#i have a put a lot of thought into this. its because i know in my heart that it could definitely have happened if kiryu just manned up

[half-oz-eddie]

The very first time Buck spent the night at Tommy’s, he couldn’t shake the excitement. Tommy invited him over a handful of times beforehand, and Buck loved learning about all the things Tommy collected. Many of his belongings had some history, or a great story and Buck loved to hear every single one.

Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d peruse Tommy’s shelves, or read some of the old books he picked up from a rare book store in some little town he flew to.

This one particular night, though, Buck was feeling restless and uneasy. He had a rough shift, and it left his body in a world of pain.

When he stumbled down to the kitchen for some water, Buck accidentally knocked over a vase on an end table.

His heart dropped and shattered right along with that vase.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He whispered to himself, frantically glancing up the steps and hoping Tommy didn’t hear anything. He scrambled to pick up the glass, mentally berating himself for being so stupid and careless.

Tommy trusted him. He trusted him in his house with his belongings that he collected over the years. A house he lived in alone and when he finally lets someone his space after so long, he breaks something that was probably incredibly valuable.

Buck assumed this vase was rare and expensive, probably the only one of its kind and Tommy was going to be so disappointed in him. What if Tommy thought Buck didn’t respect his space or how much time he put into his collections?

Buck hissed in pain when a shard of glass nicked his finger. He hopped over to the kitchen to toss the glass into the trash and grab a broom to finish cleaning up.

His heart was racing, practically beating out of his chest. He was so worried about hurting Tommy’s feelings, letting him down—

“What’re you doing, Evan?”

Buck jumped the moment he heard Tommy’s voice.

“Ah—he-hey, Tommy, I-I didn’t see you there.” Buck nervously laughed. “I was just uh…getting some…water. Yeah, water.”

“Are you okay? I heard noises—“

“I’m fine!” He exclaimed, quickly withdrawing. “I’m fine. A-all good.”

“You sound nervous. What’s up?” Tommy asked worriedly.

It wasn’t like Buck could hide it. He sighed, walking around the counter to face Tommy in the dim light.

“I uh…broke that vase you had on the end table. My legs were wobbly and I kinda lost my footing and bumped into the table. I’m so sorry.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “That blue vase?”

“Yeah…the-the blue one.”

“Hm…I bought that at a flea market because the end table looked pretty bare. I paid, I think…2…no, 3 dollars for it.” Tommy chuckled. “It doesn’t mean anything, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“I thought you’d be upset. I know you have a lot of valuable stuff that means a lot to you—“

“Oh, Evan.” Tommy cupped Buck’s cheek. “It’s just stuff. You mean more to me than anything in this house.”

“Really?” Buck’s eyes widened. “Even your home brew kit?” Buck asked with a smile.

Tommy sighed before nodding reluctantly. “Yes, even that.”

“You hesitated.” Buck’s smile widened.

“I do love that kit more than a little bit, I suppose.” He pulled Buck into his arms. “But I love you even more than that.”

Buck let himself fall into Tommy’s embrace, sighing in relief.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I know you had a long shift and you really shouldn’t be up and about.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Buck murmured into his shoulder.

“It’s no bother.” He promised. “You’re never a bother.”

Buck let Tommy carry him upstairs and back into bed while reassuring him that he was the most precious thing he’d ever had.

[nowimjustastranger]

Not a fic request; I just recently discovered and binge-read your Somebody to Call My Own Au and I was struck with an idea I'd love to share.

I love your post about stcmo!Ford meeting the Canon Grunkles, but I got to thinking, "Why would he need to go to dimension 46'\?" And the most obvious answer is, Grunkle Stan almost died.

So picture it, the sea Grunks have been living their shared dream for close to a year and have been steadily making their way back to Gravity Falls for their niblings second summer there, when 46'\ Ford detects an anomaly that's not too far off course. He convinces Stanley to go investigate it as one last hurrah before they turn in for the summer.

However, in an attempt to document it, they ended up angering the creature and now have to fight it or risk their boat capsizing. Stanley ultimately ends up falling overboard, and while Ford is concerned, he is rational enough to know that Stan's wearing a life jacket, has fallen off the boat before (and knew how to pull himself back up by now) and always turned out fine, save for falling ill for a bit.

But while Ford's busy making sure the boat doesn't turn over, he realizes Stan is taking a lot longer than he should to climb back up.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of blue light and a dark figure landing on his deck. It takes him all of two seconds to realize who it is, and in that time, the guy has already dove into the water. Motherfucking Stanford Pines from dimension 419"3.

So now Ford is pissy because this edgelord version of himself, who beat him up once over having a shit take years ago, just showed up for no reason and will probably make his day even worse.

And then he comes to the chilling realization that 419"3 Ford only shows up when a Stanley is at risk of dying.

In the meantime, 419"3 Ford kills the monster and ends up having to unhinge it's jaw in order to drag Stanley out of its mouth. He's unconscious, but alive.

The boat settles and Ford 419"3 drags Stan onto the deck to perform cpr, make sure he does get hypothermia, y'know, standard procedure. Ford 46'\ is instantly glued to his brother's side and is insistent that once he is breathing clearly and conscious, Ford 419"3 has to go.

Frankly, he's knee-deep in denial that Stan was even going to die. His Stan isn't like the other Stan's that need help. He's tougher. He beat Bill Cipher for crying out loud! He doesn't need help, especially from 419"3 Ford!

He's always fine.

Of course, 419"3 Ford disproves that claim, saying that's a very naive way of thinking. That 46'\ Ford had believed Stan was "fine" for ten years, when he very clearly wasn't. In fact, there was a 100% chance that Stan would die in that fish's mouth because Ford had prioritized the boat over rescuing Stan.

419"3 Ford says he's going to stick around to ensure that Stan is healthy and he might even stay until they reach land because he doesn't trust 46'\ Ford to not get distracted by some other big fish.

46'\ Ford is appalled by the idea that he'd put his brother’s health even further at stake and is pretty insistent that they get Stan to a hospital asap, which they both can agree on for once. (I like to imagine Stan's in the background very much not wanting to go to a hospital because he's still legally dead and would honestly like to keep it that way, but he's being ignored in favor of his health.)

Still Ford 46'\ wants 419"3 gone. He knows his methods, he knows his MO, and he does not trust him with his brother. He does not need to be tested. He's learned the lesson already. The thought of losing Stan again kills him inside.

And yet the thought lingers. Stan would've died, barely a month before their first shared birthday in forty years. He'd have to return to Gravity Falls alone. He'd have to break the news to Dipper and Mabel.

Their hero was gone and it would've been his fault.

But he wasn't. And Ford wouldn't admit it out loud, it was all thanks to Ford from 419"3. That asshole saved his brother.

But we all know how much Ford struggles with saying "Thank you".

Anyways, that was just something my angsty ass came up with because your Au is so compelling and inspiring. I'd actually write a fic of it, if I wasn't already committed to a long fic rn. Hope your days going well☺️💗💗💗

Omg... why do y'all keep giving me the brainworms??? You know I'm gonna have to write something for this now, right?

[follows-the-bees]

When Castiel learns that it's Claire's birthday he decides to buy her something.

Angels didn't celebrate birthdays; they live for too long, and don't have the same sentimentality that humans do. But humans are built differently, their lifespans are short and there is a tendency to throw parties for the smallest of things.

Castiel didn't understand why at first, but having lived among them and not just observing from afar, he experienced firsthand the pain and suffering, but also the small moments of downtime in between. Celebrating birthdays gave humans a chance to recalibrate, enjoy their lives, the good.

Castiel once told Dean he only saw pain, but Dean talked about the world through his experiences, about how he would take all the pain, guilt, and suffering. That people, families are real. And then Castiel understood.

He has no idea what Claire would like. He was forced to posses her for only a short time when she was a kid, but time has passed and she has grown. A few years back, when Dean was mad at him, he knew mostly what to buy him, because he knew Dean, knew every inch of his body when he rebuilt him, knew his whole soul when he grabbed it tight and raised him from perdition. But his memories of Claire are more fleeting. Children's minds are slightly different than adults: both of them are just a series of emotions and moments but kids have more room for random thoughts while adults are jumbled and weighed down by all the years. Sometimes regret, anger, anxiety ruled the mind of adults, while kids had a happier disposition.

After mulling it over and not coming to any real conclusions he asks Dean where he should go to get Claire something.

"I don't know, man, she's an angsty teenager, let's go to Hot Topic."

"Will you drive me there?"

"Yeah."

They drive over and Cas stops in front of the store, taking in the faux darkness radiating out of the space. The neon colors offer a distinct otherworldlyness that perturbs him. It fits perfectly with Claire.

Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, gives a quick smile and says, "ya all right?"

Cas looks slightly up at him a crooked smile creeps on his face. "This place is perfect."

They walk in together and start browsing the shelves, Dean doesn't even notice his hand is still on Cas' shoulder, it creeps down his arm and comes to rest on his lower back.

Cas gravitates to a stuffed cat. One of Claire's memories is of a similar stuffed animal that she slept with every night. And in the morning she would tell it her dreams, kiss its nose, and tuck it back into bed to sleep longer.

He turns toward Dean. "Claire is a lot like you, both of you hide yourselves with anger. Do you think she'll like this when she's alone and allows herself to feel her emotions?" he asks, holding up the stuffed animal.

Dean takes his hand off Cas's back and moves it to cover his mouth and his blush. A nervous gesture Cas has observed. His voice is thick. "Yeah, Cas, I think she'll love it." Cas beams.

As they leave the store, Cas puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, a comforting gesture since Dean still looks sheepish. "Thank you, Dean. This is perfect."

[igglemouse]

Monday feels like the perfect day to make pancakes, banana pancakes, to be more specific! Then again, isn't every day perfect for pancakes? There's something about them, maybe it's the scent of them that fills the kitchen with a warmth only associated with morning, maybe its how soft they are and how, coupled with syrup, they just melt and fit perfectly on your tongue and aaaahhh...This new house with its spacious kitchen has brought a spark back into my cooking!

As usual, Pascal makes it over to the table for breakfast, a tradition at this point, but today there is something different. It's his clothing, he's all dressed up, buttoned up, crisp pants, no sweat. Did he miss his morning workout? Is he sick? Injured? I won't press, maybe he's finally realized he pushes himself too hard, no, I have something else on my mind.

"I was thinking about our last convo," I start hesitantly, ignoring the temptation of my pancakes for a moment. "It might be a sooner rather than later kind of thing." I'm surprised to say it because the thought of having another baby feels overwhelming. I mean, my Watcher, it's a lot to go though. Does it get better the second time? Am I really ready to submit my body through that again?

"Oh, Frida," he says just before taking another bite of his pancake. "I see that look in your eyes," he teases.

"What?!"

"That look!" he teases again, a grin growing on his face. "All you have to do is ask!" Oh, that's what he means. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks already.

"Pascal, I'm serious!" I shoot back because I am! This is a serious subject! "I just mean...if Flora is to have a little brother or sister, shouldn't they be close in age?" That's better for them, right? Allows them to bond a little better, I would think but I think by now Pascal is thinking more about the practice of making babies than the end result of it.

"Mmmhmm, they should..." See?

"Look! Ugh, nevermind!" I huff, giving up and waving away the now corrupted conversation we were having. "Do you even like your pancakes? You've barely touched them," I add, trying my best to steer it away from him and his morning wood.

"Oh, yeah," ugh, that grin is back on his face, I can't help but giggle. "No condoms moving forward then, right?"

"Pascal!" I blurt out with my fork clanking against the plate.

Alright alright, I wouldn't admit it at the table but I'll admit it to you now. I'd like another. Maybe just one more! My little Flora can't be an only child, she seems to enjoy attention a little too much but isn't that just all babies? They need so much love! Still, two feels right.

But for now, the rain is going to keep me inside which gives me a perfect chance at just sitting down and working on my socials. This is what I do now. Promote my social media, push my videos, and just try to grow my audience little by little. My first video does alright, nothing amazing or viral but a solid debut. It gives me enough hope to continue and to maybe think that there might be a future here for me with this. At least I won't have to worry about some old man trying to ruin my business.

And yes, I do spend some time working out because, I can't help but worry about my weight. I know I shouldn't, it's completely normal to add weight after creating a complete human being, but the thoughts creep into my head anyway. I just worry about Pascal out there playing a road game in some faraway city and at some night club before a pair of boobs gets put into his face and...yeah, let's end that thought right there. I want to look my best, not just for him, but for me too!

But maybe I've pushed myself too hard today because now I've broken out in a rash! Red little splotches all over my arms and legs and just everywhere! Not a good look. I don't imagine this is attractive but thankfully there's medicine for it.

By the way, I called Anthony. Or at least I tried. I'm not sure why but I felt like he should at least know. He'll never meet her, that I'm sure of, but I don't know, I feel like my grandparents, my mama, you know, people I've never known, would tell me that I should. It's fair for him to know. Just to know. It feels like if I don't tell him it'll be something I'll feel slightly guilty about for the rest of my life. If what Candela said is true, he saved my life, whether he meant to or not, so he should know that I'm doing well.

But the joke was on me, he wasn't available. A guard or someone, don't know, answers instead and asked if I wanted to pass along a message and in that moment I froze. I told him never mind and he told me times in which Anthony had phone privileges if I wanted to call back. I don't think I will now. The moment has passed. Maybe its just fate that he'll know.

Back to happier things, like making dinner for my new familia or at least trying to. Pascal made it a little harder because he walks right into my kitchen in nothing but his swim trunks which is incredibly distracting. I pause mid chop just to stare, wondering what he was up to and then figuring this is probably the continuation of our conversation from this morning. He's trying to tempt me! I can't help but chuckle because its both cute and endearing.

"Mi querido, what are you wearing?" I challenge, rising an eyebrow as he turns to face me which only makes it worse because I've always been a fan of his body and suddenly I'm reminded why I did fall for him. His goofy charm and his smile!

"My swimwear!" he announces with pride. "We do have a little pool and I wanted to check it out!"

"Must you walk around in it?"

"I think you should walk around in yours a little more!" He fires back with the cheesiest wink I've ever seen in my life, it brings a reluctant smile to my own face.

"I-I don't know! I'm still a little hefty, I might not even fit my old stuff. Maybe a one piece or something like-"

"I'd love you all in one piece!"

Ah well...well, we will eat dinner first and maybe we'll see about that later.

But unfortunately, after our dinner, little Flora had her own demands which naturally comes before my own desires. So, instead of spending some intimate time with Pascal I was called to feed her and change her diaper and just play with her and let her know that she is loved! Just the things a mama must do!

But while Frida was attending to the needs of little Florencia, Pascal was attending to his. Every day his Social Bunny account would light up with interest, messages from a variety of different women, all thirsty for his attention. They knew he wasn't single and knew he was a father, but for some, that made him all the more enticing.

Usually, Pascal ignored them, thinking of them more as annoyances and distractions, but one in particular stood out to him. Sofia Prats, a model and aspiring actress located in Del Sol Valley. She was a striking beauty with dark hair that seemed to contrast perfectly with pearlescent skin and a full smile that sat perfectly before observant eyes. She carried herself with a bold kind of confidence, a woman who was used to getting her way. She had sent him a few messages, wondering if they could meet. Pascal didn't answer, not yet at least, but he did spend some time scrolling through her Simstagram feed and enjoying her pictures...

Frida Varela - Next Episode 9.3

[aziraphales-library]

HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE!! this might be too specific of a trope so if it is i’m sorry ab that but do you know of any fics where crowley is cursed or controlled in some way to hurt aziraphale? thanks and have a slay day!!!

Hi! Here are some fics in which Crowley is forced into hurting Aziraphale. Mind the tags and warnings on ALL of these ones, folks!...

Hell's Greatest Punishment by evilwriter37 (E)

Hell possesses Crowley and makes him hurt Aziraphale as a way of punishing him.

F to pay respects (I swear this isn't a crackfic) by satiricalScythe (NR)

In which upon failing to destroy the traitors to Heaven and Hell themselves, Gabriel and Beelzebub realize what they much do - if they can't destroy Aziraphale and Crowley, they'll make them destroy each other. Idk if this really earned the graphic depictions tag, but better safe than sorry. It was originally far more bloody but I cut a lot of parts out to make it work.

The Night Of Time by NuriaSchnee (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley are about to take their relationship to the next level when Gabriel and Michael's wrath falls on them. To punish them, they implant a fake reality into Crowley's memory in which he becomes a proper demon for a while and hurts Aziraphale several times. However, they leave Azirapahale untouched and aware that none of it has been real.

The Uncanny Valley by mozbee (E)

“Oi, Crawley.” He freezes, then turns, because you should never turn your back on a Duke of Hell. He sees the woman leering at him, and kicks himself for not paying attention before, to her blank eyes, the slightly sour smell wafting off her now he’s looking for it. “Have a nice night,” she rasps, and suddenly lifts her hand and blows a palmful of black powder into his face. Crowley coughs and stumbles back, out of the elevator, dropping to the floor, eyes watering. Its gone up his nose, down his throat; he can feel it, cloying and irritating. “What the fuck—” he tries, but suddenly he’s gripped with a new, urgent thought: angel. He pauses, mind perking up at the thought. Angel. He stares up at Hastur, who’s giggling and tossing long blonde hair over his borrowed shoulder. “That’s right, demon: you smell an angel.” “I—” It’s important, this bit about the angel, but it’s harder to put his finger on why. “You smell the angel,” Hastur says, and reaches out, to grip his chin in harsh fingers. “You want to kill the angel, don’t you, Crawley? Don’t you, demon?”

Fire in the Blood by Lurlur (E)

Heaven and Hell are in disarray, Earth is feeling the consequences. Crowley is hit with a lust curse from a rogue incubus which triggers a series of events that he'll never be able to undo. This fic features explicit rape and the aftermath. It is emotionally ugly. Look after yourselves.

Branded by Bookwormgal (M)

The mark on Crowley's face was not a tattoo. When Lucifer, still furious and his pride damaged, took out his frustration out on the first thing to catch his attention after the Fall. Rage, possessiveness, and a need to prove that he was not as weak as he felt when he was cast out spurred him into action. He claimed the broken and fallen creature in every way, relishing the confusion and fear. And he left a piece of his power tangled up in the former angel's essence, the only easily visible sign being a shape manifesting on his eventual corporeal body. But rather quickly, Lucifer found other things to occupy himself and the demon was sent up to Earth to cause some trouble. Six thousand years later and newly-enraged by the betrayal and halted apocalypse, Lucifer finally decides to make use of that power that he left behind. The devil is not one to surrender something that he'd claimed so easily. And the traitor would pay. He would make Crowley suffer.

- Mod D

[weeping-statue]

Oml I love your work sm, I’ve been reading you’re blog for a while and I’m obsessed 😭

If you end up having the time, may I request Naib, Ithaqua, Joseph and Richard—or just the first two if that’s too many! 🤍—with a s/o who was almost fatally injured in their matches and sort of comatose but eventually woke up? Feel free to ignore this if this is too much, thank you for your time~

Aww thank you so much my love<3 you’re so sweet!!! I didn’t really think that many people liked my stuff so it’s amazing to hear that they do! I try my best on these things and I hate when it takes me years to post something out.

I’m working on another fic that’s similar to this for naib so he won’t be included but I hope you’ll take Norton instead

Ithaqua, Joseph, Richard, and Norton with a fatally injured reader who finally wakes up!

———————————————————————

Basic background first before the good stuff<3

You were supposed be decoding, out of the way, and out of danger.

You weren’t supposed to take the hit. You weren’t supposed to be here.

It wasn’t fair when your body fell to the ground, blood splattering out underneath you into a pool of crimson liquid.

It wasn’t fair when he called out to you, and you didn’t answer, only to feel your pulse fading.

It wasn’t fair that he had to carry your limp body to Emily’s office in a panic, begging her to help.

And it wasn’t fair when she had said you might not wake up.

Ithaqua

He couldn’t sit by you the entire time you were in bed. It just reminded him of his mother.

He didn’t want to put himself through more with those terrible memories.

He’d visit you in the morning and at night.

Kissing you goodnight and kissing you good morning

Like some strange routine.

When he got the news you were awake he had dropped everything, but he didn’t run, he just had to make himself believe you were okay first.

He had to make sure this wasn’t some sick joke, and that he’d wake up in his bed only to be told you didn’t make it.

Stopping in the doorway, looking at you who seemed to be looking back at him with those surprised eyes, that beautiful smile he loved etched onto your face.

He knew after a blow like that there would be some damage, a large scar going from the side of your cheek and up to your forehead would forever be a reminder of his fuck up.

He feels terrible and sometimes it’s hard to look at you without guilt seeping in.

He doesn’t want to be like this but it’s his way of working through it.

He loves you a lot, he has dreams of marrying you and building a home far away. But now those dreams are plagued with the possibility that he’ll accidentally become the monster he tried to tell himself he wasn’t.

Joseph

Alcohol.

A lot of it.

Bottles and bottles of it by your bed side.

He refused to leave you. He couldn’t live with the fact he might of killed the only person he loved more than anything.

The only person that made this bearable. And they might be gone.

He would drink himself to sleep and he would drink the moment he opened his eyes.

Not a lot of people ever saw him cry, but now? Everyone did.

When he had a moment of soberness he’d look over and break down.

Joseph would barely shower, having to be dragged away from you and told to clean himself up, only to repeat that process.

During one of the times he was forced to bathe, he had stumbled back in, bottle in hand, only to be met with your disappointed gaze.

He knows how much you hated when drinks, and because of that barely touched liquor anymore.

“You said you’d cut back on drinking.” Your voice broke the silence.

Joseph rushed over to your side, falling onto his knees and sobbing. “Stop it. Now’s no time for lecturing. I thought I had killed you. I thought you weren’t going to make it. I thought you’d be like Claud, and leave me all alone again.”

Your hand makes its way to his cheek, “I’m okay. I’d never leave you alone, I promise. These things were bound to happen. But I’ll be more careful.”

He nodded leaning into your touch.

Richard

He’s fuming mad. And of course concerned.

He was made to do one thing, protect, and he couldn’t even save the one he loves?

“What bullshit.” He’d say through gritted teeth. Watching over your body, breathing raggedly. His hands smoothing out your hair to look nice with a not so gentle hand. He’s holding himself back.

He believes this is partially your fault. You should have been out of the way. Doing your job and letting him rescue.

But no, you had to disobey, you just couldn’t listen.

He’ll look like he doesn’t want to be there when his facade slips around the others, but he really does. He hates the fact that you have a terrible possibility over your head.

And he can’t control it.

He’d make sure you look stunning even in your condition. He’d brush your hair, and make sure you’re somewhat clean. Because when you wake up he’s going to want to kiss you, remind you of the way it should be.

When he’s informed by Emily that you’ve made a recovery, hes immediately speed walking towards your room.

He wanted to be the first thing you saw, but oh well. He’ll have you back in tip top shape soon.

“Richard!” You exclaimed, reaching your hand out to him.

He takes it, kissing the back, “___, my dear. You gave me quite the scare.”

“I know.. I shouldn’t have been so foolish but-”

His lips are against yours before you can finish. It’s passionate and deep with his feelings. You can tell how much he missed you, how worried he was.

“Foolish or not, you’re still here, with me. And that’s all that matters.” He says softly, loving yet serious eyes looking into yours.

Norton

Out of everyone, him and Joseph are the two absolute messes.

Joseph might be a bit worse with his drinking but Norton becomes violent and agitated.

He’s freaking out, shoving people out of the way with more strength than necessary just to get to you.

He wasn’t there to help, maybe, if he was you’d be okay.

The possibility’s are running through his head and causing him to become anxious and angry.

Fools gold is right there behind him. Sitting in a corner silently waiting for you to awake.

Fools golds matches are either quick surrenders or he’s chairing everyone immediately.

Norton doesn’t know how to comfort himself and doesn’t particularly want his hunter version to even touch him let alone tell him nice things so he’s just suffering until you wake up.

This man actually wouldn’t leave you, even if he was dirty because he’s been like this before. It doesn’t bother him.

He had watched you wake up, your eyes being blinded by the bright light of day.

He was silent until you noticed him,

“Norton-?” You began, but the minute you spoke he jumped on you. Holding you tightly.

“Don’t you pull this shit again. You.. don’t know how worried I was.” He mumbled into your neck.

A lot of apologies were given that day and fools gold was right behind you when Norton had to go.

He may not have liked his other self but he shared the same love for you like he did. And if playing guard dog for a bit would ensure everyone to be happy and safe, then sure.

———————————————————————

I fear I only like Richard’s..

[khchn]

You vacuum when you're stressed? I think you need a better stress reliever Em, because that's not fun at all. You just need to learn the basics and you should be good, find a car crash course online, and really impress your mechanic. I don't know, I just thought maybe you would know, not that I was certain you were a fan. Well, forget about him, this was never actually about him. I don't know why he was even brought up. You might be joking, but I think it was the English wit and the accent that caused me to fall madly in love with you. I had the same reaction with Rachel Weisz, one that no one will ever let me down. If I don't get a huge, framed portrait of the three of us as dogs, I'm going to be highly disappointed, it's the only gift I will accept. Right? I'm still not over it and I keep asking people to show me their dogs cosplaying as Agatha but I have yet to see any. You're wrong there Em, because admitting you're in a relationship with a cartoon rabbit definitely makes you seem a lot crazier than simply falling for your best friend. We've all done it. Babe, you don't need to label it. Sexuality is so fluid, its okay if it changes. You're attracted to whoever you're attracted to and that's all that matters. Don't put pressure on yourself to find a label, just enjoy what you have. Friendsgiving? I mean, yeah I want to go, but I don't know if it's the best idea. Have you asked Cat? We're not on the best of terms right now, things have been tense.

A good bad habit of mine? Hmm...let me think on that one. Would you count it different than over-cleaning if I tell you I vacuum when I'm stressed? Oh yeah, pink tax is so real. I need to make better friends with my mechanic so he doesn't think I'm a right idiot. What makes you think I look like a car racing fan? Now we're both just confused about who the hell that guy is. Us English people really have a way about us, it's what's got you so hooked to me. We get one of those Etsy artists to do a cartoon rendering of the three of us as dogs, duh. Perfect Christmas gift. Wagatha Barkness, shut it. That's too adorable. I was trying to delay the teasing by making you work for it, because for me to admit that it's a cartoon rabbit seems like a safer bet than admitting it's one of my best friends. But yes, it's really her. We've had kind of a complicated few months, with her making moves and me being too in my head to accept those moves. I...think we both thought we were straight, if you can believe it. Now I'm...still a little unsure of what to call it, but I can confidently say that I'm just really happy. I'll pass that along to her, so that I can start working on my giant bow tie and my rabbit ears ready. Or maybe you could tell her, I'm hoping to host a little Friendsgiving get-together next week, kind of a way for us all to be together again and for everyone to meet Jessie in a more official sense, ha. Can I mark you down for a spot, yes or yes?

[eternalbuckley]

His everything. — aemond targaryen

SUMMARY: You help Aemond to calm down before he was about to meet your family for the first time since you've been in a relationship.

word count: 1,781

genre: fluff | no specified reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: modern au, aemond feels insecure, it's mentioned that reader has siblings, parents and grandparents, reader wears lipstick and earrings, english is not my first language, slightly proofread — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i needed to write some fluff for our favourite silver-white haired man again. it's been some time since i've published something here because i'm still working on my au for him BUT i needed to write something else, so i hope you enjoy it <3 reblogs, feedback and comments are highly appreciated and welcomed!

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

stars and moon divider by cafekitsune

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“Babe, are you ready?” You asked Aemond while you walked into his bedroom and fixed your earring. You were about to drive to your parents’ home to have a dinner with your family. A family dinner where you would finally introduce Aemond to your loved ones. You were nervous about their reactions and if they’d accept your relationship, but so was he for many reasons. He wanted to make sure that your family would like him, but he was still feeling very uneasy – given that he didn’t want to potentially lose you. You had been together for over a year now and it was the best year both of you ever had – and you wanted to share many more with each other.

You saw your boyfriend sitting on his bed, fiddling nervously with his fingers and staring down at the floor. “Babe?” You asked him again; this time, your voice was softer. You didn’t want to accidentally startle him in case he was lost in his thoughts, which happened often some days.

Aemond didn’t look up or turn his head to you, but you noticed that his leg started to bounce. You walked up to him, “Hey… What’s going on in your mind?”, you spoke with a tender and caring tone in your voice as you stood in front of him. You gently cupped his face with your hands to tilt his head and make him look up at you. You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs and watched him closing his eye for a moment and taking a deep breath.

“I’m nervous…” Aemond mumbled and opened his eye. He looked into yours for a moment before he put his hands on your hips and pulled you closer, so you stood between his legs. He nuzzled his head into your stomach and sighed contentedly. You moved your hands to his hair and carefully brushed over his head, helping him to relax with your gentle touch.

You already assumed why he was nervous – it would be the first time he’d finally meet your family. You knew your family had their prejudices about other people, it was basically a part of their nature. They always had their specific opinions, especially if they were about members of other influential families in Westeros – just like yours. The world you and Aemond live in isn’t always the easiest one. Yes, you may have opportunities some other people aren’t able to have but growing up with the world having its eyes on each step you both take and the responsibilities you have, has taken a toll on both of you many times in your lives. His family expected a lot of him, and so did yours. And in this big chaos in your lives, you and Aemond found each other and fell in love.

It may be the first time your family would be meeting him, and they had heavy prejudices about the silver-white haired man, especially because he was a Targaryen, after all. They were very biased due to different things they had heard and seen of his family already, but they were open to meeting him – for you. They knew about your relationship for months by now and how happy you have been since you met him. Even if they had their prejudices, they were eager to meet the man who made you so much happier.

You knew how protective they were over you, especially your older siblings. After two failed relationships in the past, they always looked out for you and hoped you’d eventually find someone who was good for you and treated you well enough. After all, you found that someone and that person was Aemond, he made you feel complete, loved and seen for who you are. Even if you had been together for over a year already, there hasn’t been a moment yet where you could have introduced Aemond to your family until tonight. You didn’t put in a lot of effort to actually find a fitting day to introduce Aemond to your family – you wanted them to meet him but you were too afraid that they could or would try to find something to ruin this for you, even if you were completely sure that they would not succeed. Aemond understood that feeling perfectly, he wasn’t ever pressuring you to do anything you weren’t ready to do, even if it meant waiting longer.

You had met his family before, and it would be a lie if you’d say you were relaxed back then. Luckily everything went well, and you get along with his closest ones, especially his siblings. But you were just as nervous about meeting them as Aemond was about meeting your family, you knew what he was feeling. He was afraid that they would not like him for different things, one of them being that he was a Targaryen and the reputation some of his family members – if not all – had, or even the different rumours about him and his family. There were days when it didn’t bother him, but on other days, he felt incredibly bothered by it. One of these days was today.

“What if they won’t like me?” He looked up to you, his chin resting on your stomach, “If they’ll dislike me for who I am? If I fail to impress them? I know they aren’t very fond of the stories about my family. Even I’m not happy about some of them,” his voice was rough as he spoke, “They’ll hate me. If not for the way I am, they might find something else to dislike about me. I know that.”

You looked down at him and brushed a hair strand out of his face. Your gaze softened, but your heart wrenched as you listened to your boyfriend’s worries, “You won’t have to impress anyone. If you’re yourself, it will be enough. You don’t have or need to put on a show for them, my love. I love you, and that’s what matters, okay?” You leaned down and kissed his forehead, he closed his eye and hummed before you continued to speak. “I know they have their opinions about your family, but I’m sure that they’ll see what I see in you once they get to know you. It will be okay, and even if it won’t be okay, you won’t lose me. I care about my family, but so do I care about you, and I won’t let any of them get between us, okay?”

“I love you so much,” Aemond whispered, his tensed shoulders dropping as he seemed more relaxed again. He gently pulled you on his lap to straddle him, “I’m most terrified to meet your father and grandfather,” he mumbled as he snuggled into your arms even more after he wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder.

You chuckled and moved your arms around his neck, gently stroking his back and neck with your hands. “Well… If you want to be terrified of someone, it should be my grandma,” you warned him playfully, “My father and grandpa may seem like a dangerous and hard to crack duo, but my grandma is harder to crack than anyone else in my family.” You noticed his body tensing up again as he slowly lifted his head to look at you with an uneasy expression, “But she is one of the most loving people in the whole wide world once she gets to know you better, I promise,” you quickly added. “She’s just very protective of me and my siblings, which doesn’t mean anything negative. There just might be a few…” You exhaled, “Uncomfortable questions she might ask you, but it’s her way of making sure you’re good enough for one of her grandchildren. I’m not helping to calm you down, am I?” You whined at the end of your sentences, but he chuckled and shook his head – he felt calmer again.

“It’s okay, Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” he spoke tenderly with a small smile tugged on his lips. You kissed his cheek, which left a small amount of your lipstick on it, “Sorry,” you giggled softly and gently wiped the lipstick away with your thumb. You looked him in his lilac eye and held each other’s gaze for a moment.

Aemond leaned his forehead on your shoulder again, “Thank you for being there for me, love. I’m still nervous about the dinner, but I have you, you’re all I need to feel better.” He left a tender kiss on your collarbone and shoulder while his fingers circled on the flesh of your hips.

You kissed the side of his head and gently swayed both of you, telling him that he was good enough for you and how lucky you are to be with him. Telling him how happy you’ve been ever since you’ve met and got closer with him. That he was the love of your life, no matter what your family might think of him in the end. No matter what would happen at the dinner tonight. You’d always love him. He was your person, and you were his.

After a few minutes, you slightly pulled away from him and removed your comfort bracelet from your wrist – which he got for you on your second date. “Here,” you put the bracelet on his wrist, which caused him to smile again, “I know that it helps you every time you feel nervous. So… You’ll wear this tonight, okay, my love? I’m still going to be there at your side all night, and nothing will happen. If anyone in my family wants to say something negative, I’ll tell them to fuck off because I definitely won’t let them get between us. I promise.”

His smile widened and he moved his hands over your wrists and held your hands. He moved them to his lips and kissed your knuckles tenderly, “What would I just do without you in my life?”

You giggled softly and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. “I love you so much,” you mumbled against his lips. “And I love you,” he responded and kissed you again.

Aemond felt ready for whatever might happen tonight, as long as he had you by his side, he was ready to face it all. Even if he was still worried about the potential outcome, he wasn’t going to let you go. Not after everything he was able to feel just because of you. You made him happier; you made him feel seen and loved – something he had been missing and wasn’t able to fully experience many times in his life before he met you. You were his everything.

[rookinthecrownest]

Discussion about romances + expectations under the cut (I'd put it as like..mildly critical, but also coming from a place of understanding?). As usual, will tag as such so you don't have to engage/read on if you don't wish to. I always invite open discussion, just keep it respectful (as I will endeavour to do so myself).

This is going to be a bit of a ramble, so I apologize if my thoughts are not clearly laid out like they should be.

I think I've found the reason why I (and maybe others), feel that the romances in Veilguard feel a bit... idk, hollow, at times (not BAD!!! just feeling like there could be MORE). And that's because of the trap of expectations. I may also be speaking completely for myself here.

Anyway, let's rewind to 2014.

Be me, 10 years ago. You're not really a gamer, but indulge in action RPG's casually.

See a commercial for this hot new game coming out called Dragon Age: Inquisition. Be intrigued by the character designs, but know nothing about the world. Come to find out it's part of a trilogy. So naturally, you buy the first two games and play through them before playing the third.

Be amazed, and completely hooked on the characters, the lore, the world, the darker elements and themes. It becomes your favourite game series of all time.

But you had no idea that you could romance any of the companions going into the experience. And man, does it fundamentally rewire your brain chemistry to fall in love with cRPG and get ridiculously attached to your Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor.

So, you romance Alistair first because he's funny as hell, and has a really interesting story/character arc. Then you romance Zevran, and love that too - he's charming and suave and awkward and funny. Then you go onto DA2 and romance Fenris and Anders, and each of those romances pack their own emotional gut punches. Then it's finally time for DAI, and predictably, you go for Solas (a veritable slow burn that spans TWO games), Cullen, and partially (I never finished those playthroughs lol) Blackwall and Dorian.

I had no idea you could romance companions going into these games. It was a pleasant surprise! It always felt like an important part of the story, while not overshadowing the main plot. There was enough material in the codexes, the cutscenes, and party banter to make each romance feel complete and whole and awesome and nuanced.

And then, like some of you I suspect, I read an article that touted Veilguard as "The Most Romantic Bioware Game Yet", and I thought - "Wow, if they're saying this then the romances must be something else", given the quality of the previous romances you've experienced in these games!

But you get to the game - and while you're having fun, it definitely leans more into the ARPG style where romances feel a bit more pushed to the side in order to tell a certain story than the traditional Bioware/Larian RPG experience you've come to love.

Which is fine! Again, once I stopped thinking of Veilguard as a classic Bioware CRPG, and more like GOW/The Witcher, I found I was able to appreciate it a lot more for what it is. Things have to Happen A Certain Way for the narrative to work, and that's not a bad thing. DA2 was similar - it was a harrowing, personal tragedy about the Hawke family and their struggle to survive in Kirkwall.

Just like DA2, there are aspects of Veilguard that make me glad things happened the way they did. I'm not mad that Rook has so much dialogue without a ton of player input and you can't 'be evil' - because the game doesn't make sense if you can. At its core, Veilguard's narrative is centered around Regret, after all - you can't have an evil protagonist running around because Solas' Regret prison would never work (evil people don't generally tend to regret their actions...)!

Now, if you're expecting a long-winded, fully researched academic breakdown of every romance I'm sorry but that ain't happening tonight lol. This is not based in any fact, this is all opinion.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but sometimes it feels like the romances in this game (and I say this with the biggest grain of salt as I've only done Emmrich and Lucanis' - and am going through Neve's now), are just missing....something, to take them from good to great.

I loved Emmrich's romance. I thought it was very well done. I think a lot of people would agree it's one of the stronger ones in the game - doubly so if you play as a Mourn Watch Rook (you get a TON of MW specific lines going this route, it's great). His side romance with Strife if you don't get together is very cute, I enjoyed it. But as superbly well done as it was, somehow, I wouldn't even put it in my top 4 Bioware romances.

With Lucanis' romance - whatever my hangups may be about how it was handled, certain parts of his romance were done excellently (even better than some of the previous Bioware romances, I'd say). You can read more about my thoughts on his romance here which is why I'm not going into detail about it. Unlike Emmrich's, I would put it in my top 4 because I fell in love with the character that much (both in the game but really, I've loved him since Tevinter Nights), and I've grown very attached to my first Rook and him as a pairing. I've seen others share a similar sentiment on here (and I hate to say it but I agree) - sometimes it feels like I fell in love with Rookanis despite the way it was handled, not because of it. I can't say that for many other romances. While it's been fun to think up a lot of HC/write fics/make art about those abandoned concept sketches and parts where I felt the game could have showed us more of their dynamic, I can't help but feel like his (and other) romances would have immensely benefited from even 1 or 2 extra small scenes to flesh it out a bit more if they weren't going to let us freely talk to our companions.

The issue with the romances might also have something to do with the pacing of the game itself. I think Act 2 is where the pacing goes a bit awry, before picking back up in Act 3 (which is great, I love it).

Sometimes I also felt that there was a little too much reliance on codex entries and party banter to tell the story of the romance rather than showing it explicitly through cutscenes. I think that's what makes the romances feel a bit truncated at times, compared to the previous entries? Some of the romance-specific party banter was so good, it probably deserved its own cutscene. But it's also highly dependent on the party you have, and it's easy to miss/not trigger. I remember absolutely living for the cutscenes in the first three entries and I can't explain why I feel like, subjectively speaking, Veilguard just has less romance content (this may not be objective reality - I haven't compared the amount of romance specific content head to head with other games).

I also couldn't tell you why I feel DA2 doesn't suffer the same problems as DATV in terms of romance interaction - because you can't freely talk to your companions in that game either. Yet somehow, it always felt like I was getting enough of them to not notice that. I do miss being able to chat my LI's ear off and ask them questions about their life/their views/etc. like I could in DAO and DAI. I think it's a shame we can't because the companions in DATV are SO interesting. I want to ask them all a billion questions about their lives/stories/etc even if they're not my love interest. The party banter in this game is immaculate but being able to talk to them individually about this stuff would've been SO nice. I feel that I've missed out on SO MUCH of these characters just because I didn't have two of them in my party at the same time!

Anyway, I need to wrap this up.

In closing, perhaps, if I hadn't read that article about how it was going to be Bioware's most romantic game ... maybe I wouldn't feel this way? I think it sent my expectations through the stratosphere, and that's no one's fault but my own. Not Bioware, not EA, mine.

I know that this game's development cycle was a unique sort of hell that the other games didn't suffer. To go from Joplin -> Morrison -> Veilguard. To have so many of the original staff leave the team when Joplin got scrapped. To have to pivot from Live Service and then back to single person RPG. More lay-offs. It's a miracle this game got made. I'm happy I can sit around thinking about it. And I hope its successful enough that we get DA5 so we can all sit around dissecting that in 5-10 yrs time.

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy the Veilguard romances for what they are. I'm enjoying them more I play and discover additional banter/codex/etc that I missed the first time around. Like any Bioware romance, there are spots where they hit their stride, and spots where they falter a bit. When they hit their stride they knock it out of the fucking park. But when they falter, you can really feel it. Romance is hard to write! And you'll never fully please everyone.

But a small part of me wishes I'd gone in blind, and checked my own expectations a bit.

Maybe you agree, maybe you don't. Tell me about it. What was your experience with the romances? Did you also read that article and get your expectations up?

I hope this makes sense.

Kind regards good fandom folks,

Keep the discussion respectful. And please don't use this post as an excuse to just blatantly hate on the game.

-Rookie

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"I CARRY YOUR HEART IN MINE"

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology, smut.

Words count: ~13.3k

tw1: jujutsu kaisen 0 mild spoilers

tw2: unprotected sex, creampie

⊲ previous

There was no questioning of your conscience, no rage pressed upon you - you sat in the black office chair, still dressed in your hospital pajamas, and stared blankly at the desk. You didn't know or feel whether an hour had passed or twenty-four hours - you mourned in the dark office, the windows of which were always covered with dark gray curtains.

The dead, unlike the living, don't repay debts - you couldn't understand what you were paying for. Yes, you were a thief. Yes, you were a killer. But there were creatures on Earth who were far worse than you, and they got away with it - otherwise, if punishment came to them, it took the face of death. They didn't suffer long, they had no time to grieve, nor did their souls boil in attempts to make things right.

You were confused. You came to the deity half asleep, guilt-ridden, hundreds of thoughts and memories swirling in your head, knocking you off balance, unable to distinguish reality from dream. Slowly, you put your elbows on the table and almost knocked over the clear glass, and held your head, hiding your inhuman face from the faces that flashed before your eyes. Were they payment for your stubbornness, or were they taken away because you had allowed yourself to be happy for a moment? A haunting thought was killing you with its grief - it could have been a necessary course of events, and you should have retreated, leaving your loved ones behind, without changing anything.

If you only knew the moment it all went wrong, the day your sister was taken from you, maybe things would have been a lot easier. The slightest mistake, and your only chance to get rid of the demons could slip away. You couldn't just jump around in time because of the guilt and loneliness that fell on your shoulders - that's what common sense told you, but you couldn't recognize its voice.

In the corridor there was the distinctive sharp sound of heels on parquet, which grew louder and louder. As soon as they stopped right in front of the door, someone turned the key and, pulling the doorknob, entered the office.

"Y/N, long time no see," Laitta greeted you cheerfully, turning on the light in the room - you couldn't even hear the surprise in her voice, and you got a sense of deja vu.

She didn't pay attention to your appearance or your condition - Laitta walked smoothly to the table, and you stood up to make room for her. You turned cautiously and locked gazes with each other as the goddess sat down, and you exhaled, stepping around the table to stand across from her.

She flipped back her dark curls, sighed contentedly, pushed her laptop to her side, and opened one of the folders on the table, pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter into a clear glass. The goddess didn't care about you - you were a ghost to her.

"Give them back to me," you commanded, clawing your hands into the table, trying to draw attention to yourself. Your tone was strikingly different - just a little while ago you'd been begging Rei for it, but now you were spitting out orders.

"Give you who?" the goddess asked idly, staring at the laptop and sipping whiskey from a glass. The quiet clinking of fingernails against glass was enough to make you snap.

"My family!" you yelled, sweeping everything off the table, Laitta's eyebrows raised in confusion and she glared at you squeamishly. Her graphite table began to be covered in the darkness that your dark lines carried with them, spreading beyond your body.

"Why would I?" she asked mockingly - she wanted to chop your hands off her desk so they'd stop making it dirty. "You have nothing to give in return," she reminded smugly, leaning forward.

The creature gave an order - you obeyed. You grabbed Laitta by the neck and slammed her against the wall, the impact so strong that the shelves collapsed to the floor with their contents. Open books, broken statuettes, plants, and scattered earth sprawled around you as you pressed the goddess's neck into the wall with your forearm, tears of rage streamed from your dark eyes.

You groped Laitta - your hope was fading more and more with each empty pocket as the goddess laughed hoarsely. "Talking to you taught me a useful lesson," she chuckled huskily, clinging to your forearm with her hands. "Keep anything of value away," the woman hissed, jerking away, but your grip was firm - you only pressed her harder into the wall. Your grin and the dagger edge pressed against her throat amused the goddess more. "So what are you going to do?" she asked with contrived pity in her voice. "Kill me?"

The goddess didn't seem it, but she was on the verge of passing out - she couldn't breathe. The mirth and irony had been replaced by coldness and arrogance. "Are you seriously threatening death to someone who has lived for more than a thousand years?" she wheezed indifferently, sensing your desperation - instead of trying to offer the goddess other jewels, to find a compromise, you were immediately ready to tear her to pieces. That was your mistake, and she should have put you in your place. "The only reason I helped you that time was because you had Atlas," she said proudly, despite her position - your grip was weakening with every word she said. "You can kill me for all I care," Laitta said calmly. "No one will notice the extra few drops on your already bloody arms."

You whimpered and staggered backward in horror and denial - not a mockery, but a reminder. It seemed that your fear had come to life, and you should have stopped being afraid - you had fallen down where there were no ladders or ropes, and you had become someone who not only lived off human blood, but also enjoyed human suffering. You could not justify yourself even before the reflection in the mirror - it didn't expect explanations and reasons from you, it was blind to your suffering and attempts to return everything back to normal. It still wanted to live at any cost, but you had nothing to pay for it.    

Not to return, not to fix, but to hold on to the last opportunity for which you came into this world to be who you were. No one will pull you out of the abyss, no one will pull you deeper into it – just the balance and eternal peace you have learned since you were a child. Fill deaths with meaning, justify your deeds before the silent human wrath, and, if you were lucky, see them all again - if that side existed, maybe you would meet again.

You stood before the goddess who had lived a long time and looked at all the sins of humans, and you wanted to ask her if she had ever seen anyone worse. Laitta didn't judge you, didn't blame you, but she didn't want to help you either; resigned to the fact that you couldn't bring anyone back, you turned and walked out of her office on weak legs.  

[October 23, 2023, 04:39pm; USA, State of Alaska, Utqiagvik]

At the edge of the world, a white mist rose slowly the town over, spreading between the small houses that stood on stilts. Red spears pierced the chill haze as the sun retreated, illuminating the snow-covered roofs one last time. The few people wandered leisurely through the streets, wrapping themselves in jackets and exhaling clouds of steam. 

The North, as always, was serene and calm. Beyond the Arctic Circle, the cold dispelled people's fears about the future, there was no room for worries among the snow and ice, the gusty wind didn't drive home, on the contrary - it made get up and look around, freeze in place, feel the searing tide that flowed coldly through lungs with every breath. The feeling of frozen earth underfoot, blue colors in the sky, and a measured beating heart under the supervision of the harsh polar region mercilessly smothered any anxiety, and every tear froze in the eyes, never rolling down the cheek.

You could no longer see the shore because of the fog, but you could feel that the boat was taking you farther and farther away from it in pursuit of the white whale. You huddled as tightly as you could against the bridge, fidgeting with your orange lifejacket as you were tossed by the waves. Motorboats whizzed by, men's excited exclamations were heard, and you squinted every now and then - you should have stayed home today and not gone along with Jordan. The man standing on the bow was trying to see the escaped whale in the dark waters - white small ice floes in the distance, brazenly impersonating its tail, gave false hope.

You grabbed the side of the boat as it shook again, and looked at Jordan, who wasn't going to turn around at all, just clutching the harpoon tighter in his hand. "Jordan, the storm's coming, we have to go back!" you yelled, trying to shout over the roar of the engine and the wind.

"Quiet!" the man hissed, waving you away. He adjusted his black hat and stepped forward easily, still searching with his eyes for a hunted victim. You realized you were taking someone's place. To be more precise, you were standing where his son should have been standing - that was never an excuse for his gratuitous rudeness, but deep down you understood the man. It's hard to seal emotions inside forever - everyone coped as best they could. He chose to be rude.

Jordan wasn't a bad man - when you'd come to this town and wandered the streets as a homeless girl, he'd been the first to notice you. He'd brought you into his house, fed you, warmed you, and then, when you came to your senses, he'd let you live in his son's house for a nominal rent. Jordan had no sense of tact - he bombarded you with questions, and you had to make up a story about the tyrant father from whom you'd fled. You consoled yourself that it was partly true - you kept thinking of Rei as you told the fictional story.

The faces of those you had left behind flashed before your eyes, most vividly Gojo's face when he found out you had run away again. You couldn't see him, but your mind drew out his painful features, and in a voice that wasn't yours asked why you'd done it. You lost all sleep again, and at night, when the town was asleep and it hurt the most, you'd show up at Jordan's house - you'd always be greeted by a sleepy, disgruntled, unshaven face, but he never sent you away. You drank whiskey, played cards and did it mostly for money - when you realized that the man had a passion for gambling and a complete lack of gambling skills, you had to give in, lest he lose his small fortune and the house. But there's a silver lining - you did win yourself a few months of free accommodation.

Today was your second whale hunt - Jordan unceremoniously showed up at your house, tossed you a lifejacket, and dragged you to the dock. You tried to get through to him, talking about the forecast, but as you approached the shore, you saw people as desperate as he was - hunters crowding in, talking excitedly and getting into boats, and now you were here, in the middle of a restless ocean in a thick white fog.

Everything went smoothly on the first hunt, except for Jordan's perpetual nagging. It was the moment you realized why his son had fled to the big land, to the university - most people wouldn't want to witness a poor animal being harpooned and dragged ashore by its tail while dead blood washed over the blue waves. Even your body organized a protest at that moment, pushing nausea down your throat, but you were only laughed at - whale hunting was a tradition in these lands, a tribute to the past.

You almost flew overboard when an ice floe brought in by a swift wave crashed into your boat. The boats that were circling near you began to turn around - there was a whistling sound in the air, and that's when Jordan came out of his prostration. "Hey!" yelled the man from the other boat. "We have to turn around or we won't find shore!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jordan spat, and turned unwillingly to throw the harpoon, heading for the bridge. "There's a reason they say a woman on a ship brings misfortune," he muttered as he passed you.

"Ya the one who brought me here!" you exclaimed, stepping onto the bridge with him. It wasn't any warmer, but the wind was no longer whipping at your face.

"Missed the white whale," he continued to lament, turning the boat toward the shore. You saw other boats whizzing past you, and they weren't even floating - they were riding the waves. Soon faint glow showed on the horizon - lights in the windows of houses called you home.

The hum of the engine died down, and the angry voices grew louder. When your boat was moored to the shore, Jordan hastily threw off his lifejacket on the deck, and then, adjusting his hat and taking off his gloves, he jumped to the ground. You followed the man, hesitating a moment.

As you stepped ashore, your head snapped up, and you looked around anxiously, feeling the stare, but there was no one you knew, only disgruntled men who were ready to blame anyone and everyone for the disruption of the hunt, even though it was the fault of the coming storm. As they stomped, shaking off the mud and sticky snow, you took a slow step back, trying to get away as fast as you could to avoid the swearing, but Jordan, sensing your cowardice, grabbed you by the shoulder. "Hey," he huffed, patting you on the shoulder. "Get us a beer while we get the boats secured on the ropes. There's got to be some use of you."

"No wonder why your son ran away from ya," you muttered, holding out your hand - you weren't going to pay for them all with your money.

"No wonder why your daddy tyrannized you," he muttered back, but put the money in your palm. "Hurry up. The storm won't wait, and we all have to go home," he said, shoving you toward the store, which wasn't far away, and even its friendly streetlight was hard to see.

The blustery wind made the snow rise and wander clumsily across the road - you tried to look at your feet, but you were surprised to realize you could barely see your shoes. Your eyelashes and eyebrows were frosting, and you threw your fur hood over your head, hugged yourself, trying to keep warm, and quickened your pace. The road seemed longer through the snow flakes than it had in the sunlight, and the light of the store was still far away.

It was getting darker. It seemed to you that behind the creak of your footsteps you heard another one - constantly frantically turning around, you couldn't see anyone in the northern darkness, and the storm, impudent, disturbed and raised the snow, drawing white silhouettes. Out of breath, you ran - climbing the stairs and bursting into the store to the tinkling of door bells, you met the surprised stare of the seller, who had been half asleep only a second ago. "Howdy," you smiled, waving your hand, and the salesman nodded confusedly.

No one came in even after five minutes of wandering between the counters. With a sigh of relief, you stopped at the liquor shelf. You should have hurried to avoid the righteous wrath of a bone-chilling Jordan, but once you were alone again, you were at the mercy of the memories that immobilized you. You'd never tell Jordan that he was the reason you hadn't fallen into inhuman despair, that his every shout and rude remark had kept you moving and thinking less about what had happened.

It's true that you couldn't bring back the dead, but you left the living behind too. You didn't talk to Dany, you didn't see Megumi, you didn't ask Issu how he was feeling or if his brother was okay, you just ran away. Your gaze mindlessly wandered over labels you couldn't read - you'd already forgotten exactly what you'd been sent here for. No matter how much you thought it was for their safety, you couldn't justify yourself - there was always a selfish purpose behind the noble one. Your possible death sounded like a quick song - until then you wanted to live like a normal person, shielding yourself from loss and sorrow. A dull life filled with peace on a far corner of the Earth - an unattainable treasure you couldn't steal, and even holding it in your hands, you knew that eventually it would be taken away by force.

In the north, the creature was silent, though hungry - you wrinkled your nose at the thought of having to go out sooner or later. There was a hospital in this town, but it was so small that there was no storage for a blood bank, which meant you'd have to get sustenance elsewhere. Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the first bottle you could find and went to the checkout counter. "Here," you said, showing the beer to the seller. "Need a six-pack. Got one?"

The salesman nodded and disappeared behind the warehouse door. You spotted a white cat with a bobbing head near the cash register, leaned your elbows on the counter, and jabbed your finger at it; it nodded merrily, hypnotizing you. You must be out of your mind to see Gojo in that cat. You shook your head and straightened up, as a salesman came out of the warehouse and placed a beer in front of you. 

The store said goodbye to you with a clink of bells, and the storm greeted you with a gust of wind and snow in your face, tearing off your fur hood. With an annoyed sigh, you pulled the hood back on. As you looked ahead, stepping onto the stairs, you froze - the northern nature had brought with it a guest that looked so much like it. You refused to recognize the white, disheveled hair in the snowy patterns, but there was nowhere to hide from the piercing blue eyes that looked at you with longing and hope. 

His voice didn't speak to you at night, nor did he appear in your dreams, nor did he beg you to return in any of your thoughts. You ran away cowardly, looking for a better life for Gojo - unless you were there, there was a monster who always cried out with terrible hunger. You dared not think of the sorcerer, for every bitter impulse to dream of his embrace was overshadowed, chased away by the memories of what he had endured while holding your hand. And as you saw him in front of you, you were trapped by the repressed emotions rushing out - you hadn't realized how much you'd missed him.

You underestimated Gojo. You couldn't believe that he would follow you, and all his students' words about him being the strongest had fallen apart - how could such a man look so miserable when he had won? You wanted to fall at his feet, to beg for forgiveness, but you kept silent, not moving - if you hadn't been born like that, you could have stayed with him, fearing nothing, but in this life your happiness had a countdown that was coming to an end. If it wasn't a demon that was going to kill you, your madness will do it then. 

The bag of alcohol fell out of your hands and rolled down the stairs and landed tiredly at Gojo's feet, and you took a step back in disbelief, shaking your head frantically, and jumped over the railing and rushed away.  

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, even if death do you part - Gojo never made vows to you, but he was ready to fulfill them, but you didn't realize it even when he came to the far north for you. He felt your fears as his own - in every word you said, every clumsy decision you made, you wanted to keep him safe, to protect him, to spare him pain, but there was no pain greater than being alone, without you at his side.

The sorcerer was chasing you, barely able to make out your silhouette in the blizzard, barely able to see what was right in front of him. There was only one outcome to the chase - once he found you, he wasn't going to let you go, and you couldn't get away from him by hiding in the snow. Gojo ran so fast that even his anger couldn't catch up with him - it was left behind, left to the cold wind. In his imagination your reunion looked different - amidst the apologies and promises he could hear the ringing laughter, but the dreams were shattered by the blizzard and he continued to pursue you relentlessly. You were as small in comparison to him as you were nimble - the faster he chased you, the more the cold burned his lungs. 

Gojo caught up with you at the corner - you were trying to escape by ducking into a small alley between the houses. He didn't realize it, so he grabbed the first thing he could reach. Miscalculating his strength, he yanked at your hood, and you fell awkwardly into the snow. "Where are you going?" he whined, trying to get you to answer where you were going and why you were running away, but you crawled helplessly away from him, disturbing the soft snow beneath you. You could barely make out Gojo's voice through the whistling of the storm. "I asked where are you going?" he echoed painfully, and you, with your back against the pile of the house, could run no farther. He collapsed exhaustedly in front of you and raked you into his arms, despite the fact that you tried with all your might to shove him away. "No," he shook his head stubbornly, sobbing and hiding his face in your hood, his ragged breath turned into wet droplets on your neck. "I'll never let you go," the sorcerer gibbered in a broken whisper, pressing his lips to your cheek - his strong hands were freezing, but his fragile soul was burning. Your body went limp, and you lost all ability to resist. "Never, did you hear me?" you nodded weakly, pressing your nose against his wet cheek. 

You led Gojo by the hand into your house, and he followed obediently. When you got to the front door, you were embarrassed for a moment for you couldn't remember the last time you'd cleaned the porch - all around the house was covered with snowdrifts, and there was only the thin path you'd made before. As you came up the stairs, you fumbled in your pocket for your keys - you pulled them out and with trembling hands got them into the keyhole. You were afraid to look back at Gojo, so you glanced over your shoulder, smiling awkwardly before you saw him. 

You frowned wistfully, opening the door and inviting him in. It was cold and almost deserted, there was no entertainment, and after a week the familiar faces were starting to get annoying. You, taking off your jacket, threw it on a shabby, old chair at the entrance. The sorcerer, looking around and not noticing the hooks, looked confused and repeated after you. "Ya cold?" you quietly interrupted the silence. He didn't answer out loud, but slowly shook his head. "I'll... um, I'll make something for us to eat then, and you... look around for a while," you mumbled haltingly, realizing that there wasn't much to look around - the little house up north wasn't a mansion.  

You went into the kitchen, and Gojo remained standing in the living room. He shuffled from foot to foot, staring at the couch and the TV in front of him, unable to distinguish lie from truth and truth from dream. How many nights did you spend here while he was desperately searching for you? The sorcerer took a step forward and opened the left door where your clothes hung - behind it was a cramped bedroom. Glancing at the bed, he immediately realized that you hadn't slept on it once. He walked over to it, and after a moment's hesitation, sat down - the old, laundered sheets were too cold under his hands. Still not believing what was happening, he sighed convulsively, wiping his burning face with his hands. All this time he had dreamed of being as close to you as possible, but when he found you, the sorcerer couldn't stand to be near you - he thought you were about to turn him away. You had settled here, most likely living a quiet, peaceful life, and Gojo was a bitter reminder of what had happened. In his pursuit of you, he was thinking of himself, as he always did.  

Gojo flinched when you knocked on the jamb of the open door. "I just wanted to warn ya that dinner won't be hearty," you scratched the back of your head and lowered your gaze to the floor. "I wasn't expecting guests, and I didn't buy any groceries, so I hope... you'll be fine with pasta and marinara," he looked at you like you were a ghost, and your soul turned inside out at his silence. "It's almost ready," you said in a half whisper.

With a nod, the sorcerer stood up and walked past you - you leaned back weakly against the doorjamb, watching him walk away without a word.  

Gojo pulled plates from the shelf - some of them had broken, chipped edges, and he had to choose carefully. He set the dishes on the table and sat down without even inviting you in. Your zeal was fading by the second - you couldn't get him to talk. The only thing you could hear in the silence was the clinking of forks against plates. "Ya know," your voice cracked with excitement, and his heart skipped a beat, but you didn't hear it. "When we were messing around, Frank sometimes set the table, and we ate in absolute silence," you said, messing with pasta around your plate with your fork. "So say something already," you pleaded.

"Messing around? Is that what you call it?" snapped Gojo, throwing his fork at his plate - you shut your eyes involuntarily at the sound. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, startled by your reaction - the last thing he wanted right now was for you to run away again. "I don't... No, I understand why you ran away," he hissed, holding back his emotions leaning against the table, hid his face in his hands. "You think you're dangerous. I just don't understand how you could leave... everything like that," between everything, endless and boundless, the word 'me' modestly slipped in, which he didn't dare to utter. "You really never once felt like calling me?" whimpered Gojo. "Or message. Did you even think of me?"  

Fear clenched its clinging hands around your neck - you had a hard time talking about everything you felt. Gojo was beautiful in every way, except that he sometimes forgot it. You tugged at the damp sleeves of your sweater, naively hoping he'd forget his question or pretend he hadn't asked it, but your silence only pressed harder on him.

You both jumped as you heard a loud pop - the lights in the house went out instantly. Gojo moved closer to you, peering into the darkness of the hallway, and you realized what was wrong. You walked over to the window, covering the glass with your hands and peering through the storm, and noticed that there were no lights on in the neighboring windows either, though it wasn't too late for sleep. "I think the power plant's having trouble again... It happens a lot around here," you muttered apologetically.  

Your breath caught when Gojo came up behind you and put his arm around your waist - not so much from surprise as from the fact that all his clothes were damp and cold. "Oh my God!" you exclaimed, turning around. You cupped his icy cheeks, but it was as if he was bewitched and didn't feel the cold. The sorcerer, feeling you again, covered his eyes and gently rubbed his cheek against your palm, kissing it. "Get in the shower!" you worried. "I'm not gonna sit by your bedside for a week while ya sick with a fever!"

"I don't think so," he grinned playfully, covering your palm with his.

You pinched his side hard, shocked at the insolence of it - at his outraged yelp you broke free, and, panting with anger, you went into the bedroom and stopped by the dresser in front of the bed - a little rummaging through the drawers and you found candles. The locals were always prepared for such conditions. "Here," you muttered grudgingly, tossing the sorcerer a couple candles. "Go take a shower, I'll set up the rest." 

Gojo took a moment to kiss you on the forehead and quickly disappeared behind the bathroom door, taking all your irritation and anger with him. You dazedly put your hand to your forehead - not only the place of the kiss was burning, but also your whole face.

You walked around the house with the sound of running water in the bathroom, setting up candles and lighting them as the flames dimly illuminated the rooms. When the last candle was lit and there was nothing left in your hands, you didn't know what to do with yourself. You had left Gojo unanswered to the question that troubled and worried him - he was chasing you, looking for you, and you couldn't even get a word out of yourself. Disappointed in yourself, you walked over to the bed and got down on it, arms out to the sides - even though you were a coward, you were embarrassed to thank the universe that Gojo was braver than you thought he was. Thoughts that he wasn't supposed to be near you drifted away with the muffled sound of water, and your heart stopped for a moment when it did. When you heard the lock click, you jumped up and sat up - you swallowed involuntarily as he came out of the bathroom. Wearing only a towel that hugged his hips. "Wha...," you began, stammering. "Get dressed!"  

"Into what?" parried Gojo, raising an eyebrow. "Your robe fit me right here," he pointed to his waist level, and your cheeks flared. "Or do you want me to put on those wet clothes again and get sick after all?" he asked, pursing his lip pitifully.

"My turn!" you exclaimed, flying past him and closing the bathroom door with a loud slam. Gojo laughed softly but heartily - you hadn't realized how much courage it took for him to show himself in that state to you like that, or the embarrassment behind it.      

The sorcerer looked around the room, which was lit by flickering lights, and dropped his gaze awkwardly to the floor, smiling sadly. He should have done it, but you beat him to it again. He looked around the room again with a sober gaze. It was empty, uncomfortable - no framed photos stood there; no clothes strewn about. Even when he looked in the dresser, he frowned, realizing it was empty, as if you were ready to flee this town at any moment. 

Gojo was still angry, but he could never blame it on you - he blamed fate itself for keeping you away from him, for making you think that you were unworthy, that you were cruel and bloodthirsty and would hurt him sooner or later. Did you remember that you came to him in your unconscious state, silently asking for help and seeking protection? The sorcerer grinned, biting his lip - he didn't know if he'd made it up himself or if he'd read it in the memories of your face, but in the end, lying on that bed without the black orchid running through your veins and without the tourniquets that bound your limbs, you never attacked him.

Gojo looked at himself in the small mirror on the wall above the dresser, embarrassed; he no longer saw the strongest sorcerer. He was still him, but the face that appeared before Gojo was no longer smug and cocky, and the only thing missing was you standing next to him. When he caught a glimpse of you, he decided it was now or never. And never, taking its infinite nature with it, retreated. 

The sorcerer glanced timidly at the bathroom door as the sound of water behind it subsided. Slowly walking up to it, he knocked. "Mochi?" he asked. "You done?"

"Yes," you replied muffled.

"May I come in?"

"Why?" he almost laughed, hearing the childish disbelief in your voice.

"I need to brush my teeth."

"Well...," you drawled uncertainly, pursing your lips. "Come on in."

When the sorcerer came in, you stood, tucking your white robe as tightly as you could without looking at him, but the awkward and hurried movement of your hands screamed embarrassment. Pretending he wasn't interested, he walked around you and stood in front of the sink - you, chuckling, repeated after him. The only sounds in the bathroom were the water running from the faucet and the rustle of brushes. You weren't used to someone else standing next to you in the bathroom. Gojo was not used to having someone else standing next to him in general.

But you've learned.

You looked at Gojo through the mirror, and you frowned when he looked back at you, but in person - putting the brush in the glass, you snorted and walked out, trying to brazenly leave him alone with his damn towel on his hips, but the sorcerer, throwing his brush right into the sink, followed you. You squeaked quietly as you were picked up in his arms and placed on the dresser - you shook your head fearfully from side to side like you were afraid you were being watched, but really you were afraid to look directly at Gojo, at his face that was inches from yours. "I can't take it anymore," he confessed in a trembling whisper against your cheek - you shuddered invisibly at his hot breath. "I'm giving up," he exhaled soundlessly. "I lo-"

"No!" you shrieked, clamping your hand over his mouth - Gojo whimpered into your palm, his eyes squeezing shut as the unspoken words throbbed painfully in his chest. "Ya can't," you shook your head desperately, tears were welling up in your eyes. 

"Who are you so afraid of?" he asked morbidly, cupping your cheeks, trying to reassure you. Gojo knew you too well, and the fear you were feeling was not for your life at all. "Judges? I don't give a fuck about them," the sorcerer grinned bitterly. No one would drag him away, no one would take him away from you - he could pick out hundreds of words, but in this vulnerable moment, Gojo could only stroke your hair with trembling fingers.

Your wishes and your peace of mind were the undeniable priority, and so be it - his words went unspoken, but the greed inside Gojo grew more and more fiery. If he couldn't tell you that, then he'll show you. "I know what I want for my birthday present," the sorcerer said quietly but firmly, stroking your thighs.  

"What?" you asked confusedly, fixing your wet hair with your hands. "But your birthday is in December-"

"I want it now," Gojo resisted hesitantly, but squeezed your hips more stubbornly. "I won't ask for much," he promised, resting his head helplessly on your shoulder - you turned slightly and buried your cheek in his snow-white hair. When he felt that you weren't pushing him away, the sorcerer stirred and rested his forehead against yours. "Take off your mask," he asked. You, frowning, lowered your gaze. "Take it off, please," he pleaded, touching your temple with his lips - you suddenly remembered how he had asked you to take it off long ago - that request had been impertinent, insolent, and now he stood before you, waiting obediently for you to take it off. Gojo had seen you in all your forms, and you thought it would be all right for him to see the last of you.  

You wrapped your hands around his tentatively and brought them up to your face - you could feel his warm fingers shaking, and you could barely look him in the eye, but you forced yourself to feel what you had forbidden yourself to even think about before. You pressed his fingers lightly against your chin line, and he bit his lip, breathing feverishly, trying to calm his heart - Gojo realized what he had to do. He led his fingers downward, painfully slowly, along your cheekbones, and you, unable to find the courage, closed your eyes and tears ran down your cheeks. "Shh," he whispered softly, cupping your cheeks - you could almost feel how soft his lips were. "There you are," the sorcerer laughed wetly, stroking your cheeks and kissing every inch of your face. 

Gojo pulled away from you a little - the agony was tearing his patience to shreds. He ran his fingers along your chin, your nose, your lips - how could you keep it from him for so long? Your conscience had to get back at you for the sorcerer, for all the days and years he'd lived without seeing your beautiful face fully. 

Gojo moved closer and stopped right next to your lips. He breathed raggedly against them, feeling your closeness. How many nights he'd spent with you, how many days he'd been with you - all of them combined wouldn't be enough to describe a second of what he was feeling now.  

You clutched at his shoulders and froze - you knew what would follow, but you had no idea how the sorcerer would treat you afterward. You had no experience, no loving hands to caress you, no warmth to give you, and you were alone with the fear of the unknown. 

Gojo felt almost cruel - unasked, without permission, he kissed your lips, pulling you to him by the waist, trying to convey all the tenderness he'd been saving up since almost the first day you met, but his movements were curbed by fever. He couldn't resist anymore, he didn't have the strength to live without you. 

Closing his eyes as if in pain, Gojo felt uncertain. You were responding to his kiss, albeit clumsily, but whether you were doing it of your own free will or being overwhelmed by his assertiveness, he couldn't answer. His lips, trying to keep up with his feelings, barely moved, and the sorcerer panted. His hands were restless – he stroked your hair, then your soft neck, and those scars that he constantly touched reminded him how you were treated – only then did he feel how hard you were grasping into his chest.

Gojo suddenly pulled away from you and looked at you anxiously, his hands gently cupping your face. Your flaming skin felt icy, your body chilled, and you weren't looking at him - your black, frozen eyes were staring through. 

Startled, the sorcerer recoiled a little, but he was still clutching at you. "Baby," he whispered, kissing your temple. "I'm sorry. I didn't...," he mewled, biting his lip painfully. He looked at himself in the mirror that was right behind you and saw himself as an animal, no different from the ones who tortured you when you were weak. With barely suppressed anger, he pulled you against him, burying his nose into the top of your head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to be... like this."

Gojo flinched when your fingers touched his stomach - you drew circles on his skin in soft motions. "It's okay," you murmured into his shoulder. "It's just... Can ya slow down... just a little?"

Gojo looked at you worriedly, surprised. "I...," he began, perplexed - he saw no disappointment in you. "Sure," he laughed softly, and shyness chained him - in the rush, in the greedy passionate kiss it couldn't catch up with him, but now, as he kissed you desperately but tenderly, he realized that the dream had come true. You were here with him, real and alive, responding to his kiss, stroking his cheeks, digging your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to you. Gojo could endure anything as long as you were by his side. A thrill ran through him, unsparing his heated soul, and he grasped at you shamelessly, his hands digging into your thighs then and stroking them as if apologizing for his impatience.  

You involuntarily pressed yourself against Gojo, seeking protection - past humiliations, oppressions and torments had tried to catch up with your tenderness, to make you doubt, to push Gojo away and close in on yourself as you had always done, but this time it was different - in the light of the blazing fire your shadows cast gentle movements. Feeling how you fondled, how you pressed into him, he whimpered softly against your lips and, clutching your head, tipped you over a little and covered you with his body from the whole world, wanting to kill the bitterness of memories on your lips. The rush could have ruined everything, but Gojo, unable to resist, wrapped his arms around your waist, the privacy begged to continue. Shrouded in security, you wrapped your legs around his hips, and cowardice left your shores - you chased it away from your night with him.

You touched his towel – Gojo, frowning, pressed his hips deeper into your thighs and, whimpering, grabbed your hand and placed it back to his shoulder. Perplexed, you tried to pull away from him, but the sorcerer, whining resentfully, tried to press his lips to yours again, to feel your warm, tender tongue against his, but you stubbornly recoiled, forcing him to answer your mute question. "I'm a little shy...," Gojo muttered under his breath, embarrassed, and you laughed quietly. He scooped you up into his arms - you squeaked in surprise and clung to the sorcerer, and now it was his turn to laugh, despite the weakness he didn't show you - his legs shook long before he carried you to the bed.   

Gojo sat you down on the edge, and he, exhaling, slowly knelt down on the floor in front of you - you awkwardly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, hiding from his blue eyes, remembering and realizing where things were going. He didn't tear your clothes, he didn't rush you, he didn't threaten you - he was subdued before you, but love wasn't something you two could subdue. Gojo wetly kissed your neck, gently nibbled at your collarbones, and when he faced reality, he clenched his teeth and pulled back. He could shamefully admit that he'd imagined it more than once, but finding himself here now, with you, he was afraid to go any farther. "What's wrong?" you asked worriedly, taking the sorcerer by the chin and forcing him to look at you.

"I'm afraid of scaring you off," he admitted honestly on an exhale, stroking your knee. "I've only just found you, and already I'm doing everything I can to get you to run away again," Gojo swallowed and looked down, and dishonor choked his neck – he was weak before the urge. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

"No," at your answer, his heart dropped and he was ready to swallow his own desire despite its sheer size. "I don't want that. I want you," you admitted shyly. "I...," you laughed, trying to hide the brokenness in your voice. "Yeah, I'm a little scared, but it's okay if it's ya."  

For another long moment, Gojo stared at you devotedly, and then you felt his warm hands on your neck again - pulling you to him, he deepened your fragile kiss with a gentle flick of his tongue. "Can I take it off?" he dared to ask, rubbing the waistband of the robe - crumpled by your passion, it hid almost nothing, but the sorcerer wasn't going to make any more mistakes. You, closing your eyes, nodded. Covering your forehead with light, almost ethereal kisses, he slowly untied the waistband - the fabric of the old robe slid down your shoulders along with his hands. You tried to wrap your arms around yourself, to hide the scars that the sorcerer hasn't seen yet, to shield him from this picture. Gojo wasn't going to push you anymore - instead of objecting, he nuzzled against your cheek. "Hold me," he pleaded, knowing you couldn't refuse him, and you gave in and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.    

The walls of the windowless room no longer pressed against you, you didn't feel the dozens of clammy touches, you only wished the Gojo's hands were touching you more - they not only didn't bring any pain, they took the old one with them. He would never kneel down like that in front of anyone, he would never show obedience to anyone but you - you breathed into each other's mouths as he gently, tentatively cupped your exposed breasts, not daring to go any farther - you wrapped your palms around his and squeezed it a little harder with his hands. "My baby," Gojo moaned against your lips, and you felt unbearably hot - despite your open eyes, you couldn't see anything in front of you, but the blazing spots on your skin told you where he was kissing you. You arched your back, whimpering softly as you felt his wet tongue on your breasts - Gojo stifled your doubts, listening to your every moan, pulling you tighter against him. He licked and sucked your nipples - he was maddened by your flushed, hot skin, the way your touch silently begged him for more, unwilling to let go. It wasn't a desire - that disappeared once it was done, but it wasn't an obsession - not to keep you in a cage, not to pull your leash, but to tear it off and follow you everywhere.

Feeling brave, you pulled Gojo to you, your initiative got him confused, and Gojo whimpered into your mouth as you kissed him, responding eagerly to your urging. With his thumbs he continued to stroke your nipples, wet with his saliva, in circular motions, and you, losing your balance and your mind, caressed against him, rubbing your cheek against his in brief pauses. "I'll never hurt you," he whispered into your neck, and you frowned, trying to hide the confusion - wasn't that a necessary part of the process? But his words, unlike the memories, felt more real - you wanted to hear them more and more. 

Still sitting in front of you, between your legs, Gojo took hold of your undies and looked at you cautiously - you nodded, biting your lip. He kissed your forehead again and slowly, as if deliberately, began to pull down your underwear. You involuntarily squeezed your legs and looked away, unable to look because of the shame. You sighed in surprise, curling your toes as you felt his lips on your ankles - Gojo was moving higher and higher, kissing your shins and cold knees, and you clenched your teeth and tried to relax, and his promise, dousing you with a soft wave, helped you do it - you closed your eyes and slowly spread your legs apart, making Gojo whimper with anticipation.  

You could no longer feel the scars on your thighs - his gentle, unhurried bites burned on them. You could hear the crackling of the candles in the room, your ragged breathing and the way Gojo stroked your skin. The kiss on your lower abdomen was timid but unexpected - you twitched, and he lavished your worries with a kiss of calm and adoration as he rubbed his nose against your thigh. You weren't angelic to him, but you came to him from heaven - his most beautiful creature that Gojo had once mistaken for a monster, and he was ready to pay for it for the rest of his life. 

Gojo wanted to revel in every moment, for he couldn't hold back any longer - you felt his fervent breath between your legs, and you moved in impatience, touching his hair. A shy frenzy swept over him, and he responded to your silent request by slowly running his tongue over your clit - you tried to pull away, unaware of yourself because of the unfamiliar sensations, but Gojo whimpered pathetically and pulled you to him obsessively, drowning, eager to take all your vulnerability he felt on his tongue. 

Your moans were getting wilder, louder. You tried to muffle them against your hand, biting it painfully - he stubbornly but gently grabbed your palm and put it back in his hair, not letting you take away the melody of your pleasure, the notes he'd been searching for so long. He almost wanted to laugh triumphantly, you had nowhere to run - the sorcerer pressed you closer to his face with his forearms, his palms soothingly stroking your convulsively heaving belly. Gojo kept changing his pace, giving you no time to think, taking all your thoughts from you as he gently, slowly ran his tongue, wet with his saliva and your juices, over your clit, then sucked it greedily, and the sorcerer was dizzy from the closeness - he could only moan helplessly into your pussy as you clutched desperately at his shoulders.   

Your legs began to burn, not from the pain, but from his touch - never a fraction of the pleasure you'd felt before, and your eyes widened in fear and your legs trembled as you grabbed the sheets and tried to pull away from the sorcerer again. "Don't you dare," Gojo whimpered between kisses and flicks. The towel, tired of hugging his hips, slowly slid off, falling to the floor. His hard cock throbbed painfully and he felt like his lower abdomen was about to burst, but Gojo didn't dare touch himself - he knew that if he did, it would be over before it had even begun. But he wasn't chasing his orgasm - his pleasure without yours meant nothing to him, though passion had curbed the sorcerer, but it wasn't lust that drove him, and in all his ardent, timid, jagged and sometimes clumsy movements, he tried to convey to you, the blind one, what you meant to him. He wouldn't run away in the morning, he wouldn't avert his eyes after - he would give you pleasure at night, making you laugh and protecting you during the day. "I don't- I think- I-" you stammered, almost out of breath and squirming, and he pressed your trembling legs harder against his face. 

"Do it for me," Gojo moaned with you, and you stiffened, arching your back - the orgasm drowned out all cries of consciousness that you were supposed to be in pain, and you collapsed onto the bed, freed by loving hands. You panted in affectionate but insistent oblivion, still stroking Gojo's hair as he kissed your wet, glistening thighs. With a satisfied, self-conscious smile, he climbed higher, deliberately loudly and quickly smacking your belly - you giggled stupidly, hiding your face in your hand. "Nom," Gojo bit your cheek softly, and you laughed, though both of you had tears in your eyes. "How are you feeling?" the sorcerer asked, gazing at you intently and stroking your hair - you snuggled into him, kissing his neck.   

"I didn't even know it could be like this," you admitted with an embarrassed laugh, but contrary to that, you didn't hear Gojo laughing - you looked at him worriedly and saw an anxious, wistful look. Your careless compliment reminded him of your agony. "Hey...," you began, but he playfully grabbed you, flopped you onto the pillows and plopped down beside you. "We...," you began perplexed, overcoming the awkwardness. "Um... We're not... gonna... continue?" you asked almost resentfully. Gojo had opened a new world to you, but you didn't realize that he had led you by the hand into his own where you were the only one who belonged. 

Gojo raised himself on his elbow and leaned over you, rubbing his nose against yours and lightly touching your lips with his, stroking your belly. "Baby," he whispered, holding on to his vow - he promised to keep you safe. "Is that really what you want?" he couldn't restrain himself - he sought reassurance from you by any means necessary. You frowned and nodded stubbornly, making him chuckle sheepishly. "Then listen to me carefully," Gojo ordered sternly, squeezing your stomach slightly. "If you get scared, hurt, or you just don't feel like it, you have to tell me, okay? At any moment," you absent-mindedly bit your lip and wrinkled your nose, but he took your chin with his fingers and ordered you to answer with one look. "Promise me."

"I promise," you exhaled penitently, mesmerized by the restless blue eyes.

Gojo, already missed your kisses, covered your lips with his again - he nibbled gently, searching for any spot that brought you pleasure, that made you moan into his mouth, driving him crazy. Hovering over you, covering you from the world with his body, he kissed you briefly on the forehead and tilted his head slightly to look down - he almost burned his throat with his own breath when he saw your spread legs. With light touches of his fingers he stroked your lover abdomen, preparing you, but as he looked into your eyes, the sorcerer saw no fear or apprehension in them, only the infinite trust that you entrusted to him. "I'm gonna try to put one finger in, okay?" 

"Okay," you sounded flustered, but pressed yourself harder against him, kissing his shoulder. After stroking your wet clit and getting an impatient moan from you, Gojo began to slowly put a finger into you - you shut your eyes and he stopped, seeing your jaw tense. "It's okay," you assured him, and Gojo, hesitating, continued - you were so warm inside, so tight and wet, that he, bashfully hiding his red face in your neck, began to pant.

He increased his pace, gently stroking the soft walls, trying to find the point, and he nearly came when he heard your feverish whimpering. "Right there?" he asked excitedly, catching your moans with his lips. "Am I making you feel good?"

"Yes," you panted, grabbing his forearm, not to stop him, but to warn him not to stop. Hearing the long-awaited affirmation that flew from your lips, Gojo couldn't resist - he sank into your lips frantically, tasting your pleasure, and it was the sweetest he'd ever tasted in his life. Gojo pressed relentlessly against the spot, making you squirm, shaking you free of the last shackles of protection you'd built up over the years - your eyes darkening again with recklessness.

When you felt a second finger, you immediately grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked anxiously, almost panickedly, examining you from head to toe. "Does it hurt?" 

"No, no, not at all," you shook your head nervously, and lifted up and began kissing his neck - Gojo gave in without a fight or objection, his head tilted back and his mouth open in pleasure. "I wanna feel ya inside me," you whispered in his ear, taking away what little sanity and self-control he had left. Whimpering painfully, he bit your lip and began to caress your tongue with his - you squeaked as he lifted you up sharply and pulled you against him. Something rustled beneath your ear, but you didn't dare open your eyes as he laid you back on the bed, and you felt something soft under your lower back - groping the pillow beneath it, you eyed him suspiciously. 

"Why?" laughed Gojo, kissing your face. "We're not young anymore, I need to watch your back. In every sense," he chuckled, tickling your sides - you squirmed, trying not to laugh, and you both exhaled. "Are you ready?" he asked suddenly, laying on top of you, and you felt his hot, hard cock pressed against your thigh.  

"Ready," you smiled, kissing his chin. Gojo put his hand under your head and cupped the back of it, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen clit - you let out a ragged breath as he began to enter you slowly. You closed your eyes shut, feeling the stinging sensation that was ready to burn you from the inside out - you realized your mistake as soon as Gojo stopped. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his worried blue eyes with tears in them, and you shook your head frantically, pulling him closer to you, begging him not to stop - he'd promised you wouldn't get hurt, and you believed him. 

"Shh," Gojo whispered into your forehead, and he was ready to curse all the nonexistent gods for not bestowing him with the ability to take away other person's pain. "It's okay, baby," he soothed you as you sobbed into his shoulder. "Look at me," he pleaded, stroking your hair - you obediently pulled away. "It's okay. It's me. It's just me. It's your Toru, see?" under the vast blue skies that lurked in his eyes, your pain melted and stewed. You cried out quietly as he put his cock all the way in, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. "Let's stay like this for now," the sorcerer said, giving you time to adjust, stretching you from the inside. He listened to your every breath - at first your breathing was intermittent, wet, but the more he stroked your hips, the more frantically he covered your face and neck with soft kisses, the calmer it became.

"Ya can start moving," Gojo didn't hear the order in your voice, but your wish was his command. He began to penetrate into you slowly, watching you, protecting your pleasure. Your grip on his shoulders grew stronger and you whined and nestled against him, but you didn't even have the strength to kiss him - you moaned against each other's lips, and you leaned back on the pillows, lost, but he didn't want to let you go - he covered you with himself, kissing you uncontrollably, though you could barely respond. Your hips were touching, and he thrust into you gently, but deeply, so that you could feel everything he felt - the arousal was on the surface, and he wanted to reach your depths with his own. 

"Toru," you whimpered, afraid of the nature of these feelings, afraid that you were experiencing lust instead of pain, and that it could be taken from you.

You clung to his back, to his show-white disheveled hair, and Gojo grabbed at you, pulling you by his waist, stroked your head, squeezed your breasts gently, pulling away from your lips only to press his lips brazenly into your neck and collarbones. "More," he moaned pathetically. "Say my name more," and you obeyed without orders, repeating his name like a mantra while Gojo went mad - the candles crackled mysteriously, protecting you, and the unfamiliar town, flinging blue smoke, painted your tenderness on the walls with a storm.

Unspeakable words lurked in your intertwined bodies, filled with each other - his life didn't depend on that embrace, but Gojo felt he would die if he let you go, and he clung with all his might to your vulnerability. His name on your lips was like the confession you were so afraid to utter, afraid for his life - the sorcerer was almost incoherent, oblivious to the world he lived in, for you were all that existed to him.  

Gojo sucked in air through his teeth as you began to clench around him - he whined and reluctantly stopped, realizing he was on the edge. You, in exhaustion, didn't even realize it before he started stroking your clit with his thumb in feverish, gentle circles - you trembled, and he sobbed as he saw the dark lines begin to form all over your body. "Do you really feel that much for me?" whispered Gojo in your ear, whimpering. 

"Yes," you replied tearfully to his question that had tormented his soul for several years - and if the sorcerer had once been convinced that he would spend his life here beside you, cherishing you, now he knew that he would follow you to your lands as well when your time came. "I feel it, Toru, I feel it," you cried, letting go of your essence, and it no longer dared to hurt you in his loving arms.  

"My love," your neck was wet with his tears. "You're so beautiful," Gojo whispered, kissing feverishly the patterns the other world had drawn on you. He called your name with desperate, intermittent moans, feeling how close you were - the sorcerer began to penetrate you again, his thrust grew faster and messier, and as you pressed your legs around his hips, unwilling to let him go, he began to shake with you. "Cum with me," he whimpered. "Cum with me, please," Gojo begged, trying to catch your lips with his - he pulled you against him with such force that your ribs nearly crunched, and you both stiffened in the mute scream that froze between you. You danced sensuously with Gojo on the thin edge and fell over the it with him - he pulled you with him on purpose, to a place where no one would ever find you. His whole body shuddered, and he couldn't hold back his tears - Gojo sobbed shamelessly, silently against your neck, confessing his vulnerability while the storm outside the window sang northern songs to you both.  

Returning from the heaven first, you stroked Gojo's trembling back, guarding his defencelessness as he left wet sloppy kisses on your neck. Your bodies were so close that you mistook the frantic pounding of the sorcerer's heartbeat for your own - it spread across your skin in desperate beats, making you snuggle against Gojo harder and feel more. "When did ya become a crybaby?" you asked softly, kissing his temple. 

"I don't know," he exhaled convulsively, sniffing his nose. Gojo lifted himself up, brushing his nose against the tip of yours. "It's just that you're so beautiful," he said, covering your lips with gentle kisses.   

"Mm-mm," you drawled playfully, giggling. "You said that a few minutes ago, when-" you shrieked as he started tickling you - an attempt to hide embarrassment lurked behind the sweet, little revenge. Returning to you, a wave of realization came over the sorcerer. He finally did it. You finally did it. You allowed him to get as close as you'd never allowed anyone else - thinking about it, he sniffed his nose again and burrowed into your neck. "I don't wanna ruin the moment, but can ya...," you started, and Gojo instantly lifted his head, blushing shyly - you were still involuntarily clenched around him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized frantically, slowly pulled his cock out - you cringed a little, for the sensitivity reminded you of itself with an unpleasant burning. "Sorry," he repeated more quietly, kissing your forehead. "How are you?" he asked suddenly restless, nuzzling your cheek. "Everything okay? Doesn't hurt anywhere?"

Your quiet, sincere laughter awakened your shared happiness. "I feel wonderful."

"Really?" Gojo chirped softly but happily, kissing your face shamelessly and laughing with you. "Then lie here for a second," the sorcerer said, standing up - you glanced at him, but when you saw his naked ass, you looked away at the shabby wallpaper with interest. You frowned, sitting up and cradling your knees against your chest as you heard him fidgeting about, digging and rattling dishes in the kitchen, turning on the water in the bathroom, and in the intervals of silence you heard him humming to himself. "Here I am!" he exclaimed, coming back. "Miss me already?" Gojo cooed, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. As he handed you glasses of water, you realized how thirsty you were.

"Ya brought... water?" you asked perplexed, dumbfounded. 

"And a towel and clean panties," he announced cheekily, twirling your underwear on his finger. You looked away in confusion, sipping from your glass, but he moved closer to you and kissed the tip of your nose. "I just wanna take care of you," Gojo whispered, dispelling your doubts - even though no one had ever done this for you before, he was glad to be the first. "Here you go," he boasted proudly as you finished your water and set the glass aside. "Now...," he mumbled embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his head. "Can you spread your legs?" 

You widened your eyes in surprise, feeling your cheeks burn - it didn't feel so sharp in the embrace of arousal. But you trusted Gojo, and with shame, but without question, you slowly spread your legs apart, hiding your face in your hands. He didn't laugh at you, didn't mock you, but slowly and gently wiped your wet thighs with a damp, warm towel. You hissed involuntarily as he tried to wipe your pussy clean of your shared mess - your clit was still too sensitive. "I know, baby. Just be patient for a little while," he whispered, encouraging you. When he finished cleaning you, Gojo put your underwear on you as carefully as he had taken it off you.   

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he plopped you down on the bed, unceremoniously lay on top of you, and hid you under the covers. "That was... an interesting experience," you chuckled nervously, still in shock.

"Get used to it," Gojo murmured contentedly, making himself comfortable and resting his head on your bare chest, but despite his sleepy state, he remained awake. He was drawn to the spot between your collarbones, kissing it with excessive care, stroking it with his fingers, glancing furtively at you and pressing his lips together in resentment that you didn't understand his hints.

"Do ya want to see it?" you pity him, laughing when the sorcerer gave an overly dramatic sigh.

"I do!" replied Gojo quickly, almost desperately, cocking his head and looking at you expectantly. 

The patterns that adorned your skin came to life - they crawled smoothly across your collarbones, reaching for each other, trying to join. When they came together right in the middle, Gojo gave a quiet, amazed gasp, revealing a small, black spot right between your collarbones. "Ya can kill me right now," you whispered, closing your eyes. "I won't be happier." 

Despite your words, you weren't expecting a blade between your collarbones, but the kiss on your heart was far more deadly - it killed your doubts forever. "You will," Gojo objected stubbornly, rubbing the tip of his nose gently against the black spot. "And even then, I won't let anyone touch you."

It was caressing Gojo, rising to meet him with its little black tongues. Gojo pulled back a little, and slowly brought his finger to it, stroking it gently, as if the slightest touch could hurt you, but you breathed measuredly, calmly, lulled by the protection. The patterns wrapped around his skin, begging to stay, and the sorcerer could almost hear their desperate cry when he pulled his finger too far away - to where they could no longer reach him. "Mochi...," he began uncertainly, glaring spellbound as he connected with you. "Back then, at the first meeting, you said I killed him first. How did you know?" 

"Because I saw it," you answered half honestly. You saw him frown his eyebrows. "Your director and Nathaniel kinda happened to be acquaintances, and Yaga asked for a little backup... Nathaniel told us, so we agreed. For money, of course," you clarified, chuckling awkwardly. "Besides, the director seemed like a man who could keep a secret. So he didn't tell anyone about us, after all."

"What an old geezer-"

You, laughing, pinched Gojo's shoulder softly. "But we didn't even do anything then - you were doing pretty well on your own. We just watched the show. But a deal's a deal, and as soon as it was over, I went back to Tokyo College for the money, and I ran into... you."

"So it was you...," he exhaled, seeing the light and finding himself back in the day where he had stood staring into the darkness after killing his best friend, searching for the enemy.

"Yeah," you said faintly. "It was me." 

Gojo couldn't have predicted and laid out the cards of fate - neither of you knew what would have happened if you had shown up then, or if he had been the least bit more considerate. Maybe you would have become sworn enemies, or maybe you'd just lost a whole year - he didn't lament the lost time. All that mattered to him now was that you were together, in a small northern town, lying on a bed, drowning in each other. You were more vulnerable than ever in front of Gojo - as soon as he looked at the black spot, he covered it with his palm, and the black patterns, seeking the same caress, crawled between his fingers, wrapped around his hand. Let those who in bitter resentment or in sticky fear once called you heartless burn with wild fire - henceforth, protecting and defending, caring and cherishing, he will forever carry your heart in his.

[December 24, 2017, 08:34pm; Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Tokyo College]

You strolled leisurely along the towering stone fence, the long wall of one of Tokyo College's temples stretched out on the other side - you stayed as close to it as you could, trying to get away from the purple clouds that littered the evening blue sky under the overhanging roof. You looked around absent-mindedly, trying to find a clue that would lead you to Principal Yaga's office - you'd only been there once, and now you couldn't find your way out of the maze. Driven not by a noble goal, but by money, you continued to walk slowly but stubbornly, searching.

The dry, thin branches of the trees that had been lurking behind the stone fence began to peek out - you cringed as they imprinted themselves as shadows of bony hands on the college wall, trying to reach you. The wind made them rustle - when an unintelligible and mysterious whisper crept up the back of your neck, you thought about insisting on full payment in advance.

Tired after an exhausting day, you found solace in the usual child's play - you spotted a pebble in the road and started kicking it forward. When you could see a turn on the horizon, you left your mute companion and accelerated your steps.

"...trust?" you stopped just before the turn, hearing unfamiliar voices. You should have asked for help, for directions, but your policy was simple: don't show your face to anyone. As it turned out, you were already known to those who shouldn't know, and even though Nathaniel vouched for Principal Yaga as an old acquaintance, the other strangers from the jujutsu world weren't to be trusted.

You looked back - you'd already come a long way, exploring the area, and you had no desire to turn back. You leaned your shoulder against the wall, crossing your arms lazily over your chest, and waited for the strangers to talk.

"...your doing, too?" the second man's voice sounded less surprised than indignant. You could barely make out what they were talking about, but your innate curiosity played its part, and you involuntarily began to listen to the quiet conversation. 

"It was," the first one laughed muffledly in response. You, sensing the tension, frowned - never after the raids had you had similar conversations, much less a similar atmosphere.

The more they spoke, the more you had to strain your hearing - the words grew more serious, colder and quieter. "...any last words?" you stared open-mouthed at the stone wall. Your heart was pounding as if this question was addressed to you. If you took a step forward, you could see the strangers, could catch a glimpse of the end of their story, but you were afraid to even take a breath.

"...I hate those monkeys," you squeezed your eyes shut as hard as you could, for the hoarse voice was fading before it reached you, but no matter how many words flew past you, you still couldn't think of them through the prism of sworn enemies. There was no swearing, no breaking of bones, no collapsing of surroundings, all of which reminded you of your quarrels with your sister.  "...a heartfelt smile while living in this world."

"Suguru," you stunned when you heard the name - the first time it had come out of Director Yagi's mouth as he was filling you in. Dead silence wrapped around the dry branches, and they stopped rustling. There was only a brief whisper that you couldn't distinguish.

Hot blood rang in your ears, and you missed the last words. The wind picked up the fallen leaves, and they flew away, thudding against the stone walls. There was a sharp, sloppy sound, and that conversation was silenced forever. The man didn't torture his interlocutor, didn't mock him, only gave him a quick and, most likely, painless death as if it weren't a punishment, but a deliverance.

As an unwilling witness, you shifted your fingers awkwardly over your intertwined hands like you were on the field of vigilante justice - the revelations had never been meant for you, but you couldn't just cut them out of your memory. Biting your lip awkwardly, you stepped forward.

They sat across from each other, their backs against the wall - two mutilated men. One of them was limp, covered in blood, his dead face was hidden behind stained black hair and he seemed to have no arm, while the other, hiding his face in his palm, shuddered. Your heart was pierced with sympathy - even the kindest man wouldn't so grieve for an enemy. You were immediately ashamed of your behavior - the other man's sorrow made you retreat a step, and you were dazed when a dry branch crunched beneath you. There was no time to think.

"Shading."

The man was instantly in the place where the sound came from, right in front of you. And you caught your breath. Lies and pretense aside, you admitted it to yourself at once: he was beautiful. You stood mesmerized and breathless, watching him - his blue eyes, still full of sadness, scrutinized the walls of his home, and in the light of the sunset his feelings flashed in wet streaks on his pale cheeks. Everything but him blurred before your eyes - you lowered your hands and watched helplessly as he squatted down and took a broken branch and twirled it between his fingers. Frightened, you took a step back as carefully as you could, but you were still afraid to move, but it wasn't the exposure that you were afraid of. You were suddenly afraid that you would never see him again.

When he pulled himself up and stared at the road that had brought you there, you reached out involuntarily, imagining you were standing right in front of him. Your gaze focused on the way you were fixing the unruly white strands that fell over his eyes, but you frowned disappointedly, almost resentfully, sensing the distance between you. But even if you were destined to stay in different worlds, you couldn't deny yourself the small inner request to look at him one last time.

"Relocate."

***

Standing on the middle tier of the sloping roof with pointed edges, you didn't notice the devastation around you. You didn't see the broken concrete walls and cracks on them, irrevocably destroyed temples, the trees piled on top of each other and the splinters that scattered all over the Tokyo College grounds. You gazed desperately into the pink clouds, but all you could see behind them were twinkling stars, and for the first time you were disgusted by the sight of them. You turned your gaze again to the people below, far away from you, and they were all looking upward as one, their faces shining with hope and something elusive to you. You clenched and unclenched your fists with injustice, seeing how they were all mesmerized by the sight that was invisible to you.

You'd never wanted to be near a stranger, much less one who didn't know you existed, but here you were, trying to see what made the white-haired man smile so brightly, and you couldn't help but be angry with bewilderment as his body still shuddered in pain before your eyes. "Adoptee," Rachel called to you, climbing onto the roof, panting. "Did ya get the money?"

You didn't respond. You didn't care about the reward anymore, it had lost its value. The only thing that mattered to you now was the emotion this man could evoke. "Adoptee," Rachel muttered discontentedly, and walked over and shook you by the shoulder. "Uh-oh," she drawled warily, glancing at your profile - your eyes were completely black. "Come on, let's get out of here before you scare everyone away."

"Rach," you asked with hope in your voice, looking up again. "Do ya see anything?"

"The only thing I'd like to see right now is money," she snorted indignantly, tugging at your collar. "But apparently not today."

While your sister persisted in trying to get you out of there, you wanted to be in his world and see everything through his eyes. You felt like you'd been looking at the man forever, but even that wasn't enough - you needed the revelation that lay in his smile. You were unworthy to let the mystery open its veil and let you in, but you wanted to feel what he felt, and you didn't even realize how close you were to it, for the new emotions were so hot and fervent that they burned your gut for a moment, but even they couldn't answer your question - what was it that made him so happy that was hidden from your eyes?

That invisible blinding light made you want to cry, and you shifted your sparkling gaze from the sky to him one last time.

The answer was simple. The answer was one.

It clicked inside. And if you had been human, if you had held back that impulse, that feeling would have been yours forever, but by sharing a body with a creature that had no place in this small world, you'd exposed your one desire and let others feel it, trapping yourself.

next ⊳

[mythalism]

I love everything that you write and I wanted to bring this up with you. I feel like if we had seen the actual moment (at least in one of the regrets) of Mythal’s death, it would have been so impactful. It’s something that Solas talks about constantly and that he feels responsible for and I feel like it would have been a huge moment for the player to see in the story. I dunno. Just ranting. Thoughts?

thank you anon 🥺 i would love to yap about this with you… i think you are totally right that seeing mythal’s death would have been really powerful. i COULD be amenable to an argument that keeping it off screen adds to the drama and tension and the way mythal haunts the narrative…. IF that was their intention��� but i don’t think it was lol i think it was probably another victim of the messy development.

mythal so thoroughly haunts the narrative and the lighthouse itself… i think if they leaned into that and we ONLY saw her through solas’s pov in murals, keeping the mystery of her murder off-screen would make sense. but considering we literally get to talk to her, she has enough of an on-screen presence that maintaining that sense of separation is already a lost cause. we also know mythal on some level through flemeth, who has literally ranted about mythal’s death!!! “she was betrayed as i was betrayed”!!!! i think it would have been a nice climax of flemethyal’s arc to see that betrayal or at least hear about it.

i totally agree that it would have humanized solas further and i think that would’ve been nice to see, especially how his complicated grief for her was the catalyst/final straw against the evanuris of the veil going up. he also does actually talk about her murder several times, and we know it happens with THE DAGGER so it feels like it would’ve made sense to elaborate on how it happened more, and the fact that it’s his dagger, that she told him to make, that he used to tranquilize the titans, that he carries with him still, that he is so attached to and obsessed with, THAT DAGGER that did it!? it would have served as a really nice metaphor for his attachment to his grief and regret and the precious world, manifested physically in this dagger that also KILLED MYTHAL (and Varric now too!!)

he actually brings up what im assuming is her death when you ask him about blood magic (lol a lot to unpack here but that’s for another time) and honestly idk what to make of his convo because the way he speaks about it is very detached which i find interesting. obviously this might not be about Mythal but the implication that the dagger used was made via blood magic and sacrifice and “I suppose it depends upon the dagger" is suspicious to me….

anyway, i think who would’ve really benefitted most from us seeing mythal’s murder is ELGAR’NAN!!!!!! HELLO!?!?!? HE MURDERED HIS WIFE AND ITS ONLY MENTIONED ONCE WHEN HE AND SOLAS ARGUE!?!?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK????? the fact that mythal and elgar’nans relationship is nearly nonexistent is one of veilguard’s biggest sins to me. it should have been a huge part of the main story. they are literally THE SUN AND THE MOON. THEY ARE THE ALL MOTHER AND ALL FATHER OF ALL ELVES?????????? and he betrays and murders her and stabs her in the stomach. and literally no one talks about it ever it just doesn’t come up except for like 2 lines. elgarnan was such a one dimensional villain with no motivations (being a naturally evil spirit of tyranny doesn’t count and it’s boring) and no attachments and he feels completely inhuman as a result. like literally he’s just evil and that’s it and it’s so boring. we could have had such an interesting exploration of love and betrayal and how power corrupts and what it must’ve been like to be basically Elven Adam and Eve and a jealous man’s resentment culminating in violence and how mythal’s closeness to solas impacted her relationship with elgarnan like it could have been SO INTERESTING. and yeah. seeing her murder would’ve been a logical conclusion to a lot of build up. put it on the list of things we lost i guess 😔

[docholligay]

I have no idea how wild the fandom for Hadestown is. If you don’t know me, if we’ve never exchanged words, and you have BIG FEELINGS about Hadestown that any level of critique will set off, I very much encourage you to move it along. I can’t do Hamilton 2 or whatever. (If I know you I will give you more leeway FOR SURE. I just want to keep strange weirdos out) 

First, I have to provide a little bit of context: I got in on the ground floor with Hadestown. 

Yes Doc, I too, have been obsessed with it ever since it was in previews--no, I mean, i saw folk singer Anais Mitchell perform the whole thing like 15 years or whatever ago in a converted garage venue. 

I wasn’t even in town to SEE HER, I was in town to see a different artist and this was back when live music was a bigger thing and not a dying scene, and people just bought tickets to whatever was playing on a free night. I like folk music, I liked the idea of what was then being called a folk opera. It was instant love. Orpheus and Eurydice is one of my favorite myths, I am from a rural and exploited place, I loved everything I heard, some absolutely glorious poetry going on there. Bought the concept album, forced so so many people to listen to it all the way through. Forced jetty to listen to it on our road trip! Before the musical came out even!

I have been following this musical ever since then. I kind of thought it would never get made! I followed the original version, and then the broadway one. What I’m saying is, I have what now amounts to about fifteen or so years of history with this musical, and all the changes it has gone through, and all my individual feelings about each of those changes. My evaluation necessarily lives within that context. 

This was part of the reason it took me so long to see the Broadway! I wanted the emotional space to feel however I felt about it, even if that ended up being, “I fucking hated that” and it’s hard to have that when someone buys very expensive tickets and a trip for you to see something you’ve been following for years. Part of jetty’s gift of this was “And you can hate it!!” and I knew she meant it, because when you watch something move and be workshopped and change, you get a lot of feelings about it. 

So I can’t really go, “I liked Hadestown/I didn’t” I mean, I have loved hadestown for a very long time. If all you wanted to hear was , ‘Did you like it?” oh yes! But I have at least four versions sitting my head right now, and they are all next to each other for evaluation in a way that someone who has only experienced the broadway can’t have. 

I want to provide this knowledge because my thoughts about it go so far beyond what is currently being staged on Broadway. No, this is not going to be me saying, ‘Everything was better with the concept album!” no, some things are, but this isn’t that I promise. 

Everything below this is spoilery

So, originally Hadestown was a slightly different story and admittedly, one that spoke to me more than the story I saw last night. It was a lot more specific in its earliest days--it was about an impoverished mining town. Hadestown was the company town, underground, and there was basically no mention of Hades and Persephone being actual gods, anything was winked to, but it was mostly about how the holders of capital have all the accountability of gods. The whole thing had a much stronger anti-capitalist framework, and Orpheus and Eurydice were basically naive kids who thought they could avoid involvement with the mine. Obviously, this very much spoke to me. It was matching my freak exactly. 

It is not that now. And that’s both totally expected, and disappointing to me personally. The show now is much more of a, I’m trying to put this in a way that feels less insulting because I don’t mean to be, very Captial L Liberal. Audiences who can afford Broadway tickets will eat up the vague notions of wishing for a better tomorrow and ‘show the way the world could be’ and putting this back into the framework of a story of the gods instead of the utter lack of choices available to people, that the game is rigged from the start, and Orpheus even having this chance is both an exception and a test hades expects him to fail. I get why this happens. Literally every story that has ever been brought to Broadway has had to be made more palatable to a broader audience. The story it is now, is much much more broad, much more life affirming or whatever, and much more easy to hear. I think I would like it better if I didn’t know the story from the very first versions. 

But that was not a problem last night! That was a problem when i heard the previews out of Alberta! So I’ve had years to adjust to knowing that they were going to blame Orpheus a lot more. Which I love that the Broadway seems to have backed off of! The Alberta production really sort of LAID INTO THE BOY in a way I aggressively did not care for, because it was the antithesis of the story as I understood it. Love that they took that back a step. 

Anyway, so, things I loved about the musical last night:

The staging of Wait For Me fucked SO SEVERELY that honestly it makes me forgive like 90% of the things I don’t care for in the final Broadway version, that I thought were done better in other versions. I almost cried, it was EXACTLY what I would have pictured in my head after hearing it all those years ago. It was incredible. I wish I could see it again, and study it. I am thinking about it right now! It will live rent free in my head. Perfect. 

The gal who played Eurydice has clearly listened to Anais Mitchell albums, because she sounded SO MUCH like Anais that it even took me back for a moment. 

I’m not sure if this is praise or a criticism: 

I don’t know how I feel about having Hermes as an overall narrator! I go back and forth on it and have since the Alberta came out. If I were going to do it I would do it differently than it is currently staged. Jetty was talking about how she loves when the instrumentals are onstage, and I’m the exact opposite--I mostly find it crowds the stage while not bringing much interest for me. But in general, i both like it and do not like it, to give a very useful critique. I don’t hate it, for sure. I love the opener for Wait For Me II. But overall I will probably need to think about it for another 15 years. 

Frustrations I have:

 I think I have decided that even for the MASSIVE INSANE BUCKWILD flaw of seemingly blaming Orpheus for Eurydice’s decision, the Alberta is the best version. I think I prefer the concept album on a personal level for a lot of things, but I think the Alberta is, well for starters, definitely more complete--the concept album has some massive gaps in it that desperately needed filling--but it preserved a lot of the poetry that the Broadway version seems to have stripped out while being much more mass appealing. I was particularly GALLED by the rewrite of Epic III, one of the things in the Alberta version that made me say, ‘Wow I am prepared to forgive a lot of horseshit for this song, my god” 

NEVER FORGET WHAT THEY TOOK FROM YOU

They took out "The heart of a king who loves everything like the hammer loves the nail" imagine writing that line and scrapping it, are you HIGH, fuck me running.

And I think this summarizes a lot of my frustrations about the changes between the Alberta and the Broadway. It no longer sounds like a folk opera. It has lost a lot of the poetry of the original, folk music being very grounded in lyric and somewhat less in vocal theatrics. 

Also, and this might just be an actors thing, I did not get any sense that Persephone and Hades love each other…at all. Part of the appeal for human beings named Doc who are me is that they love each other, and they can’t stand each other, and I didn’t FEEL that at all. Like i said this could be an acting thing--I was not overly impressed by our persephone broadly. But taking out her part in Chant II I think also really contributes to this problem. 

This is both the Alberta and Broadway versions: I MISS THE FATES BEING A REALLY TIGHT 40s STYLE GIRL GROUP SOB SOB SOB. In the original, the fates were the only characters ‘outside’ the story, and this was indicated stylistically by the fact that everyone else was singing folk music, and they were singing in this very different style. The idea fifteen years ago was that they actually would be dressed all in that style, but yeah, none of this happens now and i find it SOOOOOO disappointing personally. I hate their stupid costumes I hate the ‘rougher’ style of vocals I hate it so much ahahahahha. If I was going to force Anais to change one thing it would actually be this, even though it is insanely petty and silly. 

The best version of when the chips are down:

I don’t know if literally any of this is what you were looking for but I somehow deeply suspect not. I am IN THE SHIT with Hadestown though, so if you have any specific things you wanted to ask about or have me talk about, let me know! I am just cutting this off now because it’s already at 1700 words and I’m not sure anyone cares that much about my journey with the only musical I can truly say I knew about when it was still a twinkle in someone’s eye. 

(Yeah Doc, I have a question: Do you have anything mean to say about the concept album? OH BOY DO I. Some of it is to be expected like, "Uh, Anais you need the rest of the story here girl." but a huge one is I fucking HATE that she got Justin Vernon, who you know better as Bon Iver, to do Orpheus. He SUCKS. He sounds bored the whole time because that is how that motherfucker sings. I have HATED it since day one. Reeve Carney is perfect and literally what I started my local women's prayer and casserole circle to petition the Lord for.)

[slightlyhopefulromantic]

aaand here's deadlands! it didnt take seven months this time, who cheered?

i'll probably do another post grouping all of my line-ups together, but that's gonna wait for when i do the wyrdwood PCs as well :] more thorough design thoughts/smaller details will be under the cut, but im putting this here so that everybody has to know: their eye shines are all different card suits, except for nate, who gets J for the joker card :]

oxventurers guild | the hobby horses

unlike my other designs where i let everyone have individual colors/palettes, i tried to keep colors more consistent across these designs! the oxventurers guild has the fantasy element and theyre all very different, so the wide mishmash of colors are fine, and the hobby horses all have a lot of dark colors so that keeps them looking consistent together. but for these guys, i wanted a more consistent feel, so i tried my best to reuse colors between each design (especially between delacy and nate ^-^)

silas - ough. my boy. i wanted him to be broad with a strong build, and i hope i pulled that off :D i had so much trouble with his hat that i almost just didnt give him one, but eventually i decided it was better to just. give up and rock with it, even if he looks a bit like a mountie hbjgfjhd and he is wearing cowboy boots, theyre just tucked into his pants because he doesnt feel the need to flash them (looking at delacy, lol). he has spurs on his boots, even though he doesnt ride horses, because he likes the way they jangle <3

garnet - people really liked it when i gave garnet dark roots, so i have decided to always give her dark roots. i like how it looks hehehe and i also like to give her freckles!!! i think theyre cute!!! for the vest, i struggled for a while trying to capture the vibe of jane's vest, because its so so strange and specific in a way that makes it impossible for me to picture garnet without it. i'm pretty happy with where i landed with it, especially the pattern, since i've never tried to make a pattern like that before :3 i dont know why ive been loving patterns so much lately LOL but i will keep riding this wave and regret it later when drawing the designs again

edie - definitely the furthest departure from canon outfits, though still in the right wheelhouse. i just don't like drawing multiple layers of ruffled skirt. i didn't like how my sketches kept looking. i wanted to give her a skirt slit, especially after my friend reminded me about her thigh rifle holster. so today, i stared at a bunch of victorian ballgowns and party city costumes, and then completely redesigned her skirt before i lined these XD and i think it was worth it!! i love the layers and the way her rifle peeks out, and it meant i could show off more of her boots and give them a pretty design :]

delacy - my main thought going into drawing delacy was just. "i need to malnourish this boy" LMAO i refuse to believe that he is eating properly, i just know that he is not. otherwise, i mostly just stuck to the campaign art but scuffed up his clothes a bit. as implied on silas's notes, i very purposefully had his boots be Big. he's overcompensating a little bit :] also sorry i did not want to draw rooster so he just gets a generic handgun. i didnt feel like drawing complicated guns, and i wanted it to be a smaller handgun so that he could be poorly copying edie :') he has no trigger discipline but neither does edie so its fine

nate - that's just nate, baby!!! i think, canonically, he's meant to be a bit. emaciated. but i cant help but just picture him being a bigger guy, i think it fits his vibe better and its more fun for me to draw that way. i like having variety in body shapes, and garnet and delacy already have the rail thin thing down for this line-up. let my old man be fat !!! also. he has a weird nipple because he is transgender. heart emoji

[aster-draws]

I can't wait for Monday!

It might sound cheesy, but Better Halves has become an anchor for me in the last few months. A place of comfort I can always return to. I'm obsessed with Danny and Tim and I find myself thinking about them throughout the week. Again and again.

A lot has changed in my life in the last couple of months, so having something that's constant and comforting means a lot.

I love love love your writing style, your feel for the characters, the humor and especially the relationship and plot. You are doing something absolutely amazing.

Just wanted to tell you that and say thank you for the hours of work you put into Better Halves.

And that I can't wait for Monday (Never thought I'd say that)!

Aww thank you so much! Unironically Better Halves is also keeping me afloat. I need to have a proper work in progress at all time because it gives me something to focus on. I would honestly just write it for me but it's so amazing to hear that it's fortifying for others as well.

And I'm not even done writing it! I'm on chapter 39 out of a predicted 50, and at about 220k, which means (if I write at a minimum 5k per chapter) it'll probably end at 270. but i never write at a minimum so the likelihood that it will venture towards 300k is ever present. which means that you all have so much left to read. and it will always be there to re read. I have fanfics like that and. idk its good shit dude.

So now is as good a time as any to state that this next update will not be occurring on 12 am monday mst as per usual due to the fact that i am flying out of the country on. sunday. So it will be posted sometime saturday/sunday for this week only. Cause I love you guys. And also I don't wanna have to try and find wifi while in a foreign airport. You know how it goes.

thank you so much, this means the world to me ;-;

[fleshengine]

I experienced Mouthwashing last night (a friend streamed it to me because I'm too fucken broke to buy it) and I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it

Anya killing herself with the remaining painkillers doesn't make sense because they were labelled paracetamol which is acetaminophen. Acetaminophen overdose takes days to kill, so unless she was barricaded in medical for a lot longer than it seems in game it wouldn't have killed her that fast. We know it's acetaminophen poisoning as well, because she vomited all over herself. It's the only "plothole" in the story, which is impressive given its multiple POVs and jumping around in time.

I don't understand why Jimmy fed Curly a piece of himself, it feels like cannabalism imagery for the sake of cannabalism imagery. If he's just going to chuck him in a cryopod, and then off himself why bother? Then again, Jimmy's mental state is far from anything I'd even consider calling stable.

Swansea putting Daisuke out of his misery doesn't make sense to me because why not do the same for Curly? This could be handwaved by the dwindling medical supplies or as characterization for Swansea but it struck me as odd.

I can tell what the game is trying to say, and it says it because I've seen other people talk about it at length. Ya know, toxic work culture, guys will back eachother up even if they know the other is doing something terrible, that kinda shit. But some of the surrealist and scary shit just seems thrown in for maximum spookage. I think the game would be better if they cut the scary shit by half and focused more on the actual story they're trying to tell. As it stands, it feels a lot like "hey if there were two guys on the moon and one of them killed the other with a rock would that be fucked up or what?" Obviously I'm being a little reductive, but that's still the vibe aboard the tulpa, I mean Tulpar. Oh yeah, naming your spaceship after tulpas, that was certainly a choice.

Honestly it feels like youtube/gametheory/reaction bait. It starts with big spooks and has surrealist horror sequences so the funny men on youtube can scream and yell. It's out of order so people can make "Mouthwashing in chronological order" videos. It's got a confusing plot so people can make "Mouthwashing EXPLAINED" videos. A lot of the story just isn't told to you and you have to fill it in or find someone to do that for you. You might think "oh well maybe it's 'show, don't tell' done well!" and no, it's not. The game specifically shows you so little, which is nice in a horror game but at the same time, I need SOMETHING to convey the information.

My best example of this is Daisuke in the vent. What happens to him? Dunno, he gets magically fucked up. How does he get the door to medical open while deathly injured? Dunno but he does. I figured we might get a little info when we go into the vent in one of the nightmare vision sequence things, but nope! It's just more random spooks.

Someone could point to me and say "ew stupid gamer needs everything spelled out with yellow paint for her" and honestly they'd be right a little. When it comes to games like this, with complex plots, time jumps, nonchronological storytelling, and abstract nightmare sequences, I would like a little yellow paint occasionally. You can be confusing all you want and I'll enjoy it but when I'm done I want to know what happened.

8/10, I'm glad I watched a playthrough rather than pay for it myself.

[indigo6f00ff]

need to share an experience i had 30 minutes ago

(edit: thanks to @walks-the-ages for providing and reminding me to put alt text, sorry it slips my mind alot lol)