth, I was thinking that the Chaplains could expand their duties and become teachers of the written word as well.”

“As they should.” Hekarro nodded in agreement, seeing that Aloy understood his tribe well enough to give this task to the ones best suited to it, even despite being an outlander, before turning to Dekka. “Do you agree, Chaplain?”

“I do, Chief. Thank you for this, Aloy.” Dekka offered her own thanks to the young woman for the opportunity she was giving them. “I’ll get word to Jetakka and Gerrah.”

“If you’re ever stuck, or need help, with this, or anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out.” Aloy informed Hekarro. “I’m staying in the West for now and I’m more than happy to assist wherever and however I can.”

Hekarro nodded his head. “I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Aloy.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night, if you wish.” Kotallo told Aloy as they made their way back to where Aloy’s Sunwing was waiting, pausing as one of the guards returned Aloy’s grapple and the bag to her.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to pass. We all saw how fragile Beta was after we rescued her, and with the Base now empty, I’d rather not leave her there alone right now, at least until she’s feeling a bit better.”

They’d all seen how shaken Beta had been, and they’d kept themselves in her sights at all times those first few days after her rescue, so she knew that what had happened was real and that she was safe.

Not to mention that her nightmares continued to plague her nightly.

“I understand. Fly safe, Aloy.”

“Will do. I’ll see you in a few days with the next lot of Sunwings.” Aloy offered in parting as her Sunwing took to the skies.

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

“Erend and Alva get away okay?” Aloy asked when she returned to the Base, not surprised to find Beta in GAIA’s chamber, checking over the reinstalled AI.

“Yeah. Erend was going to escort her to the ferry to make sure she got there safely, then return to the Hidden Ember.” Beta told her sister as Aloy came to a stop beside her and embraced the younger clone from the side as she worked. “He said he’d call when he got back, so we knew he was okay.”

Beta looked up from her work, suddenly timid and uncertain about what she wanted to ask. “Hey… um… you wanna watch some eps of Second Time Around with me after dinner?”

In the past, Aloy had deemed such things as irrelevant, preferring to remain focused on the mission, so she understood Beta’s hesitance to ask her about it now, but after they’d hashed out their differences, Aloy had vowed that she would start treating Beta with the kindness that she was overdue to receive, which included showing interest in the things her sister loved.

“Sure. Why not?”

Beta beamed in response. “Really?”

“Really.” Aloy affirmed. “Though speaking of dinner…”

Beta just smiled, knowing of her sister’s love of food, and let herself be led out of GAIA’s chamber and towards the kitchen.

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

As for me, I can’t say that I’m not afraid.

What lies ahead will be harder than anything we've faced before.

But I know I can put the fear aside, because for the first time in my life... I feel like I’m not alone.

ψ - σ - ρ - ξ - ζ - ε

[horizon-verizon]

I had a legitimate question/complaint that I wanted to send you and I'm still going to do so but while I was thinking about it something else occurred to me and I wanted to share it but I wanted to tell you something first.

The change in Rhaenyra and Laenor’s relationship is the ONLY change I am willing to wholeheartedly accept because it was a wonderful change.

The canon versions aren’t much related to speak of. Rhaenyra has her reasons for not wanting to marry Laenor and at one point she makes a homophobic comment and Laenor did the bare minimum by showing up to a couple of events and visiting so he could say “oh yeah, that baby is definitely mine🤭 Can we call him Joffrey?☺️” (which still means he recognized them as his own and they were legally Velaryon)

But in the show Rhaenyra and Laenor quickly create a mutually beneficial partnership, Rhaenyra cares for Laenor very clearly during 1x05 trying to reach him and I interpret her expression while they are getting married as her acknowledging Laenor’s pain, Laenor is obviously much more present in the children’s lives and at court, we can see a little how complicated that dynamic must have been with Laenor having the freedoms of a man and Rhaenyra being technically superior to him (and none of them seem resentful of each other!), Laenor also worries about Rhaenyra and blames himself for some of their problems (it’s not them, it’s Alicent) and failing Rhaenyra and the children. Rhaenyra in turn takes the time to assure him that she doesn't blame him, that she doesn't see him as defective or wrong.

A I have no idea where the shot came from that Laenor was uncomfortable holding Joff (I thought he was uncomfortable because of Alicent, you know, the woman who made his wife walk after giving birth and that insults him at least twice) but I don't think he is any more uncomfortable with children than most parents of that time, I would even go so far as to say that their relationship is close. We see Laenor carrying Joffrey both on the way back and when Rhaenyra leaves the court, in the second case they could have given him to a nanny but no, Laenor was the one carrying their son. Another moment I really like is the low-key shot of Laenor and Luke holding hands during Laena's funeral or the whole thing with Laenor, Rhaenyra and Harwin with the kids. There is no discomfort, children are not distant or uncomfortable when dealing with him.

In all the ways that matter Laenor claimed the children as his own, he had a pretty good relationship with Rhaenyra despite it not being sexual in nature and the problems that brought about for reasons and it is shown that he loved them.

The real queer friendship in the show was Laenor and Rhaenyra not Alicent and Rhaenyra. And that's my controversial opinion today.

I talk about Rhaenicent HERE, how it didn't and still doesn't make sense to me due to the writing not bringing enough reason as to why it exists. I also must remind people that I am not queer (I don't think bc IDK these days) or of the LGBTQAI+ community. So if I am missing something that could explain some stuff about queerness in fiction or real-life sexually-incompatible relationships, let me know, please!

I am torn about this relationship--book AND show-wise but what I am sure of is that this relationship wasn't as "mutually" beneficial as some might think. Most of it was neither of their faults, but Rhaenyra's situation vs Laenor's is enough reason for her to be resentful not just of her father but him as well. Their relationship was consequently emotionally distant from Laenor even while living in the same spaces as him for a decade. So instead of being a "sweet" thing, it was more a "bittersweet" thing.

Book!

Context for the comment Rhaenyra made against marrying Laenor ("A Question of Succession"):

"My half brothers would be more to his taste".

And Laenor naming their last child ("A Question of Succession"):

"Laenor was at last permitted to name a child after his fallen friend"

And these are when and where the V boys were born (114, 115, 117).

There are layers to each part of these quotes: Laenor is "permitted" to name his own child. More likely barred by Corlys than Rhaenyra because the first two have Velaryon-sounding names and Laenor thus has been made to push aside his first (known) great love/disconnect from his own gayness/"repress" for the sake of patriarchal-heterosexual tradition WHILE Rhaenyra's comment about Laenor reveals a parallel to the preference shown towards boys and men in her society. He would "prefer" someone else, a male, over her. Her concern is not primarily "owning" him sexually but it mirrors/parallels/reminds her that her father/patriarchy diminishing a woman's importance or decentering her for the man's centering and sociopolitical elevation. The "man" here is Viserys and Corlys.

But in the inverse, Laenor named their kid after his past lover when Rhaenyra couldn't give a Targaryen name or any name of her choosing to their last two boys.

Of course, that is a little self-centered of Rhaenyra but the bubble of resentment comes from a valid place and is not completely unfounded and she sorta has to be bit more self-centered...more tragic for them both.

And Laenor naming their last child after his dead lover when he's supposed to keep his relationships a secret for the better of their kids if not for himself is also sort of self-centeredness. Again, when Rhaenyra seemingly couldn't name her own first 2 children.

In a way, Young!Book!Rhaenyra takes Laenor's sex acts (bc Westerosi do not have the conceptions of sexuality being an identity element so much as an act of pseudo-taboo sex acts) as his being another person/obligation/worry who is forced on her, not going to add to her life and not caring for her or prioritizing or supporting her to a certain degree that she needs--another "burden" aside from the one political benefit of tying the Velaryons to her...which is necessary in the first place bc she is female and Viserys pissed Corlys off.

It's like it touches on that wound girls/women carry. In-text/world, I felt it moves through Rhaenyra-the-person/character as unconscious resentment towards another instance where she cannot access what she desires and becomes stuck with a person who cannot even desire her at the very least, as she finds Harwin can later. The show actually does well enough to bring out what was likely true from the original story here when she's talking to Daemon in episode 7 about Harwin: "It felt good to be desired". To have someone be there for her.

(bc despite that injury he had that might have taken months to heal, I still think it's too strange and non-coincidental to ignore how Rhaenyra's first three kids all do not look at least like herself in coloring, not in eyes or hair...Alysanne was one Targ with Andal blonde hair and blue eyes while Alyssa had one purple eye for goodness sake! and the Targs after Daeron II's generation had traits from either one or both parents, Targ or not Targ...this is a fiction piece and while it models real life, it is less random as real life, and "85-90%" of stuff is done for a reason)

And with Laenor, as I mentioned, he must have felt pulled apart from himself--resentful of his forced marriage and further repression from such marriage to Rhaenyra, thus his staying away.

I don't think that they didn't come to respect each other or even not care about each other in the book NOR that they were horrible people for how they felt feelings and their circumstances, how they moved around each other, and probably interacted. Especially after Laenor began spending more time with Rhaenyra after their sons' confrontation with Aemond at Dragonstone.

But it never came across to me as particularly close or Laenor taking up the responsibility to those he apparently did see as a family until said family was hurt. And I have not seen anything to suggest Rhaenyra was concerningly hurtful or homophobic towards Laenor after they marry in canon. So, do we really know if she actually hated him in the original story, or thought his queerness made him less than or worthy of hate, esp with what I said about it more about expressing her frustration?

Show!

You:

But in the show Rhaenyra and Laenor quickly create a mutually beneficial partnership, Rhaenyra cares for Laenor very clearly during 1x05 trying to reach him and I interpret her expression while they are getting married as her acknowledging Laenor’s pain, Laenor is obviously much more present in the children’s lives and at court, we can see a little how complicated that dynamic must have been with Laenor having the freedoms of a man and Rhaenyra being technically superior to him (and none of them seem resentful of each other!), Laenor also worries about Rhaenyra and blames himself for some of their problems (it’s not them, it’s Alicent) and failing Rhaenyra and the children. Rhaenyra in turn takes the time to assure him that she doesn't blame him, that she doesn't see him as defective or wrong.

It seems like Rhaenyra still got the shorter end of the stick to breed a stronger sort of resentment. I think that their relationship was actually more or less the same as it was in the book, and the space they shared only affected Laenor's time spent with the kids and not time spent helping Rhaenyra elsewhere. I could argue it should have been even a little worse bc they live in the same space and Laenor is doing the same things as his book counterpart.

That unequal position, in my view, actually kept them emotionally apart enough for Laenor to not really understand Rhaenyra as a person while Rhaenyra seems to understand Laenor pretty well. To look at this doylistically, honestly, this could be a fault of the writers and the time jumps, but let's dive in.

FIRST - We have not actually seen, at any point, Laenor approach Rhaenyra to ask what's up/check-in. Any time he's there, he's there for either the most dramatic things (birth of a son and climbing the stairs), complaining, or inadvertently make her seem an anomaly (comments about breasts). At the end, again like in the book, he offers to be closer to her and focus on her and the boys...and that is the only time we see some sort of action of the sort of support Rhaenyra sees she will get from Daemon, thus her decision to have Laenor "killed".

After Joffrey Lonmouth's death, Laenor found Qarl Correy and Rhaenyra had allowed the man to be close to Laenor despite the rumors. Laenor doesn't mind and even seems to like Harwin. But unlike Rhaenyra, Laenor does not need nor want a good image as much as she does. Rhaenyra needs Laenor more than the reverse.

SECOND - In the 5th episode after Joffery's death, yes, she is acknowledging his pain but you'd have to be self-involved to a particular degree or just plain unobservant to not sympathize and acknowledge that pain...plus she knew they were together as Laenor told her and they made that a private arrangement on the beach presumably just a few days before. Finally, in that episode, she has not actually lived with him yet.

THIRD - Due to the time jump, we do not know how Laenor got to be a permanent resident in the Keep of King's Landing when he should have been at Driftmark as he is in the book before Laena's death/Vhagar's "claim". Does either Viserys or Corlys order him to stay with Rhaenyra? Did Rhaenyra order him to stay by her side with her? Did Laenor choose freely or under a nonverbal pressure from those around him and what exactly did that look like? Did he have a confrontation with his father concerning his sexuality and the image its open-secretness presents to the family and he just needed to get away from Corlys--did he and Rhaenyra bond over that? Even so, how does the court treat both Rhaenyra & Laenor, both of whom are in court with their respective lovers: Laenor being cuckolded (doesn't matter that he's gay, he's a man and "gayness" is not an identity to these Westerosi) and Rhaenyra, as the future ruler, cannot be made to be seen as weak through her husband's/partner's open "infidelities".

More Notes

Many have noted how unaware Laenor is in the show. Both are resigned, but Rhaenyra is less..."blind", I'd say, because she has to be "on" and aware of others all the time. This alone shows that they cannot be as close as some people claim, because they are not on a similar page of observation of each other or their situation.

This is Rhaenyra & Laenor says about his desire to go to war:

War is afoot again in the Stepstones, Rhaenyra. The Triarchy takes new life from its alliance with Dorne. They're waylaying ships and cargo. Qarl's been fighting there. He showed me a... ( laughing ) He showed me a sack of sapphires big as walnuts he took from the pirate he slew. Ah... After all this time, this is just what I need, a little adventure. A good, honest battle to enliven my blood again. He says there is a Tyroshi general there, a giant, they say, who dyes his beard purple and wears women's frocks. ( laughs ) A few months, maybe...

AND

I am a knight... and a warrior. And I have played my part here, faithfully... for ten years. I am owed some...

AND

Rhaenyra: You are owed nothing! For ten years, you have indulged yourself at court, bought the finest horses, drunk the rarest of wines, fսckеd the lustiest boys. This was our agreement. I have not begrudged you. But... you do not desert your post when the storm lashes. Laenor: The wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers.

Aside from me not liking how Rhaenyra's decision to go to Dragonstone is compared to what Laenor meant by leaving (bc she is doing it for the sake of family and people's lives versus him trying to abandon said family...this is not some modern tale where the newly out and thriving queer person incidentally has kids who can survive their absence or at least not have it threatened after all):

Laenor had been trying to get out of being in KL with Rhaenyra for, as he calls it, "adventure" as if he weren't already in some sort of agreement with Rhaenyra to protect those he himself decided to treat them as his own sons. If it weren't for the fact he sees those kids as his own AND that agreement before they were even born, I wouldn't 100% begrudge him. Add to the fact that, because he's a man, if he weren't so lower-ranked or actually cared for his non-trad family he could have just gone and no one would disparage him in the slightest. Her having to remind him of his promise and stop him from making comments about her body to--who is to her--a stranger while she's trying to stop herself from leaking and coming back from a council where her stepmother/former friend has tried to humiliate and undermine her the whole time -> her reminding him it was not her who put him in their position so as not for him to make it seem as if she were the one imprisoning him in the first place when he said he had the right to is itself a stack of emotional labor. It truly read to me that Laenor was trying to escape the life he has with Rhaenyra as much as he did in the book. It wasn't actually much of a real change.

At the same time, we must remember that show!Rhaenyra is a very different person from book!Rhaenyra. This is a woman who would not go to war for the throne her father gave her because her father was a man who tried to be as nonconfrontational as possible AND for a prophecy that she should have reasoned her father never would have told Aegon, of all people, about and how he took the time to drag himself out of bed for her & her kids' rights/protection in episode 8. The show unconsciously makes a more quietly repressed woman of Rhaenyra in an attempt to make her more "likable", to her own, more-avoidable detriment.

One reason why show!-her may not feel like ordering Laenor more--other than realizing his being forced like her--is the inevitability of his freedoms despite his queerness. Why make a "fuss" when it will not actually go anywhere and it will actually hurt Laenor? Another reason is by how she looks at Laenor, she feels guilt at being the person Criston was actually angry with--thus indirectly leading to Laenor losing his lover so traumatically, thus maybe trying to take it upon herself to make sure Laenor has little reason to either resent or begin to actually hate her more (bc he is both one of the only people there in her camp to keep her some sort of company aside from Harwin in some way) and/or she feels like she must take the responsibility of making him happy. Both of these can give another "responsibility" along with being a mom, the court images, Alicent, her father's social self-blindness, etc even though Joffrey's death is not her fault as much as it was Criston's. All/more eyes are on her and her behavior and she is the one having to birth a kid one minute and walk up a flight of stairs the next. And she was absolutely going to do it alone because Laenor was not there until he decided to be. She is the one who will receive the least grace or attention and thereby the most blame. This is definitely not Laenor's fault...but his using that ability to be away, it certainly adds to the burden, potentially becoming a polyp of the main problem. This is, why again, they both decide that Laenor should "die", to repeat myself.

These things are inevitably going to breed resentment from Rhaenyra and travel against Laenor, esp when he's deciding to make it that much harder without acknowledging that he is or thinking how it could be. And if she were more resentful, or really even a bit more expressive towards him than she was in the show, I do not think that is a moral flaw on her part, doesn't make her the bad guy. Not expressing your anger more often doesn't make the relationship closer/better...in fact, it shows how disconnected they are emotionally. Not only is it possible she cannot feel as if she has all the right to "too much" of Laenor after Joffrey's death and how it went down, but she nevertheless "needs to" demand "more" from him because he's still not doing much, he agreed, their kids' lives and reputations are in danger, and by the near end of epi 6 he's even trying to get out of that much. No man could really understand or appreciate all of this, but again, that distance and trying to get out of things really clinched it for me.

Just because she doesn't hate him or lash out at him, doesn't mean the resentment against him isn't there and that it isn't strong. It shows itself in her sarcasm at his asking her if it hurt; her looks at his drunken talk about her leaking and swollen breasts to Qarl Correy (how fond would one be of a person after that tactlessness because it also shows how little Laenor really minds how his words will come across to her at specific moments?); her having to make it clear to him he must stay by her side and explain to him why she must (the mental load we modern talks about is paralleled here), etc.

And just because show!her was more accomodating, doesn't make her an actually better human than her book counterpart. Same with Laenor--just because he seems like he was around more often--especially since they here share the same space--doesn't mean he is there with her because he absolutely wants to be and is performing the duty he said he would. This is what Rhaenyra was talking about after she dismissed Correy so she could demand Laenor stay.

If anything, Laenor's proximity to Rhaenyra and still not being as there as he should makes it easier for him to be closer to his sons and have a relationship of sorts with their elder selves (because in the show those kids are also older--by appearance--than their selves in the book by this time, and thus they have had more time with Laenor as their dad). It didn't bring the married couple closer so much as give Rhaenyra visible, everyday proof her husband was not her partner.

Thereby, again, it wasn't actually all that "mutual"--he didn't have to put as much energy as her and he didn't and he didn't really think of how he could...but like you said, he did more than most fathers in that the little initiative he does give is more than what most fathers in his position would give Laenor does take a bit of initiative than most men would give in his position even if they wanted to be her Prince Consort for the influence, title, and power alone. He tries.....but then that still makes me question if he actually is there by circumstance, order, or choice and how he feels about that. Still, it's not good for him, so does he, if ever, blame or lash out at Rhaneyra and how does he express that.

The show tells us "unlikely", but that doesn't seem psychologically or emotionally realistic to me. On Laenor's end, he's told he cannot be that one masculine thing--be a brave adventurer/traveling knight--because his class/station has to lead him to marry a princess who depends on his voluntary discretion the balance between security and public respect when he never asked for any of it but he's told that he's a horrible person if he doesn't do this for his ambitious father.

It is because of all this that I do not see Rhaenyra as necessarily being hateful toward Laenor in either book or the show for his sexuality as much as his not being compatible with her needs after a whole life of subtle and unsubtle constraint while acknowledging that it isn't either of their fault...until in the show Laenor was headed there.

Their kindness (to a degree) for each other and Laenor's obvious willingness to at least perform when told or encouraged certainly make things easier. It's still far from what's needed, with it not quite meeting the bare minimum.

So for me, the change that I liked was their coming to a verbal agreement for them to look for other intimacies. It could have happened in canon, but we'll never know, GRRM chose to write this like a very unreliable history book written by misogynist, homophobic, etc. "men of learning". This wasn't a dumb choice, without its own storytelling merits (there's a reason we continue to use frame narratives), or even fun to read through...it's that you're trusting your readers a lot to know what's in their hands and some are just not going to get it or want to.

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

Top 5 quckity moments??????

I assume you mean c!Quackity?

5. His conversation with c!Bad after being taken to the Egg. From c!Karl's message being the thing to snap him out of his stupor, to the sheer panic in his voice, to his declaration that he indeed wants power but never at anyone or anything else's behest, to him desperately trying to reason with c!Bad, to his insistence that they can use the Egg for good (???)... GOD it makes my brain do jumping jacks

4. Okay. We all know about c!Schlatt's funeral. We all know about the cannibalism. And I almost put that here, too (so consider it an honorable mention). But I don't think enough attention is paid to him trying to bring Schlatt to life for "political reasons" immediately afterward. Oh, this little bastard and his complicated grieving processes...

3. I could honestly fill this whole list with only scenes from the Manberg arc, but I'll highlight Plan Ass specifically as an S-tier c!Quackity moment. He went back to negotiate with and swindle the man he was scared would kill him (while allegedly pregnant with his child!) all to dissuade c!Wilbur from sending the country he loved up in flames...

2. Much like Manberg, all of Doomsday could go here (for him, at least. My feelings about the event itself are... somewhat more ambivalent). Him singing the anthem and remembering the second verse, him asking c!Niki what's wrong and trying to persuade her to help, his incandescent hatred for c!Dream, "SaPnAp HoLd Me I'm ScArEd..."

But my favorite part without a doubt is his pre-battle turnaround. Man was so close to getting the hell outta dodge, but he was persuaded to return by the words of someone he wanted to execute only 24 hours prior. Then, he spent half the battle trying to return the book. And THEN, after all was said and done, he reached out to that person as a possible ally. Where are my boober friends to talk about this with me PLEASE-

Also, "let the horse run free" still makes me tear up a little. He loved that bag of bones so much. It was a reminder of happier times...

1. The entire day's events of September 14, 2021. On the same day he tried to torture two men to death, he jumped into lava without hesitation to save his best friend's life. And both times, they slipped away from his grasp.

If that doesn't neatly summarize his character and the reasons I love him, I don't know what does.

Honorable mention: every possible variation of the scene I made up in my head of c!Fundy leaving Las Nevadas and c!Quackity not killing him despite the contract's threats

Honorable honorable mention: that one six-hour c!Foolish stream I'm fucking obsessed with. That's a better c!Foolish moment, though. So that's another potential ask at least partially filled out

Honorable honorable honorable mention (hey he's my specialest guy don't @ me): literally every time he's ever interacted with c!Tommy or c!Tubbo

[jerardeusebio]

The Funeral Run

I feel ambivalent about naming inanimate objects. For one, it feels counter to non-attachment, a Buddhist philosophy I’ve embraced and committed to practicing to the best of my ability. Another reason is the implied materialism of such an action. Again, it feels incongruent with the narrative I’ve created about myself. But a few weeks ago, the "death" of my five year-old running watch surprised me. I know this sounds bizarre, and the strangeness starts with its intensity and climaxes in the way I responded to it.

I bought the most basic running Garmin in 2019: the Forerunner 35. This was about a week after my iPhone 5S, which slid out of my running shorts, got run over by a tricycle. Intimidated by the price of iPhones, I decided to buy an Android. What I saved from settling on a more affordable phone would allow me, for the first time in my then nine years as a runner, to buy a running watch. Since moving back to my home campus a year prior, I had renewed my commitment to the sport and was logging considerable miles. A GPS watch made perfect sense.

One fine Sunday, after several days of research on running watches, I marched into the Glorietta 5 Garmin store and bought the thing. I wore it for the rest of that day at the mall. I caught myself glancing at it, trying to catch the minute turn, checking to see how it looked on my left wrist, preening in the mirrors and windows I passed, happy to have assumed this new self. Before the purchase, my vision of who I was and what I did was clear: educator, writer, and runner. Now, I was still all three, except now I was a runner with a GPS watch! In an effort not to name my things, I simply referred to it as “Garmin.”

That day at the mall, there was just no way of knowing what was to come. By my best estimate, Garmin had accompanied me to about a thousand runs since its purchase. Not just this: it had seen me through two falls (the scars from which have already faded), the COVID-19 pandemic (and my shortlived shift to cycling), my tenure, four heartbreaks, countless lectures (both given by me and given to me), classes, students, faculty meetings, committee meetings, meetings with big wigs, awarding ceremonies, speeches, and a whole lot of firsts that would be impossible to contain here. Garmin has monitored my heart rate, informed me every time I hit my step goal, and congratulated me—six times in the past year—when I breached the half-marathon distance.

Garmin stopped working on the morning of June 9th, 2024. My family was in Taal for my parents’ 37th anniversary celebration. Confident of its durability and the many instances I’ve swum with it, I wore it to the pool, ignoring the peculiarly intense scent of chlorine as we approached the water. My guess is that it suffered undue pressure, being caught in between my arm and my mother, whom I lifted from the water as a dare. The high chlorine concentration must have ruined the already worn-down waterproofing. When we got back to our room, I was distressed that it no longer showed the time. I held on to hope for a few days. I buried it in rice. Left it under the sun. Wore it to work for two days despite its uselessness. When I was convinced it was safe, as my last try, I charged it. I left it in an upright position on my bedside table. It still didn’t work when I checked it after an hour. And my heart sank when I saw a little pool of water right where I had picked it up.

What ensued was an intense week of mourning. My attachment to Garmin was such that on the day I accepted its death, I decided to run with it for the last time. One for the road. I ran a kilometer for each year it had spent with me/I had spent with it. At kilometer three, looking at its blank screen and remembering our years of togetherness, a lump began to form in my throat. Cooling down, I held my left wrist up before me, Mt. Makiling in the background. As I studied Garmin, my now really dead inanimate running watch, I whispered a thank you. I then pressed it to my right cheek. It stayed there for a while, as the tears rolled down my eyes.

Back in my room, I placed it in a rectangular black box, where my other old dead timepieces were. Each of them displayed their time of death, clear and final. Only Garmin had a blank screen, its time of death a mystery. Later that night, I stared at the ceiling, awake in the darkness, wondering about my strange behavior, my absurd response. And in the end, I understood the things I was grieving for and over: unrecoverable versions of myself, time and distance past, and the end of a story that brings with it the excruciating, inescapable start of another.

[azrantimes]

Maisie Peter's "Funeral" (Ft James Bay) is Romeo and Juliet (& Juliet) coded and here's why

This is a long one so strap in. This is an analysis but I didn't do it like I would make one for school so it's very informal at times.

"I know it's not how you planned it but that's not

The worst thing in the world

I know that you're scared 'cause you think I'll let you down again

But I wouldn't, girl"

This first part is Romeo after Juliet and Francois' failed wedding. "I know it's not how you planned but that's not the worst thing in the world" is basically how the wedding went terrible but that it did end up as a new chance for Juliet and Romeo. "I know that you're scared 'cause you think I'll let you down again" because he has had multiple lovers before his death. "But I wouldn't, girl." He promises her that he's gonna be there for her the second time.

"I want you to want me when you're dead

To roll in your grave like we're not done yet

To call off the whole damn funeral

'Cause our love is so damn beautiful"

This is Juliet's perspective. It's her before Romeo's return wishing they could be together again. "To call off the whole damn funeral cause our love is so damn beautiful." Shakespeare brought Romeo back to life because they're THE tragic lovers.

"I want you to know that the past is past

That everything changed when I heard you laugh

'Cause you sitting there with your headphones in

You were the point of all this livin'"

Back to Romeo! "I want you to know that the past is past" is literally Romeo "forgiving" Juliet before "Since U Been Gone" and "That everything changed when I heard you laugh" is Romeo finding Juliet when he first came back, prepared to fight for her love. "'Cause you sitting there with your headphones in/ You were the point of all this living." Juliet put on her headphones at Romeo's funeral and Romeo literally lived for her.

"I'm sure that you're right

And I can't blame you for things you haven't done yet

Even if I'm scared, you will

And I think a lot about May, about meeting you that day

I was late and a serial blusher

Never made it to the second date"

Juliet!! This is her perspective after the wedding. "And I can't blame you for things you haven't done yet/Even if I'm scared you will." She suggests to redo everything and have another first date. I have a silly reason for "And I think a lot about May, about meeting you that day" but May isn't referring to the month this time, but it's about May and Frankie confessing at the wedding and and how Romeo "revealed" himself to get Juliet back. "Never made it to the second date" because they only knew eacother for less than a week before Romeo died OR if we're staying with the wedding setting because they're redoing their first date.

"But I want you to want me despite all that

To live every day like the plane might crash

To chase every satellite and star

I'd pin all of my hopes to your handlebars"

Juliet but I don't have a lot of things to say about this but again with the "living for you" theme.

"The truth is I'd be such a jealous ghost

I'd scrub all your lover's names out the stone

'Cause you sitting there with your headphones in

You were the point of all this livin'"

This is similar like before so again Romeo. "The truth is I'd be such a jealous ghost/I'd scrub all your lover's names out the stone" is literally Romeo being a jealous ghost, infiltrating at her wedding because he didn't want Frankie to marry her.

"Your heart was full of boys and brimstone"

Romeo to Juliet because she tried to move on quickly plus escape her parents.

"Yours was full of girls who lied"

Juliet to Romeo because of all the girls he told the same things he told Juliet to. This one doesn't really make sense I know.

"Both got hurt by other people

Both found each other, baby, right in time"

Both of their parents suck, and dating eachother was an act of rebellion.

"I don't need to live forever, just not one day longer than you"

I don't think I need to explain this but Juliet debating on killing herself because of Romeo.

"I want you to want me when you're dead

To roll in your grave like we're not done yet

To call off the whole damn funeral

Because our love is so damn beautiful"

This is the same as part 1 of the first chorus but this time it's both of them.

Thank you for reading this thing that was born because of my hyperfixation(s).

[minikkicries]

Best, Beloved pt 3

Sebastian/MC 

darkfic! morally grey MC

 Here’s the ao3 link.

MC speaks to Ominis and gets a strange strange reaction.

The next morning I woke up surrounded by warmth. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I stayed still for a while, appreciating the moment before doubt began to fill my mind. What if last night was a mistake? Yes, they’ve always had a certain chemistry but Sebastian was still grieving. His life was so chaotic right now, I couldn’t expect anything. I should leave before I made things worse.

  When I began to wiggle my out he linked his arms together. “Where do you think you’re going? You don’t get to kiss me and disappear.”

  His reflexes were quick. Had he been awake this whole time?

I smiled, despite myself. Sebastian never left room for self doubt. I admired that about him, how sure of himself he was. I hope one day it’ll rub off on me.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, nuzzling myself back into bed.

  “Better than I have in a long time. Maybe in my whole life.”

“Good, then have to keep this up,” I snorted, half joking.

  “If you didn’t I would have to strap you down.”

“Would you really?”

“Yeah.” 

I elbowed him, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Biting my lip, I realized I would let him do it too.

I started wearing scarves to hide the marks he loved leaving down the sides of my neck. Sebastian was not a subtle person. He made it very clear to everyone around us that we were an item. If I carried a stack of textbooks he would take it from me, when we entered a room he would grab the door. I was a very independent person, so the sudden change in treatment was a bit hard to get used to. At first I wanted to make any excuse to stop him from extending his care. He wouldn’t have any of it. It was nice being doted on by him. Even if it meant letting my guard down.

  No one seemed surprised, it was more like they were waiting for it to happen. Our classmates all seemed very supportive of this, minus one. Ominis, for whatever strange reason, would give us a perturbed look whenever we passed each other in the halls. I was used to his cold shoulder, and already learned to not take it to heart, but this was somehow different. He didn’t look annoyed, more like concerned. I couldn’t really place why. Externally Sebastian seemed to finally be doing okay after Anne’s untimely death. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Maybe it was Ominis who had not been doing well. I felt selfish for forgetting about his pain. Thinking back to the day of the funeral, he had not been doing well at all. Unlike Sebastian he did not have anyone to confide in. Not that he wanted to, but perhaps needed to. It was not my responsibility, but I couldn’t help but want to extend my grace.

  I waited till after class to approach him. He was always the last to leave, which made it easy to pin him. Once most everyone cleared out I went in.

  “How are you doing? I know Anne’s passing has been hard on you. Sebastian and I are here for you if you need support.”

He glanced up at me, rolling his eyes. I expected that. Still, I couldn’t let him suffer alone.

  “I mean it.”

“Oh,” he scoffed, “I know you do. But him?”

“Er,” I think I stepped into more than I was prepared for. “Sebastian has been doing better recently. Maybe we could all meet up together sometime if there’s still some unresolved feelings left. Talking about things helps me when I’m in a bad place.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to say anything to me. Not if you’re around.” He glanced at the doorway, then began packing his things.

  I looked at the doorway and saw Sebastian patiently waiting outside the classroom. He smiled and waved.

  “He seems fine to me.”

  “Of course he seems fine to you.” With that he got up. He gave Sebastian a peculiar look at the door, then left.

  I met Sebastian at the door, nervously fidgeting with my bag strap. I didn’t know what to make out of that interaction. It seems all I did was make things worse. Was something going on I didn’t pick up on?

“What were you two talking about?”

Sebastian was quick to question me.

“I went to see how he was doing after what happened…” I was careful to avoid the sore subject. “He didn’t seem interested in talking to me.”

“Don’t think anything of it.” Sebastian assured me. “He’s always been like that. It’s not something you should worry about.”

“Hm… maybe you should talk to him? I know you two use to be close, maybe he misses you. Everything has been a lot, on everyone.”

Sebastian looked up, eyes searching for a hidden piece of information. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll speak to him alone. It’s a bit hard for me to think clearly when you’re around. I hope you understand. I think that's what he's going on about. Still, I don’t see how it’s any of his business.”