#has reached this upper echelon

[solar-eclipsed]

I love it when characters love each other so much it’s almost religious. I love it when the love is obsessive and selfish and eats away at their soul and they can’t think about anything else. I love it when it consumes their entire life.

I love it when they hate themself so much that the only way they feel whole is when they love someone else. I love it when their idolization of the person they love goes so far that it dehumanizes them. When the person they love couldn’t possibly do wrong. When they can’t do anything but thinking about making them happy. Keeping them happy. Despising the rules THEY set to make their person as happy as possible and beginning to resent them too despite how much they love them.

Guilt. Guilt for everything they’ve ever done for themselves. Guilt for doing anything without their person. Guilt for doing anything that isn’t for their person. Rejecting their own personhood and agency in an effort to make their person happy, even if their person never asked for this.

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Part 1 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: A young mute woman is drawn into the world of a powerful CEO through an unexpected proposition that could change her life and her family’s future forever.

Notes: I've been obsessed with When the Phone Rings lately, and it has been inspiring a little.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Y/N’s heart pounded as the elevator doors glided open to the executive floor of Uchinaga Couture. A soft chime signaled her arrival, and she stepped out hesitantly, her worn flats making barely a sound against the pristine marble floors. The space around her was intimidatingly sleek, high ceilings, gold-accented furniture, and white walls so spotless they practically glowed under the recessed lighting. Every inch of the space radiated power and exclusivity.

The air was cool and quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant clicking of keyboards from the rows of assistants stationed in glass-walled offices. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it demanded perfection from anyone who dared to linger too long.

Y/N clutched her bag tightly against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. Her mind raced, replaying the cryptic message she’d received from Giselle Uchinaga’s assistant earlier that morning.

“Miss Uchinaga would like to see you in her office. Immediately.”

Why would Giselle Uchinaga, the CEO of one of the world’s most renowned fashion houses, a woman so influential she rarely made public appearances, want to meet with her? Y/N wasn’t even an intern yet.

Her fingers instinctively reached for her phone in her bag. She’d been rehearsing a polite introduction during the entire elevator ride, but now, standing here surrounded by the grandeur of Uchinaga Couture’s upper echelon, her words felt hollow. Would she even be able to speak at all in the presence of someone like Giselle?

The receptionist sitting behind a minimalist gold and glass desk barely glanced up from her screen. “Miss Uchinaga is waiting for you,” she said, her tone clipped and professional, as though this sort of summoning happened every day.

Y/N nodded. She smoothed the front of her blouse, realizing with dismay that it was slightly wrinkled from her hurried commute.

The receptionist gestured toward a pair of imposing glass doors at the far end of the hallway. They stood like gates to another world, one Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She hesitated, but the receptionist’s pointed look left no room for second guessing. Forcing her feet to move, Y/N approached the doors, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The office beyond the doors was even more magnificent than the hallway. Vast and bathed in natural light, it was dominated by floor to ceiling windows that offered an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The desk at the center of the room was a masterpiece of sleek mahogany, polished to a mirror finish. Behind it sat Giselle Uchinaga herself.

Y/N had seen Giselle in magazines and online, always poised, with an untouchable elegance that made her seem more like a mythical figure than a real person. In person, that aura of control was even more pronounced.

Giselle didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. She sat with her back straight, her silky black hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder as she studied the glowing screen of her tablet. A fountain pen rested delicately between her fingers, tapping soundlessly against the desk. Her tailored navy suit accentuated her sharp features, and even seated, her posture exuded authority.

“Miss Y/N,” Giselle said finally, without looking up. Her voice was smooth and controlled, with a faint edge of disinterest. “Have a seat.”

Y/N obeyed quickly, lowering herself onto the leather chair in front of the desk. It was so soft and luxurious she worried for a moment that she might sink into it entirely. She folded her hands in her lap, trying not to fidget as she waited.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. Giselle remained focused on her tablet, her fingers scrolling through unseen files with practiced precision.

Y/N used the opportunity to glance around the room. The walls were lined with black shelves holding a curated collection of awards, framed magazine covers, and bound portfolios. Every object seemed to scream success, as if Giselle’s achievements had been distilled into physical form.

When Giselle finally looked up, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The CEO’s almond-shaped eyes were sharp and assessing, like she was dissecting Y/N with a single glance.

For a moment, Y/N felt like an open book under that gaze, every secret and insecurity laid bare. The weight of it was suffocating, but she forced herself to meet Giselle’s eyes, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.

“I assume you’re wondering why I called you here,” Giselle said, leaning back in her chair. Her tone was calm but carried the faintest hint of impatience.

Y/N nodded quickly.

Giselle’s perfectly manicured hand gestured toward a sleek black folder resting on the desk, though she didn’t open it yet. “I’ve reviewed your file, Miss Y/N. You have an impressive work ethic. Resourceful. Determined. Someone who doesn’t back down when faced with challenges.”

Y/N blinked, unsure whether Giselle was complimenting her or simply stating facts. Her file? She’d almost forgotten she’d even applied for a position as an assistant in the accounting department months ago, an opportunity that had seemed impossible even then.

“I have an opportunity for you,” Giselle said, her voice deliberate, as though testing Y/N’s reaction. “But before I explain further, I need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go to help your family?”

The question hit like a thunderclap. Y/N’s lips parted instinctively, but no sound followed. Her breath caught in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears as her thoughts spiraled.

Why was Giselle asking something so personal? How much did she know about Y/N’s situation?

Giselle’s gaze didn’t waver, her expression unrelenting. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as they curled into her lap. She wanted to ask what Giselle meant, to demand clarification, but the words never came. They never could. Instead, she lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Giselle’s with a quiet intensity.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she inhaled slowly, trying to project steadiness. Her gaze was resolute, though her chest tightened with fear, she refused to look away. If Giselle wanted to test her resolve, she would show it, even if only through the unwavering determination in her expression.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Giselle’s eyes, curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of approval, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Giselle didn’t wait for a response. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the edges of the black folder on her desk.

“Your father left you and your family in an unfortunate position,” she said, her tone clinical, devoid of any trace of empathy. “The debts he accrued are substantial, and your current situation offers little opportunity to escape them. Correct?”

Y/N flinched at the bluntness, her chest tightening as though someone had reached in and exposed every hidden part of her life. She hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the phone in her lap. Finally, she picked it up, her movements deliberate, and began typing.

“Yes.”

She held up the screen for Giselle to see. The stark simplicity of the word felt both shameful and raw.

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her expression remaining unreadable. She gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment before continuing.

“I’m offering you a way out,” Giselle said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “But it requires your cooperation and your discretion.”

Y/N blinked, her curiosity piqued despite the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She typed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“What kind of cooperation?”

The corner of Giselle’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “I need a fiancée.”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. For a moment, she was sure she’d misread the words that had just left Giselle’s mouth. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, uncertain what to say. Finally, she typed.

“A fiancée?”

“Yes,” Giselle said, her tone as even and detached as if she were discussing a routine business transaction. She leaned back in her chair, exuding an air of unshakable confidence. “My reputation has... complications. Certain people perceive me as cold, unapproachable. The board at Lueur, with whom I am negotiating a highly lucrative partnership, values the appearance of stability and warmth in their collaborators. I need to project that image.”

Y/N stared at her, stunned. Her fingers moved instinctively, typing out the only question that made sense.

“Why me?”

“You,” Giselle said, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s, “are the perfect candidate. Young, vibrant, and unknown to the media.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she read Giselle’s words. Her mind raced, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. She typed slowly this time, her hands shaking.

“I don’t understand. I’m just an applicant. Why would you choose me?”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she appeared to weigh her response, then answered with calm certainty. “I’ve done my research. Your background is compelling, your work history suggests you’re resourceful and adaptable and most importantly, you’re desperate.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at the final word. She lowered her phone slightly, breaking eye contact for the first time.

“You have no other options, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, her voice firm but not unkind. “This arrangement would benefit both of us. You’ll help me secure the partnership with Lueur, and in return, I will pay you enough to clear your family’s debts entirely and provide a stable future for yourself and your family.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Humiliation, anger, and a flicker of reluctant hope. She stared at her phone, her vision blurring slightly. With trembling fingers, she typed.

“And if I say no?”

Giselle’s expression didn’t waver. “Then you walk out of this office, and we go our separate ways. But consider this carefully, opportunities like this are rare, and for someone in your position, it could mean the difference between struggling for decades or starting over.”

Y/N stared at the words on her screen, her heart pounding. Giselle’s words weren’t a threat, they were a calculated statement of fact.

This wasn’t a choice. Not really.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze never leaving Y/N, and slid the black folder across the desk with a single, precise motion. The faint sound of the leather cover gliding against the polished wood echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. Slowly, she reached out and pulled it closer, her heart pounding as she flipped it open.

Inside, the contract was laid out in meticulous detail. The dense paragraphs of legal jargon were daunting, and Y/N’s eyes flitted over the page, struggling to focus. Certain phrases stood out like beacons, each one hitting her like a punch to the chest.

“Exclusive agreement.”“Media appearances required.”“Strict confidentiality.”

Her throat tightened as the magnitude of the arrangement settled over her like a heavy fog. This wasn’t just a deal, it was a meticulously crafted performance, with no room for mistakes.

“This isn’t a charity, Miss Y/N,” Giselle’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Her tone was firm, but there was a hint of expectation, as if she were testing how Y/N would respond.

Y/N glanced up, her fingers still clutching the edges of the folder. Her mind swirled with questions, fears, and doubts, but she forced herself to focus. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and typed quickly before turning the screen toward Giselle.

“What exactly do you expect from me?”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips. “Professionalism,” she said. “You will follow my instructions, attend events as required, and present yourself as a devoted partner. In public, we will be inseparable. In private, however, we will remain strictly separate.”

Y/N’s fingers flew across the screen again, her anxiety spilling into her typed words.

“And if I mess up?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/N watched as Giselle’s expression hardened slightly. The CEO leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her fingers steepled in front of her.

“Then the deal is off,” Giselle said, her voice cold and unwavering. “And you’re on your own.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the bluntness of the ultimatum. She tightened her grip on her phone, her chest tightening as the enormity of the situation loomed over her. She quickly typed another message, her hands trembling slightly as she showed the screen to Giselle.

“You mean... everything ends? No payment?”

Giselle nodded once, her expression unchanging. “Exactly. This is a transaction, Miss Y/N, not a handout. If you fail to meet the expectations outlined in that contract, there will be no second chances.”

The weight of those words settled over Y/N like a lead blanket, heavy and suffocating. Her eyes dropped to the folder again, scanning the tightly packed lines of text that seemed to stretch endlessly.

She hesitated before typing another question, her fingers pressing against the screen more forcefully now.

“What happens if someone finds out this is fake?”

Giselle’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, her calm exterior seemed to harden further. “They won’t,” she said simply, the steel in her voice leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, no one will suspect a thing. I’ve accounted for every possible variable. Any leaks or suspicions will only arise from carelessness, yours, specifically.”

The words sent a chill through Y/N, but she refused to look away. Her fingers hovered over her phone as she considered her next move. Every logical part of her told her to walk away, that this was far too risky, far too overwhelming. But the memory of her family’s desperate situation, the crushing weight of her father’s debts, made her stay rooted in place.

She swallowed hard, then typed a final message.

“What happens if I succeed?”

Giselle’s expression softened, just slightly. “If you succeed, your debts are gone. You’ll have enough money to start over, far away from whatever struggles brought you here. And,” she added, her tone shifting to something almost imperceptibly lighter, “you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you helped secure one of the most important deals in this company’s history.”

Y/N read and reread the words on her screen, her chest tightening. The stakes were high, terrifyingly so, but so was the reward. She could picture her family, free from the weight of her father’s mistakes, finally able to move forward.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N stared down at the open folder before her. The dense, unyielding text seemed to blur as the enormity of what she was about to do settled over her. Her hand hovered over the pen resting neatly beside the folder, trembling with hesitation.

Her thoughts raced. Signing this contract would bind her to a life she couldn’t fully comprehend, a world she wasn’t prepared for. But walking away wasn’t an option, not with her family depending on her.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving slower than usual as doubt gnawed at her resolve. She turned the screen toward Giselle, who watched her with patient intensity.

“What if I change my mind later?”

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the screen. For a moment, her expression softened, not with kindness, but with something close to understanding. “Then I suggest you don’t sign,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “Once you commit, there’s no room for second guessing.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the answer hitting her like a stone. Giselle’s unyielding certainty was both intimidating and strangely reassuring. This was a woman who never faltered, who didn’t allow for failure.

Her hand tightened around the pen. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the pen to the page and began to sign her name.

Each stroke of ink felt heavier than the last, like an invisible weight pressing against her hand. Her name, once complete, seemed foreign and final. This was it, the moment that changed everything.

When she finished, Y/N set the pen down carefully, the faint click of metal against wood echoing louder than it should have. She slid the folder back across the desk, taking one copy of the contract for herself and tucking it neatly into her bag, her eyes darting up to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle picked it up without a word, her fingers flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. Her sharp gaze scanned the document, ensuring every detail was in place. Finally, she closed the folder and set it aside.

“Welcome to your new life, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, extending her hand.

Y/N hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand. She’d expected this moment to feel more... transactional, but now that it was here, the reality of what she’d agreed to seemed overwhelming. Slowly, she reached out, her hand meeting Giselle’s.

Giselle’s grip was firm, her palm cool and steady. There was no warmth, no reassurance, just the unspoken promise of professionalism.

Releasing her hand, Giselle leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. As Y/N stood, clutching her phone tightly, Giselle’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door.

“Remember,” she said, her tone low but resolute, “this is business. Nothing more.”

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then nodded.

The glass doors closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her into a world she wasn’t sure she could navigate. The quiet hum of the floor seemed louder now, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest.

As she stepped into the elevator, her reflection stared back at her in the polished steel walls, unsure, but resolute.

This was her choice. There was no turning back now.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and after the short walk Y/N stepped out into the bustling street. The late afternoon sunlight stretched across the buildings, painting the city in hues of amber and gold. Pedestrians moved around her in a blur, business people rushing to catch cabs, couples strolling hand in hand, and tourists snapping pictures of the skyline.

But Y/N barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts weighed her down, each step feeling heavier than the last as she weaved through the crowd.

The weight of the signed contract in her bag felt almost tangible, like an anchor tethered to her future. Her grip tightened around the leather strap of her bag, so firm that her knuckles turned white. She had done it. She had agreed to step into a world she barely understood, tethering herself to a woman who felt as untouchable as the city’s towering skyscrapers.

Giselle’s words echoed in her mind, cool and precise, as if they had been carved into stone.

"Welcome to your new life."

Her new life. Was it really hers?

She felt a pang of uncertainty, the same pang that had risen in her chest as she’d signed her name on the dotted line. It hadn’t felt like liberation, it had felt like a pact with something she couldn’t quite define.

Y/N slowed her pace as she passed the entrance to a quiet park, the bustling noise of the city receding like a distant hum. The shade of a row of oak trees stretched across the grass, offering a temporary reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

Her feet carried her to an empty bench near a fountain, its soft trickling water providing a soothing contrast to the relentless rhythm of her thoughts. She sank down slowly, her shoulders sagging under the invisible weight she carried. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness settling in her chest.

Y/N pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the blank screen. Her fingers hovered over the device, poised to type something into the notes app, but no words came. She didn’t know what to say, to herself, to the universe, to anyone.

The screen dimmed, and Y/N let the phone drop into her lap with a soft thud. She leaned back against the bench, her head tilting toward the sky. The golden light filtered through the leaves above, dappling her face with shadows and warmth, but it couldn’t reach the chill that gripped her heart.

Her breathing slowed, and with the stillness came the memories, unbidden and relentless, rising to the surface like ghosts she could no longer keep buried.

She was ten years old the last time she heard her father’s voice. It was a warm evening, much like this one, when she’d sat cross legged on the thick carpet of his study, her fingers trailing absently over the edges of a well worn storybook. The smell of his cologne, cedarwood and something faintly spicy, lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of the leather bound books that lined the shelves.

His desk, usually an organized chaos of papers and trinkets, was unusually cluttered that night. Contracts, ledgers, and letters spilled across the dark oak surface, the symbols of a crumbling empire he had worked so tirelessly to build.

Her father had always been her hero. His laughter had a way of filling every corner of the house, and his warmth made even the darkest days feel like they carried a glimmer of hope. But that night, something was different.

His usual smile was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw that Y/N didn’t fully understand but instinctively feared. His movements were hurried, his hands shaking slightly as he shuffled through the papers in front of him.

“Papa?” she had asked softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

He stilled for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath before he turned to her. His eyes, so often kind and full of life were clouded with something she couldn’t name. He crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, his large hands gently gripping her small shoulders.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “I need you to listen carefully, okay?”

The seriousness in his tone made her heart race. She nodded, her gaze locked on his face.

“No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you have to stay quiet. Do you understand? Don’t make a sound.”

His words wrapped around her like a cage, cold and unyielding. She opened her mouth to ask why, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no time for questions, no room for explanations. He pulled her to her feet and led her to the far wall of the study, where a towering bookshelf stood filled with thick tomes and small mementos.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he pressed his hand against the side of the shelf, triggering a soft click. The bookshelf shifted slightly, revealing a narrow doorway. Beyond it was a small, dark room she had never known existed.

Her father knelt again, placing both hands on her shoulders this time. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he whispered. His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he steadied it. “Don’t come out until I tell you. And remember, no sound.”

The fear in his eyes mirrored the growing terror in her chest. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him to stay with her, but he gently pushed her into the hidden space before she could.

“Be brave, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he closed the door, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed her hands against the cool walls of the hidden room, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. Through a thin crack in the door, she could see her father return to his desk, his movements quick and tense. He sat down, his back straight as if bracing himself for something.

Minutes later, the front door burst open with a thunderous crash.

Y/N flinched, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Harsh voices filled the air, angry and unfamiliar. Men in dark suits stormed into the study, their faces obscured by the dim light.

She watched as her father rose to meet them, his posture firm despite the chaos that followed. The men surrounded him, their movements calculated and menacing.

“You know why we’re here,” one of them said, his voice cold and cutting.

Her father’s voice was calm but resolute, though Y/N couldn’t make out every word. She caught fragments ���not fair,” “family,” “too far” but the argument was heated, the tension in the room palpable.

One of the men slammed his hand against the desk, making Y/N jump. Her father stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

The man’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

There was a flash of movement, something metallic glinting in the dim light.

Then came the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as her father’s body crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stop. The dark pool spreading beneath him was all she could see, staining the polished wood of the study.

Her heart felt like it would burst as she clamped her hands over her mouth, her small frame trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind like a mantra. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.

The men stood over his lifeless body for a moment before one of them spat something cruel under his breath. Then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, their heavy footsteps retreating into silence.

When the house finally fell quiet, Y/N stayed frozen in the hidden room, too terrified to move. It felt like hours before she found the courage to push the door open.

The study was eerily still, the papers on her father’s desk fluttering softly in the breeze from an open window. She stumbled toward his body, her legs shaking so badly she nearly fell.

“Papa?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her small hands reached out to him, shaking as they pressed against his arm. “Papa, wake up.”

But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The warmth she had always associated with him was gone, replaced by a cold, lifeless shell.

The weight of her grief was unbearable, suffocating her as she knelt beside him, sobbing silently. At that moment, something inside her broke.

From that day on, Y/N never spoke again.

The official story was that her father had taken his own life after his company went bankrupt. The newspapers were ruthless, painting him as a failure who had crumbled under the weight of his mistakes. The debts, they said, had been too much for him to bear.

The truth, however, was far darker. Y/N had tried to tell someone, anyone. In the days that followed the horrific night in the study, she had opened her mouth countless times, desperate to describe the men who had invaded their home, to explain how they had taken her father’s life.

But every time, the words got stuck.

Her throat would tighten painfully, and the memory of her father’s lifeless body would crash over her like a wave, pulling her under. The gunshot, the men’s cold voices, the dark pool of blood, it all came back too vividly, paralyzing her. No matter how much she wanted to scream the truth, her voice refused to cooperate.

At first, her mother didn’t seem to notice. She was too consumed by her own grief and the weight of what had been left behind. Lawyers had come and gone, each one bearing bad news. The company her father had built was gone, swallowed up by his debts, leaving nothing but bills they couldn’t pay and creditors demanding what was owed.

Y/N had tried to help, using the scraps of courage she had left to write down the truth in shaky handwriting. But when she’d handed the paper to her mother, her hands trembling, her mother had barely glanced at it.

“Not now, Y/N,” her mother had said softly, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She’d set the note aside and never brought it up again.

Y/N had crumpled the paper in her hands, the rejection stinging more than she expected.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N stopped trying to speak altogether. What was the point? Every attempt ended the same way, with her throat closing up, her heart pounding, and tears burning her eyes. The trauma sat in her chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

At school, teachers and classmates would ask her questions, their faces twisting with confusion when she wouldn’t respond.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” “Why won’t you talk?”

The questions only made it worse. She wanted to answer, wanted to explain, but her voice was gone. Instead, she would shake her head and look away, her cheeks burning with shame.

Her teachers contacted her mother, concerned about her silence. But her mother, overwhelmed with grief and the mounting debt, had little energy to address the issue. “She’s going through a lot right now,” her mother had said. “She’ll speak when she’s ready.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure she ever would.

Their once beautiful home, with its sprawling garden and cozy rooms, was sold within months of her father’s death. The furniture went next, piece by piece, until their lives were stripped down to the bare essentials.

They moved into a cramped apartment in a part of town Y/N had never visited before. The walls were thin, the pipes rattled when the water ran, and the single window in the living room overlooked an alleyway filled with dumpsters. It was a far cry from the life they’d known, but her mother said it was all they could afford.

Y/N had watched as the stress wore her mother down, the vibrant woman reduced to a shadow of herself. Lines of worry etched themselves into her face, and her shoulders seemed permanently hunched from the weight she carried.

Y/N hated seeing her mother like that. Hated the hopelessness that seemed to hang over their tiny apartment like a storm cloud.

It was then, at the age of ten, that Y/N made a promise to herself. She would do whatever it took to help her family.

For months, Y/N relied on gestures and written notes to communicate. She would scribble messages on scraps of paper or point to things when she needed something. It was clumsy and frustrating, and more often than not, people misunderstood her.

One day, during a particularly frustrating moment at school, her teacher handed her a flyer.

“Have you thought about learning sign language?” the teacher had asked gently, her voice free of judgment.

Y/N had stared at the flyer for a long moment before taking it. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

The next weekend, her mother took her to her first sign language class at a community center downtown. Y/N felt out of place at first, surrounded by people of all ages, each with their own reasons for learning. But as the instructor demonstrated simple signs and encouraged them to practice, something shifted.

First time in months, Y/N felt like she had a voice again.

She practiced obsessively, her fingers fumbling at first but growing more confident with time. She learned to sign her name, simple phrases, and eventually, full sentences. The fluid motions of her hands became second nature, and with every new sign she mastered, she felt a little piece of herself returning.

Sign language became her lifeline, a way to express herself without the fear that had stolen her voice. It wasn’t perfect, many people didn’t understand it, and she still relied on her phone or written notes in those cases, but it was hers.

As she grew older, Y/N poured herself into her studies. She took on part time jobs after school, working long hours at diners, grocery stores, and anywhere else that would hire her. Every penny she earned went toward the family’s expenses or into a savings jar she kept hidden under her bed.

But no matter how hard she worked, the debt loomed over them, a constant reminder of her father’s death and the men who had taken everything from them.

Y/N refused to let it break her. She had resolved, then and there, that she would claw her way out of the darkness, no matter what it took. For her mother, for her siblings, and for herself.

She just needed an opportunity.

Y/N stared down at her phone, the sleek black screen reflecting her tired eyes and the faint streaks of sunlight filtering through the trees. Her thumb brushed against the edge of the device, but she didn’t unlock it yet. For a moment, the world around her blurred, the muted chatter of children playing in the park, the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves in the soft breeze. None of it registered.

Her thoughts were louder than any of it.

She had signed the contract.

The realization settled over her. She had sealed her fate, tethering herself to a woman whose world was as cold as the steel skyscrapers that loomed over the city. She had done it not for herself, but for them, for her family.

Her mother’s face floated to the forefront of her mind, etched with exhaustion from years of carrying a burden she was never meant to bear alone. Y/N remembered the way her mother used to smile, bright and unrestrained, a beacon of warmth in their home. But over the years, that smile had become rare, a faint shadow of what it once was. Y/N wanted to bring it back.

Then there were her younger siblings, still so full of life, so full of hope. She thought of her sister sketching dresses at the kitchen table with crayons, dreaming of becoming a designer. She thought of her brother, meticulously building castles out of old shoeboxes, telling anyone who would listen that one day he’d be an architect.

They deserved to dream.

Sliding her thumb across the screen, Y/N opened her notes app and stared at the blank space. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she began to type.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the sentence, her lips pressing into a thin line. The words weren’t just a promise, they were a lifeline, a tether to something stronger than her fear or doubt. They were a reminder of why she couldn’t fail.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. Her fingers brushed across the screen again, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about typing something more. Something about the uncertainty she felt, or the weight of the decision she had made.

But no. This was enough.

Sliding the phone back into her bag, Y/N stood. Her legs felt unsteady at first, like a newborn fawn’s, but she squared her shoulders and steadied herself. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

She cast one last glance at the park around her. A couple laughed as they walked hand in hand, their carefree joy like a far off memory. A boy chased after a kite, his delighted shouts rising above the rustle of the breeze. For a moment, she let herself imagine a life where she didn’t have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But that wasn’t her reality.

Giselle’s world was cold and unyielding, a place where people were assets and trust was a rare commodity. Y/N knew that stepping into that world meant losing pieces of herself, her warmth, her softness, maybe even her hope.

But it was also her chance to escape the shadow of her past.

For her family, she would endure anything.

With that thought anchoring her, she turned on her heel and walked away, the echoes of her determination carrying her forward.

[just-jordie-things]

national anthem - gojo satoru

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 12.2k warnings: mentions of drinking and smoking (cigarettes + weed) summary: you're a special grade? with no life experience? someone like you sure is lucky gojo satoru wants to take you under his wing and show you how to enjoy life. gojo satoru sure is lucky that someone like you teaches him how to love. more info: set in 2006, friends to lovers, gojo sort of wants to corrupt reader but he's too soft on her, he's an overconfident coward in this idk you figure it out

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[ i’m your national anthem, god you’re so handsome, take me to the hamptons, bugatti, veyron // he loves to romance ‘em reckless abandon, holding me for ransom, upper echelon // he says to be cool but, i don’t know how yet // wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck ]

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Two Special Grade Sorcerers in one place was already a fight for territory and ego- at least to Gojo Satoru.  Geto Suguru never really felt a push to prove himself, but his white haired counterpart seemed to enjoy a good ol’ fashion pissing competition, so when Satoru felt like being competitive, he often just went along with it.  Besides, there was a certain entertainment in watching him lose.  Satoru would tell anyone that he didn’t feel threatened around Suguru- or Yuki, when she was around- but there was an undeniable flicker of excitement in his eye when an opportunity came along to show off.

A show off, that was the perfect description for the first impression (y/n) got when she first met the infamous Six Eyes.  She wasn’t sure what to expect arriving at Jujutsu Tech on that sunny afternoon in 2006.  The mixture of giddiness and unease from picking everything up and starting life over at the ripe age of eighteen had her insides all fluttery, but she was fairly certain her excitement outweighed all else.

The manager who’d picked her up from the train station and drove her to her new home had given her a short introduction to the other sorcerers her age, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the whirlwind of their first official meeting.

“So you’re the new Special Grade meat!” 

She’s startled as soon as she approaches the group of three.  She’d been all smiles, ready to hold out her hand and introduce herself properly, but it appeared they’d already known all about her.

“Shut up Satoru, you sound like a douchebag,” The dark haired sorcerer beside the loud one shouldered past, reaching out to be the first to shake her hand.  (y/n) still has a bewildered look on her face as she reciprocates, confusedly glancing between the two.  “Don’t mind him, he’s always like that.  I’m Geto, but everyone calls me Suguru anyways, so you can too” 

“Alright,” She says through an airy laugh.  “Then I’m (y/n)... the Special Grade meat”

Suguru shares the laugh as he drops his hand, and suddenly the white haired one is darting forward, pushing him aside just as he’d done to him moments ago, and grabbing (y/n’s) hand before she could fully lower it.  Her eyes are wide, every instinct telling her to take three steps back, but she lets him shake it at a wild pace.  

The cursed energy that comes off of him in waves hits her like a truck, solid, undeniable, strength.  Reason tells her that he could end her life with his handshake alone.  The goofy, shit eating grin on his face tells her otherwise.

“Gojo Satoru!” He introduces, still shaking her hand.  “But you already knew that, right?” 

Wordlessly, she shakes her head at him, curiosity striking her the longer she took him in.  A show off for sure, with the volume of his voice despite being right in front of her, with the performance in his ongoing handshake, with that stupid smile he hadn’t wiped off his face yet, with all that cursed energy- Gojo Satoru was a sight to behold and he knew it, too.

Back home it would’ve ticked her off, but for some reason, there’s a compulsion to her amusement in him.  Slowly, her bewildered expression morphs into one of pleasant surprise.

“Can’t say I had the slightest idea,” She replies, and that seems to do the trick to get his smile to falter, even momentarily.  Technically, she knew of him, only because of the manager’s due diligence in giving her the names of her new colleagues, but she wasn’t about to treat him to that information.  “But I do now,” Her smile brightens, “You’re the guy with the white hair” 

He scoffs at first, not out of disgust or annoyance, but pure surprise at the genuine response.  The two behind him, Suguru, and the girl she hadn’t met quite yet, Ieiri Shoko, were nearly doubled over in laughter.  Loud cackles that echoed across the courtyard they stood in.  (y/n) merely held her polite smile as she waited for Gojo Satoru’s full reaction.

His shit eating grin softened into a more authentic smile, amusement casted over his features as he gazed down at her through his lenses.  He didn’t need his Six Eyes to tell him she was strong, her own cursed energy seemed to buzz and crackle right off of her like electricity.  As if she’d been gathering up static for so long and it was dying to leap right out of her.  It would be overwhelming, if he wasn’t the sorcerer he was.

“Always noticed for my looks first,” He sighs dramatically, and (y/n) raises a brow at him, slightly amused, slightly intrigued.  “But I guess we’ll have that in common, huh, Special Grade?”

Before she’s given any real time to react, or even process what he’s said, he’s interrupted. 

“Alright, that’s enough of you, you’re making us all look bad now,” 

The third sorcerer with the lab coat and an unlit cigarette in her hands is the next to leap forward, grabbing Gojo Satoru by the elbow and forcibly yanking until he gives in and drags his feet back to Suguru.  (y/n) watches as he mutters under his breath and makes wild hand gestures to Suguru- who seems to roll his eyes and remain otherwise unresponsive.

“You won’t get used to him, so get used to knowing that now,” The girl says, capturing (y/n’s) attention.  “I’m Shoko, I’ll be your best friend here, alright? Don’t let him get too comfortable” 

(y/n) giggles, introducing herself yet again with a shy fit of laughter.

“Seems like he gets comfortable pretty quick,” She muses, casting a glance over to where Suguru was trying to drag his friend away.  He didn’t seem to be winning that fight, and it wasn’t long before Gojo was going boneless against him.  “So, small class size, huh?” 

“Yeah, well, not a lot of jujutsu sorcerers out there,” Shoko shrugs.  “And… we had a few transfers to Kyoto.  Which were totally not due to that idiot” She adds the second part under her breath, but when (y/n) laughs, she does too.

“Well, I’ll try not to transfer, then” 

Shoko brightens, just a little bit, but enough to be noticed.

(y/n’s) sure she’ll stay true to her word.  Besides, it had seemed like her time at Jujustu Tech would prove to be interesting… maybe even fun.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The smell of tobacco wasn’t pleasant, but she tries to put up with it for the sake of Suguru and Shoko.  It appeared that the most exciting part of their night was sharing a smoke by Shoko’s window, as they’d visibly relaxed once they’d sparked up.

It didn't matter that (y/n) didn’t voice her discomfort, because Gojo Satoru could see it written all over her.  The way her eyes widened when Shoko had pulled out the pack, the way her nose crinkled when Suguru lit the first cig, and even now, how she can’t stop anxiously glancing over to the two of them as they smoked.

“You’re not a smoker, huh?” 

She’d been sitting against the wall, a mostly forgotten magazine in her lap when Gojo had approached her, crouching down to her level to properly gain her attention.

“Huh?” She’s lost at first, but it only takes a short nod of his head towards the window for her mind to catch up.  “Oh, um, I guess I’ve never really smoked before, but, no, I’m not a smoker”

It’s unexplainable, the way she stammers over her explanation like it’s a lie.  Because it’s the complete truth.  She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life, and she’d never been around anyone who did.  The smell was only familiar because of how often it wafted amongst the streets, but it was always unpleasant.  Trying it for herself had never really crossed her mind.

“You’ve never tried it?” Gojo tilts his head curiously, and for a moment she thinks he resembles a cat, but before she could tell him the connection, he’s standing up again and striding over to the window.

She can only watch as he swipes the pack of cigarettes from between the two, scowling when he pops open the box.

“Did you buy this yesterday?” He scoffs, plucking out one of the sticks before tossing it back at Suguru, who catches it with ease, but frowns back at the white haired sorcerer.  “Jeez, addicts much?” 

“Relax, Satoru” Suguru rolls his eyes just as Gojo snatches the lighter off the windowsill as well.  It earns him another glare, but neither Suguru or Shoko comment on it, instead returning to whatever conversation they’d been having before Gojo had so rudely interrupted them.

It’s not until he’s returning to her spot on the floor and taking a seat beside her that she realizes why he’s done this.

“Here ya are,” He grins, holding the items out to her in both hands.  (y/n’s) eyes wander between the two, the cancer stick in his left hand, the hot pink lighter in his right, before looking up at him and shaking her head.  “What, you don’t wanna try it?”

“I just… I mean…” She struggles to give him a proper reason.  She doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, because she couldn’t care less what other people chose to do, but she wasn’t about to lie to him and say she was ecstatic to get a taste of the thing she knows is bad for her.  “I don’t think I’d like it…” 

“Well, that’s alright,” Gojo chuckles as he shrugs his shoulders.  “I hate it.  It’s nasty,” 

He goes so far as to stick his tongue out towards the window, where Shoko had clearly overheard his less-than-quiet comment.  She returns the favor, but Gojo’s already turned back to (y/n).

“It reeks.  And it burns a bit.  And honestly? I’d rather spend the money on mochi,” He tells her honestly, and it earns him a giggle, so he smiles a little wider.  “But you deserve to at least try it, right?” He asks, wiggling the lighter at her.  “Just to say you did it?” 

“I’m not really wired that way,” She admits, her laughter turning nervous, but nonetheless, she finds herself plucking the lighter from his fingers.  “Why try something I know I’ll hate?” She asks, and generally, it’s a rhetorical question, but Gojo’s answer does have her curious.

“Because,” He shrugs again.  “Trying new things is the fun part,” He suggests, before adding, “And just because you can” 

Her eyes drift down to the pink lighter in her hand.  She rolls it over between her fingers a few times, fiddling with it as the idea settles in her mind.  She gets lost enough in thought that she doesn’t even realize how fluidly she’s twirling the small object between her fingers like it was a trick of misdirection, but Gojo finds amusement in how easily and quickly she’s able to maneuver it about the back of her knuckles.

“I can’t say I have an argument for that,” She tells him finally, turning to him with a small smile, and her hand outstretched.  “But when I hate it, you can’t be mad” 

He doesn’t place the cigarette in her palm like she’s expecting, instead raising it towards her lips, flicking it slightly to prompt her to open her mouth.

“Don’t bite down too hard, you’ll ruin it,” He instructs.  She blinks at him in surprise, but follows along anyways and parts his lips so he could set it between them.  She keeps her hold on it as light as possible.  “And the taste of tobacco is awful,” He adds in a quieter voice.

She tries not to think about how close he sits to her, or how his fingers brush over her bottom lip and then her chin as he places the cigarette between her lips, but the harder she tries not to think about it, the more he thinks about it.

“Want me to light it for you?” He asks, and now he’s the one to hold his palm out to her.

Too nervous to speak with the cig in her mouth, she gives him a small nod, and places the lighter back in his hand.  He grins when her fingers drag over his before she pulls her hand away.

“Alright, don’t overthink it,” He says, leaning forward a little closer with the lighter in hand.  “I’ll light it, and all you gotta do is breathe in.  Not too harsh, just a little inhale, got it?” 

She shrugs and nods, certain she could understand the complexities of smoking a cigarette, but she had a feeling that Gojo Satoru liked knowing what to do, and showing her what to do, so she let him.  It couldn’t hurt, right? If she fed his ego just a little bit? 

With a flick of his thumb a small flame erupts, and soon the end of the cigarette is burning.  Just as he said, she takes in a short breath, just enough to feel the smoke touch her lungs.

Her eyes meet his when he pulls the lighter away, but he stays sitting closely in front of her.  Even through the dark lenses he always kept perched on his nose she could tell that he was eager to watch her reaction.

She rips the stick from her mouth and coughs, and even once all the smoke is expelled, she sticks her tongue out with the desire to rid her mouth of the terrible flavor.  

Gojo chuckles quietly, taking the cigarette from between her fingers as he stands up for a moment.  He’s sitting again just a second later, passing her a bottle of water that she takes and chugs down greedily.  He’s still laughing when he passes the cigarette to the window dwellers.

“So you were right, huh?” He asks her after she’s got half the water down.

She nods back at him, taking a few more gulps to soothe the ache in her chest from her own coughing.

“But at least you tried it?” 

Finally pulling the bottle away, she turns to face him again.  Her brows are pinched together with annoyance, but there’s a flicker of a smile on her lips that Satoru can’t ignore.  It makes his heart beat at a disastrously wild pace. It makes him grin.

“Oh, I’ll be telling everyone you peer pressured me,” She tells him assuredly, to which he scoffs, but before he could argue, she continues.  “But… at least I tried it” 

The momentary defensive stature he’d taken relaxes just as quickly, and he even laughs a bit.

“Atta girl, Special Grade,” He teases.  “That’s the spirit” 

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she picks up her magazine and settles back against the wall in a comfortable position.  Gojo doesn’t have much interest in fashion, but he sits beside her and follows along as she flips through it anyways.  

She supposes it’s because he has no interest in smoking with the others, that this was the better option.  He supposes it’s just because her shampoo smelled so light and fruity that he wouldn’t mind lingering around just a bit longer.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[gojo s.] are you up?? 1:46 a.m.

[y/n] it’s almost 2. 1:47 a.m.

[gojo s.] fast response! so ur wide awake! :D 1:47 a.m.

[gojo s.] put on something warm and come to the window 1:48 a.m.

Gawking at her phone, (y/n’s) sure this is just some kind of stupid joke.  There was no way if she peeked out her window now that Gojo Satoru would be standing out there.  This late at night? On a Tuesday? They had training tomorrow bright and early- and wasn’t there a curfew?

She’s not sure what comes over her when she actually shuffles out of her warm covers and tiptoes over to the window.  Peeking through the curtain just to be sure wouldn’t hurt, right? 

Sure enough, when she pulls the curtain aside just enough to look outside, Gojo Satoru is standing out there.  He must’ve been expecting her to check, because he’s looking straight at her, grinning from ear to ear before he waves.

(y/n) shuts the curtain and snatches her phone off the bed.  Just as she begins to furiously type, she’s getting an incoming call.  With a huff, she answers it and brings the phone to her ear.

“Gojo Satoru, what the hell are you doing outside my-” 

“I knew you’d be down!” He’s shouting before she could finish her scolding, and (y/n) winces as she tilts the speaker of her phone away from her ear to relieve the ringing he’d caused.  “Get dressed and hop on out!” 

“Hop on out-? What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t you wanna go do something fun?” 

“Right now?” She lets out a humorless laugh.  “Gojo, it’s the middle of the night, I’ve been trying to sleep” 

“I can’t sleep either,” He replies, completely missing the point, but it’s only then that she starts to hear him out.  “I need a midnight snack,” He adds, this time his voice filled with it’s usual syrupy level of glee.  “I’m sure it’d help you, too!” 

It’s a ridiculous idea.  She had training in about five hours from now, and so far tonight she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.  Gojo Satoru might’ve been all powerful, but that didn’t mean he had power over her, he couldn’t just make her go because he wanted a snack and company to go along with it.  It would be incredibly easy to tell him no and hang up the phone, and it would keep her out of trouble, too.  A double win.

Yet, she’s at her dresser and pulling off her pajamas before she’s even given him a verbal response.

“I hear movement, are you getting dressed?” He asked her, full of hope and excitement.

“Yes,” She huffs as she gets into her uniform slacks.  They were the only pants she owned that weren’t pajamas- and there was no way she was going out in the middle of the night with Gojo Satoru in hello kitty pajamas.

After throwing her jacket over her tee shirt and buttoning it up enough, she crept back over to her window, pulling open the curtains properly, her phone still in her hand.

“Oh good-!” 

Before he could finish whatever he was saying, she snaps her phone shut and slides it into her back pocket.  She needed both hands to slide the window open, at least if she wanted to do it carefully enough that it didn’t creak and squeak when she did so.

Even from a story below, she can tell that Gojo is pouting at his own phone before he puts it away.  He seems to get over it once she’s got her window open and she’s swinging a leg out, though.

“Come on down, Juliet, I’ll catch you!” He hollers, louder than he should have.

(y/n) swings her other leg out, sitting on the window sill almost completely leaning out of the building.

“Move out of the way, Gojo” She hisses down at him, but he only extends his arms, waving his fingers at her to prompt her to come down already.

He’d been pacing around out here for the last forty-five minutes debating on texting her, so he was antsy to finally get going.

Giving up, (y/n) pushed off the window sill, and landed on her feet with ease and perfect balance seconds later.  She certainly didn’t need him to catch her, but he’s right in front of her anyways, hands settling on her shoulders as if she wasn’t standing before him in perfect condition.

“Good?” He asks, and he’s still grinning ear to ear, but it’s a little different.

She’s not sure how she didn’t notice before, but he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.  She could see the crinkles at the corners of his bright blue eyes when he smiled.  For a half a second, she could’ve gotten lost in the cerulean waves swirling in his irises.  His eyes were bright even in the dark, they practically gave the illusion of glowing.

“Yeah- yeah,” She chokes on her answer, and quickly averts her gaze before he could tease her for staring at him so blatantly.  “Let’s just get going, I don’t want to get caught” 

“I’d never get us caught,” Gojo scoffs, apparently offended that she could even think such a thing.  “Besides, you’ve got a clean track record, you’d probably get off easy anyways” 

She rolls her eyes at him as they start their trek off campus, but she can’t help the small smile of amusement on her face.  Gojo wasn’t wrong, she did have a squeaky clean record, which she’d proudly maintained since transferring here, but now…

It wasn’t that she was aiming to rebel, she didn’t need to do anything crazy, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t live a little… right? And what was one trip to a twenty-four hour convenience store in the grand scheme of things? 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re obnoxious?” She asks, but her voice betrays her with soft fondness, and it’s obvious that Gojo notices with the way he looks over at her with the largest, stupidest grin on his face.

“Never with a straight face,” He replies, only to laugh when he catches her smiling at him as soon as he looks at her.  She wants to roll her eyes again, but she doesn’t.  She just laughs with him and doesn’t argue.  “You can admit you like my company, I won’t tell anyone,” He adds, only partially teasing.  “”Promise” 

“You better keep that promise,” (y/n) mutters back.  “For whatever her odd reason, Shoko thinks I’m cool, and I’d like to keep that status” 

“That’s because you perform your twisted little cursed technique on her every time she asks,” Gojo says.  “Shoko’s got an obsession with the occult, and you are certainly all things occult” 

The corner of her lips tilt into a smirk.  She wouldn’t necessarily agree, but he wasn’t wrong about her cursed technique.  With the ability to access anyone’s thread of fate- that little string hidden in their soul that keeps them alive as long as it’s intact- her cursed technique was a bit more involved than the other Special Grades’ she’d met thus far.  

It was gruesome when executed on an assignment, Gojo had seen it first hand only once.  With a plunge of her hand into a curse’s body she’d retrieve the thread, and rip it apart with both fists.  The curse was exorcized immediately and they called it a day sooner than expected.

Shoko, however, enjoyed seeing it the way anyone liked a party trick.  She’d clasp her hands together and beg for (y/n) to open up her soul for her.  All of her hours spent in the morgue and the lab might’ve been warping her curiosity, but she was always delighted when cursed energy would encase (y/n’s) hand and she’d reach right into her body as if she phased right through the skin and bones, before retrieving that solid black thread.

“Are you saying that I’m not cool?” (y/n) asks Gojo suddenly, and she’s only messing with him, but he backtracks instantly.

“I never said that!” He shouts, his voice echoing over the empty path they walked into town.  “You’re easily the coolest person I’ve ever met, (y/l/n) (y/n).  You put the special in Special Grade for sure!” 

That has her rolling her eyes again, even though she’s laughing at the stupid line.

“There are more interesting qualities about you than a cursed technique, that’s all,”

The sudden genuine comment has her laughter fading and a look of quiet surprise overtaking her features when she looks back at him.  He’s already staring at her, with that stupid grin and his prying eyes that seemed a little softer now.  He had these moments often, where in the midst of his teasing and nonsense, he’d say something so deeply real, and she knew it, that it would practically knock the wind out of her.  Like right now, where all she can do is stare at him and wait for him to say something else.

“Like, yeah, I have the Six Eyes and I’m mastering Infinity and sure, I suppose I am the strongest being on this earth, maybe ever,” He starts to ramble, and (y/n) can practically feel the idiot comment making it’s way out.  “But I’m more than that.  I’m also… really handsome,” 

She snorts, before a short burst of giggles follows and she shakes her head.  Just as expected, Gojo Satoru will always bury the real feelings under the perfectly tailored facade.

“What? It’s true!” He barks in offense when she laughs.  “I’m ridiculously handsome- it’s almost too much hotness for one man to carry alone!” 

“Uh-huh” 

“So you agree? I’m ridiculously handsome?” He grins like he actually caught her in something, and she laughs again.

“I didn’t say that,” But she didn’t exactly deny it either, did she? “But more importantly, you’re ridiculously rich, and you’re buying me mochi, too” 

And just like him, she’ll bury the budding sparks of feelings she doesn’t want to admit she has in order to preserve something more long lasting.  Friendship.  She’d never had friends like this before, people who understood her so deeply, people who took an interest in her even when their interests didn’t align.  Gojo Satoru especially took an interest, and she had a feeling he enjoyed making her push her limits, because she enjoyed letting him do it.

“Pfft, fine,” Satoru mutters in mock annoyance.  “Was jus’ gonna buy it anyways” 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After that, Gojo Satoru has a knack for getting (y/n) to sneak out of her dorm past curfew.  He wasn’t always dragging her off campus, oftentimes they’d just sit on the roof, or wander the courtyards, but there was the occasional midnight snack run that he’d insist on taking her on.  One time he insisted on showing her how he’d refined his technique, so she sat around for a good two hours while he just showed off.  This wasn’t necessarily out of character for him, so she sat and gave him her attention even though her time would’ve been much better spent sleeping.

Unfortunately, and unknown to him, the feelings that she was developing for him had started to accelerate.  It seemed that with every night he came to her window to pester her, her heart simply couldn’t feel irritation towards him.  Not that he couldn’t get under skin, it’s just that he managed to settle in there.  To the point where when she was away from him, she found herself counting down the time until she’d get to be near him again.

It was almost pathetic, when she really thought about it.  Missing the boisterous presence of Gojo Satoru was laughable.  At first she buried the idea, but she wasn’t one to live a life of denial, and no sooner than he could next drag her out in the middle of the night did she accept that she was actually falling for the Six Eyes user.  Their friends would poke fun at her if they knew- which they did, but this wasn’t due to her actually telling them.

But it was unable to be helped.  He always found a way to make her heart skip a beat before it picks up in pace.

“I think Nanami is a worthy sorcerer, I don’t have any problem with his company” She shrugs with her words, before leaning back on her elbows.  

The tiles of the roof weren’t the most comfortable to sit on, but they often found themselves lounging around there anyways.  Maybe it was because it was the perfect place to view the stars, or maybe conversation just seemed to come so much easier up there.

“It’s nothing to do with that,” Satoru mutters, a bitterness to his words that she didn’t often hear from him.  He was always overbearingly sweet or chipper with his speech.  Maybe it was the roof that brought on a sudden change in tone, or maybe it was because they were something he couldn’t hold back.  “You’re more than capable of taking that assignment alone.  You’re Special Grade.  You don’t need some first year- or anyone- to partner up with you,” 

Just as she’s about to open her mouth to come to Nanami Kento’s defense, she seals her lips tight.  It wasn’t about Nanami’s ability at all, she realized, as Gojo set his gaze firmly on the horizon.  It was about hers.

“The higher ups never want to admit when someone is stronger than them, probably ‘cause they’re scared we’ll overthrow them, or something,” He mumbles the last part, but (y/n) has a feeling there’s more feelings brewing beneath the surface of his bitterness.  “They want to morph into this strong… thing… but then as soon as you actually achieve their ridiculous expectations they’ll spend the rest of your life doing everything they can to remind you that you’re not…” He trails off for a moment, and even though he’s refusing to look at her, she can see emotion flickering in the corner of his eye.  He lets out a sigh before finishing his thought,  “... good enough”

(y/n’s) quiet as she lets it sink in.  She doesn’t want to speak too soon and lead him to assume she’d brushed off all he said, but before she could accurately voice her thoughts, he turns to her and releases an airy laugh.

His lips are curved into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and (y/n) can’t help but frown before he even says anything.

“I don’t think that came out right-” 

“No, it did,” She interrupts him gently.  She gives him a small nod of her head, understanding perfectly what he was saying.  It was a warning, but it was also a compliment to her abilities, and she wanted him to know that she appreciated it in it’s entirety.  Surprisingly, Satoru shuts his mouth.  “If taking on partnered assignments is what gets me through the rest of my time here, I’ll do it,” She explains, and she watches as his forced smile begins to crumple with disappointment.  “Besides, it’s good for Nanami to get the experience too, yeah?” She muses, but Satoru’s expression doesn’t flinch.  He doesn’t even blink.  “I have to fall somewhere in between being a good sorcerer and being a good upperclassman, too” 

“You’re already doing that,” He points out, almost rudely, but his adamance makes her heart stutter.  “You’re a Special Grade, and you already train and tutor the others, what more could possibly be asked of you?”

His upset is evident in his features, but the creases of his frown and pinched brows only deepen when (y/n) lets out a soft laugh.  It’s quiet, but genuine nonetheless.  She couldn’t help but find comfort and amusement in his determination.

“Sorry,” She murmurs when she realizes her laughter only fueled his irritation.  “I’m just amazed that Gojo Satoru is so worried about my reputation” 

“I’m not- (y/n), it’s about more than- ugh,” He huffs after he stumbles too much and loses sight of what he was really trying to say.  This time, (y/n) stifles her laughter behind sealed lips, but the slight movement in her shoulders still gives her away.  Satoru turns away again, his face growing warm as he finally mumbles in defeat, “I just don’t want them taking advantage of you, too” 

(y/n’s) smiling at him, although he can only sort of tell with his peripheral vision.  She leans forward and tilts her head, trying to get him to turn towards her again, but he refuses.  He can’t have her seeing the creeping blush on his face, after all.

“Thank you, Satoru” She tells him, and it’s the first time she’s called him by his forename alone- she tended to call him Gojo Satoru just to spite him- but hearing it now, spoken in such a small but genuine voice, it has him giving in and looking over at her so quickly it’s almost embarrassing to give her such a noticeable reaction.  His eyes are wide and his mouth is snapped shut, worried it’d go completely dry if he left it open.

Gojo Satoru is fairly certain he’s never experienced what falling in love felt like, but he’d never tried to seek it out, either.  He was content with his life, he felt as though he checked all the right boxes, with being born the strongest sorcerer, having the greatest friends in the world, he’d never really considered what having more would look like.

Right now, it looked like (y/e/c) eyes and a shy smile.

As suspected, his mouth goes dry when he opens it.

“You’re… welcome” He answers slowly, and it’s a bit awkward but (y/n) doesn’t point it out.  She simply leans back on her arms again and turns her attention back towards the stars.

In a few minutes she’d strike up conversation again and they’d spend the rest of their night chatting aimlessly about nothing special in particular, but neither one wanted to be the first to alert the other of the time.  So they’d sit there until the sunrise would peek over the horizon, and slowly, but eventually, they’d sneak back into the building with tired goodbyes and plans to meet up with their friends during lunch like they always did.

Everything was exactly as it always was.  But it was undeniably different.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Satoru scoffs when Shoko tells him about a party she’d been invited to by a non-sorcerer she and (y/n) ran into while in town.  A non-sorcerer party sounds like the perfect way to waste an evening.  Although he won’t admit he feels relief that neither one of them actually planned on going, and he knows that (y/n) already tucked herself in her room for the night.  

She’s probably studying, he thinks to himself fondly.  It was a friday night, sure, she should be doing something fun with her evening, but he’d much rather have her here than out doing who knows what at some lame party.

“He was cute too, can’t believe she turned him down,” 

That little comment had him snapping back into conversation- he might’ve tuned Shoko out a bit when she started going on about the cashier giving her a hard time over her less-than-authentic ID for her smokes- but now all of his senses were tuned back into what she was saying.

Shoko rolls her eyes when his head swivels at super human speed.  She’s not offended that he’d so clearly been ignoring her, not when it’s so amusing that she brought him back to earth the only way she knew how- by praying on his jealousy and pride.  Oldest trick in the book, she smirked to herself.  She and Suguru had mastered this trick ages ago.

“Wonder why she’d do such a thing” She mutters in mock curiosity, before pulling out her new pack of cigarettes and sticking one between her lips.  Satoru narrows his eyes at her, picking up on the lack of subtlety.  It wasn’t often that he did so.

“You’re blaming me for (y/n) not being interested in some random non-sorcerer?” He laughs humorlessly at the notion, and Shoko mirrors it with a laugh of absolute humor.

“She’s your most favorite Special Grade, isn’t she?” She muses, plucking the cigarette from her lips to exhale the smoke in her lungs before she presses him again.  “If it weren’t for you, she’d be out living her life for once” 

“You’re acting like I keep her from doing anything-” 

“I’m not,” Shoko shrugs, her expression turning bored.  “I was actually trying to insinuate that she’d rather hang around here getting in trouble with you than doing, I don’t know, normal things.  Like parties.  And… other things that happen at parties” She finishes with a smirk before she sticks the cigarette back in her mouth to puff some more.

Satoru flusters, not having a quick witted comment to come back at her with.  His silence is just as damning, however, and Shoko begins to laugh again, plumes of smoke puffing out as she does so.

“She’s probably never even been to a party,” She says, as if talking to herself, but Satoru’s well aware that she’s just luring him into her trap.  

Now, he’s not completely sure what that trap is, some sort of admission of guilt he assumes, but for what? 

“She’d probably love the scene.  Dancing, mingling.  Non-sorcerers would love her for sure.  She could do her whole ‘there is no god, only I control your fate’ thing, they’d eat that up” 

“She said that one time-” 

“Yeah, and it was badass,” Shoko cuts him off.  “I got chills and I wasn’t even there,” She pulls up the sleeve of her jacket then, chuckling when she finds the little hairs on her arms standing up.  “See? Chills” 

Satoru swats her arm out of his face when she shoves it in front of him.

“What are you getting at? Are you asking me to take her? I don’t want to go to a party with a bunch of strangers whose collective idea of a good time is alcohol poisoning and shitty music” 

“Harsh, Satoru, who’s got your panties in a bunch?” 

He could teleport away right now, before Suguru even completely approaches the two of them, but isn’t it all the more damning if he turns and runs? He doesn’t make a decision before Suguru has joined them at their usual table in the courtyard.  Shoko’s passing him a cigarette without any words exchanged.

“Guess” She speaks in monotone as she hands him her lighter.

“I’m leaving” Satoru finally decides, stuffing his hands in his pockets, surely about to stomp away.  The other two snicker between one another.

“Awe c’mon, don’t be like that, Satoru” Suguru calls, but he doesn’t try to chase down his sulking friend.

“When ya get to (y/n’s) can you remind her she still has my spare jacket?” Shoko hollers, which is followed by the sound of her and Suguru bursting into a fit of laughter.

Satoru warps with a huff before they could continue obnoxiously yelling at his back.  He barely wipes the scowl off his face before he’s knocking on the door he reappears at.

“It’s open!” Is called from inside, but he’s still cautious when he slides it open.

(y/n’s) at her desk, one earbud in her ear and one hanging in front of her.  She’s surrounded by piles of books and papers, not to mention the highlighter in her hand and the pen tucked above her ear.  She’d clearly been busy with her studies, but when she looks up to see who her visitor was, she picks up her iPod Shuffle and hits pause before she plucks the other bud out of her ear.

“What a surprise,” She greets him with a warm smile.  “To see you actually using the door, that is,” 

That cracks a smile on his unusually sour face, and (y/n) leans back in her chair, already forgetting the work in front of her as she takes him in.  Her arms cross over her chest as her brow furrows just a little bit.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Something has to be wrong for me to stop by?” He asks, leaning back into the doorway.  “Can’t I just be a good friend and come say hi?” 

She raises a brow at him.

“Hi” She says with a smile too sweet to be real, or at least he thinks.

Satoru rolls his eyes, but his own smile is more genuine than he’d like to admit.

“Hi,” He replies.  (y/n) smiles a little wider.  “Is this really your plan for the night?” He asks, wagging his finger in a circular motion at the pile of work she had before her.

“It was,” She claims.  “But I have this odd feeling… like you’re about to drag me off…?” She can barely contain her delight, even as she presses her finger against her pursed lips in mock curiosity.

“Take you away from your studies? Who do you think I am, Special Grade? A bad influence?” 

“And apparently a mind reader, too” She quips.

“Well… do you want me to drag you out of here or not?” 

It’s only a dizzy spell from Satoru’s warping later that they find themselves in the middle of a neighborhood, in front of a house she doesn’t recognize.  Needless to say, it was not a usual spot for them.

“A house party?” (y/n) furrows her brows at him, before glancing down at herself.  She’d ditched her uniform jacket at least, but she was still in black slacks and her white tee shirt.  “You couldn’t have told me to wear something different?” 

Satoru frowns, before mirroring her actions.  In the same pants and a black tee shirt himself, he takes offense to her insinuation.

“You don’t think I make this look good?” He pouts.

“I think we look like we’re in costumes- what are we doing here, anyways?” She asks.

“Shoko told me about it,” He says, before taking a step towards the house.  “C’mon let’s go in” 

Begrudgingly, she follows him, even though she’s still completely unsure of the whole thing.

“This is really what you wanted to do?” She asks, and Satoru doesn’t miss the way she stiffens when he lets himself into the house without even a knock.  She supposes knocking or ringing the doorbell would have been pointless, seeing as the music playing inside was so loud the bass could be heard from the front yard, but it unsettles her nonetheless.

No, he thinks.

But what he says is; “Why not?” with that big dumb grin of his that tells her she should keep her guard up tonight.

It’s strange that she can trust him with her life while simultaneously not trusting him in the slightest at this moment.

The house party is picture perfect, captured like every movie scene depicting a house party ever.  Countless bodies inhabiting the open living room, the staircase, and the few hallways she could see just from stepping through the door.  It seems everyone’s either holding a plastic cup, a beer bottle, a cigarette, or some combination of the three.  When they take a few steps in and she doesn’t feel any weird stares, her stomach starts to settle, but the voice in the back of her mind still whines that she should’ve at least changed into a pair of jeans.

Satoru’s not taking any of it in- at all.  Despite his Six Eyes, he hardly notices the bustling of dancing bodies, or bodies trying to push through the crowd.  The music is at just the right volume to ring in his ears in a way that will ache tomorrow, but he doesn’t register the melody enough to identify the song, and he doesn’t try, either.  He’s far more charmed by the way (y/n) takes it all in with complete enamourment and intrigue than he could be by the scene itself.

The scene itself was unimpressive.  A loud, smoky atmosphere that had his skin crawling before even attempting to walk through the crowd of people made him want to wince.  He tried to keep his expression as neutral as he could, not wanting to take away from (y/n’s) experience, but when his eyes surveyed the place, they squinted with disgust.  It was even starting to smell.

“What first, hm?” He turned towards her in an attempt to block out the setting they found themselves in.  If only he could turn off his Six Eyes and tunnel vision completely on her.  “Body shots? Dancing?” 

(y/n) scoffs, but a humored smile curls on her lips as she meets his gaze.

“How about just a drink?”

“A shot?” 

“One beer” 

His grin twitches, before he gives her a nod and takes off into the crowd that had his Infinity flickering on instantaneously.  Satoru’s got his sights set straight on the kitchen, it seems a little less crowded in there, and the array of coolers and bottles on the counter was the most appealing thing about this place.  

(y/n) let her eyes wander every person they passed, taking in everything she could.  Every smile, every laugh, every outfit and anything else there was to take note of.  A few people noticed her curious staring, some waved, some seemed indifferent, some stared back, but nothing captured her attention quicker than Satoru tapping her on the shoulder once they’d reached the kitchen.  He’s already holding a bottle out to her, and she takes it with a quiet thank you.

He takes it back from her moments later when she tries to unscrew the bottle cap.  The grin she knows to be cautious of returns as he points a finger at it, thumb outstretched, and with a quiet zap the cap flies off.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t completely shatter the bottle with his abundance of cursed energy, but the bottle cap does go flying, and they hear a distant ‘ow!’.

“I could’ve found a bottle opener” (y/n) tells him, but he knows she was at least a little bit impressed by his finite control over his technique.

“But ya already got one,” He quips with pride.  She stifles her laugh by raising the bottle to her lips, taking a few long drinks.  Satoru’s eyebrows almost raise to his hairline, a shocked laugh belting out of him when she finishes.

“I figured you’ve never had a drop to drink before” He says when she gives him a confused look.

“I haven’t” She confirms.  Satoru keeps his mouth shut after that.

They spend a few hours at the house party, to both of their surprise.  There’s some mingling, (y/n) seemed to enjoy meeting new people, and drunk people seemed to enjoy flocking to her.  Girls thought her attire was badass, guys liked talking to a girl that talked back- at least until Satoru’s face would screw up enough that they’d leave.  Other than a few offers of phone numbers, he couldn’t say he hated the whole party setting.

But his acceptance of the whole ordeal might have had less to do with the party being fun and more to do with the company he kept for the night.  As much as (y/n) moved about to enjoy every aspect of the simple party, she had a habit of sticking as close to his side as possible.  If she was walking away, her hand was latching onto his, or his elbow, to keep him moving with her.  If they were surrounded in a tightly packed space, she was glued to his side, tucked under her arm and pressed against him from torso to leg.  Satoru deducted that he’d never show up to one of these things alone, but if she asked him? Hell, he might agree without thinking twice.

“Hear me out- hear me out!” She doesn’t need to tell him twice, but she shouts when she repeats herself just to be sure that Satoru can hear her clearly.  “I think we should throw our- our own party, back at- back at home” 

It’s cute that she calls it home, he thinks.  Logically, he knows it’s because she’s never really had a solid place to land before Yaga scouted her and took her in, but it still has a way of making his heart flutter with the idea of her involving him in her idea of home.  

They’ve taken a break from chatting with strangers, to Satoru’s relief, and right now he had her attention all to himself.  They were currently wallflowering in a corner between the hallway and the living room, a water bottle being passed between them, although he tried to keep it more in her hands than his, considering she out drank him rather quickly.

“I dunno, Suguru and Shoko aren’t really party animals,” He replies, earning a bubbly giggle from her, which he takes to mean she agrees.  “I think you might just be enjoying yourself too much” 

“No such thing,” She argues with a definitive shake of her head.  “And don’t lie, you’re having fun, too!” 

She’s shouting a bit again, and Satoru laughs.  Shoko and Suguru wouldn’t believe him later when he tells them about how cute she was when she was tipsy and talkative.  Oh well, he’d have to enjoy it for himself first hand.  He already couldn’t get enough of it, of her eager attention.  He’s so wrapped up in it he’s been leaning closer and closer each time she speaks.  Until he’s practically hanging onto the corner of the wall, pressing closer to the side she’d been leaning against.

“I wouldn’t attribute that to this party” He scoffs, almost rudely as he glances at the remaining people.  

There’s a couple making out on the couch, a circle forming at the bottom of the stairs with a bong being slowly passed around, a few people are passed out on open furniture, at least one person sleeping on the floor- and he can only imagine what’s going on upstairs.

When he looks back at her, her eyes are already focused on his.  Round and full of pure delight, as if this had been the greatest night of her life.  Satoru pushes his sunglasses on top of his head, revealing the slight squint in his gaze.  (y/n) tilts her head curiously when she catches the furrow forming in his brows, too.

“What?” She asks him, still studying his puzzled expression.  It’s a bit difficult, with his pretty eyes on display, her mind was a little one track at the moment and it was hard to focus on anything other than the perfect cerulean oceans.

“How come you never went out ‘n did this stuff before moving here?” 

Her shoulders rise and fall unceremoniously.  

“I guess cause no one ever dragged me into doing them.  Teleporters were in short supply, too” She laughs at her own joke, and Satoru cracks a smile, reveling in her amusement.

“Well aren’t you in luck, then,” He hums, and he admits his insides are starting to feel doughy when he’s the object her soft gaze is so set on, and it’s probably about time to convince her to head home, but that would mean ruining her fun, and he can’t bring himself to do so just yet.  “Did you get to have all the synthetically produced fun you wanted?” He teases, and she shrugs again, but this time the motion is gentler, more careful.

“I had a good time with you,” The reply is genuine, making it all the more hard hitting to his heart.  Even his Infinity couldn’t protect him from that.  Her eyes finally tear away from his, only to glance over the dwindling crowd of drunken bodies.  “You sort of scared off all my kiss options though” 

“Kiss options?” He repeats with a laugh, taking her comment for a joke.  When she looks up at him again, he can tell in her deluded, drunken mind, she’d been absolutely serious.  “You’re joking.  You wanted to kiss one of these clowns?” He clicks his tongue in displeasure, but her expression doesn’t waver.

“It’s a bit late for it now.  But I figured it was as good a time as any to get it out of the way,” She says, in that light but serious tone again, and now Satoru feels his heart dropping.  “Oh well,” She sighs, leaning further into the wall, until her head rested against it.  “Another time…” 

“What, it’s on your bucket list to kiss some rando?” He teases half-heartedly.  

Had she been trying to make a move on someone all night? Now Satoru’s mind was racing with thoughts that made his stomach twist into knots.  Had he misread their entire evening? Had she been trying to ditch him? Was he the one clinging to her? Well, he’d clung a little bit, but it felt natural to wrap his arm around her waist and keep her close! His heart started hammering in his chest as the nasty feeling in his gut began to climb up his throat.

“No,” She says, laughing under her breath at the idea.  “Just wanted to get the first one over with” 

Gojo’s eyes widen almost comically, before he leans in and drops his voice to a whisper, as if to spare her any embarrassment.

“As in first kiss?” He mutters, eyes darting around just to be sure no one else could hear.  (y/n’s) laughter bubbles at his dramatic display, and takes no offense to it at all, simply nodding her head.

“Yeah, as in first kiss,” She repeats with the same secretive act, before laughing again.  “Don’t act all surprised now” 

“Baby, I’m not acting,” The pet name falls off his tongue sarcastically, but he can’t deny it feels a bit too natural.  “You’ve never kissed anyone?” 

“Nope” She pops her lips and shakes her head.

“And of all places you wanted to kiss someone here?” He asks, his lips curling into a grimace as he recalled the candidates from earlier.  The pickings weren’t exactly ripe.

“It was just a kiss,” She rolls her eyes at his reaction.  “I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, Satoru, I just wanted to know what it was like.  Figured it might come up organically in a party setting” 

Satoru sticks his tongue out and gags.

“Absolutely not.  Why didn’t you just say somethin’? I would’ve kissed ya” 

“That doesn’t count” She shakes her head, and he narrows his eyes back at her.

“And why not?” He asks, clearly offended.  “I’ll have you know I’m a great kisser!” 

“Oh yeah? Your hand told you so?” (y/n) snickers, and Satoru’s pout noticeably worsens.  “I don’t want a pity kiss, I want a real kiss.  Y’know, so I can be good at it before it… really matters” 

“It would be a real kiss, dummy, what difference does it make?” He’s not following her logic, and he can’t tell if it’s drunk (y/n) logic or if this had been on her mind all night.

She blinks at him, the humor in her features fading away the longer he stares back at her and she begins to realize he’s being serious.  Her brows twitch, and her mouth opens but no words come out.  What was she supposed to say? Yes, kiss me now!? It felt awkward to suddenly rush into it and accept his offer.  But she also didn’t want to let the moment pass and regret it later.

“It won’t be weird,” Satoru purses his lips and shakes his head with as much nonchalance as he can muster.  It’s as though he’s reading her mind, and the thought of taking him up on it makes her face feel warm.  “Besides, I would be a bad friend letting you have a bad first kiss with some non-sorcerer that doesn’t know what he’s doing” 

“You’d feel bad?” A small laugh escapes her as she teases him, tilting her chin up at him.  Satoru nods his head from side to side with uncertain confirmation.  “Okay then” 

“Okay?” He repeats.

“Yeah” 

“You’ll let me?” 

It’s an odd way of phrasing it, she’ll let him kiss her, as if he was the one seeking it out in the first place.  However Satoru was simply doing her a favor, wasn’t he? Helping her get the first one out of the way.  He’d much rather he do it himself than let any of the idiots she met tonight get the chance.  But that’s just because they weren’t worthy like he was, and that was a fair assessment, wasn’t it? 

He swallows the lump in his throat with only a little difficulty before she nods back at him and gives him a hum of approval.  She’ll actually let him.

When he doesn’t make a move, she tilts her head at him in confusion.

“Well?” 

“Well come on,” He beckons her, before taking her by the hand and pulling her away from the wall they’d been hugging for the better part of an hour.  “Can’t have it be in some stranger’s house, might as well get a better view than that, yeah?” 

He grins at her as he half guides and half drags her outside.  She’s a little lost on his logic, because it was just a kiss wasn’t it? Did the setting really matter? Although once they’re outside she has to admit the moon’s luminescence did provide a nicer atmosphere.  A smile graces her face as she admires the sky, until Satoru stops them.

“Here’s good,” He decides, grinning back at her.  “Got a speech planned? Anyone you want to thank?” 

“Well, I never thought I’d make it this far,” She giggles as she goes along with the bit.  “I suppose at the end of it all I only have myself to thank, really-” 

“Ahem” 

“Oh, and of course Gojo Satoru, for the wonderful opportunity,” She corrects, barely containing her laughter through her made-up speech.  Satoru brightens, grinning from ear to ear at her delight.  “I think that’s all I got” 

He chuckles, before taking a step forward and closing the already small distance between them.  Her breath hitches in her throat as reality sets in.  She didn’t really think about actually kissing Satoru until he was close enough that his cologne wafted past her nose, and her eyes naturally fell to the pink curve of his lips.

“I’m not kissin’ you with your eyes open,” He laughs breathlessly, and her eyes briefly flicker up to his before she lets them shut.  The heat in her face begins to spread down her neck as she holds her breath.  “You need me to count down?” He asks, and he’s only partially joking.

“Just kiss me, ‘toru-” 

He doesn’t need further assurance beyond her impatient little whine, so in one motion he slides hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forehead just as he dipped his head to meet her lips with his.

She’s frozen at first, unmoving under his soft mouth prodding against hers, but he expected as much.  After two seconds, she slowly and carefully kisses him back, still nervous she’d do something wrong.

Her hands are planted firmly at her sides, and her eyes are squeezed shut, but she still cherishes every second of the simple kiss.  How sweet his lips taste, how warm and welcoming they are, how much she’d like to stand there and kiss him for a few minutes more…

When she pulls away to catch her breath that she’d been holding in for far too long, Satoru’s hand lingers at the nape of her neck.  His fingers twitch, indecisive in what to do next.

Kissing her again wasn’t the right move… was it? 

“Thank you,” She tells him softly, her blush prominent on her face even in the dark.  “Should we get going now?” 

He could almost laugh at how quickly she moved on if it didn’t sting a little.  He hides it behind a smile as he nods his head in agreement, getting ready to warp them back home.

“You could’ve thanked my hand in your speech too” He teases as she wraps her arms round one of his, mentally preparing for the dizzying effect of teleportation.

“Shut up” She giggles back before they disappear from the scene.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Satoru’s never turned down (y/n’s) company.  He’s never wanted her to be away from him, and he’d never ask her to, either.  There was no one whose presence he delighted in more than hers- and he was starting to really come to terms with what that meant.

“You should go to bed,” He tells her, for the third time tonight.

There was no reason for him to stay up on guard with him.  He had surveillance covered while Suguru and Riko slept.  There was no sense in (y/n) staying up all night and wasting away her energy.  Not when she’d already done so last night, despite his protests then, too.

She’s sitting on the other end of the sofa, a small carton of ice cream in her hands that she was poking around in, trying to scoop out all of the brownie bits first.  She looks like she hadn’t even heard him, but Satoru’s not falling for it.

“Seriously, (y/n), you need rest” He sighs, hoping tonight he’d get through to her.

She hums thoughtfully, her eyes focused on her snack, and Satoru throws his head back against the couch cushion in defeat.

“We could put a movie on, good way to pass time,” She suggests, completely ignoring his request.  “I’ll even let you pick” She adds, shooting him a warm smile.

“You’re not gonna sleep, are you?” Satoru frowns when he turns his head to look at her.  Her smile remains as she shakes her head.

“Nope,” She murmurs sweetly.  “So you might as well pick something to watch” 

She’d pulled this last night, too.  Convincing him to hang out at the beach all night, swimming and stargazing.  He adored her company, he really did, but she hadn’t slept a wink yesterday, and he couldn’t put her through 48 straight hours without it.

He knows she’s exhausted, her eyes were dull, and starting to get puffy from lack of rest.  She did her best keeping up an energetic attitude, especially during the day when Suguru and Riko had still been awake, she’d fooled them almost too easily.  But Satoru knew better.  He knew her better.

“If I put a movie on will you at least lay down?”

Her eyes narrow at him, before she lowers her ice cream to her lap.

“Are you trying to trick me into falling asleep, Satoru?” 

“I’m trying to make sure you’re not going to go delirious because you’re not sleeping a normal human amount-” He tries to argue but she interrupts him.

“You haven’t slept either, hypocrite,” She mutters the last part.  “I’m resting enough just sitting around for the night, aren’t I?” 

“No-” 

“Pick the damn movie, Satoru” 

He huffs, but for some reason he finds himself putting a random disc in the dvd player before he falls onto the sofa again.  (y/n) remains at her end, slowly picking at her ice cream while the movie starts.  Satoru doesn’t have the energy to argue with her- literally, he’s starting to get tired keeping his Infinity up like this- so he sits in silence and watches the tv.  All he can do now is hope that she’ll get tired over time and maybe just pass out.  She couldn’t keep it up forever, could she? 

Two more movies later, Satoru worries he’d grossly underestimated her.  It had been almost six hours- it was nearing four in the morning- and she still reluctantly had her eyes glued to the tv.  He’d tried a few more times to convince her, but all he’d managed was to get her to share a blanket with him.

It hadn’t been enough.  She settled under the fluffy blanket, right up against his side, and still it wasn’t enough coziness to lure her into sleep.  He had to give her some credit for her stubbornness, that was for sure.

Around the 4:30 mark, he feels a weight pressing into his shoulder- well, against the Infinity, and he’s filled with so much hope he almost drops the barrier just to fully enjoy the feeling of her sleeping against him.

Then she alerts him that she’s still awake by speaking.

“Satoru,” It’s soft, so faint that he holds onto hope that she could still drift off.  “If I do fall asleep, you’ll wake me up, won’t you?”

He chuckles, before sliding his arm around her back, making sure to tuck the blanket up to her shoulder before he settles his arm there, keeping her tucked in against him.  He tells himself that this is all to make sure she’ll get some sleep- against her will or not- and that it had nothing to do with how his heart felt full when she snuggled a little deeper into his hold.

“You know I’m not gonna, Special Grade,” He murmurs back.  She grumbles something inaudible, but he assumes it has something to do with the heavier droop of her head.  

After a few minutes, he raises his hand from her shoulder, and slowly presses his fingers against her temple, easing her into a more comfortable position, until eventually he feels her slump completely as she gives in.

He lets their movie keep on rolling once she’s finally asleep against him, it at least held his attention enough to keep him awake.  The hammering of his heart in his chest might’ve also kept his adrenaline kicking for long enough that it wouldn’t have mattered, though.

The following day, (y/n) gives him a few icy glares, just to remind him that she didn’t appreciate his cruel trick.  Riko and Suguru share a few awkward glances as the two half fight and half joke about the whole thing.  They try to remove themselves from the pair’s bantering as much as they can, unable to stand the levels of chemistry they carried into every room.

“Seriously Satoru, it’s going to make me sick,” Suguru mutters to his friend at one point, while (y/n) and Riko are busy wandering the shore for seashells, or something.  “Make a move or don’t, but you’re driving the rest of us mad” 

Satoru laughs, his eyes squinting against the sun even with his shades on.  It was getting exhausting keeping them open, the amount of cursed energy it took to keep up Infinity and his Six Eyes had been giving him headaches all day, but he did his best to hide it.

“You’re just jealous that she likes me more” He says, even though Suguru doesn’t care in the slightest, and he even rolls his eyes to drive that point home.

“Well she’s not gonna like you forever if you keep up this dumb game,” He argues.  “What kind of friends kiss and then don’t do anything about it?”

“I told you that in confidence” Satoru whines.

“You told me in the middle of the night right after it happened,” Suguru reminds him in a plain tone of voice.  “Seriously, we all know she has feelings for you, so stop being a coward” 

“Not a coward,’ Satoru mumbles, kicking at the sand.  “We’re just… sorta in the middle of something here?” He tries to blame it on the assignment, but Suguru gives him a blank look.

“We’re at the beach,” He mutters.  “She’s been staying up with you, too, so do it then, after the rest of us have gone to sleep” He points a finger at him for the last part, making sure it was crystal clear.

“I don’t know.  Maybe” Satoru huffs, and starts to walk away before Suguru could drag the conversation on any longer.

He spends the rest of the afternoon and evening mulling it over.  He’d known how he felt about her for quite some time now, before he’d even kissed her.  The kiss was just the solidification that his feelings were real, and not some romanticized imagination his mind had drawn up.  But he’d never felt love before, and he had no clue how to go about professing it.

He’s antsy when he and (y/n) find themselves on the beach again that night, long past sunset, long past when everyone else had gone to bed.  They’re both seated on a towel to keep their clothes clear of sand, but with their feet digging into the soft grains it didn’t matter, the towel became a mess anyways.

“I don’t want you to stay up too late again,” He tells her, although it feels useless.  “It’s just not good for you,” He looks over at her, taking in the darker circles under her eyes, the paleness in her features even after spending the day in the sun.  “And it’s not worth it”

She gives him a bittersweet smile, her head tilting just slightly as she regards his worry.

“It is worth it,” She replies quietly.  “I don’t want you to be alone out here,” She tells him, watching the way his expression falters and softens.  “It’s just not good for you” She mimics him with a laugh for good measure, and he barely cracks a smile, but his worry is still evident.

“Well, when this assignment is over, can you promise to sleep for three days straight to make up for it?” He asks, and she thinks it over for a moment before nodding her head in agreement.

“I suppose,” She answers.  “As long as you do, too,” She adds quickly, “Fair is fair” 

Satoru rolls his eyes, but his smile is a little more genuine this time.

“Alright then, 72 hours of sleep it is,” He gives in.  “But I’m holding you to that promise” 

“I don’t break promises,” She tells him confidently, before a quietness settles between them again.  Her gaze lingers on the low tide rolling in as she lets her mind wander, and before she knows it, she’s speaking up again.  “I know you don’t think you need anyone looking out for you, Satoru,” 

He looks at her right away, tired eyes widening at the sudden seriousness in her tone.  She’s still watching the tide, completely captured by it, but he can tell she’s holding in more.

“But I… I worry about you,” She admits, dropping her head to stare at her lap.  “I don’t want you to take on more than you can handle, I… I don’t want them to take advantage of you anymore,” 

She swallows the lump in her throat before finally working up the courage to look over at him.

“I know that you’re the strongest, and it’s gonna happen but… but I can’t help this feeling like… I’m here too, you know? I can take things on too, assignments, or… this,” She gives him a weak smile, hoping he understands that her sentiment comes from a good place.  “I care about you, you know?” She finishes in a whisper.

Satoru’s eyes shift in between hers as he takes it in.  How ironic, that every reason she has for putting herself through hours without rest, were the exact reasons that he wanted her to get rest.  The corner of his lips tugs into a small smile as he takes her in now, completely.

Her exhaustion is evident, but with the way she’s looking at him now, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

In an act of complete selfish desire, he leans over the space between them and plants his lips on hers.  Her eyes widen at first, alarmed by the sudden kiss, and the fact that he’s dropped his Infinity in order to touch her at all, but as soon as the shock starts to wear off her eyes fall shut and she’s kissing him back with all the fervor that she wished she had the first time.

It’s another pleasant surprise when she reaches out and finds her fingertips bumping into his cheekbones, before her entire hands up his warm face and she’s pulling him closer to her, kissing him again- and then again some more.

Satoru’s balance is thrown off from the way he leans against her, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed when he wraps his arms around the dip in her back and pulls her closer to him.  She obliges with a soft sigh panted against his lips before they’re colliding again.

For all the passion he pours into it- for every ounce of need and impatience he feels, he kisses her slowly, each one lingering a little longer than the last, just to be sure he commits every detail of it to his memory, where it could be preserved in his perfection forever.

He doesn’t let go of her when they finally pull apart, and she doesn’t pull her hands away from his face, either.  They keep each other close, as close as they can while still catching their breath.

Her eyes are wide when they meet his, confused and ecstatic all in one sweet expression that Satoru wants to add to his collection of memories.  He smiles at her as his eyes wander her face leisurely.

“What was that for?” She murmurs, the pad of her thumb rubbing over the delicate curve of his cheekbone with nothing but fondness in her touch.  

He chuckles, warm breath fanning over her lips.  

Wasn’t it obvious?

“Because,” 

His voice is a mere murmur, and for a moment she thinks that might be his entire answer.  She wouldn’t put it past him, but there’s a look in his eyes that resembles longing, and she knows there must be more.

“I love you too”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes // i'm your national anthem ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

xoxo ~ jordie a/n: i actually had a super rad cursed technique planned for reader but ended up not writing any scenes where she's using it so u WILL see it come up in another fic sometime

[tsaritza-mika]

Thoughts on Gortash's Inauguration

Granted I haven’t gone looking for anyone else who may have said it, but I just have to say that it took me a few play throughs for it to really hit just how subtly terrifying the Gortash inauguration scene is. Seriously, it flies so low under the radar as a literal horror scene, and it should because of the kind of villain Gortash is. Picture it: we finally reach Wyrm’s Rock, and it’s a bright, sunny day on the Sword Coast. Most of the NPCs you can talk to inside are hoping for some kind of positive change with elevating Gortash to Archduke, though rightfully some still seem to have reservations considering the still present threats of the Absolute armies and possible hidden agents amongst refugees. Even when we enter the main gathering hall, there are long tables of celebratory food and drink, people are walking around freely, and of course, since they are the upper echelons of Baldur’s Gate, there’s the security of the Steele Watch. But then we approach and trigger the cut scene to speak with Gortash. This man, literally just waltzes right up to us and begins talking to us about all of his/Durge’s plans and ambitions. There’s no attempt at hiding, no suggestion of taking things up to his office to speak privately. He just starts talking. And especially if you take Karlach with you, it’s obvious that no one actively in this scene is bothering to keep their voices down. Granted, the only hint I have of this, is that in previous cut scenes, Larian went out of their way to show when others may have wanted to speak up about anything in particular for any reason or were made uncomfortable by certain confrontations. The scene where we enter the room near the back of the creche and see the confrontation between Therezin and the Inquisitor, for example. There’s a specific shot where following issuing her orders, we see a few of the Githyanki looking as if they would argue a point if they felt they wouldn’t be possibly killed for it. But with Gortash, there’s none of this. He just starts talking. This display of power is TERRIFYING. Every single patriar in that room could easily say or do something, rebuke or rebel against the consolidation of power that will be taking place in literal moments. Except Gortash has made sure they can’t. Not only are his Steele Watch there, but considering what Gortash was known for before his ascension, and the details of his rise that we uncover up to that point, every single member of the nobility has been completely neutralized in some way. If not already tadpoled, as his plan outlines will be the case over time under his rule, it’s reasonable to say that it’s possible that Gortash found some way to blackmail or somehow leverage their silence. The sheer amount of work involved in order to gain this amount of leverage, is beyond impressive, not only because of the number of people that he had to consider, but also because of the risk that any of them, at any time, could use their influence to stop or significantly slow him down before reaching that point. Gortash showed us from the first moment we meet him in game, that he is not someone to be taken lightly. And he’s right. Gortash spent the last ten years making absolutely sure that anyone who would try to get near him without his express permission would end up as nothing but a blood stain on the cobblestone if he didn’t want them to be, and he showed us that by just walking right up to us in a crowded room and saying ‘hello’.

[urfavstan]

Prince Xavier!—is betrothed, and not to you. Not that you could ever manage to be part of his world, at least not in the eyes of society. You lived within the palace walls, among its interiors, yet you were not of the upper echelon. Despite how often he tried to bring that world to you—much to the disapproval of his nannies. The heavens alone could forbid his parents ever discovering the young heir’s friendship with a servant’s daughter.

Many moons later, you reach adulthood—and so does he. He is far from the young heir you once knew, now carrying an entirely different aura, different behaviors—some of which have become troublesome, especially when trying to keep your taboo friendship hidden. He has grown bitter toward anyone who receives even the slightest glance from you. You chalk this up to him wanting to keep what was yours sacred, as always. That’s what friendship was, right? Regardless, you were just happy to be loved the way he loved. His love was warm and soothing incomparable to the finest of golds. The warmth of his tired eyes when he relaxed in your quarters in your bed enveloped in the scent of your sheets.

So when he made you the tantalizing offer to be his first kiss, he claimed he wanted the choice of who it was with to be his own. A luxury someone of his class rarely possessed. You couldn’t dare say no—not that the idea of rejecting him even crossed your mind. You also lacked experience—not for lack of interest from others, but because his protective, possessive gaze had long since deterred potential suitors.

Now, in this situation, it could be debated who held the power over whom. It was clear from your crimson-stained cheeks to your trembling fingers that your usually unshakable demeanor was slightly cracked. As for the future ruler—his eyes, the way they flitted from your lips to your haze-filled gaze, and the way he stood so close, as if wanting to bury himself in your skin, to be covered in your scent—all spoke of a different kind of vulnerability.

[ultraimaginez]

Imagine being Toji's childhood best friend. The two of you are inseparable, spending every moment that isn't dedicated to training glued at the hip. You enjoy long summer days swimming in the lake near your house, wrestling in the fields, racing around the Zenin compound. Your early adolescence together is marked by bruises from training together, bite marks and scratches from roughhousing, and knowing smirks across behind your parents' backs as you sneak off to do something stupid where none of the adults are looking. That is until the Zenin clan deemed your time together "inappropriate."

By the time you are teenagers, Toji has become obstinate and unruly. He doesn't respect the clan elders and he shows very little promise with a cursed technique. You seem to occupy most of his free time and attention. So, with the money and influence only afforded to one of the three great Jujutsu families, they make your parents an offer they can't refuse. You have great promise as a sorcerer but no meaningful connections to the upper echelon of Jujutsu society, however the Zenin family is willing to be your benefactor on the condition that your parents relocate to Kyoto so that you can attend Jujutsu High there. In return, your parents are to promise that while receiving their aid you will not return to Tokyo and you will not speak to Toji. It is their last ditch effort to gain some control while they feel there is still time to mold him into a clan leader.

How can your parents refuse giving you an opportunity for success? You are so young and show so much promise. When they tell you that you'll be moving, you are heartbroken. When they tell you there won't be time to say goodbye to Toji, you're beyond devastated. You become a puddle of inconsolable tears, throwing the tantrum one might expect of a teenager who just shared their first kiss with their best friend just a few days prior. It's not fair. It doesn't make sense. Why now? Why Kyoto? Your mother holds you close and soothes your hair, hiding her own tears. "We have to go now, but why don't you write him a letter, sweetheart?"

So you do. You write him lots of letters. Every single weekend, you are holed up in your dorm room scribbling. Too bad none of your words reach Toji, each of your letters confiscated by the elders before it can ever reach him. And too bad for the Zenin clan sending you away only made Toji more of a pain in the ass. You may have been the only thing keeping him from becoming a little monster in the first place.

[sepia-stained-sunset]

"RUMI!"

Instinct is a strange thing. When she hears her name, in that tone of voice, she doesn't throw herself flat on the ground. Maybe in a kinder world, that would have been her muscle memory.

Instead, she's leaping away from the wall she was leaning against, her sword materialising in her hands, the tip inches away from Jinu's face.

"What?" She hisses as she lowers the weapon, her racing heart slowing a little as she realises she isn't really in danger.

He should have known better than to startle her like that, especially considering how tense she was to begin with. He's lucky she hadn't speared him through, and it's only with a little bit of cruelty that she thinks of how easy it would be to just end him here where he stands; the Sun has only risen, the sky still milky with night, and there's no one around for miles. How easy it would be to set herself free of it all.

Jinu doesn't answer, staring in distress at her…forehead? Her neck?

With a sigh, she wills her sword away. She can't do it. Every day since she's met him, she's struggled more and more with the thought of putting him in the ground where he belongs. It's infuriating that she can't mete out what he deserves, not even when he's being stupid and weirder than normal.

Her sword vanishes without a sound, melting back into whatever otherness it comes from. That's just another unanswered question on her list, not as high up as all the things she doesn't know about her patterns, but it rankles the same that there's no part of this life that's intuitive.

"What's wrong with you?" She asks, fiddling with a loose thread at the cuff of her hoodie sleeve, unsure of what to do with her hands now that they're unoccupied, "Who sneaks up on people like that?"

"Your hair!" He blurts out, his stupidly perfect face crumpling with what looks like genuine worry, "What have you done to your hair?"

"My hair?" She asks, baffled. Jinu sounds like he's losing his mind. Is Gwima finally getting to him?

"It's gone!" He accuses, narrowing his eyes at her, "You cut it off. Why?"

Her fingers reach for where her hair curls by her neck, "Cut it off? What are you- oh"

Does he seriously not know what a wig is?

"The braid's not real", she assures him, struggling to hide her amusement, barely schooling her smile into something neutral, "it's just a wig. A fake. I have to take it off every now and then to give my neck a break"

Her neck and shoulders have been killing her for months, strained from the weight of the false hair that she had to bear while pulling off some borderline insane choreography. Not to mention the struggle of having to keep it in place when she was thrust into pre-show battles.

Just imagining living with that much of a strain on her muscles makes her shudder. Maintenance was easy when she could place it on a dummy for the night and send it out for cleaning to the discreet hairstylist Bobby had found. But doing all that by herself? Even just the hypothetical sounds worse than her reality of constantly battling a flood of demons.

"You can wear fake hair?" He sounds intrigued. The concept of a wig can't possibly be that recent, but maybe it had been restricted to the upper echelons of society during his time. Her stomach twists a little as she remembers his story, like it's tasting the endless, burning hunger he'd suffered for years.

"Uh…well, the fans aren't supposed to know it's fake", she hesitates, but he's already seen her at her very worst- seen her patterns- so she continues, "it's quite popular amongst idols though. It allows us to change our styles without hurting our actual hair"

"Baby's been asking for a change", Jinu hums to himself, like he isn't aware that she's listening, "maybe this will help him out"

This time, she doesn't succeed at hiding her laughter. The mental image of a six-hundred-something year old demon studiously memorising idol culture, styling his band and trying to work out aesthetics for each of them, is too surreal to process. And the band got to vote on what they wore?

She feels her lungs burn as she doubles over. Jinu's stopped his musing to stare at her in concern, looking around to make sure there are no passers-by.

If Jinu was the band's lead, did that mean he'd written Soda Pop? Oh, no. What if Gwima had written Soda Pop?

"What's wrong with you?" He asks warily, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here.

"You", she wheezes, unable to string together a more coherent sentence, "Gwima…Soda Pop!"

Jinu begins to walk away, glancing back at her with unconcealed distaste. She tries to pull herself together, but then she thinks of Gwima giving them pointers on their choreography, and she can't help but fall to pieces again.

"Come find me when you're actually ready to talk", Jinu wrinkles his slender nose imperiously, walking away faster.

"No, no, wait, it's okay, I'm good", she calls, jogging after him to catch up, gulping down breaths.

"Good", he says, sounding grumpy, "we're already short of time as it is. We can't afford distractions"

They really couldn't. She knew they couldn't. And yet, this was the first time in ages that she'd laughed that loudly and for that long. He really has seen every shade of her now.

It's a sobering thought, the fact that she's joking around with a demon. It sends a twinge of regret through her that she has to be the one to send him back to the underworld. So long as he's on this side of the Honmoon, so long as her arms are patterned, they're on the same side of this fight.

But once she gets her marks erased, she'll have no choice but to uphold her duty as a Hunter.

No matter how easy it was becoming to breath around him, Jinu is still a demon. She can't think of him as anything but, not when he looks at her with those golden eyes of his.

"You're right", she tears her own gaze away, studies the city sprawling out beneath them, waking up at last, people spilling out of their homes slowly, unaware of the siege they're about to come under, "no more distractions"

[sepublic]

The Rapture, the Day of Unity, and Happily Ever After

I wouldn’t be surprised if the upper echelons of the coven regime weren’t concerned with being sustainable, because they were privy before the public was to the Day of Unity, which was itself essentially one big rapture where everyone goes to a perfect utopia! They don’t have to worry about the world they’ve left behind, they just need to last long enough to make it to this endpoint, like Belos talking about how he only needs to ‘live long enough to see this through’.

So it must’ve been quite a shock, realizing that’s not it; There’s nothing for all their hard work. They have to go back to their lives as normal, but knowing it’s eternal in the sense of worrying about living life until it naturally ends for them, and making society run ahead of them for the next to pick up. Now people have to do their jobs in creating an actual functioning society instead of loftily dreaming of a fantasy, which is of course topical to the show’s themes about being beholden to the world and people around you as you make dreams practical.

I can see a comparison between the apathy that came from the Day of Unity and how a lot of rich, powerful folk —especially the ones running fossil fuel companies— don’t care about destroying the Earth and its environment, because they’ll be dead before it gets bad enough that the devastation reaches them in their cushy little suites. On the Day of Unity, Emira’s frustrations over her mother only caring about money feel in a similar vein, it all hearkens back to the same problem with these CEOs where their personal, material enjoyment is the only priority.

And this makes me think of the rapture comparison too; It comes from the Evangelicals, who are the descendants of the Puritans. I can see the writers playing with how Marx called religion the opiate of the masses; The idea that Christianity was often exploited by the upper class against the lower class to justify their suffering. The idea was that if you were poor, you didn’t need to worry about improving your material world because as long as you remained pious and faithful, you’d eventually inherit a heavenly afterlife.

Thus, working-class Christians were made complacent, believing their mortal suffering was just temporary and even a test for their ascension. Whether you think they actually got a heavenly afterlife is an entirely separate real-life theological discussion, but the point was that it was an excuse by those in power to avoid being held accountable in making the living world actually tolerable for everyone else, and everyone else would not hold them to that standard because they thought it didn’t matter anyway.

So I can see the Day of Unity functioning exactly like that, in fact I’m pretty sure it just did onscreen because we see wild witches such as the Demon Hunters accept the coven bindings because for whatever losses they suffer, eventually the Titan will make it all worth it right? And this framing of the Titan as an abstract God who will take you to an abstract universe is interesting; We know tangibly that other worlds exist of course, but in the context of the show, the utopia bit is a lie.

And if we apply it to real life, much how the show calls out IRL witch hunters (and its fictional one, because TOH’s fictional witches warranted nothing for their existence) as insincere… I do remember a college lecture in things like Animism or cosmocentric belief systems; They saw the ‘spirits’ as not existing on a separate plane, but our own. There was no afterlife or heaven, it was all in this world, people live on when they die and break down and are consumed by other beings, that sort of thing.

The practices of wild magic and the worship of the Titan seem to follow in a similar vein to these and Animism; The Titan is sacred and her body has its own life reborn as the environment, but she’s also undeniably dead, as pointed out by a Deadwardian witch. Eda stresses learning from the natural environment around you for magic, their ‘god’ is a mortal being and also their tangible world. The magic comes via glyphs in nature, as well as the magic in everything that witches get their own magic from. There IS something resembling an afterlife in-universe but we never get to see it, the beliefs of wild magic seem to be at odds with Belos’ Christian colonialism, and again its promise of a rapture and a separate, abstract God and utopia.

Point is; There is no universe after this, or at least that’s not how wild witches treat it. The focus is on the here and now and making this world last, and making it last for the future generations that will take your place. And this defiance of a rapture in favor of life always going on makes me think of how Dana hates the term Happily Ever After, for the implications of everything just being over and that’s it. That’s the end. All the problems are solved now, there is no story left to tell.

I can’t say this was intentional on a conscious level or otherwise, but I do have to draw a connection between this and how TOH’s ending was in response to this critique; Life keeps going on, the protagonists have to keep fixing the Boiling Isles, and then keep it going even if it IS fixed. They just undid coven bindings and King found his first glyph. The Archivists are still out there. The protagonists don’t get an eternal unambiguous happy ending where there’s nothing left to do, they don’t get a ‘heavenly afterlife’ as one could call it, and that’s good!

From a meta standpoint, you can see how it encourages fans to write more stories, to be inspired to keep it going, and it’s another way Dana made the shortening work in the show’s favor. Dana said back in 2020 that she encourages fans to build off of things, as she did as a kid with her own shows, she also wanted it to be that deep growing up! So both in-universe and IRL, TOH isn’t meant to be over, there is no absolute ending because fandom lives on.

Hell, Dana even professed interest in a prequel following Eda’s childhood; She’s since become pessimistic about the possibility, more than likely on account of her cutting ties with Disney and executives’ disinterest. But the point still stands; Life keeps going, IRL. The lives of the characters keep going, in-universe and IRL through fandom.

I also wonder if you could discuss Lumity under this lens; I’m making exceptions for queer romances, especially in children’s media, because they often have to deal with censorship pushing them to the last minute. But when it comes to romance in general, romance involving the main character largely consists of Will They/Won’t They, with the climax having the romance achieved. But because of the Thrill of the Chase, a lot of writers don’t want to explore how characters actually navigate a relationship, hence why it’s drawn out and saved for the ending; The romance has been nearly tied up as a Happily Ever After, there’s no more story to tell. So when they get a continuation, they’ll often undo progress.

Lumity avoids this; Lumity has them get together at the halfway point of the series, and then actually explores their dynamic as a couple together, without creating misunderstandings or breakups or anything. We see how they work as a couple, how they get to enjoy each other as a couple. So them getting together isn’t the ending climax, it’s just another stage in their continuing dynamic. There is no Happily Ever After; There’s problems for them to face together that do sometimes strain their relationship, but they still work on it together; Dana was adamant on showing these things instead of settling for them asking each other out and letting the rest be an implication.

And I think that’s so much more healthy to show kids than just idealizing the Thrill of the Chase and its climax, without appreciating the mundanity of just being together. Because kids grow into adults and don’t really expect or care to pursue a romance past that point, and I wonder if this is part of the culture behind cheating, of still reaching for something unattainable because media doesn’t normalize already having things when it comes to romance. Nor does it care for tackling things together as a couple most of the time.

Dana was raised Catholic, which is separate from Puritanism, but she did have to deal with Evangelicals growing up, as they raged about innocuous things like Pokemon; And Pokemon was her Good Witch Azura, a last gift from her father before he died in a car crash. It’s something Dana still enjoys and she’s done crossover art for it and TOH.

So I can see the coincidence/connection in Dana critiquing Evangelicals’ rapture ideology and how the end of everything is used to placate people instead of worrying about what needs to be eternally maintained, and like. Her feeling similarly with stories and even romances where it ends definitively and perfectly. Because fandom keeps going and she’s a part of it too.

The world keeps going, there is no endpoint to history IRL or in the show; People have to adjust going back to the banality of continuing to live and worry about running society in the long-term, rather than expecting it to not matter because they were going to be raptured anyway. And you know what, this could be good, it means it lasts forever as we see Luz and co. embrace it, happy to enjoy their lives, actually getting to be in a relationship; But life is fragile as we see with the Titan, so we gotta work to keep it going, so that even when we get our definitive end, the people after get their time.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #34

Do cry me a river

Imagine dis…

I re-watched some of my favorite anime when I was a kid and… Another idea popped up if I do say so myself.

If the words Yukina and Ice Maiden ring a bell then you know which direction I am heading…

…

Deep within Gotham, specifically, its underground city seems to be buzzing with intrigue and curiosity at something new. Now, when something new has appeared all of them are watching, as if it was not the usual drug or weaponry to use on the other heroes. All eyes were on them, each turn and each step this new player had brought into the game were all being watched and carefully cataloged.

But the moment it had proved its worth each and everyone, from the big names and players of the underground that stretches from Gotham to its neighboring cities to all those who had a single line of connection to the underground. All began clamoring to buy and claim such precious little things.

All of them began to whisper among the shadows and had all of them in traded hushed tones in fear of the Bats who may have or have not been listening.

Let me tell you… It wasn’t any ordinary rumors, but it was all because of a new production of pearls. Pearls, strange and enchanting pearls, that glowed with an otherworldly greenish blue hue. Unlike the typical black, white, pink, and rare blue pearls that adorned the necks of Gotham’s elite and the rich, these are not only rare, mysterious, and sought after not for their beauty but for the miracles they had performed.

These pearls were said to have amazing therapeutic abilities. Stories circulated about wounds healing in seconds, incurable diseases disappearing, and organs regenerating as if by magic. The pearls' magical qualities increased their value to astronomical levels, making them a sought-after treasure on the illicit market. Wealthy collectors and desperate folks were both eager to pay for everything to obtain them.

But despite their efforts to be quiet some noise and rumors had already reached the ears of Gotham’s vigilantes.

…

Gotham vigilantes had already heard of these new pearls slowly circulating in the underground world. Batman had it at the end of his priority as it was just a gemstone and in some cases had his attention, Red Hood didn’t even bother as it was not drugs and thought of it as another rich eccentric trend that soon to fade, so did the rest of the vigilantes dismissing them without a second thought.

…

One evening, Red Robin was on his usual patrol, this night his patrol route was line on keeping an eye out for the upper echelons of Gotham’s elite as there had been a massive Arkham breakout meaning that the rich were out for grabs for the usual kidnapping and ransom.  

He intercepted a poor attempt at a robbery between a wealthy civilian, their bag had released all of its contents in a fit of panic. Red Robin helped the said civilian to gather their things all up after he had tied the robber with some zip-ties. As he was gathering their things he picked up a unique-looking necklace. A simple silver necklace with a singular greenish-blue pearl in its center. The unusual color caught his attention but never thought any of it until tomorrow morning.

The next morning, As Tim was dressing up for his morning job as the CEO of Wayne Enterprise, he noticed something peculiar. The scar from his missing spleen, a constant reminder of a near-fatal injury, and another reminder that Ra is a creep for stealing a minor’s spleen had vanished. Alarmed and more awake than seconds ago, he hurriedly went to Dr. Leslie’s clinic for an impromptu check-up. The X-rays revealed the impossible, his spleen had regenerated as if it had never been missing in the first place.

…

The Bats are now scrambling for any information about the mysterious pearl that Red Robin had contact with just last night.

Meanwhile, Danny was imprisoned in a remote, strongly fortified manor. Unlike Yukina from Yuyu Hakusho, Danny's tears transformed into a powerful healing agent capable of miraculous recoveries.

This wealthy captor, who had been a player in the underground for quite some time yet always had the ambition to be more than just a buyer, when he became aware of Danny's existence and his tears' healing abilities, had been exploiting him to create the greenish-blue pearls that were now circulating in the black market.

Danny was not alone in captivity. He was accompanied by his younger, de-aged self, Dan and Ellie. Both had been captured and used as leverage to compel Danny's cooperation. The three were confined in separate, high-security quarters that were closely monitored and strongly guarded.

…

As chaos is slowly filling up the streets of Gotham, at the edge of the city’s border there stood a woman with a purpose.

Talia al Ghul, the Demon Head's daughter and mother of Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, commonly known as Robin, is well-known for her strategic abilities. She embarked on a personal mission to protect and save her son Danny from the pig who dared to hurt him.

Danny, Talia and Bruce's first kid had been hidden from the world, even her father, for his safety. Safety? She felt selfish for the first time, keeping Danny concealed from everyone except her. Talia had decided to keep him concealed, including from his brother, Damian.

Talia had lately received an unusual package—a VHS video with a green sticky note bearing the letters "CW." The film contained a warning and a guide, as well as critical information about the forces that had kidnapped her son and instructions on how to exploit something she had never seen before.

The tape revealed Danny's captor's identity, a wealthy and powerful figure deep within Gotham's underbelly who had discovered Danny's new powers and was forcing him to create healing pearls. The video also contained plans and security information about Danny's detention facility, as well as the network of individuals involved in this nefarious enterprise.

Talia devised a strategy based on the tape's information, contacting trusted allies and resources while also depending on her network and the element of surprise. Talia walks through the city like a ghost, her love for Danny so strong and unwavering that she is willing to eliminate anyone who endangers her son's safety.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: This one is for the month of August since I’m going to be a bit busy so ENJOY!!!

[straykidsmedia]

Being Stray Kids Takes a Lot of Work — and Close Friendships

As they tour U.S. stadiums this summer, the eight-member K-pop superstars talk about what goes into their intense live concerts, their inventive music, and more

“Do you want us to be warm and caring, or do you want us to be toxic?” That is the question that Bang Chan, the leader of the eight-man group Stray Kids, asks with a straight face, as his bandmates crack up at his cheekiness. (More on that question later.)

Three hours before Stray Kids took the stage at San Francisco’s Oracle Park on May 28, the Korean superstars sat down for an exclusive interview with Rolling Stone over Zoom. They could’ve talked about all their accomplishments, which include being the first act to debut at Number One with their first six charting albums on the Billboard 200 (their latest, Hop, came out last winter). Or how their 2024 release Ate sold more physical CDs in the U.S. than any album except for Taylor Swift’s The Tortured Poets Department, according to Luminate. Then, too, SKZ — as they are also known — have the distinction of being the first male K-pop group to perform a sold-out concert at the 42,300-capacity Oracle Park, as part of their ongoing dominATE World Tour. 

But, no. Give these young men a compliment and they will downplay their remarkable achievements. When I mention that they’re breaking records right and left, Bang Chan shyly says, “Not really.” Laughing, he adds, “But go ahead!”

For this chat, the band is seated in two rows of four, with Felix, Bang Chan, I.N, and Seungmin in the front, and Lee Know, HAN, Changbin, and Hyunjin behind them. They are all dressed casually in black and grey ensembles, except for Felix, who sports a light-blue hoodie.

Bang Chan and Felix, who grew up in Australia, conduct this interview in English, while the other members speak in Korean. They are professional, politely introducing themselves so that the transcriber can later distinguish their voices. But these eight friends also share a warm, unbreakable bond that comes through even over a video interview. The members in the front take turns twisting their bodies so that their bandmates in the back can be better seen.

Now seven years into their career, Stray Kids have reached the upper echelon of the pop music world, selling out stadiums worldwide. But playing to massive crowds hasn’t changed how they perform for their audience. They are one of the most physical K-pop groups in concert. Stray Kids have always fiercely attacked whatever stage they play on, and have never needed to be told to show more energy – something even the Beatles heard during their baby-band days playing in Hamburg clubs. 

“Of course we recognize the difference in the crowds we’re playing to now, but our mindset of how we approach the concert has not changed from our debut,” Seungmin says. “We’re grateful that we are still doing shows and people come to see us, and we’re proud to have come this far.”

Felix adds, “We can see the crowd, no matter how big or small, from the stage. We see the diversity of our fans.” 

Sometimes, that crowd includes family members like Bang Chan’s younger sister, the indie artist Hannah Bahng. To the delight of the packed audience at Inglewood’s SoFi Stadium earlier this week, Hannah and a friend, singer-songwriter D4VD, were shown dancing to her brother’s music on the huge video display monitor. In a deja vu moment from previous concerts where the siblings interacted, Bang Chan shouted to his sister, “What are you doing, Hannah?!” which the crowd ate up. At this point, Bang Chan’s exclamation has become a meme that fans anticipate whenever Hannah is in attendance at a Stray Kids show. 

All ribbing aside, the brother and sister get along famously. In an interview with Rolling Stone earlier this year, Hannah said, “I’ve always supported my brother with his career, and I’m so proud of everything he’s accomplished. So it means the world that he’s so encouraging of the path I’ve chosen.”

Stray Kids are well known for the meticulous, hands-on approach they take to shaping their versatile sound. Bang Chan, Changbin, and HAN make up the in-house production team, 3RACHA, and write and produce most of the band’s songs, tailoring them to each member’s strength. Their songs veer from bass-heavy pop, to hip-hop swagger, to wistful ballads that can break your heart in just one verse.

“I feel our music has its own genre,” Bang Chan says. “I don’t know if it suits a certain chart or anything. It’s music we make to fit our own standards. We’re just doing what we enjoy and what we think is fun to do. But we feel that our music is actually defined by the listeners. So I don’t think we have the right to really say what our music is. [Our fandom] STAY does.”

Bang Chan adds that despite being successful early in their career, Stray Kids don’t consider themselves at the top of their game yet. “We still need to rise nine more steps to get to 10,” he says. “But that’s the thing. Each and every one of our members, we all share the same goal…. The fact that we are running towards something all together, that itself is like a goal that should be a standard.”

Without missing a beat, Changbin says in Korean, “I want to go to the Grammys,” which draws hoots and hollers. HAN stands up and pretends to chastise him, because Changbin’s statement can be interpreted as saying he’d like to win a Grammy. Thinking it over, Bang Chan smiles and simply says, “That’s a really big goal.”

It’s at this point that I ask them to share something about each other. And Bang Chan responds with the aforementioned question: “Do you want us to be warm and caring, or do you want us to be toxic?” 

Felix says, “I will start off nicely,” and proceeds to describe Bang Chan.

As Bang Chan covers his ears, pretend-shaking, Felix continues, “I really appreciate not only [him] taking care of all of us, but that he does this even at times when we have so much work to do. He always tries to be very positive. Even when one person feels a little bit exhausted, even though he’s tired himself, he takes care of it. That is a huge thing that not many people can do. He’s a very down-to-earth person.”

As Felix offers this complimentary affirmation, HAN jokingly gives a thumbs down, much to Changbin’s delight. When Bang Chan turns around to see why they’re cracking up, HAN grins and switches to an apologetic thumbs up.

Unafraid of how his bandmates might describe him, I.N requests, “Do me [next]!”

“I.N’s my roommate, and he’s the youngest in the team,” Bang Chan says. “But sometimes he feels like the oldest. In many ways, he is the most responsible and he takes care of his big brothers.”

I.N flexes his arms in appreciation and smiles, knowing that of course Bang Chan would compliment him. Next, I.N talks about Seungmin: “Personally, I think he has a voice that has a romantic charm. When you hear his voice, you understand what I mean. He takes great care of the members and I really respect him.”

While Hyunjin and HAN discreetly whisper, Seungmin looks over at Hyunjin and says, “Hyunjin is very passionate and responsible with his work, and I learn a lot from him. Even though we are the same age, I depend on him a lot.” 

When it’s Hyunjin’s turn to say something about Changbin, the latter cutely flashes peace signs with both hands, to encourage a positive assessment. It works.

“I’ll only say nice things,” Hyunjin promises. “Changbin is the center of gravity, the core of Stray Kids. He has someone older and younger on the team, and he acts as a mediator in many ways. He’s kind and does his work really well. And he always monitors the rest of us to make sure we’re OK.”

Looking over at HAN, Changbin says, “He’s my junior and my friend. He’s like the jokester and he brightens the mood of the team. He has so much charm.”

Smiling his thanks to Changbin, HAN begins to describe Lee Know. “He is very handsome. And even though he may not look like it, he’s very sensitive and meticulous. And he listens to me and only me.” Ignoring Lee Know’s burst of laughter, HAN continues, “I can get lonely being away from home, and he takes very good care of me. After a concert, we spend quality time together. We all do, actually, and we share delicious food together.”

Of Felix, Lee Know says, “Everyone knows that Felix has a kind heart. He’s also the masseur of Stray Kids. Whenever we’re in pain, he comes running to massage us.”

All the members take this opportunity to cheer for Felix. (The group’s management, JYP Entertainment, recently released a statement saying that because Felix didn’t want to skip this tour, he may be modifying some of his strenuous dance moves to prevent back strain.) 

“We’re always performing, and it takes a lot of energy,” Felix says. “It takes a lot of effort to maintain our health and condition. Everyone here all works out, and we take care of our bodies with what we eat and how we work out…. We have to be strong because our concerts are physically demanding. We don’t want to disappoint.”

Their intense live shows are three-hour marathons of music, dancing, and laughter. “There are a lot of people who are counting on us,” Bang Chan says. “We’re running around, we’re jumping up and down, it’s sometimes slippery so we can fall. We can always get hurt. Everyone has their own pace, but, yeah, for sure it’s not easy. But luckily we are still very healthy.”

The cerebral and emotional aspect of being a Stray Kid means the members are also constantly pushing themselves to better their craft. Working with other artists is one way they expand their sound, but the group is picky about who they invite into their fold. In 2024, they recorded a pair of standout tracks that featured pop singer Charlie Puth and Epik High rapper Tablo on “Lose My Breath” and “U,” respectively.

When they reached out to Tablo to collaborate with them, the hip-hop star said it was a no-brainer for him.

“My only rule when choosing who to work with — they must genuinely love what they do and the people they do it for,” Tablo tells Rolling Stone via email. “As much as this sounds obvious, it is actually rare, increasingly so in a music industry that has become more data science than art. I loved working with Stray Kids because they were so tangibly genuine, in their attitude towards music — we went through multiple other songs before landing on ‘U’ — in their on-stage presence, and in their personal interactions with me.”

In Korean, there’s a word called jeong (정) that has no English equivalent. It’s a feeling of closeness that stems not necessarily from proximity, but from shared values and an emotional bond. It’s a feeling that’s experienced by a mother and her child. But this tender connection can also manifest when two random Koreans run into each other in a foreign country. Or, in the case of Stray Kids and their STAY, when eight Korean artists share three hours with a multitude of devoted fans in a packed stadium. 

As this interview winds down, we talk about what they like to do in their free time. And the conversation circles back to their music. “We’ve always been busy working together on new things, even before our debut,” Bang Chan says. “Yesterday, we worked on a project at the hotel room as well. Because we’ve been together for so long, we understand each other. We understand what Stray Kids music is supposed to be.”

Lee Know adds, “We talk to each other all the time and discuss our music, especially before a comeback…”

“…So it’s not just 3RACHA making a song and that’s what gets put out,” Bang Chan continues. “It’s more of a democracy. People vote on it and actually grade it and give their feedback. We’re a group, so that’s how we work. Together.”

Source: Rolling Stone

[gemsofthegalaxy]

Dancing - Fiyeraba month 2

[To preface, I am already late, because I misunderstood the timeline of the prompts. and I also was not finished this on the weekend. oops.

My contribution is the WIP Chapter 3 of my Yet Unnamed Regency!AU fic. Full disclosure, I am not sure yet exactly how the relationship between Glinda and Elphaba will shake out, if they're more qpr or Elphaba simply has romantic feelings for both Glinda and Fiyero, but the focus of the fic is Fiyeraba I promise, so hopefully this still countes!! That being said, the chapter starts off with Glinda and Elphie dancing, and ends with Elphie and Fiyero dancing and talking about marrying, ft. jealous!Fiyero in the middle because i love that.

Without further adieu~ ]

“Elphie! You were gone so long,” Glinda said, reaching out to grasp her hand, always so outwardly affectionate.

“I decided to get some air in the gardens,” Elphaba explained, and Glinda smiled.

“You have a flower in your hair,” Glinda observed, lifting her hand as if to touch it but not quite disturbing it, “and it’s pink!”

“That it is,” Elphaba agreed.

“Pink and green do go so- well- together,” Glinda said, and Elphaba smiled, more earnestly, glancing down at the ground, and then back up again.

“That they do,” she said softly.

For a moment, it was as if they were the only ones standing in the ballroom. Other than Fiyero, Glinda was the only person who made Elphaba feel this way, her undivided attention having a way of creating a bubble around the two of them, lowering her defenses, making them the center of the universe.

Then, Glinda spoke again, “Oh, let’s dance, Elphie! Please.”

Elphaba stiffened slightly, as Glinda made her eyes big and wide. She threw in a pout a moment later, hand skimming along Elphaba’s dance card, which was empty, as usual.

A few times, the prior season, Glinda had roped Elphaba into a dance with her. It was always at least mildly begrudging. Dancing just brought so much attention to them, and Elphaba generally preferred to be ignored rather than regarded with scorn.

But, Glinda was a difficult person for anyone to resist, let alone Elphaba, who had become her best friend.

“Oh- just once,” Elphaba said, and Glinda’s face lit up like a firework.

“Oh, Elphie, thank you,” Glinda said, taking her dance card to scroll her name in big loopy letters along it.

Then, Elphaba wrote her name on Glinda’s as well, and they took to the floor.

It was not quite as common for two women to dance with each other, but it was not at all unheard of, either. It could become an odd dynamic, at times. All across Oz, it was perfectly acceptable to marry someone regardless of their gender; save for when one person involved was an heir. Most of the ton fell into that category, or else they would not be involved in the social season. The entire point of the season was to bring together the youth of the upper echelon, so they could get to know the other political figures, build connections that would help their own communities prosper, and it was all introduced and orchestrated by the Wizard.

In fact, these balls were said to have occurred in the place the Wizard came from, before he arrived by balloon. So, he knew it was a method that worked well. And, to his credit, a great number of good matches had been made at the balls and in society. It was rare, by now, that any political match was determined outside of the people invited to partake.

Of course, the fact that they were both women was far from the only reason people stared and gawked as Elphaba and Glinda started to dance. The colour of Elphaba’s skin was a constant point of contention in her life, causing strife, sowing mistrust from those around her because they did not know what to make of a person like her.

Still, Elphaba held her head high and looked only at Glinda, as much as she could manage, and danced to the song played by the band in the corner. Glinda was smiling, both soft and bright, and that helped things.

At the end of the dance, though, Elphaba did see something she was not quite expecting, but ultimately glad that she caught.

As they stepped away from each other, Elphaba saw Fiyero at the edge of the dancefloor, and at the moment their eyes connected, hurt flashed across his face. Bitterness, and dejection.

Elphaba blinked, startled at the raw emotion, and stood still for a moment. He turned, and walked between some other people.

“Thank you, again, Elphie,” Glinda said, placing a hand on her arm. Elphaba looked towards her.

“Of course,” Elphaba said, but she glanced back again, at the direction Fiyero had started off in. “Now. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, run along! I know how you hate being center stage,” Glinda said, smiling good-naturedly. Elphaba gave a weak smile back, and scurred off indeed.

One advantage to being so ostracized was people did tend to move out of the way for her, so Elphaba was able to dart through the crowd quite easily, and walk down the hall at as fast as pace as would acceptable.

Thankfully, her guess as to which direction Fiyero went in was correct. After turning another corner, she saw he was stood with his arms crossed, observing a rather large painting on the wall.

“Fiyero,” she said, and he did not look at her at first. She placed her hands on her hips, ever-so-slightly winded after dancing and speedwalking, not used to doing either. “Are you- what- what was that look for?”

Slowly, Fiyero turned his gaze on her, quirking a brow. “Look? What look?”

“Don’t play coy,” Elphaba said, huffing once. It was lost on her that she should not take such a tone with a prince. Fiyero did not acknowledge it either.

“There’s no look, Elphaba, nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. It’s not as if I hadn’t asked you for a dance, earlier tonight, to which you refused for no reason, and yet you took to the floor with the very woman you pawned me off onto when you would not dance with me.”

Elphaba pressed her lips together, and regarded him with confusion. “You’re- upset that I would not dance with you?”

“No, as I said- I am not,” Fiyero said, “upset. But I do find it curious, Elphaba dearest, that you would deny one of your oldest friends something that you so easily do with someone you met mere months ago, because I was away-”

“It’s- it’s not a competition between you and her. You are both my friends.”

“Then why dance with her, and not me?” Fiyero asked, his hands on his hips now, while Elphaba’s were across her chest.

In truth, she could not come up with a good reason, only that Fiyero’s status as a prince would garner more attention than even Glinda. And that she had, in his absence, danced with Glinda a couple of times last season; something she had only done with Fiyero once and only once.

Elphaba sighed. It was so rare that Fiyero had ever taken issue with her, it was a strange feeling to have. While it was childish that he said one thing and clearly felt another, Elphaba could acknowledge that he had a point.

“No, you’re- you are right, Fiyero,” Elphaba conceded, and Fiyero blinked. “Please. Let’s- let’s go back, we can dance.”

Fiyero scoffed, and then looked down. “No, I- I don’t wish to- I don’t want you to feel obligated or-or to do it just because I’ve thrown a fit, Elphaba, I- never mind it, please.”

Elphaba shook her head, “It’s not that. I- you’re right, it’s unfair, that I should dance with her and not you, you’ve both treated me kindly and been a friend to me. It’s- it’s not as if I don’t wish to dance with you, it’s more- the reaction of others, I am wary of, but I do not wish the opinions of others to cause me to mistreat a dear friend. So, I ask again, Fiyero. Please come dance with me.”

Fiyero blinked again, and looked up, giving her another small smile, a bit unfamiliar again. It was- hopeful, or something of the sort. “If you’re certain.”

“I am,” Elphaba said, lifting her hand. Fiyero squeezed it, and they walked a moment before thinking better of walking into room holding hands.

Thankfully, they could slip back into the room at the very edge of it, and Fiyero took Elphaba’s card to write his name. Elphaba held her breath, knowing they did not yet have the attention of everyone in the room.

As the next song started, though, he led her onto the dancefloor with their hands held high, looking poised and regal in a way he often did not evoke.

As expected, the reaction of the room was not only noticeable the way it was when Elphaba stepped out with Glinda, but outright palatable. People actually gasped, and Elphaba did her best not to show any sort of weakness on her face.

“Look at me,” Fiyero whispered to her, as if he could read her mind. “Not at them.”

Elphaba gave the subtlest of nods, and they began to dance.

It was slow, calculated, Elphaba tried not to be too stiff in her movements, but she wasn’t quite used to dancing. And while she looked at Fiyero, she was still keenly aware of the eyes on her at all times, and the whisperings that had started in the crowd.

“If- if anyone says anything to you, regarding this, please tell me,” Fiyero said, giving her a twirl. “I will have it- handled.”

Elphaba allowed the side of her lips to lift, “I will not have your secret guard kill my detractors or- any such thing.”

Fiyero scoffed, “Killed? I won’t have anyone killed on your behalf, Elphaba,” Fiyero insisted. “Perhaps, just...’

“Thrown in the dungeon?”

Fiyero smirked, making a noise of amusement, and Elphaba smiled back more readily.

It wasn’t like their private conversations, where she could forget herself and who he was all too easily, for she could not shake the sense of being watched, but his words to her did help ward off the bulk of the insecurity.

“Oh, please, that’s- the dungeons of the castle have not been used for many years,” Fiyero started to explain, in a playfully defensive tone. All the while, he spun her again, skirt getting just a bit of air. The style was not as swishy as it had been in years past, but it still moved with her in a pleasant fashion.

“But they are still in existence,” Elphaba challenged, and Fiyero raised his brows.

“Well, it takes a long time to renovate an entire castle, you see…” Fiyero defended, again.

Turning to face him in the very center of the room, Elphaba gave him a look that was ever-so-slightly unimpressed.

Fiyero grinned, at once. “Were some people to find themselves down there, surely, I would not have anything to do with it. However, yes, if people- if harm comes to you in any way, I will see it dealt with somehow.”

Elphaba smiled again, “I appreciate the sentiment, Fiyero, but I am capable of fighting my own battles. And, really, you do not need to throw around the authority you hold, it’s quite…”

“Quite..?”

“Distasteful is not the word I am searching for, I know you cannot help your birthright, but the fact you could so swiftly have people ‘dealt with’ for relatively minor offenses-” Elphaba scrunched her nose, and Fiyero laughed again, changing the direction of the dance in step with the music.

“Having the might of potential martial law behind my authority is not so appealing to your sensibilities, Elphaba? You know the military training I just concluded was quite informative.”

Elphaba continued to give him a look, “You know very well it is not, as you say, ‘appealing�� to me. I believe the amount of power concentrated in your position is rather concerning.”

Fiyero raised his brows, grinning widely now, “Well, when you’re Queen-“

“Excuse me?”

For a moment, Fiyero used a moment in the music to draw himself near, speaking close to her ear, “You offered, earlier tonight, to marry me. You realize, Elphaba darling, that would inevitably end in your becoming Queen?”

Elphaba took his hand and stepped back in the next move of their dancing, holding his gaze. Hers was steady, his was teasing and mirthful. “As I said, the intention is not to actually marry- it would not be seen through, your parents would never allow it.”

“And if they did?” Fiyero asked, eyes flicking up and down. “Would that change your proposition?”

“Well- no,” Elphaba said, truthfully. She would not go back on her word.

“Then, in theory, you just may become Queen,” Fiyero said, and Elphaba narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well. I should like to make a great many changes, in that case. I hope you realize what you would be getting into, if- if it all of that were to transpire.”

“Oh, believe me,” Fiyero said, eyes almost blazing. Elphaba felt her cheeks grow just a tiny bit hot under the unexpected heat of his gaze, “I do.”

Fiyero always had such a rebellious spirit. Elphaba wondered what she may have gotten herself into. It occurred to her, at that moment, Fiyero might wish to tell his parents they were marrying just to see their reaction, how aghast they would be. At the same time, he was not a cruel man, so he would not wish to use her to just get a rise out of them. Although, that was exactly what she herself had proposed. She had given him permission to do that very thing, or an approximation of it.

Furthermore, maybe he would want to marry her just for her political ideas, the thought of shaking up the royal family line being appealing to him because it went against the traditions he so abhorred. They could, in fact, be surprisingly well-suited as a political match, although Elphaba was not sure how she would be received as Queen of Winkie Country.

As her head spun with thoughts, the music slowed to a stop, and so did they. Fiyero lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, smirking at her through his lashes. Elphaba wanted to roll her eyes at him, but seeing as everyone was looking at her, she smiled demurely and dropped into a deep curtsey to show her appreciation for his kindness.

Finally, she righted herself, and walked at a normal pace off the dancefloor. She grabbed a flute of champagne as Fiyero went to speak to another person.

For the rest of the evening, people whispered about her, having danced with two of the most eligible people in all of the ton.

What an exciting start to the season indeed.

[mariacallous]

The Death Star project casts its shadow over the early years of the Empire, the course of the Galactic Civil War and, indeed, this study so far. In many ways the declaration of the Death Star reaching full operational status, its use on Alderaan, and then destruction at Yavin split the timeline of the Empire in two. Before this point all the efforts, resources, and energies of the state were deployed in making the battle station a reality. Afterward, the Empire was left to try and construct a new short-term strategy to combat the Rebel Alliance while Palpatine insisted on a new and improved design, to be constructed at Endor. Virtually all who played a major role with the first Death Star were either killed or changed by the experience. While Darth Vader and General Tagge survived -for a while at least - the disaster, the likes of Admiral Motti, Director Orson Krennic and, most crucially, Grand Moff Tarkin perished. The vacuum left by those figures - Tarkin especially - and the destroyed Death Star warped almost every aspect of the Imperial military and significant parts of the Imperial state infrastructure. Never had the Empire suffered such a grievous defeat, nor had the shortcomings of its military and propaganda wings been left so exposed. The destruction of the Death Star was, in many ways, the first sign of the Empire's eventual collapse.

However, to truly understand why this was the case, it is necessary to explore, analyze, and reconsider much that we previously "knew" about the Death Star project. It has become apparent just through the material explored so farm that the Imperial military was nowhere near as unified behind the project as those within the Rebel Alliance may have believed. Similarly, the power struggle between Krennic and Tarkin took place largely out of sight of the rebels, with much of the maneuvering happening in the upper echelons of the Imperial hierarchy. While the Death Star has become indelibly linked to Tarkin, it certainly appears that ownership of the project was a more contested issue than was once appreciated. Furthermore, the dissolution of the Senate occurring just as the Death Star was brought online no longer looks to be quite the coincidence that it may have appeared at the time. It seems apparent that Palpatine himself had placed a great deal of importance on the weapon's construction, and it formed the cornerstone of his long-term plans for galactic domination. What did those plans actually look like and how well did the Empire - and the Emperor - react to losing what was to be the central pillar of their military power?

On the surface, the point of the Death Star seems entirely obvious - to destroy planets and eliminate their populations. But while the Empire had no compunctions about committing genocide or causing widespread destruction, the Death Star was not envisioned to be a casual weapon. It had a greater purpose than that. Dead civilians do not, in the long-term, produce much benefit for the Empire in isolation. But the fear their deaths created was a much more useful and sustainable resource. In this sense we should not simply look at the Death Star as a genocidal weapon, but as a terror one instead. Its construction and use were the final step in a political strategy shared by both Emperor Palpatine and Grand Moff Tarkin - and in fact pioneered by the latter. This strategy had informed virtually every major decision and project undertaken by the Empire in the first 19 years of its existence. It was collectively known as the Tarkin Doctrine, and while it resulted in untold death and suffering across the galaxy even before Alderaan, it may also have cost the Empire the war.

The Rise and Fall of the Galactic Empire by Dr. Chris Kempshall

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns, pregnancy

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 16

News of Steve and George Russell's arrest sent shockwaves through the underworld and the upper echelons of society alike. The headlines blared the downfall of the notorious crime family, striking fear into the hearts of those who had once cowered under their influence. For Lando, Amelia, and Adam, it was a bittersweet victory, a crucial step in their quest for justice and redemption.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the skyline of São Paulo, Lando paced the villa's terrace, his mind swirling with a whirlwind of emotions. Steve's arrest marked a significant milestone in their plan to dismantle the Russell empire, but it also brought a heightened sense of urgency to their mission. With the Russells on the defensive, they would stop at nothing to protect their secrets and retaliate against those who had dared to challenge their reign.

Inside the villa, Amelia sat by the window, her fingers tracing the contours of her growing sixteen week old belly as she watched the city come alive with the glow of streetlights and the hum of nightlife. The weight of their situation pressed heavily upon her shoulders, the reality of impending motherhood mingling with the uncertainty of their future. But amidst the chaos, one thing remained constant – her unwavering faith in Lando and their love, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Lando's heart swelled with love and pride as he beheld the sight of Amelia's burgeoning baby bump. It was a tangible reminder of the new life growing within her, a symbol of their shared journey and the unbreakable bond they shared. He approached her with a tender smile, his eyes alight with warmth and affection.

“Hey there, little peanut.” He murmured, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “How's our little one doing today?”

Amelia looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of joy and anticipation.

“I think peanut's doing just fine. You want to feel?” She replied, reaching out to caress his cheek.

Lando nodded eagerly, crouching down beside her. He pressed his hand against her belly, feeling the subtle movements of their unborn child beneath his fingertips. It was a moment of pure magic, a connection forged in the silent whispers of their shared dreams and hopes for the future.

“I can't believe we're going to be parents. It feels like just yesterday we were kids ourselves.” Lando murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

Amelia smiled, her gaze softening with affection.

“I know.” She agreed, leaning into his touch. “I really want to go home, Lan.”

“I know, baby. Just a few more weeks so we’re sure it’s safe to go back, then we’re on the first flight out.” Lando's words were filled with reassurance, but Amelia couldn't shake the feeling of longing for the familiarity and security of home.

The past months had been filled with uncertainty and danger, and while they had found temporary refuge in their secluded hideaway, it was far from the comfort of their own home.

“I need to have this baby back home.” She admitted softly, her voice tinged with homesickness.

“You will, just a few more weeks.” Lando murmured, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“I miss my Mom, believe it or not.” She sighed, resting her head against his chest.

As the details of her passing unfolded, it became clear that Marilyn, Amelia’s mother, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when Harold was shot and killed. She had been going about her day, perhaps running errands or attending to her own affairs, when fate cruelly intervened.

“My father said my Nan sent down a whole box of that chocolate you like so much.” Lando informed Amelia, attempting to change the subject.

As Lando attempted to shift the conversation away from the sombre topic of Marilyn's passing, his mention of the chocolate brought a faint smile to Amelia's lips. It was a small gesture, but a welcome distraction from the weight of her recent loss. The thought of indulging in a sweet treat, especially one that held sentimental value, offered a brief respite from the grief that loomed heavy in the air.

As Lando stepped out of the room to make the call, he couldn't shake the sense of unease that had settled in his chest. The distance from home weighed heavily on both him and Amelia, amplifying the usual challenges of pregnancy and adding an extra layer of complexity to their situation. With each passing day, the longing for the familiar comforts of home grew stronger, tugging at their hearts and fueling a deep-seated yearning for the safety and security they had left behind.

With a heavy sigh, Lando dialled his father's number, his mind swirling with a myriad of concerns and uncertainties. He needed guidance, reassurance, anything to ease the burden of responsibility that weighed so heavily upon him. As the call connected, Lando's voice was laced with a hint of apprehension, a reflection of the tumultuous emotions that churned within him.

“Hey, Dad.” He began, his words tinged with a mixture of relief and anxiety. “We need to come home.”

Lando's plea hung heavy in the air as he awaited his father's response, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. He knew the risks involved in returning home prematurely, but the thought of Amelia enduring the challenges of pregnancy without the support of family was unbearable to him.

“I understand, son.” Adam's voice resonated through the phone, his tone weighed down by the gravity of their situation. “But we can't afford to take any chances. You know how dangerous it is right now.”

Lando's jaw tightened as he absorbed his father's words, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at him, knowing that he couldn't provide Amelia with the comfort and reassurance she so desperately needed.

“Dad, she’s pregnant.” Lando insisted, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. “She needs Mum, and Savannah, and anyone who can just support her through this. Please, Dad. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line, the weight of their conversation hanging heavily between them. Adam's sigh echoed through the phone, a testament to the internal struggle he faced in balancing his desire to protect his family with the undeniable need for support and comfort.

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily in the space between Lando and his father, the urgency in his voice underscoring the importance of his plea. Adam's silence spoke volumes, the weight of his own concerns mirrored in the sombre tone of his response.

“I understand, Lando. I'll arrange for a secure escort to ensure Amelia's safety.” Adam replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and determination. "But I need you to promise me that you'll prioritise her safety above all else. There’s a baby to think of now.”

“I promise, Dad. Thank you. It means everything to us.” Lando affirmed, a sense of relief washing over him at the prospect of finally bringing Amelia back home.

As the call ended, Lando felt a sense of resolve settle within him, a renewed determination to do whatever it took to ensure Amelia's well-being.

Lando entered the room, his heart buoyed by the prospect of bringing some relief to Amelia amidst the uncertainty they faced. As he approached her, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, a mix of anticipation and apprehension etched on her features.

“Hey, baby.” He greeted softly, taking her hands in his as he sat down beside her. “I've got some news.”

“What is it?” Amelia looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and concern.

“We're going home. Dad’s making all the arrangements now and he’ll let me know once everything has been sorted.” Lando announced, a flicker of excitement dancing in his eyes. 

“Really?” A wave of relief washed over Amelia, her tense shoulders relaxing as the weight of uncertainty began to lift. 

Lando nodded, a tender smile gracing his lips. Tears welled in Amelia's eyes, a mix of gratitude and overwhelming emotion swelling within her.

“Thank you, Lando. Thank you for everything.” She choked as she tried to hold back her tears.

Wrapping her in a warm embrace, Lando held her close, his heart swelling with love and determination.

As the jet's door swung open, the familiar sights and sounds of London greeted Lando and Amelia, signalling their return to the place they called home. Max Fewtrell, Lando's trusted childhood friend, stood at the ready by the armoured SUV, his expression a mix of relief and anticipation as he awaited their arrival. With practised ease, Lando emerged first, swiftly retrieving their luggage before returning to assist Amelia down the steps of the jet.

Max's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of Amelia's unmistakable baby bump, a visible symbol of the new chapter awaiting the couple. His expression softened into a warm smile as he approached, offering a hand to help Amelia onto solid ground once more.

“Welcome back. Looks like I arrived just in time to see the next generation of troublemakers in the making.” Max greeted, his voice laced with genuine warmth and excitement.

“Thanks, Max. Flip, have I missed you.” Amelia chuckled softly, a hint of exhaustion mingling with the overwhelming sense of gratitude flooding her senses.

With Max's help, they made their way to the waiting SUV, ready to embark on the next leg of their journey home. As they settled into the familiar comforts of the vehicle, a sense of hope and anticipation filled the air, a testament to the unwavering bond shared between friends and the promise of new beginnings on the horizon.

As they settled into the SUV, Max couldn't contain his curiosity, prompting him to broach the topic that had been swirling in his mind since he laid eyes on Amelia's baby bump.

“So, a baby?” Max inquired, his tone a mix of surprise and genuine interest.

“Yep, a little surprise that kept our spirits up while we were away.” Lando's smile widened at Max's reaction, a flicker of pride evident in his eyes.

“How far along are you?” Max's eyebrows shot up in amazement.

“Just over sixteen weeks.” Amelia replied, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and tenderness as she glanced at Lando, beaming with impending fatherhood pride in the passenger seat.

“Wow, you two were away for a long time.” Max remarked, a hint of playful teasing in his tone.

“Yeah, yeah. Missed you too, mate. But now that we're back, we've got some catching up to do.” Lando chuckled in response, reaching over to give Max a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Your parents are going to do somersaults about their new grandbaby.” Max remarked, causing both Lando and Amelia to chuckle in response.

Almost an hour later, Max pulled up in front of the Norris family home and almost instantly, Lando’s family came rushing out from his father, to his mother, to his sisters and brother. Lando got out in a haste to open the back door of the SUV for Amelia to step out.

As Amelia stepped out of the SUV, she was greeted by the enthusiastic embrace of Lando's family. His sisters, in particular, were ecstatic to see her and the baby bump. They showered her with hugs and affection, their excitement palpable as they welcomed her into their home.

“Amelia, you're glowing!” Lando's mother exclaimed, her eyes shimmering with joy at the sight of her son's partner.

“We've been waiting for this moment for so long.” Flo, one of Lando's sisters chimed in, her smile radiant with happiness.

Amelia felt overwhelmed by the warmth and love emanating from Lando's family. Despite the challenges they had faced, being surrounded by such genuine affection filled her with a sense of comfort and belonging. She exchanged grateful smiles with Lando, silently acknowledging that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

“Careful, girls. There’s special cargo in that belly.” Lando’s mother, Cisca, warned her daughter as Adam wrapped his arms around his son and kept him tight against him.

As Lando's family continued to fuss over Amelia and the baby bump, his mother's gentle reminder brought a sense of protective unity to the moment. Cisca's words served as a subtle reminder to everyone that Amelia and the unborn baby were precious cargo, deserving of extra care and consideration.

Adam's embrace around Lando spoke volumes, conveying both love and a silent promise of protection. In that moment, Lando felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his family's unwavering support. They had been through so much together, and yet, here they were, embracing the future with open arms and loving hearts.

With his father's reassuring presence anchoring him, Lando felt a renewed sense of determination to ensure the safety and well-being of Amelia and their growing family.

“You did a great job, son, keeping her safe.” Adam acknowledged as he whispered into Lando’s ear.

“Thanks, Dad. And, thank you for your help.” Lando told his Dad.

“Amelia, dear, what do you need?” Cisca asked Amelia as she led her into the house.

As Lando and Amelia made their way into the house, the warmth of familiarity enveloped them. The comforting scent of home-cooked food filled the air, triggering a wave of nostalgia and anticipation for the meal ahead. Despite the challenges they had faced during their time away, being back in the familiar embrace of family brought a sense of peace and reassurance.

“Just a hot shower for now.” Amelia chuckled, keeping her exhaustion at bay.

“You do that, sweetie. I have a full roast going at the moment. I assumed you kids haven’t had a real home cooked meal in a while.” Cisca assured Ameli and Lando.

“That sounds lovely, Mum.” Lando smiled. “I’ll take Amelia up and get her settled and we’ll come down for dinner.”

As had become a norm in their relationship, Lando ran the shower allowing it to heat up for her. Amelia caught Lando's gaze lingering on her as she undressed, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Despite the familiarity of their relationship, there was still an undeniable spark between them that never failed to ignite a rush of warmth and affection.

“Not as hot as you thought I’d be pregnant?” She wondered, suddenly self-conscious like she had been all the times he paraded his model ex-flings.

“The exact opposite, actually. You’re beautiful, Amelia.” He assured her and then proceeded to place a loving kiss on her lips.

With a teasing glint in her eyes, Amelia stepped into the shower, feeling the warm water cascade over her skin, washing away the weariness of their journey and leaving her feeling refreshed and invigorated. She closed her eyes, relishing in the sensation, until she felt Lando's presence behind her, his strong arms enveloping her in a gentle embrace.

As he began to massage shampoo into her hair, his touch was tender and intimate, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. She leaned back against him, letting herself melt into his embrace, feeling his heartbeat against her back as they stood together beneath the soothing stream of water.

In that moment, with the comforting sound of the shower filling the room and Lando's reassuring presence surrounding her, Amelia couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for the man standing beside her. Despite the challenges they had faced, their bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the strength of their connection and the depth of their love. And as she turned to meet his gaze, her heart swelled with a profound sense of contentment, knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be - finally out of the shadows.

[blushweddinggowns]

A Deep Dive into the Munson Marriage: Just Who is Steve Harrington?

By Fredricka Keith

The world has somehow been sleeping on the end of an era. The notorious bachelor Eddie Munson is married. But how did it happen? Who did he fall for? Surprisingly enough, those questions were very hard to answer, despite Munson’s past predilection to be an open book. 

He has been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his new beau. Tight enough for the majority of his fans to be just as shocked as the general public at the new announcement. Even so, Steve Harrington hasn’t managed to stay completely out of the public eye.

The thirty-three year old has a dismal social media presence, but lucky enough for us, his husband and sister are much more giving. Though Eddie’s Instagram and Twitter mentions of his husband were quickly found to be useless in getting to know the man, despite the number of posts associated with his name. It probably shouldn’t have been surprising, considering how they were nearly all nonsensical compliments, written straight from his stream of consciousness. 

His sister, Robin Buckley, was better, especially considering that she’s been using the same Instagram account since 2012. Through her, we received a little more insight on the man. He had a penance for camping and exercise, often ready and able to drag both his sister and husband with him. According to a Birthday celebration post in 2017 it was mentioned his favorite movie is The Thing (1986) and his favorite cake flavor was southern caramel. 

As for his own career, Robin’s BrotherBartender hashtag was of some use, at the least showing us that the man was capable of creating gorgeous drinks, with a long past career in bartending. But that was it, the only information that was up for grabs.

While the newly Steve Munson has been to a number of events with his husband, he still remains an enigma. The only thing his red carpet showings have proved was that the former Harrington was a master at directing attention away from himself, and his husband was incredibly protective of his privacy. There have been many interviews cut short due to questions he found unacceptable, which was a brand new behavior for the star. His days of being an open book are officially finished. 

But the plot thickens. 

While neither Steve nor Eddie are open for insight, a thorough background check did reveal some interesting information. Surprisingly enough, marrying a rockstar was not Mr. Buckley-Munson’s first experience with the upper echelon. 

Through anonymous inside sources we were able to find that the Harrington last name was familiar for a reason, outside of Steve. His parents, celebrity lawyer Richard Harrington, along with his estranged ex-wife, Adriana Harrington, made headlines in 2012 due to their contentious divorce.

For those not in the know, the two C-list celebrities are most well-known for their continued campaigns against the LGBTQ community, as well as Richard Harrington’s unsavory choice of clients. Harvey Weinstein, Jeffery Epstein, Mitch McConnell, along with his earlier aid work on the OJ Simpson trial. 

His mother, Adriana, while not directly working with some of the most despised men in the country, is famous in her own right. The fifty-one year old has nearly two hundred followers on Instagram, her posts consistently centering around the sanctity of marriage, pro-life advocacy, and bible quotes. 

With this in mind, it is extremely hard to see how their son ended up in not only a gay marriage, but with someone who is flagantly against every single thing they stand for. Though after reaching out to his parents for comment, the picture of how they came together becomes more clear. 

Richard Harrington initially denied all allegations of having any children with his previous wife, despite direct evidence to the contrary. That was until Adriana Harrington settled the score, posting a series of photos of what appeared to be a young Steve Harrington alongside his father. Along with a caption reading: It doesn't surprise me that a liar would lie about his own son. But unfortunately, yes, Steve Harrington was ours. 

Though when asked for clarification on her own relationship with their son, she did not hesitate to reiterate that she had no regrets regarding how their relationship ended. 

“While I wish Steven had taken the tough love he was given to improve himself, I can not say that I’m surprised that he has turned out this way. It’s unfortunate that his deviant behavior has escalated to the level of making a mockery out of the institution of marriage, but that is out of my control. All I can do is rest easy knowing I tried to give him the best life possible. Him throwing that chance away is not of my concern.”

It was an odd choice of phrasing, considering how “throwing” his life away equated to marrying a multi-millionaire. When asked just what tough love she was referring to, she clarified: 

“Steven was given a choice to get help for his affliction or be completely on his own. He chose to be completely on his own. Whatever happened after that choice is a reflection on him. Not me.”

Though when further pressed on just when Steven was given this “choice” she only mentioned that he was “of age” but admitted he was still a teenager at the time of his disownment. 

When asked for comment after Adriana’s claims, the Harrington firm provided the following information:

“Richard Harrington has not spoken to his alleged son, Steven Harrington, legal name Steve Buckley-Munson for nearly fifteen years. While his name is present on Mr. Munson’s birth certificate, the biological relationship between the two has never been confirmed. Considering Adriana Harrington’s past history of infidelity, it is quite likely that there is no actual relation between the two men.

With that acknowledged, Mr. Harrignton would like to reiterate that he has no ties to Steve Buckley-Munson, Edward Munson, Corroded Coffin, or their label Virgin Records. He is a dedicated family man whose loyalties lie with his new wife, his two beautiful young children, and his clients. Those areas are where his focus will always be, first and foremost.”

It is a wonder that such a well-matched duo could ever end in divorce. But their answers only led to more questions. How could Steve Buckley-Munson have a sister if he was disowned as a teenager?

From the last chapter of this (finished) fic!

[neonwavev1]

Neon Paradise

Chapter One

Ch. 2

Catch me if you can

Walking the streets of Neon City, you wouldn't know that the city’s GDP was over 100 trillion dollars. Filth, degeneracy, and rampant crime of every sordid and heinous kind found itself on broad display in the long gutters we call streets here. I mean, how does a city with this much infrastructure and innovation still find itself unable to care for its own? Looking at the cities of the twenties, before the great reset happened, I guess one could’ve figured this was coming – but you never want to admit that to yourself. Los Angeles, Portland, Chicago; they all were beacons of crime and moral decay back then. It seems like the only possible outcome was total societal collapse, but no one could have possibly guessed it would be this bad.

Nearly 50 years later, it’s 2069, and we find ourselves in a weird sort of inverted collapse. It’s not the atomic bombs and natural disaster plagued world we were told to expect, but rather a corpse walking; rotted intestines littered throughout a body kept alive by nothing more than the exploitation of human suffering. A select few, an upper echelon of chosen ones, stood tall over the rest of us. Class warfare had finally reached its climax, resulting in the complete and utter removal of the middle class. You could no longer stave off poverty and pretend it didn’t exist with yearly vacations and daily lattes, you either got it or you don’t in Neon City. 

As I stepped over the convulsing body of what I’m sure was some poor soul succumbing to an overdose of the finest Kaybar crystals, I lit another cigarette. “At least I can afford somewhere to lay my head at night…” my thoughts drifted. What an ingrate, I am. Others would kill to be where I’m at. Literally. 

That didn’t matter to me though, I was dead set on being better. Becoming the metaphorical cream that will rise to the top, that was my goal. Oh, and speaking of cream, I’d like to become rich enough to afford to try milk, some day. My father has always talked about how good it was. Father talked a lot, dreamed a lot, too. He always had such grandiose plans for me, sacrificed so much, but yet I always came up short of expectations. I could almost shed a tear thinking about him. It had been what, five years since his death? I sniffed and held back my emotions. Flicking my cigarette, I looked up, greeted by the flickering red neon that read:

‘The Juice Bar’

Ironic name, considering you’ll find just about everything besides juice here. Still twisted up about the thought of my old man, I pulled out a picture of him that I kept in the fold of my beanie, hoping to garner some courage from seeing him before I stepped in to talk to the very gang that killed him. Money don’t sleep, as they say. Before tucking the picture back in my hat and pushing aside the rust-stained doors to the bar, I noticed something odd in the corner of the picture - the same symbol I had seen on the business card earlier this morning. 

[yayasvalveplay]

I promised you more lore for these three days that I'm free, so let's start with my DW BRANCH LORE BONANZA

DW Branch Au Bite sized lore Bonanza! Today's theme: Cities

I wrote about this before, but I'll be going into more depth now: The State of Cybertron's Cities after the Decepticons won and established their Empire.

So obviously Kaon became the Capital instead of Iacon, but what happened to Iacon? It became a the Biggest centre for Autobot's slave trade in the entire Empire, everything related to slave trade happens there. From auctions, to training spaces for soon to be slaves, to public punishment place and public breeding areas.

It's the worst place to be in the entire planet, just having blue optics there and no brand indicating your owner is a worst than death experience. You'll probably be botnapped to hell and back until you are sold and branded. Even if you have another different colored optic you're not safe, you would still be considered just a slave and have to dodge the Decepticons looking for easy prey.

It's poetry in the most disturbing way for Megatron, Iacon City, once a hub of shining towers demonstrating the power of the funcionists now reduced to nothing

Now back to Kaon, like I said before, became the New Capital of the entire Empire, it's home to the Imperial Palace, the Harem's Inner Crystal Garden (Yes just like in Apothecary Diaries, as it was the one to inspire this whole Au), the Decepticon High Command Tower, Victory's Reach, where most decepticon officers work or even reside if they're that low on the ranks.

On the outskirts of Kaon reside it's unsavory place, The Slums, and more towards the centre of the city, The Pit. Where, according to decepticons and even neutrals, most of the undesirable Autobot Scum lives. For this one I'm picturing a very Arcanish, Piltover Vs Zaun type of dichotomy. The autobots residing there were those considered too wild, unpredictable or unable to the breeding program and be proper breeders.

Of course, there’s still a heavy presence of Decepticon officers, but most of the underground is ran by gangs, the pit champions being those who control most of these gangs as they are stronger, smarter and wittier than other bots. They are mostly composed of former Autobot Elite guards, but the younger generation also has a grip on part of this control.

Now heading to Vos, the city who is home to the Seekers is the least worst place for a former autobot, that is only if you are a flight frame or have flight frame coding in your CNA. As flight frames are rare for autobots, any and all those breeders are treated with the utmost care and seen as a blessing from Primus himself.

But of course, only the Upper Echelon of Vos are normally able to afford the price that flight breeders fetch in an auction. But for the lower standing citizens, just having a breeder with doorwings is also seen as a blessing, as it means their CNA is favoured towards flight frames.

Vos is home for Emperor Megatron's Second in Command, Winglord Starscream, his consort Skyfire and their multitude of offsprings (Geez Star, Thirty fucking four, at least Deadlock has 2 mates do divide for his 50 kids)

Tarn is, well, controlled by Tarn. The city is place to the Justice Parlour, where they bring justice to those who dared to go against their Empire. Most of the things that happen here are prisoners being given their judgement and punishment ie death.

Sometimes, said punishiment happens in Kaon and is broadcast to the whole Empire, including other planet colonies, but those are reserved to the ones who Megatron has considers deserving of dying by his own servo. Like the mechs who tried to poison Optimus and provoked a miscarriage.

Most of the DJD officers though prefer to simply live in the Peaceful Tyranny, or other spaceships they have, specially considering the amount of bots they have to hunt down for work. Those that remain in Tarn, the city, are mostly interrogators and detectives meant to weasel out the secrets of these dying mechs.

I don't know what to make of other cities like Jhiaxus, Crystal City, Polyhex, Praxus, etc. But I'm open for ideas anytime

OH OHOHOHOH.