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funnyjb · 1 day ago

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We Live In Time

…………………………………………………………………………….

“The treatment plan is this, you are to start chemotherapy followed by surgery to remove the rest of the tumor, then chemotherapy again for the final stage of treatment.”- doctors Adams

Joe and yourself sat in the two blue chairs in front of Doctor Adams. His voice sincere and mellow.

“So, chemotherapy then do the surgery and after surgery chemotherapy again?”- Joe

“Yes, correct.”- Doctor Adams

Joe looked at you.

You were still and quiet, picking at your fingers. Do you even want to go through all of this again? Should you? You knew you had to fight, but didn’t know how much strength you could give.

“How…how long would the treatment be?”- you

“Probably around 5 months.”- Doctor Adams

You nod.

“What times would she need to come in? Does she-”- Joe

“What happens if I don’t do the treatment?”- you

Joe looked at you confused.

“Then you will enjoy time with your family and friends. You still can while in treatment.”- Doctor Adams

“Right.”- you nod

——————————-

You guys were walking to the car hand in hand. The weight of the conversation weighed on both of you.

“Joe, I don’t know if I can do it.”-you

Joe stopped.

“I don’t know if I have enough strength to give. I went through this before. I don’t want to go through it again.”- you

“Y/n, it’s your choice, but at least try. You are the strongest person I know. You can do whatever you set your mind and heart to”- joe

“I just…I will do it. I just don’t want to have my last moments on this world having to be inside a hospital room filled with ill people. I want to be able to watch you at games and cheer you on with Bella. Not be in some hospital room.”- you

“Y/n don’t talk like that. You’re not going to die. You can’t.”- Joe

“Joe! Wake up. This is real. I know it sucks and it’s sucks to think about but it needs to be said.”- you

“I know. Let’s talk about this later, but I hear you and I see you. Whatever you decide I will stand by you..”- Joe

Joe kisses your forehead.

“I love you.”- Joe

“I love you too, let’s go home.”- you

Joe opens the car door for you to get in.

————————————————-

7 years ago

The room was filled with sweaty kids and the lingering smell of cigarettes and weird alcohol beverages.

“Y/n! Come here!”- Lily called you over

You nod.

Wearing your black Jean skirt with white tank top and obviously paired with your black converse.

“Y/n, meet Joe and Sam.”- Lily smiles

Sam reached out his hand for you to shake.

“Hi, I’m Sam.”- Sam

“Y/n,Nice to meet you!”- you

Joe then reached his hand.

“Joe.”- Joe

“Nice to meet you, Joe.”- you

You noticed he was kind of quiet.

“They play football. They are pretty good. I was telling them we are going to next week’s game.”- Lily

“Oh! Cool. I’m excited for the game, heard it’s a big one.”- you

“Yeah, against Michigan. Hate those guys.”- Sam

You laugh

“Oh, Sam, let’s go play beer pong!”- Lily

Lily pulls Sam away.

Now it’s just you and Joe.

“So, you play football. What position?”- you smile

“QB2.”- joe

“Wow! Not bad, Joe.”- you

Joe laughs

“I’m a back up. Nobody cares about me.”- Joe

“Don’t say that! I haven’t seen you play, but I’m positive you are a great player.”- you

“Thanks.”- joe smiles

You nod

The music is loud and the sounds of plastic cups falling keep filling the room.

“Where are you from?”- joe

“California. Born and raised in Huntington Beach.”- you

“Wow! That’s nice. I was born and raised in Athens, Ohio.”- Joe

“Oh! Ohio native, that’s nice.”- you

God, why did I say that. “Ohio native”

“Yeah, very different from cali.”- Joe

“Yeah, very different.”- you nod

“Want to go somewhere more quiet? I honestly can’t deal with all of this right now.”- joe laughs

“Sure, it’s a bit Loud for me too.”- you

Joe leads you to his room. The only quiet place where there isn’t shouting and speakers in your ears.

“I like your room. Surprisingly clean.”- you chuckle

“Thanks, I try.”- joe laughs

You then sat on the edge of his bed. Red solo cup in hand and legs crossed.

“Do you have any siblings?”- joe

“A sister. Her name is Spencer.”- you

“Nice.”- joe plays with the pen on his desk

“What about you?”- you

“I have two half brothers. Both way older than me. Jamie and Daniel.”- joe

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you close?”- you

“Yeah, when I was born they were In college, but I try to talk to them everyday even when they give me shit.”- Joe

You laugh.

Joe kept talking. The more you listened to him the more you felt more intrigued by him. His confidence, his demeanor, his humor, and his features. The way the corners of his eyes when he smiles crinkles up. The way he is really passionate about something he will start to get a spark in his eyes and get more excited about the topic.

After that night you guys kept talking more and more. After a while both of you developed feelings. Strong feelings. You guys became each other’s best friends. You guys would always be dying laughing on the floor about something, holding each other’s hands in public, watching the office every night, and holding each other in your sleep and never wanting to let go.

———————————————

Fast forward to present

“Bella, daddy and I want to talk to you about something.”- you pull Bella onto your lap.

You guys were sitting on the couch. Joe next you.

Bella sat up eager to figure out what you wanted to tell her.

You felt tears pricking in your eyes, but you knew you had to stay strong and not scare Bella.

“Mommy is sick. It’s going to be hard for her these next couple months. She will be very tired, but I know we will take care of her and give her the biggest cuddles, right?”- joe

“Yes!”- Bella

You chuckle

“Do you have the flu, mommy?”- Bella

“Um, no sweetie. I have something on my ovaries which is making me sick. I have to get treatment to make it go away.”- You

“But you will be ok, right?”- Bella

You take a deep breath.

“Yeah…yeah I will be ok.”- you

You giver her a kiss on the head.

“Go play with your dolls, baby. Dinner will be ready soon”- Joe

Bella gets off your lap and runs to her room.

A tear drops down your face. You wipe it away hoping Joe doesn’t see.

But obviously he did.

“Y/n-”- Joe

You get up from the couch.

“I’m going to make dinner. pasta and ground turkey sound ok?”- You

Joe doesn’t respond. You’re already gone into the kitchen.

—————————————-

The next couple months was spent going to game and cheering on Joe. The atmosphere was electric. The fans. The lights. The feeling of hope. Of course there were some loses but you stood by Joe and helped him in ways that he couldn’t.

You did your chemo. Going in and out of the hospital.

One day you were sitting on the couch reading a book. A romance novel from one of your favorite authors when Joe sits next to you.

“We should get a dog.”- you

“What?”- Joe

“Or a cat. I heard it’s great for dealing with grief and life adjustments. Especially for kids.”- you

“Y/n, stop. You aren’t going to die. I can’t let you do that.”- Joe

“Joe! You stop. You have to think realistically. It could happen. And if it does I want you and Bella to be able to have an animal that will help you deal with all of it. Like a dog or cat.”- You

Joe stands up

“I CANT LOSE YOU, Y/N! I cant physically be away from you. I just can’t lose you. I wont let that happen. You need to fight.”- Joe

You didn’t know what to say.

“Joe…I’m sorry. Im sorry this is happening. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”- you stand up

“You and Bella are my world. I fight every day. On good and bad days to be able to be with both of you. To see you laugh about a SpongeBob joke, to see you hug after a long game, to see you read bedtime stories until Bella’s eyes are tired, I want to be with you and her.”- you

At this point you were full on crying.

“I want to grow old with you. I want to see you win a superbowl and MVP. I want to see you laugh and cry. I want to see your smile the second I wake up and the second I go to bed. I love you even when we fight or argue. I love you when you come home from a loss and don’t even want to say anything. I love you so much it hurts. I’m sorry this is happening. It sucks. But it’s real and I need to realize that.”- you

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry this is happening. I love you with all my heart.”- Joe

Joe holds you.

You wish you were in a bad dream hoping to wake up.

—————————————

12 months later

“Mommy!”- Bella

“Hey.”- you smile

Bella climbs onto your hospital bed.

“Look what I made you!”- Bella

Bella holds up a card. It you and her with flowers covering the page. It’s also filled with wonky hearts and a “get well soon!”

“Aw, baby, I love it. Thank you so much.”- you pull her in for a hug and a kiss

“You’re welcome!”- Bella

Joe walks around to the other side of the bed.

“Hi.”- Joe smiles

“Hi.”- you smile back

He gives you a kiss

“How are you feeling?”- Joe

“Tired and everything aches.”- you

Joe nods.

“How about we watch something?”- Joe

“Yeah!”- Bella

Bella cuddles in next to you.

Joe moves over the big chair to be seated next to you.

“Alright! Let’s watch Moana? How does that sound?”- Joe

“Perfect.”- you

“Yes!”- Bella

Joe hits play.

As the movie goes on Joe turns to look at you.

Bella was cuddled into your side. She was sleeping and so were you.

He took a mental picture. He held on to that moment.

———————————-

The door opens to the house.

“Teddy!”- Bella

The dog comes running over to her.

“Hi!”- Bella

Bella laughs

“Alright, let’s put your book bag down and let’s make a snack.”- Joe

“Ok, daddy!”- Bella

Bella follows Joe into the kitchen.

“Want some apples and peanut butter?”- joe

“Yes, please!”- Bella

“Coming right up.”- joe picks out the apples from the fridge.

He closes it. He stands there for a second. Looking at the picture hung up from a magnet on the fridge. A picture of you. A picture of all of you.

He smiles.

It’s been a year since you’ve been gone. A year without his wife. A year without Bella having her mom around. A year since both of there life’s been changed forever.

Joe remembered a thing you said to him before you passed.

“I want you to stay strong. I want you to move on, when you are ready. I want you to know I will always be here. In your heart. I will always love you Joe burrow. I will love you forever. I’m sorry we didn’t get to grow old together. But I’m hoping you will grow old with someone else. Someone who loves you just as much as I do. Someone who will make you happy. Someone who makes Bella happy. You are such a wonderful dad. She loves you. She looks up to you. Don’t ever forget that. I love you. I know you will go on and do great things. Stay focused and be the kind loving boy that you are. I love you with all my heart.”

————————————————————

The end.

Authors note: hi!! Hope you enjoyed! I tried to make it as realistic as I could. I don’t know if anyone of you has watched the move “we live I time” but it’s a great one! Definitely recommend!🤍

#joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x reader #joey burrow #joe burrow fan fic #writers on tumblr #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow imagine #joeyb9 #joeyb

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bbrainr0t · 1 day ago

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For when you flower I

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery, hints of PTSD/bad mental health - there will be an imbalance between the owned and the owner (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic relationship at some point

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest, I swear), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters basically (for now), no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: A greek woman has been stolen from her lands, Hellas, and in the midst of questioning her faith and destiny, she ends up before the feet of the emperors.

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: In this story there will appear a few words that's either ancient greek or latin (I study the languages, I know, super cool :ppp) - so I will make sure to add a little note once in a while when a new word pops up that I feel like is important for you to know. Though bare with me as I will not include some of the words... because not even the main character knows the meaning of the words sometimes.

In the worst cases: trust your gut. Believe me, when I say english isn't that far from latin.

This is the first story on my page, so please, if you like this chapter, show support by liking, reblogging and commenting. It'll really motivate me!! Thank you in advance <333 And now, I present chapter 1 of the story "For when you flower."

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellas = the actual name of ancient greece Hellenes = the people of ancient greece (shoutout to that one ask for calling me out <333) Aphrike = the ancient greek name for Afrika Nemesis = both a god of justice, but mostly a term for revenge when greek had committed hybris - broken the rules given by the gods, which were made to keep the world in order

I was taken from my home.

Not too long ago I was in Hellas, the land of the gods. I was surrounded by my people, by our culture. A people who remained in pain of the filth stowed upon them day after day. A culture robbed of its riches. We were oppressed in our own home – but it was still ours. Ours to appreciate in the shadows, hidden from those not worthy of the glory. It was like one people of the other claimed our land as theirs. There was no peace other than in the dark hidden from the Persians and from the Romans.

It was in the shadows we allowed ourselves to continue our faith, to pray for mercy from the almighty gods. There was no justice outside in the light. Oh, how they dragged our names in the dirt.

It was in the shadows where the statues of the great remained, statues of the house gods to whom I owed my life. There was so much they could deprive us from but not hope. Not then in our land, Hellas.

I remember the day I received my prophecy. It did not speak of the agony I now find myself drowning in, no, it spoke of a resurrection of the people, of the belief.

I was to be an oracle. A hope. It had said: “A holy war in sight, only you can conquer with might. What’s been small and fragile in the past, will then flower from your hands.”

I was never the person to question the Gods intention – on the contrary I was honored to be given such kind words from those who we were taught to fear. I was looking forward to the day the prophecy would be fulfilled, the day were I was to serve the God of all good, sun and light, truth and prophecy, Apollo.

His name has lost all worth for I was brought out of the dark – not by will. And I cried. I cried a river but none of my prayers were heard.

It all changed the day the Romans came back.

I knew of the cruel nature of the Romans – of how they kidnapped and abused our land, but I was yet still too naive to think that they never would dare to touch the sacred, the ever so respected priests and priestess of the divine. They crushed the blest spirit, the day where light was shone on the serene shadows.

In truth I was only starting to understand the practices that were expected of me to perform. Rituals. I was yet to be the oracle, humble servant of Apollo. However, I still had a title to which previous Roman soldiers had respected and truly endeared.

I still remember the roman soldier that had asked for my guidance. Oh, how his eyes lit up as truth and prosperity embraced his whole. I showed him the way into the arms of Hera, Mother of Gods. Maybe he was lying – another mockery.

Hera, Apollo, where are you?

The event of my abduction is merely a night terror in my head by now, consuming my every thought; Every nerve jolting at the irreversible pain that had been caused by the filthy, the Romans. Every second has been a battle to actively try to suppress the memory of that day, that night, that month, that year. The only memory left by now was the change of weather from Hellas to Aphrike to Rome. The grief, the wicked and the filth. And that one man.

Hellenes is now barely a wrinkle in the dent of my cheek. An echo in the weariest of nights where sleep caresses me at last with promises of new hope, a new life. Something no God seemed to care to give to us anymore.

The Gods barely matter. That’s the truth. Today, as I sit with my hands tied, I believe that they were erased together with the rest of torment. Burnt, broken and beaten. I still pray, yes, but no longer with fear as they intended, no, it was disbelief and grief – and that was no righteous way of praying to the Gods I once knew, but it doesn’t matter. What horrid thing had I done that the Gods placed me in the hands of predators to obey? A feel of surrender not only towards Nemesis but also those I now call my masters, domini.

What a horrid word.

Today I sit behind bars with hardly anything to cover up the shame of my position. I have spent maybe a hundred days in this forsaken land, learning their dirty tongue in hopes of finding my eventual master. One, who I hope would have mercy. And perhaps today was the day the Gods finally hear my prayer, or maybe I’m still naive to hope.

I’m being transferred to a place, I have yet to understand the meaning of: Palatium. The name itself placed a heavy weight on my heart like a blanket of steel. I will not give up.

The slave trader waved our carriage away. By my side are other women as well as men, men of honor. All sit mute as If our tongues had been cut off, deaf as if our ears were burnt. In silence we agree that everything has seemed a blur since that day the free became the forced.

Around us men and women dressed in silk and tunics of pride bore at the sight of us. Those who would show interest were collectors which could be seen clear as day by their make-believe costumes of the people of Hellas, Hellenes. Us. They want us, not because of our personal value, the virtue which was supposedly given to us by the supposedly righteously gods, but because of our skin, our blood. They had that in common with the men, scouting gladiators in between our honest men, the heroes of Hellenes.

The injustice floods my already burning chest. My heart is beating but for what? Beating against the steel and iron like the drums of war. I bite my cheek as I feel the phantom sensation of tears flocking my arid eyes. Damn you, Gods. Despite the growing distrust I urge myself to mummer a prayer in our mother tongue with eyes squinted close: “I ask for your justice, righteous Dike, for your mercy on my soul and for whatever deed lead me here, Nemesis. Ares, I summon your war to these wasteful souls that do not honor your name. Oh, Zeus-“

“Quiet down.” The woman to the right mummer. “The Gods intended this. We will meet the ends of our suffering soon enough.” I could feel how I was quick to anger over how she sounded so reassuring – but mostly also how she was right. Peeking a look at her I meet not a woman, but the ghost of life displayed and laying across her pale face. She’s an old woman, probably not intended to see the light of day. Other than her wrinkles, there is no identity to be seen or studied. Her appearance no longer mirrors whatever woman she had been as her clothes are merely a used bag, her hair thin and shed, dead on her shoulder. She will likely be bought for nothing but labor. A prime example of a worthless slave in the eyes of the filthy.

My anger now replaced by pity. Sadness.

“Apologies.” I slightly nod and purse my lips. I feel my eye twitch. I ponder of her name, but I choke on the words. Embarrassed, I lower my head.

The next thing I hear is a rustle. Perhaps she had read my thoughts, maybe not. A short moment of quiet follows as her hand caresses mine. Comforting. Motherly.

Maybe Hera is here after all.

Suddenly the world begins the spin as the carriage suddenly stops and puncturing whatever hope, the woman had planted and sown. Dizziness takes a hold of my consciousness. The world seems to blur once more. I feel my body become weak and heavy. Her hand on my cheek. Her shoulder next. She saves me from the floor. She holds up me upright.

Our movements become flashes. The world so dark. The next thing I know, I’m on marble floor.

The air here seems heavy and loaded with scents of war. It strikes and pokes my insides like spikes. Carefully I tip my head up to look around at the surroundings – only to meet the toes and the feet of a man, sandals of a noble.

“You brought a weakling into the house of gods?” The sandals huffed. “Surely, you must be pulling some kind of cruel joke.”

It’s like his voice barely made it through his gritted teeth but I cannot see. The muscles in my neck ache. But I feel her hand. The woman is still holding me. It calms my nerves, and I seem to forget the pain.

“And an old woman.” I watch the right foot tap and as it jingles with all its riches. “I cannot believe this… this… insult! This is an insult – towards the gods, let alone the emperors! What will they think?”

“I reassure you; she was fine a moment ago! One of our finest samples!” I recognize this voice to be the dealer, the man who bought me off the coast of Aphrike.

“How am I supposed to make any of these women presentable?” The sandals raised his voice slightly but were quickly to draw a breath. “Out.”

It sounds as if the words were venom, shooting from the teeth of a python. No doubt that this man has power.

“But-“

“No! I said out. Before the emperors see these-“

“See what?”

The atmosphere changes.

A new pair of sandals makes their way across the floor, scraping whatever dirt there is up. A pair of feet who seem too weak to bear the heavy burden of its body or its mind, erratic in its every move. And yet so weary and tired.

And then there were quiet.

It feels as if a minute passes by before any other word is being spilt. The burdened speaks again, marginally more distressed: “Speak up for I wish not to be left out.” The voice takes on a child-like attitude, one which knows no laughter, only squabble and snappiness of the upmost impatient kind. A part of me wishes to look and console this unfortunate soul.

The fancy sandals jerk. “Sorry, my emperor, I was just telling this joke of a seller off because of this abomination of a delivery. I assure you; I am picking only the upmost desirable for you. Ones in the best of health.”

A wish now broken.

“And what do you know about health?!” The voice snaps as if the sandals words truly had offended its entire bloodline – its apparent noble bloodline. Filth.

“That was not-“

“OUT!” It screeched. The sound of a blade rings in the room, making me lower my head by instinct. Blinking, I feel a pain ache in my heart flashing, not of physical pain but of pure agony within my soul. Memories, nightmares flash before me. The thick scent becomes recognizable. My dearest friend as of the last year. The smell of iron. Of blood. The only proof of life and of worth.

Once more it blurs. My soul cannot take this torture any further.

“Caracalla! Calm down!” Is the second to last thing I hear.

“Geta! He is-“ Is the last thing I hear.

I remember them faintly. Their names. The fear that infiltrated my home, my people.

The twin emperors; Geta and Caracalla.

Oh, how I resent them

Next chapter (coming soon???)

#emperor geta #emperor caracalla #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #enemies to lovers #joseph quinn #fred hechinger #For when you flower #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader

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mrspiastri · 2 days ago

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omggggg your event is so exciting!! can I request 1. “I didn’t believe in love at first sight. But then you smiled at me, and suddenly, nothing else made sense.” with Oscar please?

oscar piastri x driver!reader

prompt 1. “I didn’t believe in love at first sight. But then you smiled at me, and suddenly, nothing else made sense.”

💌💌💌

Oscar Piastri had never been reckless—not on track, not in life. He was careful, precise, always thinking five steps ahead.

But nothing about falling for Y/N had been calculated.

She was his teammate, his biggest rival, the only person who could match him corner for corner, lap for lap. They were constantly pushing each other, chasing perfection together. But somewhere along the way, between stolen glances in debriefs and late-night conversations in the motorhome, she had become more than a competitor.

She had become his ‘person.’

It wasn’t one big moment that made him fall. It was the way she always found him after a tough race, nudging his shoulder and whispering, “You drove well today, Piastri." It was the way she stole his Sprite from the hospitality fridge and grinned like she had won a championship when he caught her. The way she curled up beside him on the plane during long-haul flights, asleep before they even took off, her head resting against his shoulder like she belonged there.

Maybe she did.

And maybe he had been in love with her long before he realized it.

But the moment he knew the moment it hit him so hard he couldn’t ignore it—was on a quiet night in Monaco, long after a grueling race weekend had ended. The paddock was deserted, the night air thick with the lingering scent of burnt rubber and champagne. They had stayed late for meetings, going over race data until their brains felt like mush. Now, it was just them, standing outside the garage, the soft hum of the city in the background.

Y/N stretched, letting out a sleepy sigh. “I swear, if I have to look at another telemetry chart, I might actually combust.”

Oscar chuckled, watching as she rubbed at her tired eyes.

God, she was cute.

“That’s not great for your title chances,” he teased.

She turned to him then, something warm and unguarded in her expression. “You know, sometimes I think you’re the only person who really understands how much this means to me.”

Oscar’s heart clenched.

Because she was right, he did understand. The pressure, the sacrifices, the relentless pursuit of a dream that sometimes felt impossible. But more than that—he understood her.

Without thinking, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was such a simple gesture, but Y/N stilled, her breath hitching.

"You’re tired," he murmured, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

She blinked up at him, her gaze softening. “Yeah… but I don’t mind nights like this. When it’s just us.”

Oscar swallowed. Hard.

And then she smiled.

Not her usual cocky, post-race grin. Not the teasing smirk she threw at him when she beat his lap time. No, this was different.

Softer. Sweeter. Just for him.

And suddenly, Oscar was back to the very first time he saw her—months ago, walking into the paddock in her race suit, adjusting her gloves, looking every bit like she belonged there. He had watched from afar, curious but wary, because he didn’t believe in things like love at first sight.

But then she smiled at him, and suddenly, nothing else made sense.

Maybe it had always been her.

Before he could stop himself, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. Y/N’s eyes widened for just a moment before she squeezed back, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” she mused, tilting her head. “If we keep doing things like this, people are going to start thinking we’re more than just teammates.”

Oscar smirked, tugging her a little closer. “Maybe we are.”

She grinned, stepping into his space, her free hand resting lightly against his chest. “Took you long enough to figure that out, Piastri.”

And as she leaned in, pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to the corner of his lips, Oscar knew one thing for certain—

He was falling, fast.

#f1 driver x reader #f1 fluff #f1 drabble #oscar piastri drabble #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x driver!reader #oscar piastri x you #valentines day prompts

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vidavalor · 14 hours ago

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Great question! From what I understand, this is where the rules of it differed a bit for men and women and, as we know, there were only two recognized genders at that time, and people were expected to box themselves into one of those categories.

Basically, most courtship-related ring things were done on the left hand for both genders but the one exception to this was men wearing a ring on their little finger on the right hand being able to also mean the same thing from a courtship perspective as if they wore it on the left hand. The reason why is pretty entertaining.

Social guides of the time claimed potentially contradictory things at once when it came to where on the little finger of which hand a man was 'supposed' to wear a signet ring. Some said it was the little finger of the right hand but others said it was the little finger of the non-dominant hand. Some later guides simply gave up and said either little finger and let men choose. The reason why there was controversy over this is a mashup of societal discriminations against left-handed people and a bit of religiosity that overlapped with that.

Most lower class men wore a watch and not much else for jewelry, while it was fine for upper class men to convey that they were upper class men by wearing a college ring or a signet ring with their family's crest on it on a little finger. With some exceptions of some kings trying to show a sense of power, these were really the only kinds of rings men wore then. Fashion rings were seen as things for the women. (Especially the wealthy widows and older ladies seen to have aged out of the marriage market who could wear whatever they wanted and kept the jewelers in business. 😉)

So, while women had more strict rules related to courtship and rings (including specifics on what type of ring was to be worn on the index finger to indicate that they were available), it was more flexible for men. If we're talking about a band on the index, middle, or ring fingers indicating being available, engaged, or married, then it was on the left hand of a man, same as for the women. The one exception was the 'fuck off' ring on the little finger and that's because of the fact that men would most often be wearing an affiliation ring there, either to convey that courtship sentiment or just to wear it. Why would that affiliation ring thing matter?

Because a man's affiliation ring would show ties to his school or his family and those things were thought to be things one should align with the side of God. So, it seemed most proper for a ring relating to one's family to be on the right hand-- as in, also to be on the right hand side of God. What's funny about this is that all the courtship stuff, including marriage rings, was considered to be the stuff of holiness, too... but it was happening on the left hand and had been forever. Why was it happening there?

Because rings symbolizing marriage were worn on the fourth finger of the left hand since the time of the ancient Romans, who believed that the vein that ran through that fourth finger was one that connected directly to the heart.

So, all these capital old chaps are now stuck in a war between their love for all things classical antiquity-- which they mash up socially with religious things quite often-- and the fact that The Bible's got all this "sitting at the right hand/left hand of God" stuff in it. Mixed into this is that the men of this society might have more of them that are right-handed but, as there has been in societies forever, there are a significant number of them that are left-handed and a little over being demonized for it by the uber-pious and inconvenienced by a society built for right-handed people.

Most of that was relegated to the more extreme people when it came to religion, though, as the number of left-handed adult men made it so that people had to mostly admit that sitting at the left hand of God had some purposes that weren't all terrible, too, even if it was not considered as holy as the right hand. 🙄 😂 The fact that they'd built up their marriage sacrament traditions around the left hand also tended to help that along a bit...

But there's really just the practical thing involved which is that if you're an upper-class man with an affiliation ring that you're sometimes wearing during the day on your little finger, you want the option to wear it on it on the least irritating, most practical hand. This would differ for men as not all men had the same non-dominant hand. As a result of all of this, men just kind of gave up and let the rule on this be a little intentionally lax.

The result seems to be that if you saw a man in society wearing, say, a wedding band on his fourth finger and a signet or college ring on his little finger, it would say that he was married and tell you something about his family or education. But, if you saw a man just wearing a ring on one of his little fingers, though, that ring would tell you something about an affiliation to family or an educational institution that he attended, yes, but it also was potentially telling you that he wasn't open to courtship, just as a woman wearing a ring on her little finger would be saying. It wouldn't matter which little finger the man was wearing the ring on for that message to be conveyed.

The rules were a bit stricter for women, which is why things like Polish women switching their rings to their right hands in protest was seen by that particularly oppressive society as such a big thing.

I think that Aziraphale wears it on his right little finger because the affiliation ring he is wearing is related to Heaven. It's in keeping with the "right hand of God" thing, as Heaven might find it strange if he were to put it on his left hand, since he's an angel. He really hasn't had a choice where that's concerned as it would look suspicious not to do so. I think that's also why it's just been on his same finger the entire time. He's kind of the original wearer of a fuck off ring.

If you notice, Crowley doesn't wear rings at all.

He never has and that's pretty fitting with his character, imho. With the angel rings showing that Heaven/Hell has an understanding of the significance of rings (and maybe even started all of it on Earth), it makes sense that the demons don't wear a lot of rings. Beez, for all the decorations they wear on the rest of their outfit, wears fingerless gloves but not a single ring. The only demon seen with a ring of any note is Furfur, who uses it in an official Hell capacity to transfer himself back and forth to Earth.

Rings have traditionally been about individual power, affiliation with certain family or groups, or as a symbol of partnership with another person. None of these are things that the demons in Hell are supposed to have. They aren't seen as individual people so much as all part of the collective of The Fallen, who all exist to serve Satan. Per the rules of Hell, they are not allowed any other affiliations.

Crowley wears a lot of interesting other accessories-- watches, belts, etc.-- but not a single ring because he is trying to pretend that he has no other affiliation but for Hell. Yet, in the modern era? Beginning sometime prior to Armageddon: Round One beginning, which was circa about 2008/2009? Which was only a handful of years after the legalization of same-sex partnerships in England? He suddenly has a significant piece of jewelry that he wears constantly.

Chronologically, we've only seen him without the scarf necklace one time since then-- he took it off when reporting in to Hell. The necklace is a tied knot... as in, to "tie the knot", the idiom meaning to get married. It's almost as if he couldn't wear any rings on his fingers because that would arouse suspicion but he's been getting one over on Hell by wearing the equivalent of one in plain sight around his neck for a few decades now.

This has probably been mentioned before but thought I'd share it, in case it hadn't been. As I understand it, in Britain and the U.S., during the 1800s/early 1900s, where a person would choose wear a ring on their hand had significance when it came to conveying their potential courtship status to society.

If a person wore a ring on their index finger, they were advertising that they were available and looking to marry. If they wore one on their middle finger, it symbolized that they were engaged. A ring on the fourth finger symbolized marriage-- just as it still does today, in the surviving bit of this custom. What was the courtship-related significance of someone, as Aziraphale does, wearing a ring on their little finger?

A ring on the little finger for a person of any gender in this era was a polite way of warning to potential suitors that the wearer was not interested in pursuing marriage.

While some wore them because, as is always the case for plenty of people in society, they just didn't have any interest in pursuing anything to do with marriage, the ring on the little finger was also often worn by queer people who were secretly in a relationship.

The ring on the little finger provided a bit of plausible deniability cover for queer men, in particular, because the types of rings often worn on this finger for other reasons were customarily ones related to affiliations-- signet rings, college rings, etc..-- and plenty of British men who were not queer also wore those. It made it so that someone who was queer could do the same without it being overt that the affiliation was only one reason why they were wearing it, which was important in eras when being queer was illegal.

By the social customs of these eras, a person who presents like Aziraphale does and who wears only a single, affiliation-related ring on his little finger is, in doing so, sending a message of: Please leave me alone as I am not interested in finding a spouse since I already have a secret partner.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #good omens meta

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blessedbucky · 1 day ago

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we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.3)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 8.9k (this actually might be the shortest i've written to date)

summary: satoru has been naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, not sure if it's suicidal ideation or what since suguru wants to die for what he did to reader, definitely probably some unhealthy codependency because everyone here is a teenager going through traumatic shit, uhhhh let me know if there's anything else but I think those are the big ones, hurt/like minimal amounts of comfort, gojo is disgustingly in love please help my boy he's struggling with his depressed s/o's

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: really wanted to write the fallout of the last chapter in satoru's pov, like how it goes in canon. not sure if it's my own depression on some fuck shit or a genuine struggle, but i got stuck in the middle of the chapter. i really hope it has the emotional impact that i was going for. i was channeling my depression here since my annual seasonal big sad is coming up. brains are great (:

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART THREE]

No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. No, that’s mean and unfair. You don’t deserve that. Satoru is the stupid one. Him and his traitorous heart that had fluttered like some blushing maiden when you completely dismissed his identity up until that point, ignored his immense strength that anyone with a shred of cursed energy could feel, and treated him like an actual human. Do you even know how much time he spent hunting down an exact replica of those cheap sunglasses you offered up to him during that first meeting? After Suguru broke them when he was punching Satoru in the face?

Yeah, Satoru is a moron. Because he’s happy that he hadn’t learned Reverse Cursed Technique yet and that Shoko had been away long enough that his nose would never sit totally right ever again after it was broken. Just like your sunglasses, his crooked nose is another reminder that two country bumpkins have rocked his shit so wholly that it’s kind of insane.

That night had been embarrassing and confusing. He hadn’t been able to stop pressing against the tender bridge of his nose, making pain shoot across his face. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Suguru standing over him with sharp, furious eyes and bloody fists. All he could feel were the phantom touches of your soft yet unflinchingly steady fingers on his cheeks and chin. Never an ounce of hesitation from either of you when it came to Satoru. He’d rocked against his mattress, coming way too many times for him to ever admit. The second time that he’d touched himself to the thoughts of you two.

People have always been terrified of Gojo Satoru and his unfathomable strength. Little do they know that he’s no longer the strongest sorcerer in the world. He hasn’t been since the morning after his seventeenth birthday when he woke up in the early dawn, your head weighing down his chest, Suguru’s breath warm against the skin of his neck, and Satoru thought, I love you. Because he worships the ground that you and Suguru stand on. If either of you came to him and asked him to burn the world down, he’d do it. The only thing that held him back from blowing up a room full of batshit crazy cult followers is because Suguru told him there’d be no meaning in it.

But Satoru is still the same boy god as he’s always been. Thinking that his strength alone will be enough to protect himself and everyone else from problems. Pretending that plastering a smile on his face and never taking anything seriously will be enough to infect everyone else. Forgetting that his childhood of being raised as a weapon has dulled his sense of what’s horrifying and what’s not.

Naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

No. That’s not totally true, either. Because he’s noticed. He sees everything, right? He’s been with Suguru on his trips to buy cigarette packs, becoming increasingly frequent. Satoru’s wondered, more than once, if Suguru is smoking more than eating these days. The bags under Suguru’s eyes and yours are getting darker. The windows and doors of your rooms have been locked more than ever before, a silent warning that you’re not up for spending the night with anyone. Both your tempers are shorter, especially with each other. He doesn’t think you’ve ever shrugged off the touch of others as much as you are now.

In the back of his mind, Satoru has known for a long time that you and Suguru are not okay, but he looked away. That’s his biggest sin. Because he’s been afraid that if he accepts that, he’ll have to accept that it’s because you and Suguru are not cut out for the lives of sorcerers, and that would mean you’d have to walk away from this world.

You’d both have to walk away from him.

This has been his blue spring. That’s what the adults call it, isn’t it? At some point, his spring turned to autumn without his realizing it. Now, he faces the daunting reality of his love turning into a brutal, deadly winter.

“…huh?”

It’s the middle of the night and Satoru has literally just walked into his dorm room when Suguru calls.

He doesn’t understand, at first. It’s hard to when the connection is in and out. There’s so much static. And between all that, Suguru isn’t making any fucking sense. He’s incoherently babbling. And Satoru prays that he’s wrong, but it sounds like Suguru is crying. Satoru thinks that he hears your name in there somewhere, making his stomach twist. There aren’t many reasons why Suguru would be this upset, but Satoru is trying to make Suguru calm down enough to explain.

“…hurt…so much…blood…blood everywhere…sorry, so sorry…”

“Please…need you…Shoko…get here…”

“…Squid…dying…”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru remembers the prefecture that Suguru mentioned he was going with you to. Sensei would have more specific information on the village in his office, right? A primal panic, one that he’s not felt since last year, fuels him to flicker across campus. If he can get near the village, he’ll be able to sense someone’s cursed energy. He tears Sensei’s office apart, trying to find where he keeps mission details.

As soon as he’s got the location, he’s honing on Shoko’s energy, and then he’s there. Next to her bed. She’s still awake, hunched over some medical textbook. She yelps when he snatches her by the upper arm. He’ll apologize later for the rough treatment, but all he can think is Sketch is dying, Sketch is dying, Sketch is fucking dying.

“Run Reverse Cursed Technique,” Satoru demands as he physically prepares himself for this trip.

“What? Why? Where did you even come from? Why are you in my room—”

“I haven’t teleported with anyone.” He’ll also apologize later for making her his first guinea pig. If it’s going to be someone, though, it’s good that it’s the person who can heal herself. “I haven’t even taken myself more than a prefecture away.” This is going to hurt.

Shoko’s voice pitches higher with panic. “What the fuck is going on, Gojo?!”

“Sketch is dying. Start healing yourself.”

Satoru doesn’t even give her the chance to start running it.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

Wrong. That’s wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

For the first time in the course of the Gojo clan’s history, the Six Eyes are wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

They have to be wrong.

Or…Satoru is overthinking it.

There has to be another explanation for why, buried deep in the gash across your torso that’s almost a mirror image of Satoru’s own scar, Suguru’s residuals linger. Suguru is crying and drenched in your blood because he wasn’t able to help you in time. The cursed spirit that did that to you was absorbed by Suguru after the damage was done.

That’s not how that works.

“What happened?” Shoko asks in a tone that Satoru has never heard out of her before. He tries to find his voice, tell her to shut the fuck up, because he knows what she’s thinking. The way that she’s curled over Sketch’s body, body tense, cursed energy flaring with emotion gives her away. “Suguru!” Shoko shouts, trying to reach him through his tears. “Tell me what happened to her!”

“I’m sorry.” Suguru hunches over. Digs bloody fingers in the dirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you sorry?”

Satoru knows the truth. He does. It’s the reason why it feels like the world is about to slip out from under his feet. He wants to shut Shoko up because he doesn’t want to hear the truth. When Suguru, through his tears, manages, “I didn’t mean to,” Satoru wants to cry with him. There’s no stopping it now.

“What didn’t you mean to do?”

Suguru’s next cry is gut-wrenching. Satoru is trembling, more terrified than he’d been staring down the sharp edge of Zen’in Toji’s blade. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please, believe me. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

Shoko, the stone-faced judge, has no mercy for either of them. She demands the truth, no matter what hell it’ll bring. She says your name, knowing Suguru can’t deny you your justice. “Did you hurt her?”

Satoru, the unintentional jury, has to witness Suguru become his own executioner when he chokes out, “Yes.”

A crack splits Shoko’s indifferent mask. Twisting her body around, she stares at Satoru with wet and shining eyes. “Goddamn you, Gojo,” she curses before quickly turning back around toward you. She ducks her head, but he catches the stray tear roll down her cheek before her hair fully hides her face. “You didn’t even give me time to get my smokes.”

The more time that passes where Satoru is forced to stand there, unable to do a goddamn thing for you or anyone else here, the more that he has to wonder what the worth of his strength even is.

Because, right now, it’s nothing.

His eyes have never left you after Suguru’s confession. He doesn’t think that he can face the implications of that yet. It’s so slow, the rise and fall of your chest, but he can see how rapid your pulse is under the delicate skin of your throat. Even from his vantage point and in the low light, he knows your skin is clammy. And the gore. It’s not like he hasn’t ever seen the result of a cursed spirit attack. He thought he was desensitized to that. But…things are different when it’s like this.

Guess this is what people mean when they talk about things hitting close to home. Seeing you there, your skin all torn open, blood so red…it makes him sick. His stomach has never rolled quite like this, not even when he was blearily watching his own skin stitch itself back together after getting shredded apart himself. He’d been…detached before he was totally healed and then the overwhelming euphoria poured in.

There won’t be any of that for you, he realizes. If Satoru is on the end of the emotional spectrum where he struggles to pinpoint feelings—even in himself—then you’re on the other side where you get it all. Your heart is too big. Always bleeding. Sitting there on your fucking sleeve, getting stabbed at by everyone and everything. Is this what you feel like all the time? Satoru’s brain is struggling to comprehend it all.

Aah, this is what it feels like to be weak, he suddenly understands. And he remembers how he’d felt it when that spear pierced his Infinity, right before metal sunk into flesh and he had to focus on survival. There was nothing he could do then and there’s nothing he can do now. This sucks, he thinks with the corners of his eyes stinging. No wonder you’re always undermining yourself and saying you’re weak.

How can you think you’re strong when your heart is always bleeding?

Nails digging into the skin of his palms, blood trickling through his fingers, he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t want to cry. He never wants to feel like this ever again. He never wants anyone to feel this way again, actually. If he could go another day without ever having to hear your gut-wrenching cries when you were in the morgue with Haibara’s body or hear Suguru tonight, then he’d trade his soul away. He’d give his strength away. He’d pluck his eyeballs out and throw them to the highest bidder.

How can he do that, though? Satoru could throw his Infinity around your bodies, but it won’t protect your hearts. The two of you would never let him whisk you away to Kyoto and hide you away from the world forever, as much as he desperately wants to do that right now. Part of the reason that Satoru and every-fucking-one else loves you idiots so much is because of how fucking kind you are.

For some reason, Satoru thinks about that day near the start of the term, under the cherry blossom tree. This just isn’t a sustainable system, you’d said. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.

If he can’t make your hearts stronger, then he has to make everyone else stronger.

Satoru knows what he needs to do now.

The settling of Shoko’s cursed energy has Satoru lifting his head. It’s taken a lot of strength out of her. The healthier you look, the worse Shoko does. “We need to get back to campus.” Her hands are trembling, and she drops back on her ass, trying to catch her breath before she’s forced to move. “She’s stable now and I can take care of those kids back at school. I need to eat before I do, get my calories up,” she adds. “You didn’t hurt me on the trip here. Do you think you will hurt us if we go as a group?”

Right. The kids. They were hidden in the bush when Satoru and Shoko got here, but seeing Shoko healing and Satoru’s inaction must’ve been enough to coax them back out. They’ve been beaten. Satoru wondered, briefly, if they were the catalyst for what set Suguru off.

One of them, the one with dark hair, whispers your name. “She’s gonna be okay now?”

“Yes,” Shoko answers softly. “And so will you when we get back to Tokyo.”

“You’re…you’re Miss Shoko…right?”

“That’s right. I guess she told you about us?” The girls nod. “You know our names. What are yours?”

“Mimiko,” the brunette answers.

The other, the blonde, steps beside her sister and takes her hand before introducing herself as, “Nanako.”

Shoko nods in acknowledgement, slowly rising to her feet. “Okay. Well, Satoru over there knows how to move between places,” she explains while pointing over at Satoru. “He’s going to take us back to the school we go to. For people like us.” The girls nod again, eyes alight with understanding. “Don’t be scared. You’re safe now.”

“We’re not,” Nanako mumbles. “She told us we didn’t have to be scared with Mister Suguru around.”

Suguru had calmed down, his sobs quieting to silent tears, but hearing the kid say that has him hunching back over and covering his face in shame.

Shoko watches him, lips pressing into a thin line. “Take those kids first, Gojo,” she orders lowly. A complete turnaround from her earlier decision for them all to go at once. “It’ll be less of a strain on your body and ours. Do it in batches.” It’s a bullshit excuse. Right now, he’s scared of her. Those healing hands of hers can so easily become weapons. He’s seen it before. And, sure, she normally wouldn’t be a threat to Suguru, but there’s no fight left in him. “Now.”

In the end, though, she’s still right. There was no strain on her on the trip here, but he sure as fuck felt it. While future trips tonight will be easier in the fact that he has the two landing points in his mind, adding more people would ramp up what reprieve that gives. It’s more cursed energy, more brain power, more finely tuned control to keep the other bodies all in one piece.

What other choice does he have?

Satoru leaves the kids in his room. It’s comfortable, you’ve told him as much. He marches to Nanami’s room, but he’s already opening the door of his room when Satoru gets there. Apparently, the sudden absence then reappearance of Satoru’s massive amount of cursed energy woke Nanamin up. Satoru is in a rush, so all he can do is demand Nanamin watch the girls while he goes to get you because you got hurt.

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s back with you, Suguru, and Shoko.

The only hint that something happened between Shoko and Suguru is a dark mark on Suguru’s cheek and his split lip. Also, she’s got a lit cigarette in hand—probably stolen from Suguru. Satoru has never given thought to smoking. He’s never really seen the appeal, but he thinks he does now. Especially when Shoko beckons him over and he knows that he’s going to have to carry you on the second trip back to campus.

Bile rises to the back of his throat when he carefully lifts you up in his arms. He’s never been squeamish until he’s had to touch your blood-soaked clothes before. It’s disgusting and now, it’s sinking into his clothes. Satoru hates that. He knows you hate it, too. Wet clothes. You hate being sticky even more. It’s why you’re always so careful when you eat desserts with him. He hopes you blacked out as soon as you were hurt. He doesn’t want to think about you having to lay there, pained by more than the gashes themselves.

“Gojo will be back, Geto,” Shoko explains as she grabs Satoru’s upper arm since he can’t hold on to her right now. “Don’t you dare try to run. If I found out you tried, I’ll do a lot worse than punching you in the face.” To Satoru, she says, “Drop us off at my room.”

When they land and Satoru has gently placed you on Shoko’s bed, he collapses next to it, needing to catch his breath and run his own Reverse Cursed Technique. Not only has he gone the furthest he’s ever warped, but he’s done more trips than ever before, too. There’s still one more round-trip that he’s got to make. There’s a strain on his muscles that he’s never felt before. There’s a blossoming pain behind one of his eyes.

Shoko starts rummaging around in her pantry for something to eat. “I have some protein bars. You should eat one, too.” She throws one over her shoulder when she finds the box and he catches it without looking and pockets it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the stomach for much right now. “Clean him up when you get back. Burn his clothes. We need to hide the evidence.”

Satoru bristles. “Stop treating him like a criminal.”

“Take off the rose-colored glasses and stop being naïve,” she snaps back. “You heard him.”

“Yeah, and he said he didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”

“Hurting her? Yeah, I believe that. It’s what led up to it that’s the problem.”

He stumbles to his feet, still glaring at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geto just doesn’t lose control like that,” Shoko hisses before pointing at you. “She wouldn’t be hurt by one of his spirits unless he wanted it. He has to give them specific orders, you know that as well as I do. Maybe he didn’t intentionally have it attack him, but if he was pissed off enough, if he wasn’t careful enough with his order, then a spirit would consider her a threat.”

“Shut up.” Satoru wants to put his hands over his ears like a child. He’s in denial. She’s making sense, but he doesn’t want to admit that because it feels like acceptance. If what she’s saying is true, it doesn’t matter if he accidentally hurt you or not. If he was acting out of anger towards someone else, he’d be branded a curse user and there’s only one person strong enough to kill Suguru. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking about? The guy always riding on his moral high horse?”

“Stop pretending you’re both the same people after last year.” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Just leave me alone. I can’t deal with you right now. I’m saying that we don’t know, but you need to be a fucking adult and think about all the possibilities here. Also, you’re such a selfish asshole. Do you think I want to think about this? No. That’s why we’re hiding the evidence from Yaga.” She whispers your name. “If we had Suguru declared a curse user before she’s awake, it’d push her over the edge.”

Satoru feels less…panicky than before. He backs down. Glances at you while he asks Shoko, “What’s the story?”

“My residuals have covered up evidence of his on her,” she whispers. “Suguru got there too late. It’s why he keeps blaming himself. Any idiot at headquarters knows how close they are, so it won’t be hard to convince them that their relationship is what’s got him so hysterical.”

“Okay,” Satoru answers as quietly. “What—” his voice cracks. “What do we do if she wakes up blaming him?”

“That’s not something we can answer for each other, Gojo.”

“Explain yourself, Suguru.”

Just like Shoko said, Gojo Satoru is a selfish asshole. Somewhere between Shoko’s room and here, with Suguru, rage overcame Satoru. Because Suguru ruined everything. Instead of trusting Satoru or even you enough to talk about the things bothering him, Suguru let everything fester.

(But you didn’t, either, a nastier part of his brain reminds him.

Is there something wrong with Satoru?)

Suguru hasn’t moved. He’s still there, on his knees, staring blankly at your blood left behind in the grass. It’s like Satoru doesn’t even exist. It pisses him off more. What? Does Suguru think he can give up? He thinks he can sit around, crying over what he did to you, while everyone else has to clean up his mess? No way. Fuck that.

“Why?”

“Huh?!”

Suguru still hasn’t looked away from the place your body had been. “Why does it matter? I hurt a fellow sorcerer. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

Satoru grits his teeth. “Why the hell are you being so vague now? Ten minutes ago, you were apologizing for hurting her!”

While saying your name hoarsely, Suguru reaches out to dig his fingers in the bloody grass. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. But those…those goddamn monkeys…that’s who I wanted to hurt.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling no matter how hard he tries to keep them from doing it. “I hate them, Satoru. All our suffering is because of them. They create curses. We exorcise them. Over and over until sorcerers die. First, it was Riko. Then, Haibara. When will it be you? When’s it going to be her on a metal slab?”

Under the weight of all this suffering, the anger quickly rushes out of Satoru. No, it’s still there, but he’s so stupid mad at himself for not seeing how bad things have gotten. He pretended that everyone else could separate themselves from their pain like Satoru has always done. He loves you. He loves Suguru. Why couldn’t he just see how much you two have been hurting?

Satoru doesn’t know what to do with all this sadness. He sprints forward, dropping and sliding in on his knees right in front of Suguru. He throws his arms around Suguru’s shoulders and Suguru seems to almost resist. He clenches his fists around the fabric of Satoru’s shirt. Then, he ducks his head down, pressing his head against Satoru’s sternum, trembling and giving another one of those sobs that’s just a gut punch.

“I wanted them dead. It was all I could think. I want them all dead. I want us to have a better world. I would start here. But I made the order too vague when I summoned them. I wanted to kill all the monkeys in this goddamned village and anyone that tried to stop me. She wasn’t even in the way. She said my name. She said, ‘Suguru, stop,’ and that was enough. They knew her because I know her, but I was so blinded by my rage. It was like nothing else existed but that.”

“It was an accident.” Satoru cups Suguru’s face with his hands, trying to get Suguru to look at him, but Suguru won’t budge. “It was an accident, Suguru. It’s okay. Look at me. Just look at me. It’s gonna be okay. We’re already figuring out how we can cover it up.”

Suguru just cries harder. “I can’t live like this, Satoru. Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise. Absorb. Swallowing their shit. I want a better world, but I can’t do that, either. Because the people at the end of that road, standing in my way…it’s gonna be you and her.” He gives one sharp, hysterical laugh. “The people that I’d be doing it for, the only two fucking people that I love enough to make the world better for are the people that I’d need to hurt to get that utopia. How fucked up is that?”

“We’ll fix it,” Satoru whispers desperately. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out a way to fix it. The three of us, we can make this world better together.”

“Kill me, Satoru. Put me down. I’m begging you. I can’t live in this cycle anymore.”

“Stop! Stop it. Don’t you fucking ask me to do that.” Suguru finally loses the strength to fight Satoru’s hands. When Satoru lifts his face up, he goes. “Just listen to me. We’ll come up with a plan. We can make this world better together the right way. But you can’t give up on us. Me and Sketch, we can’t lose you. We can’t.”

“You don’t need me.” Satoru’s heart skitters in his chest when Suguru reaches out himself, hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m not good for either of you anymore. I can’t go back to being the person I was before.” Satoru shakes his head. He refuses to accept that. Suguru is the one holding Satoru’s face in his hands now, trying to make Satoru see his light. “You’re the best for her. I know you love her as much as I do. Take care of her. You can forget me and live a happy life together.”

“I can’t. I’d never be able to forget you. The only future I can see is one with Sketch and Suguru.”

“I don’t have a future anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t accept that and neither will she.”

Suguru laughs bitterly, pulling away from Satoru completely. “Even now, after everything that’s happened, you’re still so damn arrogant, Satoru. What are you going to do if she wakes up condemning me? What will you do, then? Is the strongest sorcerer going to impose his will on her, too?”

“No! I’d never do that!”

“So, if she asked you to, will you kill me?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“I betrayed her,” Suguru whispers. “Weren’t you listening to those girls? I heard her say it myself. You never have to be afraid when Suguru’s around. Suguru is going to protect us all. She’s always trusted me. She wanted to leave all this pain behind, and I asked her to stay. I’ve been actively drowning her, but she couldn’t see it.” There’s a defeated slump in Suguru’s shoulders. “And neither can you, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words. Not like you. But he does know that when you wake up, you’ll understand what Satoru does. You’ll say something along the same line as Satoru when he tells Suguru, “You’re hurting.”

“My pain doesn’t matter. I did what I did, and I need to be punished for it. I still believe in that. Justice.” Suguru stares Satoru dead in the eye before declaring, “I’m going to confess.” His features soften. “I know you’ve got a gentle heart, Satoru. You don’t need to worry. I’ll stick my neck out willingly so that you’ll never have to choose between me and her.”

When Suguru leans forward to press a chaste kiss against Satoru’s forehead, right over that tiny scar left behind last year, Satoru realizes that, yeah, maybe he is a little gentle. Because that gesture alone is enough to break him.

Satoru didn’t know what else to do with himself after everyone kicked him out—Shoko, so she could wipe away the blood and re-dress you, and Sensei, who needed to talk with Suguru about the details of what happened. He showered, desperate to be clean, but it’s like your blood left a stain on him even when he’d rubbed his skin raw. He put on one of Suguru’s hoodies because he’s broader than Satoru and the sleeves will cover his hands. He can’t look at them right now.

The sun is rising when Sensei tracks him down where he’s sprawled out on a staircase. He’s got a lit cigarette in one hand. Sensei has always been pretty good on keeping his habit on the low, wanting to be an excellent role model for his students, but even he has his limits, Satoru guesses.

“Suguru asked to be put in one of the cells.”

Figures, Satoru thinks bitterly.

“Should I?”

“You’re actually asking me that?” Satoru mumbles, no energy left to put any heat behind it.

Sensei sighs, as mentally exhausted as Satoru is. “My bad.”

Satoru straightens from where he’s been hunched over. After everything tonight—last night…something opened up in him. He’s got to stretch himself beyond the little world he’s cultivated. It shouldn’t have come to this, but he’s got a really shitty personality. He’ll always have one, probably. But he’s willing to learn now. It can’t be about him anymore.

“Sensei, I’m strong, right?”

“Yeah, brazenly so.”

“But apparently, it’s not good enough for just me to be strong.” Sensei’s a good dude. He listens. Doesn’t tell Satoru that he’s a dipshit for not realizing this sooner. Satoru throws Sensei a bone and says it for him. “Sorry, old man, for being a dumbass and not listening sooner.”

Sensei takes a drag of his smoke. “Don’t apologize to me for being a teenager. If anyone’s at fault, it’s us. The adults. The weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

“Not only on mine, though, is it?”

“No,” Sensei admits quietly. “Adults are forgetful. Not only do our days pile up, but so do our regrets and fears. With all that, it’s hard to remember that there was a time when we weren’t used to the weight of others’ lives on our shoulders. It’s just another one of those burdens that we carry.” He finally stoops down to sit next to Satoru. “At the end of the day, you’re all children. And to a child, it really is like having the world on your shoulders.”

“I know my shoulders can handle it, but…that’s only those of us that are born into it. Most of the school’s enrollment comes from scouting, doesn’t it?” It’s not only your face and Suguru’s that flash across his mind. It’s Nanami, too. Haibara. “We’re not giving anyone else the time to strengthen their shoulders, y’know? There’s not much fostering going on here. And that’s not a diss on you. No offense or anything, but you just don’t have the strength to keep us all safe enough to get that thick skin.”

Sensei exhales a cloud of smoke. “I know I don’t.”

“It’s not like we can add more teachers, though. Not enough out in the field to spare. But…hey, you ever read Fullmetal Alchemist? Nah, probably not. What about an ouroboros? Heard of that? It’s like this snake that eats its own tail. That’s us right now. Kids enlist and get thrown to the wolves before they can fend for themselves. Most of them die, so there’s few to go out in the world. Even fewer to stick around and teach. And that cycle goes on and on.”

“I agree.”

“We gotta break it.”

“I know we do, but how?” Satoru turns to stare at Sensei who is, in turn, studying Satoru in the same way. There’s this familiar spark in his eyes. Satoru thinks he’s seen it before. “You said it yourself. There’s not enough of us.” Oh. Wait. Yeah, Sensei is asking these pointed questions because he knows the answer already. He’s waiting on Satoru to figure it out himself. “How do we change things?”

Satoru knows what he needs to do. Last night, he knew that he needed to change things. But he understands how he’s going to do that now. “Make someone like me a teacher.”

A large hand suddenly drops on top of his head. “You’re going to be terrible at it,” Sensei whispers. He’s no longer looking over at Satoru, but he ruffles Satoru’s hair. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Satoru.”

***

Shoko crashes when everyone’s healed. Took those kids with her to bed.

Suguru…he’s holed up in his room when Sensei refused to put him in a cell, no matter how bad Suguru wanted it. The old man said that until you, the victim, corroborate Suguru’s story, there’ll be no imprisonment. Satoru asked Nanami to keep an eye on Suguru. Not that Satoru thinks he’s going anywhere. It’s like the fight left Suguru as soon as Sensei denied his request.

Nothing else for Satoru to do but keep vigil at your side. He’s seated on the floor next to your bed, cheek pressed against the mattress. He doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t think he could focus on a game or manga or anime right now. Shoko’s always told him that Reverse Cursed Technique can do a lot, but it can’t wipe away the emotional weight of an experience. He can refresh his brain all he wants, but not his memories.

Before she went to bed herself, Shoko warned Satoru that this could break you in a way that you can never come back from. If they thought it was bad after Haibara’s death, this’ll be worse. Because it’s piled on for you. The incident with the Zen’in, the death that you blame yourself for, and even if Suguru didn’t hurt you, this is the closest you’ve come to death.

You can’t do what Satoru does—disassociate from the trauma. There’s no Infinity for you to keep people at bay when they start to close in on him the way all those fly heads had. If you’re scared the things that haunt your dreams, you’ll have to face it because you can’t wipe away the need to sleep with a technique. For the last two weeks, he’s watched you try to train yourself to smile, to try and distract yourself away from the thought constantly pressing in, but you’re not built for that like he is.

With every passing second, it gets harder and harder for Satoru to resist the urge to grab you and Suguru and flee to Kyoto. All he wants to do is protect you both. More than anything, he wants you to be happy. Neither of you have to be sorcerers anymore, he’d make sure of it. It doesn’t wear him down like it does you and Suguru. Or…maybe it does, but you two make it better.

It doesn’t take much for Satoru to be happy. For him, it’s as simple as the scratching of your pencil against paper. It’s the slide of Suguru’s fingers against the pages of his books before he flips them. It’s a gentle breeze that floats through your room when you open the window to get better lighting, carrying away the smoke of Suguru’s cigarettes. It’s the sunlight on his face and the press of your shoulders against his as you all lay on a blanket in the park.

Satoru doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

As if between one blink and the next, the press of a hand on his cheek is pulling him from his doze. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes, and your thumb is wiping away one of his stray tears.

You’ve rolled on your side to face him. There’s nothing on your face. Nothing in your eyes. It’s like your body is moving on autopilot. And none of that changes when he reaches up to return your gesture except that the breath in your chest shudders before tears roll down your own cheeks.

Satoru sees it for what it is. A war inside yourself—one side desperately trying to flee from the memories and emotions that come with them. Your body betrays you, though. Tear after tear slips from your eyes and soon, your bottom lip wobbles. You squeeze your eyes shut. Wordlessly, your hand moves down, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and you start tugging while shifting back on the bed to make more room.

“In the bed?” Satoru checks quietly.

You nod fervently in answer.

Satoru crawls up into bed with you. Your hands are greedier than they’ve ever been. He tries to be careful to not overwhelm you with touch, but you yank his arm to drape it over your waist so you can press yourself fully against him. You tremble in his arms, on the edge of collapse.

Right before you bite his shirt to muffle your gasps, you confirm what he’s known all along.

“Suguru hurt me.”

***

“Come again?”

You don’t repeat yourself, instead staring at Sensei with those lifeless eyes.

Sensei stares you down, waiting for words that aren’t going to come. He glances over at Shoko and, when she looks away, he then moves to Satoru. All Satoru can do is shrug helplessly. It’s not like either of them can make you talk. Satoru wouldn’t want to, anyway. He’s shocked you’re talking at all. This is the most you’ve spoken since you woke up two days ago. You haven’t had the energy for it…

Or anything else, for that matter. It’s been keeping Satoru up at night, stealing what little sleep he was getting before. It’s worse than it was after Haibara. You’d been a shell of yourself, but…you ate. A little. Once a day. Now…it’s like you’re a ghost. Shoko had threatened to pour some toxic sludge posing as a protein shake down your throat. She’d been so frustrated with you that she grabbed your chin, and you just gave her the same look as now. Not defiant. Not upset. Just��nothingness.

There’s not supposed to be smoking in the dorms, but Sensei lights one, anyway. “Explain what happened, then.”

“I wasn’t ready.” Your voice cracks from disuse. “The Grade 1 hurt me.”

“Suguru said it was under his control.”

“Not before it hurt me.”

Sensei presses a hand against his forehead, sighing. “Why would Suguru confess to something so serious?”

“Because it’s who he is. He’s upset he didn’t get there fast enough.”

For a long time, Sensei stares at you. “I need you to understand that our laws aren’t like normal ones. There’s no decision on whether or not to press charges against someone for a crime against you. If he hurt you, jujutsu law requires you to report that. If the official investigation results find that you lied to cover for him, you’d be charged as an accomplice and sentenced to death alongside him,” he explains carefully.

“I understand.”

“Good. So, knowing that, do you want to change your answer?”

“No,” you reply with no hesitation whatsoever. “Suguru didn’t hurt me.”

“There’s most likely going to be an official investigation.” Sensei is trying to get you to change your mind because he thinks it’s going to save your life. He knows you’re lying. Everyone that knows you and knows Suguru knows you’re lying. Suguru would never confess to something like this unless he actually did it. “I won’t be allowed to interfere.”

“Suguru didn’t hurt me,” you declare with an air of finality.

***

It’s a few days after you told Sensei your side of the story. Privately, Sensei confirms to Satoru what they all knew would happen. There’s going to be an official investigation. There’s no way they’d let something like this slide. The higher-ups are terrified of Suguru. Maybe more than Satoru. Satoru is a familiar threat. He’s a one-man army. But Suguru…as long as he’s alive, there’s no limit to how many strong his army can be. So, if there’s a chance that he’s gone off the rails, they’ll put him down. And you’ll just be collateral damage. You were always replaceable. A pet project. Nothing more.

“For the time being, you’re off assignments,” Sensei says to Satoru when he’s on his way out the door. Satoru glances over his shoulder at Sensei. He’s looking away. “You’re to keep your eyes on Suguru until the investigation is over.”

Satoru scoffs bitterly before leaving Sensei’s office without another word.

Shockingly, you’re not in your room when Satoru goes looking for you. You’re at the edge of the forest that they use for the Goodwill Event. Just sitting down in the grass, legs crossed, staring intently at some low-level cursed spirits who’d been lured to the tree line by your presence. He plops down next to you, ready to do the same thing he’s done since you woke up which is to be a steady presence.

“What do you see when I use my technique?”

Satoru is so startled by the sound of your voice that it makes him jump in place a little. His head snaps in your direction, but you never look away from the forest. “Uh…what?”

“Last year, when I influenced that old man…you said it was like there were two of me. It was like it was something you’d never seen me do before. But how was that different than what I do with a cursed spirit?”

It’s a weird thing for you to ask, but he’s desperate to hear more of your voice, so he tries to explain it. “Oh. It’s…normally, it’s kinda like…eh, a blanket? Yeah. When you pacify spirits, it’s like a blanket getting put over them. More than Suguru’s contract that looks like chains on them. With that geezer…” He hums. It was close to the blanket, is the thing. “It was like an infection, I guess. It was like there was this shot of your energy through his brain and it seeped through everything else. Does that make any sense?”

Your brows are knitted together in thought. “Yes,” you whisper after digesting all that. “Why is it different, though? What is my pacification but just another way to order a spirit around?”

“Maybe because the pathways are all different?” He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking about this harder now. “Spirits are just huge lumps of cursed energy. Cursed energy in sorcerers has a whole network to go through. Yeah, if you think about the shape of it, that might actually be why. Blanket for the lumps, an infection of sorts for sorcerers.”

You nod slowly. “Why do you think I didn’t have a brain bleed when I influenced Zen’in Ogi?”

“It could be a few different reasons, but the main one is probably time. The point behind this school is to hone your technique, y’know. They don’t really have a Sorcerer Biology 101 class, but our power grows as we do. You kind of peak after your body is done growing. Everyone, though, has this explosive burst of power when they hit puberty that lasts through the rest of your body’s development.”

“I’m still in sorcerer puberty?”

Satoru laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess that’s the best way to put it. It’s like your body is in the home stretch. C’mon, Sketch, I know you’re not dumb. You’ve noticed that your technique has developed over time, right? Why’re you asking such an obvious question?”

“But you said there were other reasons,” you remind him.

“It’s not obvious? C’mon, think about the basics here. How emotional were you? You were the angriest I’d ever seen you when you broke that geezer’s hip. How were you with Zen’in? Also, Zen’in Ogi loves to act like he’s hot shit, but he’s nowhere near as strong as he thinks he is. That guy never would’ve cut it as the head of the Zen’in. That higher-up is the stronger of the two.”

“But…you’re stronger than all the higher-ups combined, right?”

“Duh.”

“Do you think the action itself can cause more strain on me?”

“Huh?”

“Does it expend more energy for me to force an action than force a thought?”

“Oh. Probably, yeah. The Inumaki clan are like that. The more damage they cause to their opponent with their cursed speech, the bigger the blowback on the sorcerer themselves. It’s all about balance in sorcery.”

“Right.” You sigh softly. “I wish I had as much cursed energy as you.”

He rubs his ear absentmindedly. “You’re already halfway there. Once you pierce that barrier inside them, it’s really just a waiting game from there. You just need to finish letting your cursed energy flow through them.”

“Easier said than done. That’s probably where most of my energy is burnt up. If only there was a way to infect them faster…”

“Too bad you’re not like a snake or a spider and can just inject yourself in their veins, huh?” You don’t respond to that. You duck your head, staring down at your hands in your lap. Satoru doesn’t want you getting lost inside your head, so he tries to redirect the conversation. “How’d you like my explanations? Good? I’m gonna be a teacher, so I have to start working on that kinda stuff, right?”

You raise your head, turning to him with raised brows. “A teacher?”

“I’m gonna change things,” he swears. “Last year, when you said this system isn’t working, you were right. But there’s never been anyone strong enough to shake things up, not until me. What if that’s because of what you said? They were never allowed to grow before they died. The future needs someone strong enough to protect them, to let them grow. I’m gonna be that person.” He nods to himself. “I’m never letting anything like this happen ever again.”

For the first time in a really long time, you smile. It’s that small, genuine one that does what it’s always done—make his heart skip a beat. “You won’t be alone.” The back of his neck is getting warm. Why didn’t he bring his stupid sunglasses so he can obviously look away from you? Why can’t he stop blushing, damn it? “Let me be your spy on the inside. They’ll probably ask me to work at headquarters. I want to help you, too.”

As much as you hate dealing with people, that’d be the best course of action for you. It keeps you in this world, but you’re out of the line of fire. And…he doesn’t think you could cut it as a teacher. Kids are still going to die. Not as many as now, he hopes, but he knows the higher-ups won’t be happy with him. They’ll work to keep things the way they are. He can try his hardest, but he can’t be everywhere at once. You’d get too attached to the students. It’d break you.

“I’m going to make things right, Satoru,” you insist.

“You make it sound like it’s your fault.” Satoru leans sideways, his head butting against the top of yours. “Besides, the one in charge of fixing everything is me, isn’t it? It’s alright, Sketch. You don’t have to worry about things right now. I’m gonna figure something out. I promise that nothing else happens to either of you anymore, okay?”

***

The evening before the unofficial trial, when the sun is setting, you ask Satoru and Suguru to meet up with you. It’s at your favorite koi pond. The one where him, you, and Suguru named each fish. There’s a stone bench that you’re already seated at, posture straight and stiff, facing away from the pond. There’s a determination in your eyes that he’s been watching grow from an ember to an inferno over the past week. With that fire, though, is an edge.

“I know I don’t have any right, but…I’m glad you reached out,” Suguru admits softly. “I wanted to see you,” he adds again, even quieter than before. “Just one more time.”

There’s a bitter twist to your mouth. Before you rise to your feet, Satoru watches with a sinking stomach as that iciness forms in your gaze. Suguru flinches backward. Satoru resists the urge to do the same. No matter how mad you’ve been at them, you’ve always forgiven them. Were you finally pushed too far? Is what Suguru did unforgiveable to you?

“We both go, or we both stay. You remember when you said that, right?”

Suguru ducks his head. His shame never lets him keep it high anymore. “I do.”

“You’re as selfish now as you were then.” It’s not said as an accusation, no anger behind it, but it’s got Suguru hunching in on himself, anyway. “I keep finding myself here. Having to decide your future. If there’s anything I resent you for, it’s that. It’s worse now because it truly is life and death.”

“I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I am.”

“What about you, Suguru? Is there anything you resent me for?”

Satoru knows the answer even before Suguru confirms it with, “No. Nothing.”

“You will,” you whisper cryptically. “Do you remember the rest of that day? What happened when we made up? I told you what scared me most about coming to Tokyo. I don’t want you to leave me behind when we get there. Remember that?”

“I’m breaking that promise, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Your words sharpen. “You keep saying that, but you begged me the other night to change my mind. You keep doing that. Wasn’t it enough hearing the first time that I didn’t blame you? Do you care that little about me? I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

Suguru sighs your name. “I need to be punished.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You don’t want to punish me. That’s the problem.”

“Who says I don’t?”

The tension in Suguru’s shoulders loosens and there’s relief on his face for a moment before he straightens to his full height. He’s serious about receiving your punishment. He’s happy, too. Satoru feels stuck between you two. This…it’s your right, but…but he’s scared to lose you both.

“What is it? I’ll do anything.”

“Live.”

Suguru’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m making you do the thing that you clearly don’t want to do. I’m forcing you to live. You’re going to live with what you’ve done and you’re going to learn to live with non-sorcerers. I won’t make you stay a sorcerer, but I’m not letting you die. I’m not living in a world without you in it.”

He barks out a sharp, harsh laugh. “You can’t guarantee that, Squid.”

“I already have.” You raise a hand. Satoru had noticed a bandage wrapped around your palm last night, but you’d brushed him off like it was no big deal. That bandage is gone, showing a jagged gash. “I’ve already influenced them.”

Satoru’s stomach drops. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve asked more questions when you came back so exhausted from headquarters after they called you in to give your official statement. You’d told him that you wanted to study some cursed spirits, clear your head doing something you like. “What did you do?”

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” you start slowly. “All it took was a cup of tea. They trusted me too much. They trust us all too much, honestly. They left the kettle unattended. They didn’t look at the water before they let their tea steep. None of them noticed my blood in the water.”

“Blood?” Suguru repeats incredulously. “What?”

“I needed a quicker way to get my cursed energy flowing through them. I’d already tested it on the pencil pusher that drove me to headquarters. Coffee hides the taste better. It was harder with him than it was the higher-ups. Orders require more energy. It was just suggestions with the higher-ups. It took, though. They agreed.”

“Agreed to what?” Suguru asks hoarsely.

“You and I are going to make a binding vow. If a non-sorcerer should ever die by your hand, I die with them.” That look of horror on Suguru’s face is mirrored on Satoru’s own, he knows. “Even if they eventually realize that I influenced them, I doubt they’ll do anything. It’s a perfect deal. I’m a hostage. Neither of you would risk my life.” You pause. “That’s if you agree to the deal, of course.”

“I won’t,” Suguru spits.

“You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell them what I did. I’m an accomplice now. Binding vow or not, if you die then I die. You forced my hand.”

Suguru’s hands slowly ball up into fists. They’re clenched so hard that he shakes. You’ve trapped him. You’ve saved his life and he’s furious about it. This was the best possible outcome and Suguru has never looked so betrayed. “I will never wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“And I can never live in a world without you in it,” you state just as bluntly.

Tears well up in Suguru’s eyes. “For as long as we both live, I won’t forgive you.”

“I know. I’m doing what you wanted me to. I’m deciding what to do with your life. But I understand. I’ve accepted the risk. I’d rather you resent me for the rest of our lives than watch you die.”

“You’re cruel.”

“No crueler than you.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk fic #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk gojo #jjk geto #gojo satoru #geto suguru #my fic #jjk angst

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visenyaism · 8 hours ago

Note

My cringe great bastard oc is meri flowers she's the daughter of a hot Hightower lady named rhaelene (ostensibly bc she's descended from rhaena of pentos) and was born with pale lavender eyes and gold hair streaked with silver

Anyway her mom was way too busy being hot and agonizing over how aegivn didn't want her to worry about raising this kid who had the audacity to be born female and therefore not be able to be knighted by the king or something so meri is left entirely in the hands of a maester and a nurse both of whom decided fuck it when she was around four bc meri loves debating people taught herself to read and thinks too much about too many things all the time

Therefore meri obviously decided to use all the authority being a Hightower bastard and a King's daughter gives her and makes someone take her to the Citadel where she runs rampant for the next eight years bc lord Hightower is too amused by her antics to stop her so all the Maesters start living in fear of this tiny girl with terrifying eyes popping up in their lecture halls and offices and cornering them with massive books to go "I read your book but I disagree with you why didn't you take into consideration this thing that I read in another book or this other thing hey why are you running away from me" (it's because she usually wins)

She also learns to play the Westerosi equivalent of the violin and sings really well during this time but uses this talent to make up songs about the Maesters she dislikes which are such bops that everyone finds themselves singing them which makes everyone soooooo mad

Anyway when she's like twelve lord Hightower takes her to court to meet her father and tells her beforehand to be very nice and sweet and polite to the King she interprets this to mean "kiss his ass like no one has ever been ass kissed before" and it works she tells him about this prophecy she definitely for real found in a book that says he'll be the greatest targ king since the conqueror and makes up songs about the people he hates and generally makes him really like her

Anyway she is borderline a medieval socialist so she hates him and all her half siblings except shiera who she gets a baby lesbian crush on so she takes no sides when aegivn dies and war breaks out instead she decides to take her little collection of Disaffected Bastard Children of random nobles and runs off to go take down feudalism and then they all disappear in the Riverlands and are never heard from again

Bloodraven immediately propagandizes this claiming that she disappeared on Bracken land and that she was a victim of the blackfyre side and tries to make her a martyr even though he fucking hates her guts bc she once told him he was a slimy little toad who should stop using shiera as the mediator for his obsessive crush on bittersteel

Bittersteel responds by claiming that she actually disappeared on Blackwood land and that she was totally for sure 100% on their side even though she once very loudly told him to leave shiera alone and go suck daemon blackfyre's cock some more in front of half the court

(Shiera thought meri was cute and greatly enjoyed the added spice she introduced into the situationship)

Anyway what happened to meri flowers? Who knows. Except that she probably died as she lived: annoying the shit out of everyone around her god bless her little marxist intellectual ass

Okay disappearing bastard Jonestown in the middle of the riverlands is such an insane concept I love it

#asoiaf #great bastard ocs

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rainbowpopeworld · 2 days ago

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David Tennant on returning as BAFTAs host:

(full article below)

by David Tennant

“I like presenting, without the pressure of it being my job. It’s a performance, like anything. I get to dabble in a very supported environment. When you see someone who really knows how to do it – Dermot O’Leary or Davina McCall, say – they absolutely know what those moments require. It’s a skill set that I can only aspire to. I can probably afford to do it one more time and then just get out, drop the mic and run.

Don’t look at me if anything goes wrong. For an event like this, there is such an extraordinary team of people who know exactly what they’re doing and how the whole thing works. I am very much a novice, because it’s not my world, so there’s not much expectation on me to figure out what happens next if something goes wrong. There’s a support network and structure that makes one feel very safe. One of the great advantages of hosting is that it’s all written down for me, so I don’t even have to learn the words. That is the bit about my day job that is most anxiety inducing, so it’s nice to have that removed.

continued below the cut

The BAFTAs are supposed to be kind. Last year we weren’t trying to roast people, but there was a joke about Cate Blanchett, and she looked a little bit annoyed, a little bit pissed off. And I remember going, “Oh God, no. I think you’re brilliant. I was just trying to be witty and make a point about how you’ve got lots of prizes, and we love you.” So, I think if I’ve learned anything, it’s probably that I’m not interested in picking fights or making anyone feel in any way uncomfortable. If I have a style, it’s only that.

I get star-struck, all the time. The bit that you can’t prepare for with hosting an awards show is when you’re actually up there, and the front five rows are the most famous people in the world, and they’re all sort of staring up at you with expectation and their own personal anxieties if they’re there to compete. That’s the bit that is a little bit thrilling… but also intimidating.

I don’t feel, internally, “famous”. I have an awareness of a lack of anonymity. Any sense of success is all shrouded in Scottish Presbyterianism. So none of it ever feels like you can fully enjoy it, or feel entirely relaxed, because that would be presumptuous. As a nation, we are always much more comfortable slagging ourselves off.

My parents were never against me being an actor. There’s an element of performance in being a minister in the pulpit so my dad [Tennant’s father was a Church of Scotland minister] definitely understood the impulse. But they just wanted, as parents do, to know that you were settled with a regular wage, and you could feed yourself, pay your rent, maybe have a house one day. I get that now completely as all my children seem to drift towards acting. I’m like, “I can’t tell you not to, but there are also other jobs!”

Being without my parents now is miserable. My mum never got to meet any of my kids, and that’s a bit heartbreaking, because she would have loved them. My dad got to meet all but one, and that – obviously – was wonderful, but their memories of him are fading…

My parenting style is different. Because my parents were very consistent and very solid, I never doubted for a second that they were absolutely committed to us without that ever being stated. That’s the bit that’s quite interesting, because in our house now, everyone’s saying "I love you" all the time. It’s lovely, and I love it, but it’s very foreign to me. I don’t remember that ever being said in our house growing up. I mean, I never doubted it was true but it was never said out loud.

I’m very protective of my children. When you know that it can be really horrible being “famous”, I think you try and protect your kids from the worst of it, while enjoying some of the privileges. As a parent, you try to have the best of both worlds, and inevitably you fail. But that, I suppose, is the aspiration, and that allows you to alleviate the guilt over the s**t [asterisks in original] stuff that visits.

My favourite role is… usually the one I’m most recently involved in. I’m fickle like that. So right now, it’s probably Macbeth [with Cush Jumbo]. It’s on at the Harold Pinter Theatre and it’s very alive to me at the moment. [which means now it’s Crowley😈]

I don’t know that acting roles change you. Obviously, while you’re working on a part, you can get quite involved in a lot of detail about a sort of person that you wouldn’t necessarily choose to spend time with, but that’s the job. You’re trying to understand the version of humanity that spat forth that particular psychology. It’s a puzzle.

It’s very hard to empathise with someone like Dennis Nilsen. Objectively, I don’t think I did [Tennant played the serial killer in the the 2020 drama Des]. But, subjectively, I could make sense of the decisions he made. You have to try and get inside that mindset. When Nilsen did something like murder, he thinks, "Well, I’m in this deep, I might as well keep going, because I can’t actually go back any more".

So I’m trying to unlock that – not to validate it, or be sympathetic towards it. But for the purposes of this piece of work, I have to inhabit that as truthfully as I can.

You don’t film something because you want a prize at the end of it. But then, if you’re suddenly put in the running for an award, then you find yourself wanting to win it and feeling like a big, massive loser if you don’t.

An award might represent a pinnacle in someone’s career, but ultimately, they don’t matter. It’s all a fabricated nonsense, and either you do work that you are proud of, or you don’t. From an industry point of view, they’re about generating attention to projects so that more people watch them, which is why you make anything – so that it connects with people, and they appreciate it. And then people who win get to make more things. They mean things professionally to people, but I don’t suppose they change their life. Still, they’re a lovely thing to receive – and it’s nicer to win one than to not…”

#david tennant #radio times magazine #radio times #baftas #bafta 2025 #bafta awards #bafta #crowley #good omens #david tennant article

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pieflavorpie · 2 days ago

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OK so I have thoughts and feelings and a LOTTA them. Here's my list [which is arbitrary and could change tomorrow in all honesty]

1. Percy.

Taliesin put so much love and attention into this character, that it made Caleb & Nott feel cheap to me for a WHILE. Taliesin literally told Sam how guns were constructed in rather extreme detail meanwhile Sam barely used basic chemistry knowledge & Liam was only using the Keen Mind feat instead of taking notes. I had to sit to myself and remind myself that these people each have their own strengths and weaknesses and research clearly wasn't either of those [which probably why I couldn't get into their characters but oh well].

While I'm not on the "Critical Role has to follow writing techniques" train due to the fact I'm into this because it's an unconventional story. But. Percys arc is ridiculously satisfying. I know he was supposed to die, but the entirety of VM being him learning how to cope with [&live with] the grief of his family and all the mistakes he has made. I've never felt prouder in a fictional character than when he talked to his wife instead of calling in on a Devil's deal and selling his soul again. Breaking his cycle. And then the subsequent "i think I wanted to be a clockmaker once" and him choosing a healthy pathway forward!!! It's so rewarding after we see this man break himself into so many pieces continuously, just to find the point he initially broke. He learns that maybe that doesn't matter.

And then there's the actual personality of Percy. That man is a perfect depiction of darkness and pompousness. Able to take the mick of himself sometimes, and able to communicate. Having the rare issue where it wasn't trust issues with other people, but trust issues with himself. He trusted the people around him so much, and had so many lighthearted moments with seemingly no hint of darkness. And it made his Moments hit harder.

2. Mollymauk/Kingsley

Grouping these 2 together as joint 2nd because I view these 2 as intrinsically linked. I can't bring up why I like Molly without mentioning Lucien/Kingsley, and vice versa. I love the analysis of what makes a distinct soul, I love how open the interpretation of what Kingsley IS is. Is he just the rememnants of a severely traumatised & scrappy Mollymauk after spending too much time as the neosomnovum? Is he a different fragment of Luciens soul? Is he a mixture of different parts of Lucien and Molly? Is it fair to say that as Molly IS a part of Lucien?

And the book, oh gods the book. So many things Tal just randomly blurted out that were wrapped in so well. I will never get over Brevyn's kiss to the forehead. "Long may he reign" being a song the tombtakers sang. "Empty" being repeated due to Lucien's worst fear being puppetted just like his brother.

There is not a week i don't spend contemplating what would've happened if we kept Molly. If something would've happened with the Hag, how Vess Derogna would've acted (if we even met her), how he would've impacted the direction the M9 went, or how he would've reacted to the forced amnesia on Rumblecusp, and the subsequent Thing With The Moonweaver at Traveler Con.

And Kingsley, oh how I want Kingsley to be explored more. His 2 episodes in the specials were GREAT. How he is the guy to Get Shit Done, and how he's so button-pushy. I will never forgive the cast [/lh] for pushing him to the side so much. Having him be the only one not mentioned in the BH finale and only talked about above-table to seemingly reduce what Ashton had just been through. It feels like Tal has to force other characters to bring him up outside of "yeah we tried to bring out dead friend back and It Got Weird."

And they don't have the excuse of him being the pirate king either, cause Veth made it canon that Kingsley helped gather Luc when he ran away up north. He is contactable. Im fairly sure Jester said she was in contact with him [like she is with literally everyone I love that girl so much].

Anyway, also love him being a rogue. Go, buddy, get that self confidence.

And also I personally relate to the way identity was talked about during both eras by both of these characters during different parts of my life.

3. Asha

Honestly would be further up but we did not get enough screentime with her to justify that. There are sooooo many ways to interpret this 1 version of the Wildmother and it has kept me thinking for days about the nature of Nature and change and possibility.

She has convinced me to play a druid for my first campaign, a changeling druid who grapples her identity to the nature around her by covering herself with thorns and brambles. All inspired by how Asha only seems to show 2 strong negative emotions besides hunger. Guilt, for the pain her discovery has brought to her family. And anger at her wife for leaving her to face this mission with a substitute. These emotions are what ultimately anchor her to her mortality.

Nature never really feels guilt for the hunt, or anger at the prey. And yet, to us those emotions are perfectly natural. So in this case, where does the domain of Nature stop? Melora/Asha is the goddess of the Wild, so it's probably safe to assume natural human emotions don't come under her purview. But in the grander scheme, are we natural? As human beings? Are the buildings we roost in natural, as they are made from the dirt and mud that are processes made possible from what we had in Nature? Is being a God with Nature as your domain also make you a God of progress and potential?

And isn't that an incredibly interesting concept.

4. Ashton.

Would've been higher than Asha, if he had had a better finale. It felt like he had narrative progress, with people coming to save him as he died, but he came out without much of a change in mindset since The Shard. He literally martyred himself, intending to die for good and no one really bothered to emotionally check in on that afterwards. If he has finished with his martyr complex, I don't think its done through actual help, it feels like it was done because he's realised that his friends will fight through thick and thin to bring him back. But that doesn't mean anything for someone's mental health in a world like this. It could make people feel trapped, or could make them too reckless with the "I'll be fine my friends will get me if I die." Like No?????

And i love his parallels with Laudna, even outside of his probing. They are both stunted beings, perpetually childish. Laudna because she never got the chance to grow up, being ostracised since before the Briarwoods came up and ruined everything [and then Delilah wouldve purposefully kept it that way for Manipulation Purposes]. Ashton because he never really got to be a child. Laudna coped with her loneliness by making a shit ton of dolls. Ashton had never had a doll until Laudna gave him one. And neither of them really get the community they deserve within the group.

I think the best example of this with Laudna is Swordgate. Marisha said on 4sd that Laudna was upset about Orym using the sword anyway, and then Delilah got into her head. I was also immediately off put by Orym using the sword due to the fact it had killed so many of the Bells Hells and had literally sent Laudna to her own personal hell for an indetermined amount of time for her. A sword does not have to be possessed to be Evil. But it was the fact that noone responded to her actual, valid reasons it was all pretty much the message of "you can't be trusted, this is all Delilahs machinations" like WHAT. Which, mini tangent here, i feel like is why I also prefer VM to BH because it seems like BH had so many completely impossible moral quandries that they seemed to completely dismiss the complexities of their own friends situations after 1 conversation. I feel like they should've had a few more [and I mean only like 2] sessions that was just BH getting to be a mercenary group because for like 100 flat episodes they were Not A Mercenary Group. Maybe getting to explore Marquet a lil more.

Anyway, tangent over. I just think its sad Laudna got dismissed due to her being manipulated and Ashton often got dismissed because of his brash attitude and low Charisma. Before the Solsitice he was continuously getting drunk and even said he'd started shouting at seemingly nothing and no one bothered to explore it. Besides Laudna. Anyway.

Love the concept that Being Broken isn't a wrong thing to say. Most of the time it's all like "oh no don't say that!!! You're wonderful!" But no this guy is just fundamentally and mechanically broken. They are someone who's had to be reformed so many times that some pieces just don't fit anymore, and there's nothing to replace them. And maybe you don't have to be a rock guy who was literally shattered to have that. I personally relate in all those times that I failed tests as a gifted kid that, upon reforming myself afterwards, I lost the piece of me that cared about working. Later, being shattered as I'm told by my college that I'm flagged for undiagnosed ASD and need 25% extra time and loosing that part of me that felt I could trust adults to understand me. But it's not always bad. I felt part of me break away when me and my friends turned 18, and we went out and I realised I didn't have to treat my friends like glass physically. That i could hold them and hug them and they will reciprocate.

And I think where the term "broken" comes into play is when you actively start to grieve those parts. In BH we watch Ashton mourn the ability to trust. Idk. I hope we see more of him in future.

5. Caduceus.

Look, I love Cad, I just also love every other Tal character I've seen. And Cad just narratively and as a complex character comes up that little bit short to me. I love watching his clips. But the rants I did about the others' themes and how they get me to think? I don't get that with Cad so much. I get him, honestly I do. I love him repping the aroaces in that wonderful gossipy way. I love how he only ever silently panics and won't call attention to himself [I only realised how much of myself I saw in him in that moment when they stole a ship and I was like "...oh."]. I love how he canonically did drugs just to try and connect with what felt like a dying connection between him and his God [again something that wasn't really touched on but Holy Shit]. I love how he only apologised for being weak when he asked his Goddess whether his family was OK. He does have depth. Depth that never seems to be taken much deeper than surface level with the Nein and I can honestly only hope that Cad and Kingsley are treating each other well cause they really both need somebody on the outside to Talk To.

I don't actually Know the other 2. So this is it:)

#critical role #criticalrole #talesin jaffe #percival de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #caduceus clay #mollymauk tealeaf #ashton greymoore #asha #kingsley tealeaf #exu downfall #sorry for any and all mischaracterisation this is just my silly lil Engineering Mind interpreting shit #i got a 6 [a B] in my English Lit GCSE and havent done any proper infference activities since.#and for a solid 3 years my main form of witnessing storytelling was through the rollercoaster medium which. funnily enough.#doesnt necessarily come with a lot of individual character depth #it goes about as deep as “Dr Kelman was inspired by the guy who created the labotomy”

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