#i loved the kindred arc..

[looker-bureau]

Kindred(s)

[kitausuret]

literally every Harry Osborn ship is improved by either being followed or preceded by lizharry and I won't accept any universe that states otherwise. his journey to - and then away from - Liz Allan impacted every aspect of his life, even beyond just fatherhood.

doesn't matter how we see them - mutually comphet, borderline lavender marriage, in love with the idea of being in love with each other, or simply a relationship with ups and downs that ended in disaster, she had a massive impact on him. even post-One More Day they eventually saw the benefit of co-parenting, regardless of how things played out in the writing between Secret Empire and Kindred.

he learned from that relationship, and though there's a lot of focus on how messy it turned out, they genuinely cared about each other. Liz being the first person Harry builds a life with had a massive impact on him. despite each other's fears and flaws, they had a lot of happy days together.

and perhaps one of the most important things is that Liz didn't chastise Harry for his softness. in fact, she loved that about him. when he would try to reflect more of his father, it terrified her. she didn't want him to be anyone other than himself - the man she wanted to raise her son with was gentle and a little nervous and not physically strong but he had a genuinely good heart. regardless of how things ended, Harry needed that. he needed someone who openly and enthusiastically loved him as he was and as society, or even he himself, wanted him to be.

and you know what? that's love. that's what love is. and begrudging that era is a huge disservice to his character.

[edenfire]

🎶👙 body, body, body 👙🎶

and last, but not least, my mans shikitani!!🥰🥰🍄

pls listen to Touch You (yaribu's op) it's soooo good!!🙏🙏

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 14

Mesa

     The engine grumbled to life as Fidds turned the key, the sound rattling through the car like a low, anxious hum that settled in Ford’s chest. He slumped into the passenger seat, his body sinking into the worn upholstery, its sagging comfort easy to melt into. As they pulled out of the gravel driveway, the cabin, his refuge, shrank behind them, fading into the distance as rocks and dirt crunched beneath the tires. Ford’s gaze drifted out the window, focusing on how the daylight felt on his face through the glass, his mind slipping into a quiet reverie as the scenery blurred by.

     The world outside morphed into a patchwork of muted November hues—the bare branches of trees reaching like skeletal fingers against the gray sky, patches of faded grass stubbornly holding on to the remaining vestiges of autumn. The landscape was stripped of life, suspended between seasons, like everything around him had stalled out. The colors bled together, the muted grays of the season creeping in, leaving only flashes of red barns or the distant silhouette of a hill. Ford watched as the landscape rolled past, each image a fleeting reminder of the transition of time—caught between the warmth of summer and the cold grip of winter, reminders of the world that moved on even when he didn’t.

     Beside him, Fidds hummed softly with the cassette in the player—his usual rock tunes playing through the speakers. He bobbed his head lightly, tapping along on his steering wheel, a beat that blended into the background noise. Ford’s mind wandered with it, the rhythm carrying him deeper into his mind. He found himself lost in the rhythm of the passing scenery, the way the light seemed to filter through the clouds, casting a soft glow over everything. A space where he could lose himself in the monotony. There was a comfort in it, the kind that came from not having to think, not having to feel.

     But he did think. He always did. It was like the harder he tried to push it all away, the deeper it sank into him. The smell of the heater running thick in the car, the faint scent of dust and oil—it pulled him back, reminding him of the lab. How he wanted to be there. The endless hours spent chasing data, never done, always another step. How it was fast, intense, and hard. How he could so easily lose track of time. But the noise—that constant grind—had quieted, and in its place, was the silence. 

     Ford pressed a hand hard against his thigh. He needed to go back. To the work, to the rush of it, the way it made him forget. It was all he had left. Bill was gone, and everything felt like a half-dream since then. He’d been starving in a way—of connection, of slowness, anything to fill the void left by Bill’s absence. And now, it was like the world was testing him, pulling at the edges of that emptiness. Fidds had pulled him out here, away from the safety of his lab, and Ford felt the stilts he’d built to stand on start to splinter.

     He could still hear it, the way Bill’s laughter cut through him. That look in his eye that could just level him. Ford’s chest tightened. That was what had hooked him—that feeling of being understood, the way Bill could get inside his head and twist it all up until Ford didn’t know where he ended and Bill began. Now, all that was left was this hole that nothing could fill.

     He turned his head slightly, glancing at Fidds, who was still tapping along to the music, unaware of the storm raging quietly next to him. Ford was grateful for the noise, that Fidds liked the music loud. It kept him from asking questions, from noticing the way Ford’s hands were trembling slightly in his lap. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t. He was too wrapped in the sharp ache of longing and grief. The need to truly know him. But now, he was filled with the reality, the acceptance, that he never would. Still, he dwelled. He couldn’t help it.

     Their first stop was at a guy named Reggie’s; someone Fid had heard about through a mutual acquaintance, who knew him through another friend, and was now who he’d buy weed from. Ford didn’t know much about him other than that Fiddleford came out here about once a week, said he had a lot of good bud and was a bit “eccentric.” Ford wasn’t surprised by that—eccentric seemed to be the type of person that gravitated to Fidds.

     They pulled into the driveway and Ford was immediately struck by the number of cars in the driveway, more than he expected. He took a breath, appreciatively exiting the car as unease coiled in his gut. Ford walked behind Fidds as they approached the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. The yard was cluttered with little things—twinkling ornaments strung up in the trees, wind chimes swaying gently in the breeze, small signs and figures tucked into the landscaping. Ford’s attention settled on the door, a low hum of music seeping out from behind it. What are you getting me into now, Fid?

     “I swear, every stoner in America is no more than three degrees separated from each other,” Ford mused, breaking the silence as they reached the door. The remark came casually, making conversation on their way up the steps, a way to settle the anticipation building in his chest.

Fidds chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, it’s like a big ass, never-ending game of who’s who.” His voice had that easy, relaxed drawl. Ford had always envied that about him—how Fidds could walk into any room, any situation, and seem completely unfazed. Nothing stuck to him for long. Ford wished he could be like that, wished he didn’t carry everything around with him. Fidds knocked on the door, and it swung open.

     The smell hit him first—incense and marijuana, thick and sweet, swirling around them. Then, the music followed, the hum of a record spinning in the next room, the sound wafting out with the haze. The man standing in the doorway didn’t immediately speak, but his presence was as intense as the energy that came from the house, tugging on Ford’s curiosity.

     This must be Reggie. He stood there, framed by the light inside, leaning casually against the doorframe, almost posing. He was smaller than Ford expected, thinner. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his eyes, something sharp and calculating behind them. His clothes hung loosely over his frame, draped in silky layers of embroidered flourishes that made him seem both casual and deliberate, everything carefully curated. The jewelry around his neck and fingers caught the light, glinting as he glanced between the two of them, sizing them up.

     There was a brief moment of silence, his eyes settling on Fidds first. Then, a slow, tight smirk tugged at Reggie’s lips, playful and knowing, as if he already had them figured out.

          “Don’t tell me…” Reggie’s voice came out smooth, an amused tenor that slid past his lips. “Is this him?”

     Ford stood there behind Fidds, feeling strangely exposed under Reggie’s gaze as it shifted to him. Fiddleford chuckled, though there was a slight edge to it now, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice, as if Reggie had already spilled some secret he wasn’t meant to share. “Yeah, this is him.”

     Reggie’s smile widened, revealing a gap-toothed grin. It was disarming and genuine. His eyes lingered on Ford, a moment longer, taking his time, and Ford felt a flicker of self-consciousness under the scrutiny. “My, my, Stanford Pines,” Reggie mused, the words rolling off his tongue with an air of reverence. “I’ve heard so much about you. Please, come in.” He gestured grandly, stepping aside with effortless grace, his movements smooth and confident. Ford hesitated for a split second, a sense of unease washing over him. But he followed Fidds through the threshold. The warmth of the space wrapped around him as he stepped inside, drawing him in. 

     The house was a patchwork of colors and textures—tapestries and textiles draped over the walls, casting the room in soft, muted hues. Every surface was cluttered with trinkets and oddities, small curiosities that seemed carefully curated, though haphazard in their arrangement. Shelves overflowed with mismatched objects, some gleaming, others dusty with age. The floor was covered in overlapping rugs of all kinds—plush, worn, patterned, solid—each one seeming to tell a different story underfoot. It reminded him of home; not the cabin, but home , home. The one back in Jersey. But he quickly tucked that burst of nostalgia back into the recesses of his mind. He already had enough to think about.

     The first thing Ford noticed was the absence of a couch. Instead, a large glass table sat low to the floor, surrounded by oversized cushions that looked as though they had borne the weight of a thousand conversations, the fabric worn soft and frayed in places. The cushions were slouched in a way that suggested hours of use, sagging into themselves like they were resigned to the inevitability of hosting more people, more silences. Ford hesitated for a beat, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound felt final, like a lock sliding into place. No escape now.

     Reggie moved with that same liquid grace, every step part of some internal rhythm only he seemed attuned to. It was unsettling, the way he seemed to glide through his own space with so little effort, like he was both the host and a piece of the room itself, stitched into the fabric of it. Ford watched, half-captive by the ease of it all, as Reggie folded himself down onto one of the cushions, his legs crossed and arms reaching out, hands already working with practiced precision. The herbs and bags appeared out of nowhere, slipping through his fingers with a dexterity that seemed almost choreographed. It was almost hypnotic, the way his hands moved, quick but deliberate, like he was performing a ritual.

     Ford hovered for a moment, hovering on the edge of the room as if it might swallow him whole. But then his body gave in—he was exhausted, and something about the room only amplified the feeling. His legs buckled beneath him, and he sank down onto one of the cushions. It was too soft, pulling him in deeper than he wanted, and he could feel his muscles loosening against his will, like the house itself was forcing him to relax.

     His head felt heavy, bloated with thoughts that buzzed just under the surface, too full, too much. Most of them were back at the lab, still wrapped up in that black hole he had been circling for weeks—Bill, the silence that came after, and the ache that sat lodged there between his ribs, refusing to move. He had been running from it, pushing his body beyond the point of breaking just to drown out the noise, but the quiet had only made it louder. Ford leaned back against the cushion, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on him.

     His eyes wandered to Reggie’s hands again, watching the way they danced over the table, delicate but steady, moving as if on autopilot. Ford didn’t want to be here, not really. He wanted to be back in the lab, in the chaos of it all, where there wasn’t time to think. But he was here. He was tired. So he let his mind drift, trying to stay distant, biding his time until it was over. Until he could leave.

     There was an eruption of laughter from the next room, a sudden burst of sound that tore through Ford’s already frayed nerves. It grated against him, sharp and unwelcome, pulling him further away from any hope of calm. He didn’t have the energy to interact, to smile and nod through small talk. He shot a look at Fidds, a silent plea. This wasn’t a part of the deal , his expression said. Fidds responded with a light shrug, as to say what can you do?

     “Here you go, darling,” Reggie’s voice slid into the air, velvety and low, interrupting their silent conversation. The endearment barely registered at first, Ford’s thoughts too scattered to process the words, or the slow movement of a joint, already rolled and lit, being passed over to Fidds. Ford’s gaze followed the motion.

     Reggie sank back when Fidds freed his hand, as though he was carefully unfolding himself into the space between them. He reclined on one elbow, his body draped in loose fabric that seemed to cling just where it needed to, revealing in some places and falling away in others. There was an intentionality in the way he settled, languid and unhurried, like time bent around him. Ford’s attention snagged on the glint of gold against Reggie’s chest, the faint shimmer from the chains that lay in the hollow of his collarbone, contrasted by his dark skin. It reminded him of someone—of Bill. Of the easy way he commanded attention, of the sharpness in his gaze, the way the room always bent to him, too.

    Reggie wasn’t sitting too close—not close enough to feel suffocating—but close enough that Ford could see every detail: the smooth skin exposed through the gap in his shirt, the subtle shift of his muscles beneath it. The chains shimmered in the low light, catching the warmth of the room and throwing it back. And the way Reggie let himself be seen, with that casual ease. It caught Ford off guard by it—the openness, the confidence that came with it.

     And then Ford realized, with a sudden jolt of embarrassment, that Reggie had been watching him watch. His heart stuttered, a flicker of panic tightening his stomach. He snapped his gaze forward, heat crawling up his neck as he swallowed hard. The moment was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left something heavy between them—an unspoken acknowledgment. Ford felt it settle in the air. He tried to focus, to steady himself, but the weight of Reggie’s eyes was heavy. He could feel it like a tangible thing, pressing in on him. Though, Reggie said nothing. Ford shifted in his seat, willing the tension in his body to ease, but Reggie, for his part, didn’t seem bothered. He rolled the joint between his fingers when it came back to him, a practiced ease as he’d done everything else, like the brief moment hadn’t rattled him at all.

          “ So , Fiddy,” Reggie finally said, his voice light and casual, “how’s life, how’s the wife?”

     “Good, good,” Fiddleford replied, glancing over at Ford, his smile easy and familiar. “We’ve been making some real progress, mostly thanks to Ford here. He never leaves the lab.” He chuckled lightly. “I had to drag him out here kicking and screaming.”

     Ford felt the eyes on him before he saw them, a warm sense of examination prickling at the back of his neck. He shifted a little, trying to ignore the sudden awareness of himself in the space, his shoulders stiff against the cushion. Reggie’s grin widened, a flash of amusement on his face, but Reg didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate inhale from the joint, letting the smoke swirl around him as his gaze remained on Ford—narrowing slightly, analyzing him in a way that felt layered, as if he were seeing more than Ford was willing to show. Ford gathered enough courage to meet Reggie’s gaze, flashing a tight smile as he rested his arms on his knees, clasping a hand around his wrist to comfort himself. 

     “Workaholic, huh?” Reggie finally said, his tone light and playful, though there was a note of a deeper curiosity—or perhaps recognition. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift between their shared eye contact, and then, casually, Reg held the joint out in Ford’s direction. “Relax, friend.”

          Fidds made a move to take the joint, shaking his head with a knowing laugh. “Oh, no, he doesn’t really—”

     “Sure,” Ford cut in, his hand moving quicker than Fiddleford’s, snatching the joint from Reggie’s fingers. The interruption felt abrupt, but Ford didn’t care.

          Fidds turned to him, surprised. “You sure?”

     Ford shrugged, already bringing the joint to his lips. “Yeah.” His voice came out more casual than he felt. The desperation was there, beneath the surface, an urgent need to drown out the noise. The room felt like it was closing in, the colors, the heat, everything blurring at the edges, and he just wanted to sink into it, disappear into anything that wasn’t the silence that had wrapped itself around him for weeks. “It’s Sunday, right?” he added, throwing out the excuse like it could explain away the restless impulsiveness.

     Reggie’s low chuckle followed, a sound that rumbled through the room like a warm breeze. “That’s the spirit,” he said, his voice smooth as he lightly punched Ford’s shoulder, movements unhurried, deliberate. The loose fabric of his shirt shifted slightly when he rested his arm on a pillow. His jewelry gleamed in the dim light, catching Ford’s eye again, but just for a moment.

     Ford inhaled, and the smoke hit his lungs hard, stinging more than he’d anticipated, less forgiving than the cigarettes he was used to. It felt thick, clinging to the walls of his chest, like it didn’t want to leave. He coughed—once, sharp—and then immediately took another drag, if only to avoid Reggie’s gaze, which rested on him longer than he could ignore. There was something in the way Reggie looked at him, not intrusive, but like he was waiting. Their eyes met again, briefly, and Ford quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the swirl of smoke that drifted in front of him as he exhaled, his chest tightening with the strain of trying not to cough again.

     A burst of voices shattered the uneasy quiet. The door creaked open, and two men strolled in, heavy-footed, their steps too loud for the room’s low thrum. “Hey, Fidds is here!” one of them called out, pulling Ford’s attention like a hook. He glanced over, catching them in that instant—the type that fit everywhere and nowhere, guys who knew how to slip into spaces like they’d been there forever. Their familiarity with Fidds was immediate, like muscle memory. Fiddleford stood up to greet them, laughing as they clapped him on the back, handshakes exchanged in quick, fluid movements Ford couldn’t follow. They acted like they’d known him for years, even if it had only been months.

     Ford’s stomach twisted, though it wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was more a sharp pang of awareness—how easily Fiddleford blended in, how quickly he found his place here, while Ford remained on the outskirts, out of rhythm, out of sync.

     The taller one, bulky with long hair, caught sight of Ford and let out a goofy laugh. “Hey, yo! Is that your guy, Fid?” he shouted, then turned his head toward the room he’d just come from. “Guys, check it out! Fidds is in here gettin’ his boss highn’ shit!”

     Ford felt heat crawl up his neck, shrinking back into the cushion as two more people filtered into the room. Suddenly, it was too much—too many eyes on him, the joint in his hand suddenly feeling like a spotlight. The pressure tightened in his chest, the space growing smaller, more suffocating with each passing second. He could barely breathe under the weight of their casual, curious stares.

     Fidds, sensing the shift in Ford from across the room, placed a hand on the guy’s chest, his voice light but firm. “Hey, give him a break, don’t crowd his genius.” He teased, though there was a gentleness to it, a way of diffusing the moment before it could press further. He gestured toward Ford. “Everyone, this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Ford Pines. Ford, this is—well, everyone.” He chuckled, pointing them out one by one. “Suz, Charlie, Rich, this eccentric fella here is Bobby,” he added, patting the taller guy’s chest. “And, well, you’ve already met Reg.”

     Ford gave a tight nod, his discomfort rising with every name that was thrown at him. Instinctively, he brought the joint back to his lips, taking another hit, hoping the burn would soothe the sudden anxiety in his gut. “How’d ya do,” he managed to mumble through a cough, his voice barely carrying across the room.

     Beside him, Ford could feel Reggie smirking, the subtle curve of his lips unmistakable in the periphery. The moment stretched on, Ford’s pulse loud in his ears as the room’s energy hummed around him, all of it too much, too fast, but somehow still slow enough to drag him under. 

     Bobby’s energy bubbled up again, immediately distracted as soon as introductions were done. “Fid, man, you gotta check out all the work we did on the truck,” he said, already tugging on Fidd’s arm, his body half-turned toward the back door as if it was a foregone conclusion that they’d go.

     Fiddleford hesitated, glancing back at Ford. There was a flicker on his face—an apology, maybe—but it was too quick to catch, slipping away before Ford could decide what to do with it. “Yeah, okay, I’ll come take a look,” Fidds finally said, his voice soft but resigned.

     Ford shot him a look, hoping it would be enough— You’re leaving me here? —but Fiddleford either didn’t notice or pretended not to. He was already swept up in the group’s orbit, their conversation flowing easily as they drifted toward the back door. It was all mechanics and jargon now—engines, gears, repairs—familiar territory for Fiddleford, their voices overlapping in that seamless fashion as they moved toward the back door, voices overlapping, pulling him further away.

          Now Ford was alone, high, with a stranger.

     He sat there, his body stiffening, the cushions suddenly too soft, too inviting, like they might swallow him whole if he let his guard down. He blinked, trying to focus, but the room felt like it was tilting, the corners dimming into shadow. When he looked up again, Reggie hadn’t moved. He was still there, lounging against the pillows, one arm resting casually on his bent knee, the other holding the joint, now half-burnt. His shirt still hung loose, and Ford couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric shifted, revealing more glimpses of smooth skin, the gold of his jewelry catching the ambient light.

     Reg wasn’t saying anything, just watching Ford in that same quiet, expectant way. It wasn’t pressing, but it wasn’t subtle either. Ford felt his pulse quicken, not from any real fear but from the strangeness of the moment. He cleared his throat, the sound too loud, too sharp. Reggie didn’t flinch, just lifted the joint and offered it again, the gesture casual but somehow pointed. Ford took it, let the familiar burn of smoke settle into his lungs, its warmth filling the silence, the haze of it making the room feel more distant, softer around the edges. When he exhaled, the smoke twisted into the air, dissolving the tension for a brief second.

     “You’re really wound up, huh?” Reggie mused, finally breaking the silence, his tone light, almost playful, as if he were teasing a friend. He took the joint back from Ford’s fingers, his touch idle for a fraction longer than necessary, sending a warm jolt through Ford, an ignition of those idle nerves. “Do you mind?” he asked, tugging gently on Ford’s extra finger. It felt intimate, like a small secret shared in the open air. Ford blinked, feeling disoriented, the world around him a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Was it the weed? His racing thoughts? Maybe it was a combination of both, but he found himself humorously complying with Reggie’s curiosity, holding out his hand to let him observe.

     Reg’s hands were soft compared to Ford’s, his fingers long and slender, a fraction of the size of his own. They felt delicate but precise, the kind of touch that wasn’t accidental. Reg ran his thumb over Ford’s scarred knuckles first, tracing the jagged edges where the skin had split and bled. The scabs still clung to the surface, tender reminders of the glass that had torn through several days before. “Reckless, too,” Reg said, his lips pulling into a slight smile, tsking in mock disapproval. His eyes flicked upward, locking onto Ford’s with a playful intensity, like he was daring him to admit something Ford didn’t want to say.

     Ford coughed, the weight of that look settling in his chest, a quiet pressure he wasn’t prepared for. The kind that made it hard to breathe. “Yeah… “ his voice broke through. “—little accident in the lab,” he said. It was a lie, and Ford couldn’t help but feel like Reg knew it, it was in his eyes, the uncomfortable sense that he saw right through him.

     “What do you do there?” Reg’s voice was casual, but the question hung heavier than it should have, biding between them like it wanted more than just a simple answer. Ford hesitated, feeling the familiar knot of unease rising inside him.

     He tried to deflect, laugh off the question, the sound rough and jagged, but it escaped anyway. It surprised him—how genuine it felt. It might have been the first real laugh he’d let out in weeks. “I can’t tell you,” he said, a slight lift at the corner of his lips. “—it’s classified,”

     He could feel the tension tugging at him, the way he was leaning into the moment without fully being present. Reg’s touch was grounding, though, making him more aware of the room, the warmth, the closeness, but he was still far off, half-immersed in the pull of his own thoughts. The part of him that was still stuck where Bill had left him. But he was here now, Reggie seemed warm and inviting, and Ford, in his exhaustion and restlessness, felt like he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to lean in—just a little further.

     Reg chuckled, lips barely parted, the sound low and conspiratorial. “A man with secrets..?” he mused, flipping Ford’s hand over with a theatrical flourish, turning his palm over and presenting it like a stage. “Reveal them to me . ” The words were soft, yet they carried weight, a teasing command. His index finger traced along the lines of Ford’s palm, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver up Ford’s arm, the sensation startling in its gentleness. It was subtle, but Ford felt it—the way Reg’s touch seemed to draw out the tension buried in his muscles, in his mind, the warmth from his hand seeping slowly, steadily into his skin.

     He felt himself leaning into it, almost unconsciously. The contact was soft but insistent, and for a moment Ford allowed himself to sink into the sensation, to forget about everything gnawing at him from the inside out. The soft hum of the house, the low flicker of light from the candle burning on the table—it all blurred together, folding into the quiet intimacy of this exchange. “I felt your aura the moment you stepped into my doorway,” Reg continued, his tone dipping lower, eyes scanning Ford’s palm with a seriousness. “You’re very powerful, you know. ‘In tune.’”

     Ford blinked, caught in the intensity of Reggie’s gaze, and it threw him off balance. He shook his head slightly, instinctively pulling back from the weight of it. “My mother used to say the same thing,” he said, his voice a little rougher, trying to tether the moment in something lighter. “She read palms, too.”

     Reg lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “Well acquainted with chiromancy? Aren’t you just full of surprises,” he said with a quiet grin, the words light but curious. “She had the sight?” His gaze drifted back to Ford’s hand, the question hanging in the air with the same weight as before, though his tone remained casual.

     Ford let out another chuckle and shrugged, it was genuine, warmer this time, less guarded. “She said she did,” he replied. “Although, I don’t know how much I believe in that stuff,” His skepticism felt rehearsed, the doubt practiced. It was a lie. The things he’d witnessed, the unspeakable forces he’d encountered—they’d shattered the framework of everything he thought he understood about the world. But disbelief had become a convenient mask, a way to keep himself at a distance. He wasn’t denying it for Reg’s sake, though—this was Ford’s way of keeping the moment alive, keeping the exchange moving, as if daring Reggie to dig deeper.

     And Reg didn’t falter. His fingers moved slowly, methodically, tracing the lines of Ford’s palm like they held a map, like he could read what was buried deep beneath the surface, pulling it out from Ford’s core. His touch wasn’t invasive, but there was a precision to it, an almost unsettling tenderness that made Ford feel exposed, like something private had been unearthed without his permission. The sensation stirred deep within him—a ripple of vulnerability that twisted itself into his gut, mingling with the curiosity that had always gnawed at the edges of his mind. This moment, simple as it was, felt like the most intense positivity Ford had experienced in ages. And despite the discomfort, he was clinging to it, reluctant to let it slip away.

     Reg’s gaze drifted up from Ford’s palm, the smoldering joint dangling between his fingers. He passed it to Ford without breaking the connection between them, the lingering warmth of his hand a reminder of the touch they’d just shared. Ford accepted it, taking a slow drag, his eyes never leaving Reg’s. The weight between them was a force, pulling at the tension bunched in Ford’s chest, slowly unwinding it.

     Reg’s laugh broke the silence, soft and playful, bubbling up from his throat like it had escaped without permission. “What?” Ford asked, a slight smile playing at his lips again, feeling a lightness begin to settle into his bones.

          Reg shook his head, his laughter sputtering past white teeth, the sound was infectious. “Your eyes are so fuckin’ red,” he teased, thick amusement in his voice.

     Ford exhaled, the smoke ghosting around his head, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to defend himself, didn’t feel the need to armor up. He just smiled back, letting the moment hang between them, the air heavy but easy. 

     A slight shiver slid down Ford’s spine as Reg’s fingertip returned to his skin, grazing the curve of his palm, just lightly enough to feel like a breath of wind. Ford exhaled, the sound shaky in his throat, and suddenly, it wasn’t just Reg’s words or the touch itself. It was the way Ford felt his own body responding, betraying him in the quiet space between them. He was too tired to fight it, too worn down to resist the pull any longer.

     Reg’s eyes glinted with that familiar knowing, an amused awareness that settled into his gaze, like he could see past Ford’s careful exterior with ease. “Since you’re experienced,” Reg started, his voice dipping into a melodic rhythm, “I won’t give you the usual surface-level read. On the house, of course.” He paused, letting the offer hang between them, a subtle invitation that felt more intimate than it should have. “We’ll start simple, and build up to it,” he added.

     Ford nodded, the gesture slow, and suddenly the act of swallowing felt thick and deliberate, like the air had shifted. He told himself it was cotton mouth, effects of the smoke, but it didn’t explain the way Reg’s presence clung to him.

     “You have a strong head line.” Reg paused, watching Ford carefully, the intensity of his gaze tightening Ford’s stomach. “Means you’re analytical. A thinker. Figured as much…” He smirked, eyes holding Ford’s as if daring him to react. “But you also tend to overthink. Get lost in your head. Wrapped up?”

     Ford’s pulse quickened, the anxious thrum matching the weight of the words, like they were brushing up too close. “Yeah,” he murmured, the answer slipping out before he could think. He glanced down at his palm, trying to tether himself, but his gaze slid to the shimmer of gold at Reg’s neck instead, catching the soft light as it rested on his skin. He swallowed, clearing his throat, forcing himself to keep his cool. “That’s pretty vague, though,” Ford replied, his tone leveling out. “Doesn’t everyone get stuck in their own head?”

     Reg laughed, the sound light but full of meaning. “Patience is a virtue.” He reminded, letting the moment settle before his fingers moved again, soft and deliberate as they traced along Ford’s palm, following the lines. “This heart line here…” Reg’s fingertip followed a faint curve toward Ford’s first pinky. “It shows you care deeply. But you—” His finger pressed into Ford’s palm, the contact sending a brief rush through him. “You’re special.” Their eyes met again. “You have two heart lines.” Reg’s finger drifted down the line. “You build walls. Keep people at a distance. Afraid to let them in?”

     Ford kept himself steady, playing it off. “Again, this could be applied to most people,” he said, his voice measured. But there was something about the way Reg’s gaze held his that made it feel personal, like the truth was creeping close to the surface.

     Reg was pensive, quiet for a moment. “You wanna get deep?” he asked, reaching behind him and plucking another pre-rolled joint from the table. He held the end up to a candle burning nearby before bringing it to his lips. “Let’s get deep.” Reg shifted his focus back to Ford’s palm, his fingertips brushing over it again, this time with more purpose. 

     Ford watched as Reggie shifted his focus back to his hand, the joint passed between them almost as an afterthought. The smoke lingered in the air, thick but secondary to the slow, deliberate movement of Reg’s fingers as they traced the familiar lines of Ford’s palm, now with more purpose.

     “You’re not an easy read, but ,” Reg murmured, his touch firmer now, his thumb pressing into Ford’s skin as though searching for something just beneath the surface. His voice was low, almost playful, yet the intensity in his gaze remained unwavering. He let a few beats pass, letting the tension settle around them. “A brutish romantic with a soft spot,” he said, a teasing smile breaking through as he exhaled smoke. “Methodical, disciplined… tethered to routine. The type to wear a tie on the weekends,” he added, hooking a finger around the fabric at Ford’s neck as he spoke, gently tugging it from the V of his sweater.

     The sensation sent a jolt through Ford, a mix of embarrassment and unexpected thrill coursing through him as the tie slid out of place, the slight rustle of fabric heightening his awareness of their proximity. He swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his neck, feeling exposed yet strangely exhilarated and Reggie continued. “Idealistic, egotistical… but with enough charm to use it to your advantage,”

     Ford’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement crossing his face as his eyebrows lifted, his gaze dropping into the lines of his own palm. “Egotistical?” he echoed, his voice low, laced with disbelief. He studied his hand like he might find the word scribbled somewhere between the creases.

     Reg chuckled, a soft sound that broke through the haze of smoke. “Look, here,” he said, his tone warm, almost coaxing as his fingertip brushed over Ford’s skin with an easy familiarity. He traced a line where the Head and Heart lines seemed to blur, running his finger slowly along the intersection. “You’ve got a partial Simian Line,” he explained, pausing just long enough for the weight of the words to settle between them. “That’s rare.”

     Ford watched the movement, the subtle touch drawing his focus, making it hard to look away. Reg’s voice dipped lower, a teasing edge to it. “Your logic and emotions tangle together. It must be agony .”

     Ford gave him a look, skeptical, but there was an exchange in the shared glance. It was like a challenge, the way Reg didn’t seem to break the connection between them. Ford’s lips twisted upward, barely noticeable but enough to cut through the heaviness. “Agony, huh?” he muttered, his voice rough, raspy from the smoke. “This guy sounds dramatic.”

     Reg grinned, another quiet laugh rumbling through him. “Just calling it like I see it.”

     As the joint passed between them, each handoff felt deliberate, more intimate than the last. Their fingers brushed lightly, a subtle connection that deepened with every touch. The smoke curled around them, thick and fragrant, softening the edges of the room, the world outside. Ford let the warmth of it fill him, dulling the noise in his head, muting the sharp angles of his thoughts. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other, the quiet holding them in place.

     Reg’s voice stayed soft when it came again, but there was an insistence in the way he continued, his fingertip grazing a barely-there arc on Ford’s palm, a touch that felt almost reverent. “And this—your Venus ,” he murmured, punctuating the word while tracing the faint curve. “It shows you’ve got deep romantic tendencies,” he went on, the weight of his words pressing in on the space between them. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

    Ford didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the way Reg’s finger traced along his skin. His breath hitched, when he felt a nail lightly graze his last finger, an isolated sensation that Ford was not used to. “And this?” Reg’s fingers brushed across it, lingering there, gaining a tight breath from Ford. “You’re special, no doubt about it. You’ve got something about you—something otherworldly. You feel like you’re meant for more, don’t you? Ambitious, driven, but…” His thumb lightly pressed into the base of Ford’s hand. “This here shows me you have a weakness. Where you’re vulnerable.” He passed the joint back.

     Ford’s lips brushed the edge of the joint, inhaling slowly, feeling the heat settle into his lungs as he repeated Reg’s words. “And what’s that weakness, exactly?”

     Reggie’s eyes glinted, his lip catching briefly between his teeth, a moment of pause before letting Ford’s words slip into the haze. He didn’t answer, not directly, but instead let the silence build, lingering as his gaze traced the lines of Ford’s hand again. “Those walls,” he murmured, his voice softer now, heavier. “They sure are high…” His fingertip trailed lower this time, down the length of Ford’s palm, grazing the sensitive skin at his wrist.

     Ford’s breath hitched, the touch a jolt against his nerves. He didn’t mean to pull back, but his body reacted instinctively, a light gasp escaping him as he tried to retract his hand. Reg’s grip tightened, not harsh, but firm enough to keep him anchored in place.

    Their eyes locked, the air between them intense, charged. Ford’s breath was uneven now, heavier than he meant it to be, his pulse thrumming in his throat. But Reg didn’t break eye contact, didn’t let the tension snap. His gaze was steady, sharp, reading every flicker of emotion that Ford couldn’t quite suppress, commanding his attention.

     “But you’re waiting…” Reg’s voice was just above a whisper, each word careful. His finger grazed Ford’s wrist again, more intentional this time, pressing lightly against the thrum of his pulse. “For someone bold enough…” he continued, the words slipping between them like a promise. “…to take it.”

     Ford’s throat felt tight, his body teetering on some edge he wasn’t prepared for, but he didn’t pull away this time. Reg’s grip loosened, his fingers easing, cradling Ford’s hand with a tenderness that almost felt out of place. Ford stayed, breath shaky, his body betraying the defenses he had spent so long building. He didn’t relent, didn’t retreat.

     “And once they have…” Reg’s voice was velvet-soft, wrapping around Ford’s resolve. His touch drifted, fingertips brushing down the edge of Ford’s palm before finally pulling away, leaving the skin there tingling in its absence. “You can’t stop...”

     Ford’s pulse raced beneath the surface, his body feeling impossibly heavy as the weight of the moment bore down on him. His mind felt thick, hazy, every thought coming slower than the last, like it was slipping through his fingers before he could grasp it. He didn’t respond—he couldn’t. He was sinking into the quiet pull between them, and for once, he didn’t want to stop.

     “You’re a fire,” Reg murmured, his voice soft but insistent, threading through the fog in Ford’s mind. “Burning bright, even if you bury it beneath the fear… and doubt.” His touch slid over Ford’s palm again, this time more deliberate, starting at the heel and moving upward. He slowly intertwined Ford’s fingers with his own, the touch wasn’t rushed—it was slow, almost agonizing in its tenderness.The movement subtle but charged, letting his words hover in the air between them.

          “And once you’re cracked…” Reg continued, his voice even lower now, his touch deliberate, sliding over the curves of Ford’s fingers. “You just can’t help yourself—”

     Ford barely registered the shift at first, the gentle way Reg’s fingers slipped between his own, testing the space. The intimacy of it, the simple gesture, it made Ford’s heart stutter. Reg leaned forward slightly, fully intertwining their hands, “You sink your teeth in—” his voice was soft, teasing, punctuating his point by clasping Ford’s hand into his own.

     A bolt of awareness shot through Ford, snapping him out of the fog he’d drifted in. He couldn’t tell if it was the weed, the conversations, or just the way Reg seemed to navigate the space between them so easily, but he didn’t realize how close they’d gotten until now, and suddenly, everything felt hyperreal—the warmth of Reg’s hand, the buzz, the shrinking distance between them.

     Ford could feel his pulse racing, a wave of surprise mingling with an unsettled pulse. It was like an itch under his skin, a quiet stirring that made him uncomfortable. Reg wasn’t playing coy anymore; the air between them had thickened, charged with an energy that neither of them could deny. Ford’s heart thudded harder, the realization quickly sinking in, heavy and undeniable.

     “You’re very handsome,” Reg murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing, the compliment slipping out so effortlessly it felt rehearsed. Yet, it hit Ford squarely, easily peeling away another layer of his exterior. There was no mistaking the way Reg looked at him—an intensity, an almost predatory focus that tugged at Ford, drawing him in despite himself.

     “Thank you,” Ford responded, the words spilling out before he could even think them through. They felt foreign on his lips, stiff and out of place. His voice wavered, betraying the storm inside him as he realized just how close they were now and how their hands were still clasped together. The haze of the high wrapped tighter around him, blurring the edges of everything. He felt the room growing smaller, the space more intimate. Reg’s proximity was intoxicating, the quiet promise lingering between them, and Ford felt himself teetering on the edge of something he wasn’t prepared for.

     Amid the swirl of sensation, guilt surged through him, sharp and unwelcome, cutting through the fog. His mind flitted back to Bill and he realized that this was the longest he’d gone without thinking of him in weeks, without the emptiness that had been gnawing at him since. But the void was still there, like a gaping wound, and the thought of filling it with anyone else sent a pang of regret through him. It wasn’t fair—none of this was.

     The ache in his chest became unbearable. He sucked in a breath, pulling his hand back in a sharp, reflexive motion, retreating before he could let himself fall any further. The air between them felt cold in an instant, the warmth of Reg’s touch fading too quickly. Ford’s movements were jerky, deliberate, as he turned away, reaching into his coat, searching for an escape from the intimacy that had come too close for comfort.

     “Can I smoke these in here?” Ford’s voice cut through the heavy silence, awkward and abrupt, like a stone dropped into still water. The tension shattered, fragmented around them as he fumbled to fish a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The familiar weight settled in his hand, a small comfort, something solid to hold onto in the rising warmth of the moment.

     Reg laughed, a low, rich sound that filled the space between them, effortless and unbothered. It felt like he could hear the chaos in Ford’s head, the way his thoughts tumbled over one another, trying and failing to resist the pull of the moment. “You can smoke whatever you like in here,” Reg replied, his tone easy, unfazed. He took another slow drag from the joint, his gaze steady and unflinching, watching Ford like he could see right through him.

     Ford’s hands shook slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, turning it over in his fingers. He took a deep breath, hoping the familiar ritual would steady him, but it did little to quell the whirlpool of emotions churning inside. The room seemed to close in around him, the boundaries of this strange, intimate space blurring. He could feel Reg’s eyes on him, studying him, and that gaze—it wasn’t just curious, it was deeper, more knowing. It made him nervous.

     Ford fumbled through his pockets, fingers clumsily brushing the fabric in search of matches. “Fuck,” he muttered around the cigarette hanging between his lips, realizing they were still tucked away in his lab coat, far away from here. His eyes flicked back to Reg. “You got a light?”

     Reg didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand slid around the back of Ford’s neck, the touch soft, deliberate, sending a pulse of electricity through Ford’s veins. Before Ford could react, Reg was pulling him closer, their faces just inches apart. The joint was almost burned down now, just a smoldering ember at the tip, but enough to get the job done.

     Reg leaned in, the joint held between his lips as he brought it to Ford’s cigarette. Their faces were so close now, Ford could feel the heat of Reg’s breath mixing with his own, the soft exhale of smoke curling between them like a veil, thick and intimate. The flicker of the flame illuminated Reg’s eyes—dark, focused, and anything but subtle now.

     Ford’s heart pounded, a rhythm that matched the tension rising between them, the closeness almost unbearable. The ember glowed, casting a warm, brief light across their faces, and Ford inhaled sharply, his cigarette igniting with a soft crackle. But he barely noticed, too consumed by the way Reg was looking at him, the intensity in his gaze.

     Reg’s fingers were like feathers at the back of Ford’s neck, his thumb brushing against the nape of his skin, light, but covetous. Ford’s pulse raced, the warmth of Reg’s touch seeping into him, disarming him in a way he hadn’t expected. The smoke between them thickened, curling up in lazy spirals, filling the space with a heavy, intoxicating haze. Ford exhaled slowly, his breath mingling with Reg’s as they stayed close, neither one pulling back.

     Ford felt himself loosening, surrendering to the look in Reg’s eyes, yet beneath that ease lay an undercurrent of apprehension. It was subtle at first, almost like a gentle pull drawing him deeper into the moment, but then it magnified—every detail sharper, inescapable. The way Reg’s shirt hung loosely off one shoulder, the deliberate way he sat, angling his body just enough for Ford to catch the view he wanted him to see, every move intentional. Ford was all too aware of it, and that awareness made it intoxicating. Made it terrifying.

     Reg was leaning closer now, the tension between them so thick it buzzed in the air. Ford’s heart thudded wildly, matching the flurry of emotions swirling in his head. The thrill of this moment battled with the shadow that dwelled in his mind. Bill . Bill, who was always there, an ache that never fully left. But it was different now. He was tired. He was high. He was sad.

     And Reg—Reg was here. Solid, real, warm, his fingers ghosting across Ford’s thigh, light enough to be innocent but with an edge of intent that made Ford’s pulse spike. It was like a flame igniting his nerves, spreading heat through his body, making it hard to think straight, hard to resist the pull between them.

     They were just looking at each other now, every second feeling like a step closer and Ford wasn’t sure he could pull away from it. His hand stayed just a moment longer on Ford’s thigh, igniting more than just his skin. They were so close now—close enough that Ford could smell faint fragrance of Reggie’s lotion, how it clung to his skin—he smelled like patchouli. Earthy, grounding, yet heady in the thick air closing between them. 

          Ford liked patchouli.

     “You ever been with a man before?” Reg asked, his voice quiet and smooth as his fingers tiptoed further up Ford’s thigh, tracing delicate patterns against his denim. The intimacy of the gesture sent shivers through Ford, igniting a warmth that spread from the point of contact.

     Ford met his gaze again, feeling the gravity of the moment settle around them. The facade of subtlety in Reg’s eyes had vanished, replaced by curiosity and an intensity that made Ford feel flush. That curiosity came with a weight of memories he still couldn’t shake. He could almost feel Bill’s presence in the room—the sharpness of his wit, the intensity of his gaze that had always left Ford feeling both exposed and exhilarated.

     Reg was different—but he was confident and charming in a way that drew Ford in, filling a void he hadn’t realized he’d been yearning to fill. Reg wasn’t Bill, not even close, but there was something tantalizing about his attention, the way he flattered and teased, reading Ford like a book, getting under his skin. The thought stirred a bittersweet ache within him. The turmoil twisted in his gut, the allure of Reg’s touch and the pulse of longing made it difficult to think clearly. He swallowed hard, battling the nerves that threatened to overwhelm him.

          Ford nodded lightly to the question, redness creeping across his cheeks as he fought to reconcile the whirlwind of emotions inside him. Reg wasn’t Bill, but maybe—he could just— pretend?

               No

     In an instant, the spell broke. Ford recoiled, drawing a measured breath and sitting up straighter, guilt spilling through him as the moment slipped away. He couldn’t do it. Quickly, he took a puff of his cigarette and retreated, the smoke swirling around him as he tucked into himself, a futile attempt to mask the tension that still crackled in the air. He couldn’t bear to look at Reg, his leg bouncing nervously under the weight of his eyes.

     Reg rested back on his elbow, a tight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, as if to savor the remnants of that moment. Ford caught his breath, the memory of their closeness was heavy in the smoky air, like a half-finished thought, tantalizing and unresolved. Regret was already bubbling up in Ford’s chest. This is exactly why he left you. He pulled his knees closer to his body, keeping his eyes fixed forward, puffing at his cigarette, resisting.

     Reggie just looked at him, a knowing expression settling on his features. “You’ve already bit, hm?” he asked, his tone a teasing caress, yet there was a deeper undercurrent, tender and understanding.

     Ford closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, savoring the familiar burn of the cigarette. He let the smoke roll from his mouth in a slow, deliberate stream, each exhale a quiet acknowledgment of the truth he couldn’t quite articulate. He nodded quickly, nervously, the admission heavy on him, mingling with the haze of the moment.

     Reggie’s gaze roamed over Ford, lingering. It felt disarming and nerve wracking. “Is he kind?” he inquired, his voice low and rich, the question weaving itself into the fragile fabric of their conversation.

     Ford swallowed hard, the words lodged in his throat like stones as he fixed his gaze forward, unable to turn back and face him. He felt the smoke curl around him, a gentle embrace that offered both comfort and confinement. Stillness stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of concession.

     “I see,” Reggie said, his voice dropping further, almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret. He began swaying his knee back and forth, a rhythmic motion that mirrored the tension building in the air around them. “Do you like that?” he pressed, a daring curiosity lacing his words.

     Ford remained silent, his body taut with the effort of holding back, wrestling with the question’s gravity and its answer. Stillness fell between them again; responding not with his voice, nor with his body. But the answer was there, hanging in the space between them, pulsing with unacknowledged longing. He didn’t need to say anything; the truth lay in the way his breath quickened, the way his heart raced, a confession spoken in the silence.

     Laughter erupted from the other room, shattering the fragile bubble they had created. The sound spilled into the space like a sudden gust of wind, accompanied by the slam of the back door and the clamor of boots stomping across the floor. Fiddleford and two other house guests reentered the living room, their exuberance vibrant and chaotic. Ford felt a conflicting rush of relief and disappointment wash over him—relief that the pressure of the moment had lifted, but disappointment that he was losing what he hadn’t quite grasped, and the relief it offered him. But the weight of Reg’s gaze felt too heavy to bear, and he wanted to leave; he couldn’t take it anymore.

     Fidds glanced over at the two men gathered at the table, his smile faltering as he took in Ford’s hunched posture, the way his leg bounced nervously—a telltale sign of his discomfort. Fidds had known Ford long enough to recognize when he was struggling, down to the way he was holding his cigarette; awkwardly pinched between his index finger and thumb. Classic Ford. Even if he didn’t know the details of what happened after he stepped out, the distance Ford had created between himself and Reg tugged at his heart. There was a flicker of guilt simmering in his chest; he’d thought inviting Ford out would help him relax, help him meet new people, but it had clearly backfired. Fidds wanted to be a good friend, to encourage Ford to break out of the shell he often retreated into, but all he saw now was Ford’s unease, the way he faced away, lost in thought.

     “We’d better get going,” Fidd said, his voice cutting through the laughter as he locked eyes with Ford across the room, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil they both felt. He was aware, on some level, that Ford was grappling with something deeper, something that made him work himself to the bone. Fidds wished he could pry it out, wished he could ease the burden Ford carried, but he didn’t know; the weight of absence heavy on his friend’s shoulders, the truth of his feelings. All he knew was that his friend was fighting battles unspoken. But he didn’t need to know. Not everything. Not if Ford wasn’t ready.

     With a gentle resolve, Fidd slapped a wad of cash onto the glass table and smiled at Reg, the sound sharp and decisive against the laughter still bubbling in the background. “The store closes early on Sunday.” he said before he reached out to Ford, offering a hand to help him stand. Ford hesitated, feeling the remnants of the intimate moment with Reg still on his mind, the unvoiced confessions now overshadowed by the arrival of laughter and light. But he took Fidd’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up, the warmth of their connection a reminder of the world beyond the chaos of his mind.

     Reg reached the door first, his hand poised on the handle as he swung it open, helping them on their way out. Fidds walked out first, exchanging brief pleasantries as he and Reg passed one another. He went stepping into the cool air with a casualness, almost skipping down the concrete steps.

     Ford followed just behind, flustered and desperate to escape the remnants of the visit. The cold air hit him like a splash of cold water, stark and refreshing, but it couldn’t shake the heat still lingering in his cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to soothe what was wrestling in him. As he stepped through the threshold, he felt a gentle tug on the sleeve of his coat.

     Ford turned back, caught off guard by Reg’s presence so close again. “Come back whenever you’re ready,” Reg said, his voice low and inviting, hanging in the air like a spell waiting to be broken.

     Heat flooded Ford’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the stillness between them. He nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration coursing through him in a way that was unsettlingly exhilarating. Without another word, he turned away, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he trudged after Fidds, the weight of Reg’s words in his ear.

     As they approached Fidds’ car, Ford felt the urge to look back, a magnetic pull compelling him to see if Reg was still watching. He stole a glance over his shoulder just as he reached the car door, and there was Reg, framed in the doorway, eyes fixed on him with an intensity that sent a perturbed vibration through Ford’s chest.

     Suddenly, the air felt even cooler, sharper, and he snapped his head forward, tucking into his shoulders as if to shrink away from the warmth of Reg’s gaze. He felt exposed, and unsteady as he climbed into the car, the weight of the afternoon pressing down on him —uncertainty, agitation, and something that tasted faintly of observation. He couldn’t quite explain it, couldn’t articulate the tumult that churned in his chest. It was probably just in his head, he told himself, but the sensation remained. It felt, oddly, as though every moment spent in Reg’s presence had been a probing examination, intentional. He couldn’t shake the feeling—as though, that entire time, he was being watched.

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[Read Entire Work Here]

[bayofwolves]

i've been thinking ab abeke x worthy for the last 12 hours... do y'all feel me. could i convince y'all to get on board this ship

[whogirl42]

Probably an unpopular opinion but I really??? don't get the hype for Georgia/Joe??? The show is clearly planting seeds for a slow-burn endgame kind of thing between them but I don't really see why they should have that???

As a character, yes, Joe is great. And he and Georgia do have a great friendship. You can really see how Georgia just relaxes whenever she sees him. And (especially in s1) they have entertaining scenes. But. It just really feels like Joe is endlessly pining whereas Georgia is really really not there. I feel bad for Joe, I pity him, but I can't really ship him with Georgia cause it all feels SO one-sided. And I agree with Cynthia that Georgia would eat Joe alive if they got together—despite the snarky comments here and there, Joe's a complete doormat when it comes to Georgia! They're not equals! Not really. Not unless Joe grows a gd backbone somepoint in seasons 3&4.

And then there's Paul. Paul, who is madly in love with Georgia, and it so so good for and to her and her kids, and who has the most adorable friendship with Zion. Paul, who Georgia clearly is madly in love with, who she loves enough that she told him almost everything about her past, all the ugly, really laid herself bare. Paul who holds Georgia accountable and doesn't put up with her bullshit, while still being the ultimate ride-or-die husband.

Like they said in the s2 finale, Georgia and Paul are a team, they're partners.

Literally the only way I see Georgia and Paul not ending up together at the end of the show without making the characters ooc is by killing off Paul. That's it. Nothing else makes sense to me.

And I really don't understand why that should have to happen just because Joe remembered a girl he spoke to for 0.2 seconds as a teenager and named a horse Milkshake

[aeide-thea]

[fic crit, amatonormativity (blogger's own) cw]

revisited a story that i remembered really enjoying, but have had difficulty digging up for a reread because, as it turns out, it's a good 200 pages deep in the relevant pairing tag, and—

turns out that i do still really dig it, and also that the other thing i remembered about it is equally still true, which is that it totally fails to really resolve the emotional side of things! like, it's a fic full of Plot and briefly- but vividly-drawn OCs, and people from the main characters' pasts who show up in ways that work for the story but are also random enough to lend verisimilitude, and we get to see the elements of the foil's day-to-day life—what keeps them busy and burnished when they're not off Adventuring with our protagonist—in generous, engaging detail, and all of that remains really satisfying and compelling to me; but it's billed as a fic ft. a pairing, and yet all we see of that is an established, undiscussed level of ambiguous intimacy that's lovely and warm but queerplatonic at absolute most, and doesn't get tied into any sort of bow by the end, even a friendly one.

and the thing is—there's absolutely nothing wrong with that! if it weren't for the pairing tag i probably wouldn't even find it unsatisfying: it'd just be lovely warm plotty genfic, and i'd enjoy the hell out of it! but i am, for better or for worse, amatonormative enough that when i see a story with a pairing tag, i do personally expect some combination of Romance Feelings and/or sex to appear on the page, unless the author's notes inform me the relationship is queerplatonic or similarly asterisked, and having that expectation go unmet feels like a disappointment even when the fic is on all other fronts the opposite of disappointing. which i'm fully ready to accept is my own failing, rather than the story's! but. idk. pondering and processing. :)

[arcielee]

I cannot thank you enough for this. I will cherish this reblog. 🥰

Fare Well

Photo credit.

Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 1600+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, knifeplay, object penetration, kissing, p in v, creampie, using intercourse as an escape from reality. Author’s Note: Listen, the new trailer came out and our muses are buzzing again. This smutty piece was inspired by this story by @valeskafics as well as this beautiful edit by the beautiful @bucknastysbabe. The title is from Hozier, as you all should come to expect now, and this can also be read on ao3. This is dedicated to @f4ll-for-you, my wonderful Tumblr kindred spirit who made me into the Aegon girly I am today. 💜 A huge thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta reading and making sure this all made sense. 💜 Enjoy!

“What troubles you, your grace?”

You had remained in the shadows and listened to the voices grow louder, though still muted through the walls, with their worries of what was to come next. They exited one by one, the morose men chosen to serve the king’s council, with the lord commander of the kingsguard escorting the queen dowager donned in green, her eyes downcast and her expression etched with her perpetual worry since her lord husband had passed. The lord hand was the last to leave, his face lined and wearied, his slow gate returning him to the tower where he would–as Aegon confided to you–continue to pen letters to garner support across the realm. 

It was only then that you dared to enter the room. You saw Aegon was seated at the head of the table, his violet gaze placed on the Valyrian dagger in his hands, the iron and rubies that once belonged to the Conqueror gleaming above him. 

The sun was streaking through the windows behind, giving him a kingly glow. His hair was a shade lighter and his cheeks sunkissed from the hours aback Sunfyre; despite the threat beyond the horizon, you knew that Aegon enjoyed patrolling the skies with his brothers.

It was these little confessions that he shared with you in the clandestine moments stolen within the walls of the Red Keep. He told you how he wished to be distracted, to allow a reprieve for his mind that weighed heavy with this anointed crown, and you were just this distraction, flesh and blood pulsing with your desire. 

It was then he looked up to see you still shyly posted in the doorway. “You seemed troubled, your grace,” you repeated with kindness, with concern. 

“I am now always troubled, it feels,” his smile was forced. “It seems to be something that comes with the weight of this.” He removed the crown and it echoed dully as he dropped it on the table. “But perhaps you can serve your king.” 

Your foot pushed the door until it closed soundly, and you took a step towards him. For a moment you saw the boy you had grown up with, mischievous and smirking, peering up at you from beneath the title of king. “This is why I am here,” your reply was sultry, and you saw how the black began to swallow the color of his eyes. “To serve, your grace.” 

Aegon sheathed the dagger and set it aside his crown before slouching back to spread his legs wider in the ornate chair he sat. Your stomach tightened at the sight of his thick outline against his thigh, pressing through his slacks, and you felt the flutter of that desire trilling your spine, spilling back into your veins. 

Your heart vibrated beneath and his lips curled upwards when he noticed where your eyes fell. His large hand patted his thigh. 

The gesture summoned you and you moved within his arms reach. He pulled you onto his lap, his face burying into the curve of your neck with a groan, a deep inhale that tickled. “Your grace,” you giggled, squirming in his hold, your blood warming your skin. 

“It is only us now,” he murmured against your skin, “and all I wish now is  to tear away these layers, lay you on this table, and have what lies beneath your finery.” 

“You would not dare,” you whispered, your eyes bright. 

His fingers dug into your hip while his other hand snaked under your thighs to lift you up from his seat. You giggled again, your arm quick to wrap around his neck to brace for his step forward as he set you on the edge of the table. His hands pawed at your layers, searching to find the dagger and he began to slice through your fabric.  

Your surprise spilled from your lips. “Aegon!”

He did not falter, but sheathed it and set it back down so his hands could grab fistfuls, tearing away the fabric to allow you room to part your thighs and welcome him. Your hands moved from his chest and combed through his hair, smoothing the indent left behind from his crown. He hummed from your touch, his hands moving from your hips and following your curves to your backside, pulling you closer so he could tilt his chin forward and capture your lips. 

His kiss devoured you wholly, pulling the air from your lungs with the dizzyingly desperation of his lips against your own. Your arms wrapped again around his neck and you rolled your hips for friction against the warmth he emitted through his royal garb, your fingers clawing at the fabric. 

You could feel his smile against your lips, his fingers returning to his hold on your hips. The outside of his palm rested on the dip and his thumbs pressed to the bone, eliciting a pleasure that jolted through you. You moaned softly and his mouth broke away, wet kisses that now trailed along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the slope of your neck. 

“Aegon,” you could not help but whine, and you tightened your legs around his hips. 

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, flushed. For a moment you were lost in his heady gaze, only brought back once you felt his hand trailing the detailing of your bodice and pressing until you laid back on the table. His other hand retrieved the dagger once more and your smallclothes were cut away, the air crisp against the slick between your thighs. 

“So wet for me already,” he clucked his tongue, “and I have barely begun.” 

Your stuttered response only further goaded him. His brow cocked. “What was that?” 

“Please,” you licked your lips. “Touch me, Aegon. Please.”

The darkness in his eyes glittered with the sunlight, and his satisfaction curled across his square jaw. “No. Not quite yet.” 

Before you could protest, you felt the pressure of something that was smooth, almost cool to the touch. You peered down to see the sheathed dagger pressed sideways to your bare cunt, the ruby stone sliding against the slick, the blossom of your arousal allowing him a circular motion of the gemstone against the bundle of nerves.  

You shuddered in response, your skin rising on your thighs and chest, and your head fell back, your hands pressing flat on the polished wood to anchor yourself. The unfamiliar touch began to build a familiar sensation, something that fluttered throughout, catching your exhale in your throat. 

“Aegon,” you cried, his name spilling sickly sweet from your lips, an endearment with the desperation of your tone. 

“Let me,” he soothed, his voice rasped with his intent focus. 

He moved the hilt and its decorative ridges rubbed along your swollen nerves. You squealed with the touch and then the intrusion, feeling his palm press to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me,” he whispered, his eyes boring between your thighs. You relaxed to his touch, feeling the curve of the handle pressing sweetly within you.

It sparked lights before your eyes and Aegon was pleased. He moved his thumb to replace where the gemstone rubbed enticingly before, matching the tandem of the hilt that now pulled you upwards to the prior peak and then past. It filled your chest, a bursting euphoria that pulsed your walls around the handle.

“Sȳz riña,” his voice low with his praise. Good girl.

Your head lifted, drowsy, and you saw him touch the glossy shine that now covered the hilt, his fingers showing the sticky web of your climax. His eyes met with yours as he showed you, and his eyebrows raised when you pushed to sit up, your hand gently covering his own to pull it towards your lips, licking the ruby and tasting yourself.  

It clattered to the cobblestone and his free hand now grabbed the nape of your neck, his lips finding yours with his returned desperation. Fingers collided to loosen his drawstrings, your hands pulling his cock free and guiding his blunt head to press against your silk entrance. 

His large hand wrapped around the base and you cant your hips, angling yourself so his cock can slowly sink into your wet warmth. You mewled from the delicious stretch and he shuddered once he was fully buried between your thighs. Aegon paused, stealing a kiss, a taste of tenderness on his lips as he began to rock against you. 

It started slow with a low groan spilling from his kiss swollen slips as he watched his cock disappear inside you again and again. He savored the lewd sounds, your soft cries as he pushed deeper within you, your fingers grasping to hold yourself upright, to remain as close to him as possible. 

Your body still simmered with your prior release and it did not take much to build again. His hips snapped against yours with the wet sound of skin to skin, and your walls began to flutter. It is a breathless chorus, your soft gasps and his low groan, your pleasure pulling with a creamy spill of passion that tightened around him, his cock pulsing hotly within you. 

You fell back to your elbows, trying to catch your breath, and Aegon slumped over, his damp brow pressing to yours, the mess of his golden waves falling across your face. His scent washed over you, exotic oils that were sent as gifts and the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

The council chambers are noiseless now, and you hold still under the dimming candles lit for the chandelier above. It is another clandestine moment stolen, where your hearts thrummed in unison before slowing back to their regular pace, pulling you back to the heavy reality that settled in the quiet.

It lingered in the shadows, the faraway thought, the threat beyond the horizon, the echoed worries returning of what will come next. 

Tumblr kindred spirits [taglist]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @qyburnsghost @namelesslosers

[felikatze]

follow up to this post i am wearing holes into the carpet.

this current arc on the TL FASCINATES ME because it just taps so much into what The Process is for Kim Soleum and what he loves about horror. Because yknow in that previous post I talked at length about how he loves to Figure Out And Understand The Monster.

so like. yeah. yeah of course he loves Braun's Late-Night Talk Show.

He gets to choose which guest appears, i.e. he gets to pick his favorite stories. And, as part of the crew, he gets to pick them apart and just hear them talk from a safe distance. Just the goddamn horror monster on a talk show talking about itself to the delight of the audience, and also to the delight of himself. This is The Perfect Fanservice for him.

It's like, yknow, a creator confirming all your theories about their work on a podcast. It's getting a good grade in media analysis.

And i'm also thinking about how he actually befriended Braun by appealing to Braun as a creator.

Because where Kim Soleum loves to read and understand stories, Braun loves to create stories. But Braun was trapped in that cycle of attention. He loved his Quiz Show format, but it was getting stale. The views were dropping, and that was depressing him. So he brings on a big flashy guest he doesn't even really like to keep the audience engaged.

And there's like, meta to that as well. Because the new format was just Horror and Gore up the wazoo, people getting killed left and right. There weren't rules on how to survive, you were just dead from the start. It was cheaper horror.

Cuz the knowledge that everyone dies in the end kneecaps tension just as much as knowing that everyone's gonna survive. Hell, knowing everyone dies has less tension than everyone living, because survival at least means excitement about what they might lose along the way.

So, Braun, as a down in the dumps creator, went with cheap thrills for audience engagement at the cost of his integrity. But Kim Soleum reminded him of why he loves to create shows in the first place. Braun wants thrill and laughter and showmanship. And, Braun wants his shows to be his.

The talk show format is a fascinating evolution of that, because talk shows are also about guests. But unlike the choir before it, a talk show lives and dies by its host. Instead of being superceded by his guest, Braun is collaborating with them.

In that sense, it's incredibly sweet that Braun wants to share this with Kim Soleum. Bringing back my old (2 days old) point about how our dear Roe also likes to write, writing as a form of understanding, as a form of analysis and respect, it's self-evident how Braun might consider him a kindred spirit! Wanting to share the joy of creating something fulfilling, from the heart!

where am I going with this. Right. There's still a lot of absurdity to Braun's existence, of course. What TV channel is this even running on? Who are the higher ups, where are the ratings coming from? But it's abundantly clear that all a lot of the horror monsters are sentient.

They have their own values and their own logic. And this logic is alien to humans, but it can be understood. And Soleum does a great job of that. Like bartering in an otherworldy botique to avoid paying with human lives.

And. paces in a circle. Braun did the inverse? Because, when Braun convinces Kim Soleum to go on the talk show, it is made explicitly clear that it is not coercion, or hypnosis, or brainwashing, or any sort of mental contamination. It's all arguments tailored to Kim Soleum. It's all information Braun only knows from spending so much time with and trying to understand his friend.

(...Jury is still entirely out on how much that Silver Ring is actually good for and there was at least some mind-reading involved. Doesn't change that the argumentation was sound and grounded, though.)

It's pretty wild to me, that this all started with the Smiley Stickers and the Good Friend, but when all that's gone, Braun still adores Soleum. Still calls himself friend.

Like all that just gave him a nudge in trying to Get It. By tagging along all this time, Braun's been getting the front row seat to the intricacies of human office drama, to trouble with roommates, to beefing with your superiors. Mundane drama that is either utterly alien to him or all too relatable.

I love the miscommunication of, Kim Soleum thought that the Good Friend was like, just a sliver of the original. But it was Braun, entirely, choosing to answer that call and stick around. Because he must've also been curious, about that strange human that changed him so.

I just. Love how much this flips the tables. From Kim Soleum as the one trying to understand to the one terrified to be understood so thoroughly, mortified that he's actually shared so much of himself with another person. That someone just fully gets his fears and his desires. And how it's not truly about going home, it's about getting out of here.

This relationship isn't going to end well. But it is deeply compelling.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — yang jungwon

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star taekwondo athlete and put them in front of a camera?

“Kindred” a student documentary. Pilot episode airing tonight on TVN 7PM KST.

PAIRING: athlete!jungwon x stucopres!fem!reader

FEATURING: enhypen, yunjin from lesserafim, ryujin and chaeryeong from itzy, chanelle from runext, beomgyu and taehyun from txt, wonyoung from ive, gunwook and gyuvin from zb1 etc.

GENRE: high school au, enemies to lovers, nerd x athlete, forced proximity, slice of life, coming of age, he fell first and harder, fluff, ANGST, teen drama, slow burn ish?

STATUS: completed! (01/09/2023 – 18/03/2024)

WARNINGS: contains profanities, horrible attempt at humour, urban lingo, probably cringy, kys/kms jokes, depression jokes, sexual innuendos (nothing too inappropriate), depiction of violence, family drama, incorrect timestamps/information, no fixed faceclaims, not proofread etc.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: story concept is heavily inspired by the kdrama ‘our beloved summer’ other than that the storyline is completely original (or so i assume since i manifested this out from the crevices of my pea brain). chapters with ‘(hw)’ next to them indicates that they are half-written, in case y’all skip over it! as always, the content and depiction of the characters in this smau do not in anyway represent them in real life. lastly, if you do end up enjoying, please do like, comment (love reading your comments btw), and reblog so this can reach!

TAGS: #tfwy kindred #tfwy smau

TEASER

profile. one | two | three

episode 1 - ratatouille and the underdogs

episode 2 - one way ticket to university

episode 3 - do you take constructive criticism?

episode 4 - unsolicited but appreciated

episode 5 - the art of benevolence

episode 6 - taekwondo-anti

episode 7 - beating the mentally ill allegations

episode 8 - can’t help it, i’m a libra

episode 9 - operation we-don’t-really-hate-each-other (hw)

episode 10 - she’s an oscar award winning actress

episode 11 - someone like me (hw)

episode 12 - ‘female-lead-realising-the-bad-boy-isnt-actually-that-bad’ arc

episode 13 - 5 foot 9 garfield meets avatar

episode 14 - yn the heterosexual

episode 15 - the ynwon getting closer montage :p

episode 16 - to the moon and back

episode 17 - eat 2 left toes

episode 18 - you are approved! (hw)

episode 19 - asking for a friend

episode 20 - rediscovering won’s ability to love

episode 21 - beomgyu’s 99999 eq

episode 22 - ynwon get together or else >:(

episode 23 - “hate”

episode 24 - not all problems can be solved with a formula

episode 25 - H.O.M.E.W.R.E.C.K.E.R

episode 26 - collecting facebook milfs like pokémons

episode 27 - you were brighter than the moon (hw)

episode 28 - she's studious not stupid

episode 29 - the garden is full of surprises (hw)

episode 30 - weapon of mass destruction

episode 31 - the name above me (hw)

episode 32 - no offense but she’s a cockblocker

episode 33 - the bane of my existence (hw)

episode 34 - risky risky wiggy wigi this is an emergency

episode 35 - live my life on my terms (hw)

episode 36 - separation anxiety goes crazy

episode 37 - paparizzki

episode 38 - manifested this from ashes

episode 39 - everything will work out just the way you want it to (hw)

episode 40 (finale) - her entire being is loveable (written)

epilogue - kindred, signing off part 1 | part 2

bonus chapters!

yunjin x heeseung

i can fight

Copyright© 2023 thatfeelinwhenyou All Rights Reserved

[amuseoffyre]

Oh! OHHHHHHH! AN EPIPHANY.

We've known for months about the official logo for S2. The two mermaids symbolising Ed, their hands forming his name, one the Blackbeard side, the other the Ed-side with the broken heart.

But when I was watching the teaser for the [redacted] time, it was this shot that caught me and made me yell and remember things:

OKAY. SO.

Season one had Stede's journey echoed in the story of Pinocchio. He reads from the book, there's the journey from being a puppet (controlled by the world and circumstances around him) to being a real boy. There's a gorgeous parallel between little Stede tied to the rowboat in terror and adult Stede who has cut all his strings in another rowboat, free at last.

Season two is Ed's story. But Ed isn't Pinocchio. Ed is the little mermaid and aaaaaa! I am rolling around in all the layers and layers of it that have been set up from S1 already.

The biggest thing is Ed giving up his metaphorical voice and going on land for the man he loves. He signed the act of grace and gave up the world where he had security, power and allies. Only Stede didn't come with him and aaaaaah the tragedy of the original little mermaid story is that the Prince who the mermaid sacrificed everything for didn't want her.

(also so much subtext for Hans Christian Andersen's yearning)

And it hit me tonight that Ed is on wedding ships and I had somehow forgotten that the big final arc of the Little Mermaid is that she is on the wedding ship. The man she loves is there, marrying someone else, and she has the choice of killing him and rejoining the world she knows or dying herself and aaaaaaa. I AM HAVING THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS.

I will leave you with this quote, which seems incredibly relevant given the first lines in the teaser:

She knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home. She had given up her beautiful voice and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she should breathe the same air with him or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea.

[solimavi]

Majima: Love, Suffering, and Dreams

I've still got Majima Gaiden on the mind and really need to ramble about Majima's mental state in this game, the emphasis on dreams and how they fit into the core of Majima's character and his arc in this game, and his relationships with Kiryu and Noah. Spoilers ahead.

When really getting into the meat of this character, something important to take notice of is of course the tattoo choice. To give a brief overview, hannya represent female demons who are driven by very intense emotions. An example of such an entity is the malicious spirit that manifested from Lady Rokujo's jealousy towards Genji's wife, Lady Aoi, in "The Tale of Genji". Bringing things back around to Majima, I often think of Yakuza 2. It's the game where we get the first look at his tattoo and in that game, there's a shot focused on it before he singlehandedly takes down an Omi horde. To bare such a tattoo is to proclaim to be driven by things such as obsession, jealousy, heartbreak, and wrath to the point those feelings overwhelm you and turn you into it a demon. The design of the mask is meant to appear as both dangerous and tormented. As Ugaki put it, Majima is overflowing with love, and he suffers for it.

Majima, as a matter of self-preservation, doesn't often wear his heart on his sleeve, but nonetheless accepts his strong emotions and the suffering that comes with them as a core part of who he is. In fact, the tattoo is him telling us that those feelings and suffering are what he's all about.

With all that said, let's take a closer look at his first encounter with the giant squid and the context of that encounter.

Years of unrequited love towards Kiryu, the devastating revelation of his cancer diagnosis, and a desperate attempt to find a, to Majima, likely not real cure are what led him to this moment. The interplay of love and suffering had reached its peak and appeared to be about to consume him in the form of a mythical-tier giant sea monster. When faced with this situation, Majima, against all reason, eagerly chose death. And I think this is where we see Majima's identity as someone destined to suffer because of love meets with the part of him that's "just a tough dude that likes to fantasize a lot" (Yokoyama's words). To a romantic who keeps their head in the clouds and embraces this sort of suffering as a core part of who they are, dying to a monster because they wouldn't stop fighting for the object of their one-sided love could appear to be the ultimate affirmation of that identity and their love. Majima isn't just standing his ground and going down with his ship. He's been stuck in a feeling of stagnation for years, as far back as at least Yakuza 5. The Tojo Clan is gone, and society has left the former yakuza to rot. And now he's been dealt the blow that he might be about to lose Kiryu. He's in a lot of pain. This was an opportunity to end it and go out with a bang for Kiryu.

But we all know Majima didn't actually die there. Through some miracle, the squid doesn't kill him, and he eventually washes up on shore after passing out on the ship. It's then that he meets Noah.

Majima finds a kindred spirit in Noah. Noah is preoccupied with fantasies of seeing the world while being stuck living a dull and sheltered life on Rich Island. He feels stuck and wants better and more exciting things. Just like Majima.

It's through helping Noah see the world that Majima finds the potential for fun and excitement in life again and two key things happen.

Number one is the second encounter with the giant squid. Before, the squid set the stage for giving Majima the ideal romantic death. The perfect ending to his tragedy. At the time, he was ready to accept that death. In the second encounter, nearing the end of the story, it's the squid that ends up dying at Majima's hands.

Number two is Majima's determination to not die in Madlantis. This comes after seeing Noah's response to Jason's near-death experience protecting him and Moana's kidnapping. To Noah, it was because his dad and sister love him and wanted to make him happy by helping him chase his dreams that they both got hurt. As a response, Noah was ready to condemn himself for having those dreams in the first place and throw them away. Majima was able to pull him back from those thoughts, but what would have happened if Majima had then gone and got himself killed after all of that? Again, Majima and Noah are kindred spirits when it comes to dreaming. Majima gives a lot of value to letting yourself fantasize about better and more exciting things. Noah throwing that away because he blames himself for somebody else getting hurt isn't something Majima can let happen and he's forced to consider how his usual self-destructive behavior could end up hurting the person he wants to help. In 0, Sera stepped in and forced this kind of consideration on Majima by directly calling him out before he could kill on Makoto's behalf. But the games that take place after 0 are indicative of no lasting reckoning with how his self-destructive habits could do more harm than good to the people he loves. In PYIH, he's able to think things through without needing another person to step in and talk sense into him.

Bringing it back around to Kiryu, there was a bit from the Anan magazine Majima interview where his connection with Kiryu was described as especially special amongst all the people Majima has encountered and connected to. He's Majima's dream. He loves Kiryu more than he loves anything else. While Majima was out there trying to cut in line to meet the reaper early because of that love, Kiryu was in the hospital fighting for his life to have as much time with the people he loves as possible after years of running away from them. What would Majima's sudden death had done for Kiryu? How would he feel if he knew Majima had died while desperately trying to find a cure for him?

Majima didn't find the miracle elixir he was looking for. He also didn't die while out looking for something he likely didn't actually believe to be real. No glorious ending to his tragic love story. No saving himself from still being alive to experience the pain of losing Kiryu if and when it happens. He just returns to Japan, ready to find new dreams to keep himself going, and he visits Kiryu to tell him about his recent adventure.

What would have happened if Majima hadn't lost his memories and then met and set sail with Noah? Would he have kept looking for that cure until he either found it or died trying? Majima says Noah saved him and when stepping back and looking at what took place, I don't think this is only referring to the helping hand Noah gave him when he washed up on shore.

Now that I put that all out there. We've got the former yakuza who is going through easily one of the worst moments in his life. He then meets a little kid going through their own struggles and finds himself able to deeply understand and relate to the kid. He takes up a guardian role to that kid, but he ends up being helped by them as much as he helps them. Oh, and there's this very familiar bit around the middle of the story where that kid is abruptly kidnapped. This is really starting to ring some bells.

Majima's story fuses the need to quickly adjust to an unfamiliar environment (the amnesia in a place far from home compared to Kiryu getting out of prison after 10 years not knowing what's going on) and the life changing encounter (Kiryu meeting Haruka who is just as lost and alone as he is) from Y1 with the death seeking behavior resulting from grief over loss of a loved one from Y2. Noah is the Haruka that's there to both save and be saved by Majima. It all rolls back around to rhyming with Kiryu and Haruka's story.

Anyways. Hopefully this isn't too rambly and disorganized. I really like to think about Majima's obsessive side, and I was really thrown a bone to chew on here with him maybe romanticizing those struggles. Trying to find romance or a bright side to your problems is a very real and relatable tendency people often struggle with, just probably not often on the level of "I'm gonna set sail and get killed by a giant sea monster for the love of my life". All of that interconnects with the sad love story with Kiryu, the focus on the importance of dreams, finding the fun in life again, and the parallels to Kiryu and Haruka with Majima and Noah. It's a lot to think about packed into this one five-chapter game.

[nellasbookplanet]

While I think the execution could at times have been better I really enjoyed the imodna arc which, to me, was both verbalized and problematized with the 'maybe it’s our destiny to harness it'/'maybe it’s our destiny to fight it'/'together either way' exchange back during their first kiss. No moment better crystallized their likenesses, but also their differences. They were both lonely figures tempted by dark powers who found a kindred soul in the other but, crucially, their responses were polar opposites. Laudna, with her lack of self-worth and seeing herself as a dead end, was seeking comfort that Imogen wouldn’t judge or hate her when she inevitably gave in. Imogen, meanwhile, was seeking comfort that Laudna understood the temptation and likewise wouldn’t judge, but ultimately had no plans to give in to predathos. She saw the temptation for the self destruction that it was, and as she came to love Laudna she wanted to live. Laudna saw her own survival and happiness as an impossibility, and her love for Imogen became an excuse to embrace self destruction in the name of self sacrifice, not understanding that this harmed not only her but Imogen as well.

This dichotomy became more pronounced throughout, and was in the end something they had to face and grow out of. When it became clear Laudna was barely fighting back against Delilah anymore, endangering both herself and the party, Imogen all but broke up with her. She could not make Laudna see sense, but she could stop enabling her. She could show that, were Laudna to continue in this direction, Imogen would no longer follow. Still love, and never hate or judge, but not follow. Through this, Laudna was forced to see Imogen didn't want her self-sacrifice, but rather for her to allow herself to be a burden, to accept help to deal with Delilah. In the end, she chose not to die for Imogen, but to live for her, allowing herself the vulnerability of seeking happiness and self worth.

Later, Imogen asked if Laudna would be prepared to fight her if she was corrupted, showing she wouldn’t want Laudna to follow her if she ultimately gave in to temptation either. And Laudna does help fight her in the predathos fight, just like Imogen helped fight when Laudna was overtaken by Delilah in Aeor. But that fighting was also what helped them pull the other back out. If they had simply accepted that their loved one gave in to evil temptation for power, they truly would have lost each other. Only by challenging and demanding growth (admittedly mostly from Imogen towards Laudna) could they actually hold true to their promise to be together either way.

[mononijikayu]

happy together ─ geto suguru and gojo satoru

As you observed the intimate exchange between them, you couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading in your heart. Your love was palpable, radiating from their gaze and enveloping you in its comforting embrace. It was a reminder that amidst the uncertainty and challenges of life, the love shared between kindred souls could serve as a beacon of hope and solace. If there was any possibility to split a soul into three, perhaps it was born into life just for you. You were each other’s fate, come what may. That’s what you think. You know that they wouldn’t have it any other way either. Life made sense when you were happy together. And now you are. 

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - Shinjuku Showdown Arc, 2006/2007 - 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Humor, Romance, Afterlife, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Character Death, Mention of Grief, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Fluff, Mild Angst, Pining, Reunion, House of Three;

masterlist

kayu's playlist, side 400;

listen: happy together by the turtles

note: i speed-wrote this because i had some time while i took a break from doing my school work. i love this one, you guys. cause they finally realized they should be a throuple!!! anyway, installment one done!!! enjoy it you guys!!! i love you <333

WAKING UP WAS QUITE AN EXPERIENCE. As consciousness flooded back into your senses, you could feel your entire body jolt with a sudden shock, gasping for air as your eyes snapped open, wide with alarm. It was as if you had been yanked back from the brink of oblivion, returning to the realm of the living from where you had lain, motionless. 

Beads of sweat dotted your temples, evidence of the intense ordeal you had just endured, while short, ragged breaths escaped your lips in quick succession, reminiscent of a runner finishing a grueling marathon. A chill ran down your spine, sending shivers rippling through your body, and you couldn't help but purse your lips as you sat in the eerie stillness that surrounded you. 

Perched on the cold, unforgiving metal benches, you made a conscious effort not to lose your balance; after all, you were already prone to clumsiness. Amidst the disorienting haze that clouded your mind, one thought echoed louder than the rest: what was happening? It was a question that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, filling you with an overwhelming sense of dread and confusion.

As your eyes slowly begin to adjust to the glaring light assaulting them, you find yourself struggling to make sense of your surroundings. Every movement you make seems to flow effortlessly, your Jujutsu uniform clinging to your form, the bright yellow hoodie swaying gently against the back of your neck with each subtle shift. Squinting against the harsh brightness, your brow furrows in a gesture of discomfort before you finally manage to lift your gaze, revealing the source of the intense illumination: those bright, beaming lights overhead. A low growl of frustration rumbles silently in your throat, but you force yourself to look away, tenderly massaging your sensitive eyes in an attempt to ease the discomfort.

Yet, as you blink and open your eyes once more, a sudden realization strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Those lights—there's something undeniably familiar about them. In fact, they feel more familiar to you than you would have ever dared to hope. Casting your gaze around the vast expanse before you, you take in the massive glass windows, the endless rows of metal benches mirroring the one you occupy. Above, the wide expanding upper floors look like a circular maze, the long white columns stretching towards the heavens. Bright signs adorned with directional arrows point the way to terminal gates, their bold letters beckoning travelers onward.

Your mouth falls slightly agape, rendered speechless by the bewildering scene unfolding before you. Thoughts whirl through your mind in a chaotic frenzy. "Huh?" you inwardly mumble to yourself, confusion clouding your thoughts. "Why am I in Okinawa again?"

As you attempted to rise to your feet, a wave of dizziness washed over you, causing the room to spin alarmingly. "Too fast," you chastised yourself inwardly, recognizing the consequence of your sudden movement. The sensation of disorientation only intensified as you took in your surroundings—an empty, eerily silent airport devoid of any signs of life. This wasn't at all how you remembered Naha Airport from your previous visit with Satoru and Suguru, accompanied by Kuroi and Riko. Back then, it had been a bustling hub of activity, teeming with excited travelers eager to explore the exotic wonders of Okinawa or reluctant city-dwellers bidding farewell to the island paradise.

Your lips pressed together in a thin line as you made your way toward the expansive window, the view beyond revealing a grounded plane sitting desolately on the tarmac, devoid of any passengers or activity. Confusion gnawed at the edges of your mind as you struggled to piece together the fragmented puzzle of your current situation. The effort only served to exacerbate the pounding ache in your head, each attempt at coherence feeling like a futile road to go down on. 

With each step towards the large window space, the weight of uncertainty pressed down upon you, adding to the throbbing ache in your head. Outside, the sight of the motionless plane sitting abandoned on the tarmac only deepened your sense of bewilderment. People would be here, no, you stopped yourself, they should be here. It was a stark contrast to the lively scenes you remembered from your previous visit, where the airport buzzed with the energy of travelers coming and going.

As you stood there, gazing out at the empty runway, a flurry of questions raced through your mind. How had you ended up here, alone in this deserted airport? Where were Satoru and Suguru? And what had happened to the vibrant atmosphere you had once experienced in Naha Airport? More importantly, what was the reason of you being here? And why are you all alone? You wouldn’t have gone here alone. Not by your own will, not at all.

Attempting to piece together the fragmented memories of your journey only served to exacerbate the pounding ache in your head. Frustration simmered beneath the surface as you struggled to make sense of the inexplicable situation unfolding before you. Your hands slides down to the depths of your uniform pockets and you gather yourself for a moment. Being frustrated wouldn’t do you good. With a heavy sigh, you leaned against the windowpane, your thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty.

In the midst of the desolation, a pang of longing surged within you, a sudden ache for Suguru's comforting presence. He had always been the anchor to your tumultuous emotions, his touch a source of solace that grounded you in reality. You could almost feel the warmth of his hand enveloping yours, offering reassurance in times of uncertainty. Suguru possessed an innate gentleness, a kindness that seemed to radiate from his very being. He had a way of easing your burdens, providing comfort and relief to the pain that lingered within you. It was as if he carried a piece of sunshine wherever he went, banishing darkness with his unwavering warmth.

As thoughts of Suguru lingered, your mind drifted to Satoru, another pillar of strength in your life. Despite his penchant for cheesy dad jokes, he had a knack for lifting spirits and bringing smiles even in the darkest of times. You could almost hear his infectious laughter echoing in the empty halls of the airport, a reminder of the joy he brought to those around him. You missed the sound of his laughter, the way it bubbled up before he could even deliver one of his infamous jokes.

With a heavy sigh, you scanned the barren surroundings, searching for any sign of life amidst the desolate emptiness that surrounded you. It felt as though you were trapped within your own cage of loneliness, yearning for the comforting presence of those who had always been there to chase away the shadows of doubt and despair.

As you stood there, adrift in the labyrinth of your own thoughts, the sudden intrusion of a voice shattered the eerie silence enveloping the abandoned airport. Its resonance seemed to reverberate through the desolate expanse of the airport lounge, punctuating the solitude with an unexpected interruption. Startled by the intrusion, you pivoted on your heels to locate its source, your senses heightened by the jarring contrast between the stillness and the sudden commotion.

There, amidst the ghostly surroundings, you caught sight of Amanai Riko racing towards you, tears tracing a glistening trail down her cheeks. Her frantic footsteps echoed off the empty walls, each stride a testament to the urgency of her approach. The sight of her tear-streaked face stirred a mixture of emotions within you, a blend of concern and bewilderment at the unexpected encounter.

"Hey, are you alright?" Riko's voice called out, trembling with emotion, as she hurried toward you. Her hands moved frantically, checking your sides, your face, your hair, as though uncertain of what to do but driven by an urgent need to ensure your well-being. Confusion clouded your mind as you tried to make sense of her actions, her touch both comforting and disconcerting in equal measure. Tears welled in her eyes, her distress palpable, and without a word, you found yourself enveloped in her embrace. “You’re here, I can’t believe you’re right here. I found you!”

You could feel the warmth of her tears soaking into your Jujutsu uniform, her apologies whispered between sobs. The sight of her vulnerability stirred a myriad of emotions within you, leaving you momentarily stunned into silence. Slowly, you reciprocated her embrace, your arms encircling her as you gently brushed her hair, urging her to release her pent-up emotions. Despite your own confusion, your instinct was to offer comfort, to be a source of solace in her time of need.

At that moment, questions lingered on the tip of your tongue, but you pushed them aside, prioritizing Riko's emotional well-being over your own uncertainties. All that mattered was being there for her, providing whatever support and comfort you could offer in the face of her tears.

"I'm so sorry," Riko choked out, her words muffled against the fabric of your shirt, her voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so so sorry!”

Confusion swept over you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf your senses as you struggled to comprehend the depth of her distress. Yet, despite the uncertainty swirling within your mind, your instinct was to offer comfort, to provide solace in whatever way you could. With a gentle squeeze, you conveyed reassurance, a silent reminder that you were there for her, unwavering in your support.

"It's okay, Riko," you whispered softly, your voice a gentle murmur against the backdrop of her tears. Each syllable carried the weight of understanding and empathy, a soothing balm to the turmoil of emotions swirling around you. "Don't worry about it. You don't ever have to apologize for anything, darling girl."

"But! But….I just!" Riko's voice wavered, interrupted by sobs that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Shhh…" You cooed, your words a comforting melody as you gently hushed her protests. A soft laugh escaped your lips, the sound echoing against the strands of her hair as you held her close. "I don't know why you're apologizing, but it's okay. I'm not mad about anything."

As Riko's sobs gradually subsided, you cast a glance over her shoulder, noting Kuroi Misato's approach with a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Hey," Kuroi greeted softly, her voice carrying a warmth that belied the complexity of emotions swirling within her.

Despite the outward display of kindness, there lingered a subtle hint of unease in Kuroi's expression, a flicker of guilt that caught your attention like a shadow in the midst of sunlight. It was a discordant note amidst the tranquility of the moment, leaving you with a sense of disquiet that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

As you pondered the significance of Kuroi's demeanor, a myriad of questions danced through your mind, each one seeking to unravel the mystery shrouding her intentions. Yet, try as you might, the elusive truth remained just beyond your grasp, leaving you to grapple with an unsettling sense of uncertainty. As Riko gradually regained her composure, you gently pulled away, your concern etched into every line of your face as you met her gaze with a mixture of worry and curiosity.

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension. You slowly straighten your posture and look between the younger girl and her guardian. “I woke up here….and you’re crying. And I just….”

With a trembling voice, Riko began to unravel the unsettling truth that had brought them to this deserted airport. She looks like she couldn’t even bear to tell you. But looking at her eyes, you realized that she was gathering the courage to say it to you. You wanted to coax it out of her, suspicion making your heart beat even faster at the anxiety. She looks at Kuroi, who gives her a soft smile and nods at her. 

"We've been here for a while, on the other side of the airport," she explained, her words carrying the weight of revelation. "It took us some time to realize, but... we're dead."

The revelation hit you with the force of a thunderclap, jolting you from the realm of the familiar into the stark reality of their circumstances. It felt as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom of disbelief and confusion. Each word uttered by Riko seemed to reverberate through the empty expanse of the airport, echoing off the walls like a haunting refrain.

Your mind raced to grasp the enormity of what she had just disclosed, but comprehension eluded you like a fleeting shadow. The implications of their predicament began to sink in slowly, like pebbles dropped into the vast ocean of your consciousness. This wasn't a mere misunderstanding or a figment of their imagination; it was the chilling truth laid bare before you.

As you struggled to come to terms with the stark reality of their situation, a sense of surrealism washed over you, enveloping you in a haze of uncertainty. It was as if you had been thrust into a waking dream, where the boundaries between life and death blurred and indistinct shades of gray.

Yet, amidst the tumult of emotions that threatened to engulf you, a flicker of determination ignited within your soul. You knew that you couldn't afford to dwell on shock and disbelief for long; there were questions to be answered, decisions to be made, and a journey into the unknown awaiting them all. With a steel resolve, you square your shoulders and prepare to confront whatever lay ahead, drawing strength from the bond that united you with Riko and Kuroi in this surreal limbo.

"Wait, what?" you stammered, your mind reeling with the enormity of what she was saying. It wasn’t registered. Your mouth parts, trying to get the words out. But nothing comes out. 

This airport, once a bustling hub teeming with life and activity, now loomed before you as a solemn gateway to the afterlife. Its once vibrant corridors now echoed with the hollow silence of abandonment, the ghostly remnants of past travelers haunting its deserted halls. It was as if time had frozen within these walls, trapping them in a liminal space between the worlds of the living and the dead.

As the gravity of their situation settled upon you like a heavy shroud, a whirlwind of questions stormed through your mind, each one a relentless demand for answers in the face of this surreal reality. How had they ended up here? What awaited them beyond the confines of this desolate airport? And most pressing of all, what did it mean for their future?

Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, you made a conscious choice to set aside your own uncertainties, focusing instead on providing Riko and Kuroi with the unwavering support they needed in this moment of profound uncertainty. With a steadfast resolve, you vowed to stand by their side, ready to confront whatever revelations the future held, even as you braced yourself for the unknown journey that lay ahead.

You let yourself slowly walk back to the benches.

You take a moment and you carefully sit down.

You look at the two of them as you cross your arms.

“Tell me everything you remember when you woke up.”

YOU THINK YOU SPENT QUITE WHILE REGISTERING EVERYTHING. The three of you huddled together in a somber tableau, grappling with the weight of the revelations that had reshaped your understanding of existence. There really isn't much to be done now, it seems. As the realization of your passing settles in, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, accompanied by a gentle rub of the back of your head. 

The irony of finding yourself in an airport at this moment doesn't escape you; it's almost as if God has a penchant for whimsy in the afterlife. Taking a seat on one of the airport benches, you purse your lips in contemplation. You know you'll be waiting here for a while, and oddly enough, that's what you find solace in. Suguru and Satoru, together. You believe they'll be alright; those two were destined for long, fulfilling lives. At least, that's what you hope for. After all, Jujutsu sorcerers aren't typically associated with the concept of 'forever'.

In truth, for you,  the concept of death had been a familiar companion since youth—a shadow that had trailed alongside you through the tumultuous journey of your upbringing. As an orphan with no prospects and no dreams to call your own, the specter of mortality had woven itself into the fabric of your being, a constant presence as natural as drawing breath into your lungs.

It was Tsukumo Yuki who had intervened, rescuing you from the abyss of despair during her travels and delivering you into the care of Yaga-sensei. Under his guidance, you had discovered the latent ability to perceive curses, a revelation that had irrevocably altered the trajectory of your life. Even then, death had not loosened its grip on you; the path of a sorcerer was fraught with peril, a reality Yaga-sensei had emphasized with disarming candor.

Yet, buoyed by the hope of strength and the promise of a newfound purpose, you had forged ahead, driven by the belief that diligence and determination would pave the way to a brighter future. In the embrace of companionship—with Satoru, with Shoko, with Suguru—you glimpsed the elusive promise of happiness, a fragile beacon amidst the darkness of uncertainty.

Now, faced with the stark reality of your demise, you couldn't help but mourn the life you had hoped to live—a life filled with love, with laughter, with the warmth of cherished bonds. The memory of your final moments flooded back, the visceral recollection of sacrificing yourself to shield Riko from harm, a selfless act that now loomed large in the landscape of regret.

As you leaned against the cold metal frame, a heavy sigh escaped your lips, carrying with it the weight of resignation and understanding. No wonder Riko felt guilty—your sacrifice had left an indelible mark on her conscience, a burden she now bore in the wake of your shared tragedy. You harbored no blame towards Riko, not even a trace of guilt weighed upon your conscience for sacrificing yourself in an attempt to protect her. From the depths of your being, there surged a profound sense of clarity—a steadfast conviction that your actions were born out of love and selflessness, devoid of any remorse or reproach.

In that fateful moment when danger had loomed large and fate had beckoned, you had acted instinctively, driven by an innate desire to shield Riko from harm at any cost. The notion of self-preservation had paled in comparison to the unwavering commitment to her safety, a commitment that transcended mere survival.

As you reflected upon the events that had led to your demise, there was no room for regret or recrimination. You supposed that it was the Jujutsu sorcerer in you. Yaga–sensei’s voice reverberated in your head, ‘A sorcerer doesn’t live for themselves. You live for others.’

The sentiment was something you wanted to laugh at. Satoru would laugh at how ridiculous that sounded, Suguru would think that it was ridiculous but it was what it was. But deep down you know you couldn’t. You know you wouldn’t. Instead, there existed a serene acceptance—a recognition that your final act had been keeping someone innocent alive. You did your duty, you stuck to your beliefs. You died well. You died fast too–you supposed that was a bonus in itself. That Sorcerer Killer had good aim too, you think. You sighed in finality, at the acceptance that this was fate. That this was what was destined. And it was what it was.

As you grapple with the weight of your departure, a single regret pierces through the fog of your thoughts, consuming your mind with its relentless presence. It's the ache of leaving behind Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko—the three pillars of your life, the anchors that tethered you to the realm of happiness and belonging.

Yet, amid this sea of regret, it's Suguru who occupies the forefront of your mind, his memory etched into the deepest recesses of your heart. You can't shake the feeling that your absence will inflict the deepest wounds upon him, for your love for him ran as deep as the ocean, binding your souls together in an unbreakable bond.

A flashback floods your consciousness, transporting you back to a moment frozen in time—a promise exchanged between lovers, whispered with the fervent hope of a future together. But now, as the harsh reality of your demise sets in, you find yourself grappling with the bitter irony of it all, the weight of unfulfilled promises hanging heavy on your soul.

You wish—oh, how you wish—that Suguru could understand the circumstances that led to your untimely departure, that he could find solace in the knowledge that your love for him transcends the boundaries of life and death. But even as you entertain this fleeting hope, a pang of uncertainty gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, whispering doubts of forgiveness and understanding.

And then there's Satoru—the other half of your soul, the one who had captured your heart with his infectious laughter and unwavering devotion. You can't bear to think of the pain that your absence will inflict upon him, the shattered dreams and broken promises that will haunt his waking hours.

A bittersweet memory emerges from the depths of your mind—a pinky promise exchanged between friends, a solemn vow to stand by each other's side until the end of time. But now, as you stand on the precipice of eternity, you can't help but wonder if Satoru will ever forgive you for breaking that sacred oath, for leaving him behind in a world devoid of your presence.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, a pang of guilt washes over you as you contemplate the impact of your absence on Shoko. She, too, had been an integral part of your life, a steadfast companion whose presence had brought warmth and solace in times of need. Now, as she navigates the bustling city streets alone, you can't help but feel a twinge of remorse knowing that she'll face each day without your comforting presence by her side.

You envision her, standing alone on the far-flung balcony of her dorm, the tendrils of smoke from her cigarette swirling around her like a melancholic dance. In that solitary moment, you can almost feel her loneliness echoing through the void, a stark reminder of the void you've left behind.

But even amidst the guilt and regret, you cling to a flicker of hope—that somehow, someway, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko will come to understand the circumstances that led to your departure. You wish for nothing more than their forgiveness, their understanding, their acceptance of the choices you've made.

For now, as you stand at the crossroads of eternity, you hold onto the enduring love that binds you to them—a love that transcends time and space, a love that will guide you through the darkness and into the light.

A solemn silence settles over the three of you, each lost in your own thoughts and emotions. It's Riko who breaks the silence first, her voice trembling with emotion as she struggles to articulate the enormity of their situation.

"I... I never thought... I never imagined..." Riko's words falter, her eyes brimming with tears as she looks to you for comfort and understanding. “I just….”

You reach out to her, offering a reassuring squeeze of her hand as you meet her gaze with a soft smile. "It's okay, Riko. We'll figure this out together," you assure her, your voice laced with a gentle reassurance. “We gotta stick together, you hear me?”

Kuroi steps forward, her expression trying to lift from the veil of sorrow. She smiled. "We may not have all the answers right now, but we'll face this challenge together, as a team."

You nod in agreement, grateful for the unwavering support of your friends in this moment of uncertainty. "Thank you, both of you," you say with a sincere grin. “This might be easier with the two of you with me.”

With a determined smile, you hummed, eager to lift the spirits of your small group. You stand up from your chair. "Let's not dwell on what we can't change right now," you suggest gently, your voice infused with optimism. "Instead, why don't we explore this airport together? Who knows what we might find?"

Riko's eyes brighten slightly at the suggestion, a glimmer of curiosity replacing the sadness that had clouded her features moments before. She wipes the tears away. "That sounds like a good idea," she agrees, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Kuroi nods in approval, her resolve visibly strengthening as she takes your lead. "We'll make the most of this situation," she declares with newfound determination.

“Now, let’s go! I’m craving an ice cream sundae!”

Riko laughs as she follows closely behind you. “We’re dead, we can’t eat ice cream.”

“It doesn’t matter, I want it!” You laughed back at her, but more obnoxiously. “Kuroi, what’s your favorite ice cream?”

“Oh, that’s a hard one to decide….”

As you set off together, embarking on a journey of exploration and discovery, you can't help but feel a spark of hope ignite within you. Though the road ahead may be uncertain, you take comfort in the knowledge that you're not alone—you have each other, and together, you'll find a way to navigate this strange new world.

With a sense of purpose guiding your steps, you forge ahead into the unknown, ready to face whatever challenges may come your way. And as you walk side by side, the promise of a brighter future beckons on the horizon, filling your hearts with renewed courage and determination.

You had high hopes that it’ll be just the three of you for now.

If there was a god watching you now, you whispered a wish.

You wished that those you love would live a long and happy life.

But a few months later, you stood and frowned as you stared.

Brown eyes stared at you, cheeks flustered all the way through.

“Yu Haibara, how the fu—you were supposed to grow old, idiot!”

YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT THINK. That’s all you could really do here, if you were being honest. God perhaps intended purgatory as a reflection on your life. But somehow, these days, you end up thinking more about your new arrival—-Yu Haibara, and how he got here. Why was he here? You already knew why. And yet you kept pondering why. Why did he end up here so early? Why should such a boy with a life long ahead of him be here? 

In the hushed moments of contemplation, memories of Haibara's sacrifice resurfaced like ghosts haunting the corridors of your mind. You didn’t tell him about it, but you ended up thinking that he was more like you than you liked. You wished in a way, that the boy he was, had been a little bit more selfish. He didn’t have to tell you how he died — you already knew. Because he was just that kind. He was too good of a person.  

His selfless act, a final testament to his unwavering loyalty and boundless courage, lingered with poignant clarity, etching itself into the fabric of your consciousness. The image of him, standing tall and resolute in the face of danger, sacrificing himself to shield Nanami from harm, was seared into your memory like a brand, a testament to the indomitable spirit that defined him. 

Nanami Kento must have been distraught, you think. Your little Ken, as you liked to call him,  was more emotional than he let on, you like to think. To lose you both in the distance of one year, that’s a big blow — at least you like to think so. Kento had few people he liked to genuinely call friends. Even with you, he was formal. But Haibara? Haibara was his closest friend, even if he didn’t say it out loud. And now Haibara’s gone. You didn’t know what to say, at first. But Haibara just smiled at you.

As you reminisced about that conversation with Haibara, his words echoed in your mind with a poignant clarity, each syllable carrying a weight of its own. His reassurance, delivered with a grin that belied his own fears, had offered a fleeting moment of solace amidst the turmoil of grief and uncertainty. But even then, you couldn't shake the heavy burden of concern that weighed upon your heart.

“He’ll be alright,” Haibara wistfully smiled at you. “He’s a strong guy you know! He’s survived this long!”

"I hope so. But he'll miss his friend the most, you know," you murmured softly, your gaze tender as you looked upon Haibara, your voice heavy with unspoken worry.

In response, Haibara had laughed heartily, his laughter a balm to your troubled soul. "Hm, I know. But we'll see him one day. For now... he has to live. Long and happily too."

Your response had been a quiet hum of agreement, the weight of his words lingering in the air like a promise yet to be fulfilled. Together, you had watched the birds outside the airport window, their graceful flight a stark contrast to the heavy thoughts that weighed upon your mind.

And then, in a moment of unexpected candor, Haibara had turned to you, his expression earnest as he broached a topic that had long been left unspoken between you.

"You know..." he had begun hesitantly, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words to convey the depth of his emotions.

"Yeah?" you had prompted, your curiosity piqued by the sudden seriousness in his tone.

"Geto-senpai and Gojo-senpai..." Haibara had started, his gaze flickering with a mixture of sadness and regret. "They were really sad about your death."

The revelation had struck you like a blow to the chest, the weight of his words crushing in their sincerity. In that moment, you had been reminded of the far-reaching impact of your passing, the ripple effect of grief and loss that had reverberated through the lives of those you held dear. And as you grappled with the magnitude of their sorrow, a pang of guilt had seared through your heart, a painful reminder of the unintended consequences of your untimely departure.

A heavy silence descended between you and Haibara, the weight of his words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. You felt a lump form in your throat, the guilt of causing pain to those you cared about weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"I... I didn't mean to hurt them," you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to articulate the turmoil within your heart.

Haibara's gaze softened, a gentle understanding shining in his eyes as he reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I know, senpai. None of us blame you for what happened. It's just... hard, you know? Losing someone we cared about so deeply."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a silent testament to the depth of your remorse. "I wish I could have stayed," you admitted, your voice choking with emotion. You straighten your posture. You tried to be strong.  "I wish I could have been there for them, to ease their pain and share in their sorrow."

Haibara's grip on your shoulder tightened, offering a silent reassurance in the midst of your anguish. "I know, senpai. But we can't change what's already happened. All we can do is cherish the memories we shared and hold onto the hope that one day, we'll be reunited with them again."

You nodded in agreement, finding solace in Haibara's words. "You're right," you whispered, a sense of determination settling over you. "We'll wait. Like they’re waiting.”

In those quiet moments of solitude, you found yourself reflecting on the bonds that had formed between you and your companions, forged through shared experiences and the trials of this peculiar existence. Haibara, Kuroi, Riko—each one has become an indispensable part of your makeshift family, their presence a source of strength and comfort in the face of uncertainty.

As you watched the sunset beyond the airport windows, casting a warm glow over the empty terminal, memories of happier times flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter that had once echoed through these halls, the shared meals and late-night conversations that had brought you all closer together.

But amidst the nostalgia, there lingered a palpable sense of loss—the absence of those who had left this world too soon, their laughter now just a distant echo in the recesses of your mind. You couldn't help but wonder what they would think if they could see you now, still waiting, still hoping for a chance at redemption.

Yet, despite the passage of time and the weight of your regrets, you refused to lose hope. You clung to the belief that one day, your vigil would come to an end, and you would be reunited with those you had lost. Until then, you would continue to cherish the moments you shared with your companions, finding solace in their unwavering support and the enduring bonds of friendship that bound you together.

As the last rays of sunlight faded into darkness, you found yourself filled with a renewed sense of purpose—a determination to make the most of each passing day, to live fully and love deeply, even in the midst of this endless waiting. And so, with a quiet resolve, you turned to face the challenges of the days ahead, guided by the enduring light of hope that burned brightly within your heart.

Amidst the ever-present stillness of the airport, a burst of playful energy erupted as Riko suggested the game of hide and seek. "Let's play hide and seek!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced around at the group.

You and your companions eagerly embraced the idea, craving a reprieve from the relentless monotony of waiting. With a chorus of agreement, you all scattered in different directions, eager to find the perfect hiding spot or to be the one to uncover the others' hiding places.

As the designated seeker, you closed your eyes and began counting aloud while the others hurried off to conceal themselves. The rhythmic cadence of your countdown filled the air, accompanied by the faint sounds of laughter and shuffling as your friends found their spots.

"One... two... three..." you began, the anticipation building with each passing moment. "Ten! Ready or not, here I come!"

You navigated the deserted corridors of the airport, your senses heightened as you scanned every nook and cranny for any sign of movement. Laughter echoed faintly in the distance, teasing you with hints of where your friends might be hiding.

As you rounded a corner, you caught a glimpse of movement—a flicker of movement behind a row of empty seats. Your heart raced with anticipation as you quickened your pace, closing in on the source of the movement. But as you rounded the corner, your momentum carried you forward, and before you knew it, you collided with someone—someone whose familiar touch sent a jolt of recognition coursing through your veins. You thought it was Kuroi. You believed it was Kuroi.

"Gotcha!" you exclaimed triumphantly, reaching out to tag the figure on the shoulder. 

The realization hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs and leaving you reeling in disbelief. The warmth of the hand against yours was unmistakable—this wasn't Kuroi. Her touch was always cool, her fingers delicate and precise. But this hand... it was different. It was warm, rough with calluses that spoke of a life filled with toil and hardship.

As the truth began to sink in, your heart raced with a frantic rhythm, each beat echoing loudly in your ears as your mind struggled to process the impossible reality before you. Why was he….here? How was it possible? This soon?

Your eyes widened ever so slowly in the shock you felt as you resisted the urge to look up, to meet his gaze and confront the truth that lay between you. You knew that if you looked into his eyes, you would see the same pain and confusion mirrored there—the same turmoil that threatened to consume you whole.

“It’s you….”

The sound of his voice, so achingly familiar yet tinged with a hint of reproach, pierced through the haze of disbelief that enveloped you. You could feel his gaze boring into you, urging you to meet his eyes, to confront the truth that lay between you.

But you couldn't bring yourself to look. Not yet. Not when the wounds of his passing were still so fresh, raw with the sting of loss and longing. Instead, you bit your lip in a futile attempt to steady your trembling emotions, feeling the hot sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

“Look at me,” he pleaded, his voice soft yet filled with an unspoken urgency.

You shook your head, unable to find the strength to meet his gaze, to face the reality of his absence head-on.

“After all this time, are you going to deny me seeing your face?” His words were laced with a mixture of longing and frustration, a silent plea for reconciliation that echoed in the empty space between you.

Your heart ached at the sound of his voice, the memories of your shared love flooding your mind with bittersweet intensity. Ten years—ten long years since you last saw him, since he slipped away from your grasp and into the cold embrace of eternity.

And now, here he was, standing before you with his hand outstretched, a silent reminder of everything you had lost and everything that could never be again.

But still, you couldn't bring yourself to look—to face the truth that lay before you, to acknowledge the gaping void that his absence had left in your heart.

“I can't,” you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

The air between you hung heavy with unspoken words, the weight of your shared history pressing down upon you like a suffocating blanket. And as the tears continued to flow, you knew that no matter how hard you tried to deny it. He died. And so soon. He didn’t let himself grow old. He didn’t let himself live the life you wanted for him. You cried even more in the silence. 

As you looked up, your breath caught in your throat, tears welling in your eyes at the sight of Suguru standing before you. His expression softened with concern as he reached out to steady you, his touch sending waves of warmth cascading through your body. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you gazed into his eyes, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions that threatened to consume you. His purple eyes gleamed, almost so wondrously as though he was taking in the features of your face. As though he’d forgotten. He slowly smiled as tears poured down from his eyes too. His breath became shaky as his fingers rested on your chin.

In that fleeting instant, all the pain and longing you had carried with you melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and belonging. Without a word, you threw your arms around him, clinging to him as though he were the anchor that could tether you to this world. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you buried your face in his chest, the weight of your shared sorrow and joy pressing against you like a comforting embrace.

In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and the warmth of Suguru's embrace, you knew that no matter how long you waited or how far you roamed, you would always find your way back to each other. And as you stood there, lost in the embrace of the one you loved, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you—a hope that one day, you would be reunited with all those you held dear, in a place where time had no power to separate.

As the warmth of his embrace enveloped you, you couldn't help but let the floodgates of emotion burst open, tears streaming down your cheeks as you buried your face against his chest. The familiar scent of him, a mixture of earthy musk and the faint hint of his favorite cologne, washed over you, comforting you in a way that nothing else could.

“You idiot,” you cried out, your voice muffled against the warmth of his flesh. “You couldn’t even make me proud by growing old and living a whole life to tell me. You’re so annoying, you….”

But before you could finish your tirade, his laughter cut through the air, a melodic sound that echoed against your bodies and filled the empty space between you. It was a laugh filled with joy, unbridled and free, and for a fleeting moment, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the happiness he exuded.

“I didn’t want to live a whole life if you weren’t going to be in it,” he confessed, his voice soft yet resolute. “There was nothing to smile about.”

His words hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the depth of his love for you, even in the face of eternity. And as you stood there, locked in each other's embrace, you knew that no matter what trials may come, no matter how much time may pass, the bond you shared with Suguru would endure—a beacon of hope in the darkness that now enveloped your soul.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of emotions swirling within you, a sense of peace washed over your weary soul. You realized that even in death, your love for each other remained as steadfast as ever, an unbreakable thread binding your hearts together for all eternity.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice barely a breath against his chest.

"I missed you too," he replied, his arms tightening around you in a silent promise never to let go again.

For a timeless moment, you simply stood there, lost in the embrace of the one you thought you had lost forever. The weight of the years spent apart melted away, leaving only the warmth of his love to fill the void in your heart.

But as the realization of your reunion settled in, a new sense of purpose stirred within you. You knew that you couldn't stay in this airport forever, trapped in a limbo of waiting and longing. There were others out there, waiting for you, longing to be reunited just as you had been.

You pulled away from Suguru's embrace, meeting his gaze with a determined glint in your eyes. "We can't stay here," you said firmly. "There are others who’d want to see you.”

Suguru nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring your determination. "You're right," he said. "We'll find a way. Together. But….”

You looked at him as he smiled at you, his height bearing down upon you. 

“Let me kiss you.” He whispers to you. “Before you introduce me to the others.”

You felt a soft flutter in your chest at his words, a mixture of longing and anticipation coursing through your veins. Despite the weight of the years that had passed, the desire to feel his lips against yours burned fiercely within you.

Without a word, you leaned in, closing the distance between you and Suguru. His lips met yours in a tender embrace, a silent exchange of love and longing that transcended the boundaries of time and space. In that fleeting moment, all the pain and sorrow of the past faded into insignificance, replaced by the overwhelming warmth of his touch.

As you pulled away, you met Suguru's gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered softly, his voice barely a breath against your lips.

Your heart flutters at his words. 

He grins at you, wholeheartedly.

You admit, your heart is a little bit full.

But you knew it wasn’t as full as yet.

Satoru, you wanted to see Satoru too.

IT WAS DECEMBER 24TH 2018 WHEN GOJO SATORU ARRIVED AT THE AIRPORT. As you and Suguru stood by the airport benches, your embrace providing a comforting anchor amidst the chaos of the bustling terminal, a sense of tranquility settled over you. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your own private sanctuary.

But amidst this moment of serenity, a movement caught your eye, drawing your attention to a familiar figure nearby. There, amidst the deserted terminal, Satoru lay sleeping, his form peaceful and serene against the backdrop of the bustling airport.

You exchanged a glance with Suguru, a silent communication passing between you as you both recognized the significance of the moment. It was an unexpected reunion, one that held the promise of both joy and uncertainty.

For a moment, you simply stood there, lost in the quiet beauty of the scene before you. The terminal faded into the background, leaving only Satoru and the two of you in a timeless embrace. As you watched Satoru sleep, a rush of emotions swept over you, mingling with the tender affection you felt for him. It was a moment of unexpected beauty, a reminder of the enduring bond that connected the three of you, even across the vast expanse of time and space.

"He didn't even wait a year after you," you remarked to Suguru, a hint of annoyance creeping into your voice as you crossed your arms. "Nanami Ken-Ken, I understand. But the two of you?"

Suguru's snort was barely audible, but the wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips spoke volumes. Memories flooded his mind as he remembered the last time Nanami had made an unexpected appearance in the airport. He couldn't help but find amusement in the way you had reacted then – your expression a mix of shock and disappointment that was, in his eyes, utterly endearing.

In that moment, Suguru couldn't help but recall just how adorable you looked when you expressed such disappointment. He knew you well enough to recognize that pout – the one that often graced your lips when things didn't go as planned, or when someone didn't meet your expectations. It was a trait of yours that Satoru, too, was likely familiar with.

But Suguru understood the underlying reason behind your tendency to pout and lecture. It wasn't borne out of mere petulance or frustration; rather, it stemmed from a deep-seated care and concern for those around you. You had a heart that overflowed with love and compassion, and you wanted nothing more than for everyone to live longer, happier lives – even if it meant lecturing them endlessly or wearing that adorable pout.

It was this caring nature of yours that Suguru found so utterly captivating, and it was a trait that had endeared you to him even more over the years. As he looked at you now, lost in your thoughts, he couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for you – a silent acknowledgment of the depth of your love and the strength of your character.

As you stood in the airport, a familiar figure caught your eye. It was Nanami, standing there in the terminal, his presence a shocking revelation. Disbelief washed over you, mingled with a sense of incredulity. How could he be here after all this time? He was supposed to be alive and well. If anyone was going to outlive them all now, it would be Nanami. Suguru had said that he had left that life behind, after you and Haibara passed away. But to have seen him there, as young as you met him, rubbing the back of his head as you

Without a second thought, you rushed over to him, your voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of annoyance. "Nanami? What are you doing here?" you demanded, unable to mask the surprise in your tone. "You... you shouldn't be here. You're supposed to be..."

“Well, I’m here.” Nanami Kento replied to you, sighing, crossing his arms. He was as much a teenager as you remember him to be. “I’m dead, senpai.”

“You….”

But before you could finish your sentence, you launched into a tirade, peppering Nanami with questions and admonishments. "You can't just waltz into the airport like nothing happened!" you exclaimed, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "Do you have any idea how bad this is? Suguru said you left Jujutsu! Why did you come back, you idiot?”

“......It’s not like I have anything to do.”

“Kento, is that you?” Yu Haibara’s mouth went agape as he stood before you all, looking at his closest friend. “You still look the same! Emo and all!”

Nanami frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Now, now,” Suguru tries to mitigate.

“Wait, I’m not done lecturing!” You impede, your brows furrowing. You sighed, lowering your head to your palm. “Let me think for a second, I’m overstimulating.”

Haibara grinned. “You can do it, senpai!”

“That’s not helping.” Nanami whispers.

“Shhhhhhhhh!” You put your index finger on your lip, glaring at him. “I’m not done!”

Your words trailed off as you struggled to find the right ones, emotions swirling within you like a storm. But despite your agitation, Nanami Kento remained silent, his expression unreadable as he listened to your impassioned speech. He knew you weren’t going to stop. You were more the parent than Geto Suguru, after all.

At the sight of your antics, Suguru couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing softly through the terminal. "Leave it to you to give him a proper scolding, even after he's dead," he remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You’re not out of the water either!”

"You make it seem like it was a choice for us to go down that route," Suguru replied, his tone tinged with resignation. It was a reminder of the circumstances that had led them here, to this peculiar purgatory where time seemed to stand still. “It is fate, whatever happened.”

"It is a choice," you insisted, leaning against Suguru's side as you settled down beside him on the bench. "I wanted to see you with white hair."

Suguru chuckled, his smile widening as he reached over to playfully poke at Satoru's hair. "You already see so much of that on Satoru," he remarked teasingly.

You swatted Suguru's hand away with a mock glare. "Hey, he might develop a bald spot with that!" you protested, unable to suppress a grin.

Suguru laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "He's already in the afterlife, he's gonna be fine," he reassured you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "We're not even sure if he's dead, Suguru! His soul is a bit glitchy from here!" you retorted back to your lover.

Suguru met your gaze with a playful smirk. "You can see souls?" he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"I'm dead, so obviously, I do!" you shot back, unable to resist a jab back at him. 

Suguru's smirk widened into a grin as he considered your words. "What if we return him back to life and he's bald?" he mused, the corners of his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

“That’s not funny, Suguru!”

Just as you and Suguru continued to trade playful banter, Satoru stirred from his slumber, blinking groggily as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight of you and Suguru sitting beside him, the playful atmosphere of your conversation washing over him. You waved at him, happily greeting him. He couldn’t believe it. How he was seeing you greet him in that warm manner, as you always have when you were alive.

Satoru's initial disbelief gradually gave way to a sense of wonder as he took in the sight of you waving at him, a warm smile gracing your lips. It was a sight he had longed to see for years, a memory that he had held onto tightly even as the years stretched on in this strange limbo.

With a mixture of awe and gratitude, Satoru returned your wave, his heart swelling with emotion at the sight of you. It felt surreal, almost dreamlike, to be greeted by you in such a familiar manner, as if no time had passed at all.

For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the warmth of your presence, the memory of your smile etched into his mind like a cherished treasure. It was a moment of pure bliss amidst the uncertainty of their existence in this surreal afterlife, a reminder of the enduring bond that connected them across the boundaries of life and death.

"Yo," Suguru greeted Satoru casually, a grin spreading across his face.

Satoru's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief as he processed the unexpected reunion. "This is freaking awful," he muttered, his words tinged with a mixture of incredulity and bemusement.

Geto pouted exaggeratedly, feigning offense at Satoru's response. "Hey, that's rude," he protested with mock indignation. “I can’t believe you greet the love of my life warmly but you greet me so cruelly.”

You let your tongue out at Suguru. “I’m his best friend, of course, bangs!”

He pinches your cheek as you squeal “You’re acting so cheekily again.”

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to make sense of the situation. "I told my students that when they die, they'll be alone," he explained, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation. "So I'm hoping this is just some illusion."

You couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's melodramatic proclamation, shaking your head in amusement. It was a clearly playful jab, one that you had not been able to say to him in such a long time. "That’s actually such a loser statement, Satoru," you teased, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve gotten this lame over the years, Gojo–sensei?”

“I’m Satoru to you, thank you very much,” The blue eyed sorcerer pouts at you, crossing his arms. Though he had to admit, he liked the way you said Gojo–sensei. “And Yaga–sensei was the one who said it to me! Blame him, not me!”

As Satoru sat there, basking in the warmth of your presence, a wave of pure contentment washed over him, enveloping him in a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in years. The sound of your laughter was music to his ears. It was a harmony that he had been waiting to hear for a decade since you’ve passed. It was a feeling he struggled to put into words, a profound sense of happiness that seemed to resonate deep within his soul.

In that moment, surrounded by the familiar faces of you and Suguru, Satoru couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the opportunity to see you again. He had missed you more than words could express, longing for the warmth of your smile and the comfort of your presence during the long years of solitude in this airport purgatory.

Even as he grappled with the knowledge that he could never truly express his romantic feelings for you, Satoru found solace in the simple joy of being near you once more. For him, this moment was a glimpse of paradise, a fleeting taste of happiness that he would treasure for eternity.

In your presence, Satoru felt a sense of completeness that he had never known before, a feeling that transcended the boundaries of life and death. You were his paradise, his beacon of light in the darkness of this strange afterlife, and for that, he would be forever grateful.

As he sat there, savoring the precious moments with you, Satoru couldn't help but reflect on how his ten years in this limbo had led him to this beautiful reunion. Despite the uncertainties and challenges he had faced during his time here, none of it seemed to matter in comparison to the overwhelming joy of being with you once again.

He thought about all the times he had yearned to see your face, to hear your laughter, to feel the warmth of your touch. And now, as he sat beside you, surrounded by the gentle hum of the airport and the comforting presence of his friends, Satoru realized that this was where he truly belonged.

In your company, Satoru found a sense of peace and happiness that he had never known before. You were his anchor in this strange world, his guiding light through the darkness of uncertainty. And even though he could never express the depth of his feelings for you, he took comfort in the knowledge that he was with you, sharing this moment of bliss together. As the weight of his past burdens lifted from his shoulders, Satoru smiled, his heart overflowing with    love and gratitude. For in this moment, surrounded by the ones he cherished most, he knew that he was home.

“Does he know?” You asked Satoru, looking at him with a soft tone. 

He looked at you with his blue eyes, his glasses lowering. “Who?”

“That boy, you’ve been taking care of.” You whisper back to him. 

“How'd you know about him?” 

“I met his father around here—”

"Who cares?" Geto's voice cut through the silence, breaking the tension with a note of indifference. “He killed you.”

"I know" you retorted back, your tone gentle yet firm. "But he deserves to know about his dad too, you know. That boy….family ties run deep, especially when it comes to matters of the heart."

With a thoughtful nod, Satoru left the topic hanging in the air, shifting the focus to more pressing matters. "I've left it with Shoko to handle," he added, his tone indicating a sense of finality. 

“We’re not even sure if you’re dead yet.” You whisper back to him, your hand resting on his. “You’ll be able to tell him.”

Satoru didn’t know how to tell you.

But you looked so beautiful to him.

He didn’t want to leave you here.

He wanted to stay with you and Suguru.

He wanted to be happy here, together.

“How was fighting Sukuna?” Suguru asked him, changing the topic.

"He was strong," Satoru admitted, his voice tinged with respect. "Even though he wasn't giving his all."

Suguru nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he considered Satoru's words. "It must have been quite the battle," he remarked, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

Satoru's lips curled into a wry smile, his demeanor surprisingly casual given the intensity of the confrontation. "It was exhilarating," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of genuine enjoyment. "But I can't help but feel a twinge of pity for Sukuna. He didn't bring his full strength to the table."

You couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's nonchalant attitude, leaning affectionately against him as you basked in his presence. His scent enveloped you, a comforting reminder of the bond you shared. "Only the strongest would say something like that," you remarked fondly, your eyes sparkling with admiration. "As expected of you."

Geto's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of jealousy briefly clouding his expression as he processed Satoru's words. "That's what sets him apart," he acknowledged quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of envy. "But if you're content with the outcome, then perhaps that's all that truly matters."

Satoru's grin widened at Geto's response, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "I suppose I would have been more satisfied if you were there to spur me on," he teased, his tone laced with sincerity. He gently looks at Suguru and then at you. “It would have made me feel a little bit more at ease.”

“Don’t you mean, less cocky?” Suguru teased him back but Satoru just laughed.

You take a moment to express your heartfelt gratitude to Satoru, your voice filled with genuine emotion as you speak. "I'm proud of you, Satoru," you say, your words carrying the weight of years of admiration and affection. "After all you've done, after all you've been through... I'm just so happy to see you again, to be together with you and Suguru."

As you gaze at Satoru, a sense of completeness washes over you, the weight of years of separation lifting from your shoulders. "You've brought so much light into my life," you continue, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "My heart feels whole again, thanks to you."

“South or north,” Satoru says, after a moment of silence. “Where do you think I should go?”

Satoru's question lingered in the air like a heavy fog, casting a veil of uncertainty over the moment. You and Suguru exchanged a meaningful glance, both understanding the weight of Satoru's decision. Going south meant embracing the reunion, journeying together towards an uncertain but hopeful future. Going north meant bidding farewell once again, facing the prospect of separation with stoic resolve.

"Moving south," you begin, your gaze drifting towards the direction of the plane resting on the tarmac. You turn back to Satoru, a smile playing on your lips, though this one carries a hint of somberness. "Means you'll stay as you are."

Satoru takes in your words, his expression thoughtful as he absorbs their implications. Leaning against the airport bench, he looks at you and Suguru, the two people who make up his world, with a sense of resolve. "Here," he breathes out, his voice tinged with determination. "True to myself."

Suguru nods in understanding, his gaze shifting between you and Satoru. "But to go north…," he begins, his tone gentle yet firm. "You'll discover a new part of yourself. Another you."

Satoru's expression tightens slightly, the weight of his decision bearing down on him. "But without you," he adds, his voice heavy with unspoken regret. It's a realization he never wanted to voice, but one he knows he must confront. He isn't truly dead, and he can feel it as much as you can.

Your eyes soften as you meet Satoru's gaze, your palm instinctively resting on top of his hand in a gesture of comfort. "Just for now," you assure him, your voice filled with warmth and understanding. "It's not forever."

"We'll wait for you, until the next flight," Suguru chimes in, his grin conveying unwavering strength for the blue eyed sorcerer. Together, the three of you stand at the crossroads of possibility, each prepared to face the future with courage and determination, no matter which path Satoru chooses. “Even if everyone goes ahead, we’ll be here. Waiting for you.”

Satoru's eyes soften as he stands, his gaze shifting towards the north. With a determined nod, he takes a step forward, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of emotion that transcends words. Leaning in, he presses a gentle kiss on your hair, a silent gesture of gratitude and affection for all that you mean to him.

Satoru's warm smile illuminated his features as he turned to Suguru, a silent expression of gratitude and affection passing between them. With gentle tenderness, he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on Suguru's cheek, a simple yet profound gesture of love and reassurance.

Suguru's eyes met Satoru's, a softness reflecting in their depths as they exchanged a silent conversation. It was a moment of quiet understanding, a wordless exchange that spoke volumes of their deep bond and unwavering commitment to each other.

As you observed the intimate exchange between them, you couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading in your heart. Your love was palpable, radiating from their gaze and enveloping you in its comforting embrace. It was a reminder that amidst the uncertainty and challenges of life, the love shared between kindred souls could serve as a beacon of hope and solace. If there was any possibility to split a soul into three, perhaps it was born into life just for you. You were each other’s fate, come what may. That’s what you think. You know that they wouldn’t have it any other way either. Life made sense when you were happy together. And now you are. 

In that moment, as you looked at them and they looked back at you, you felt a profound sense of reassurance. Their eyes held the promise of a brighter tomorrow, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring power of love. It was as if they were whispering to you with the windows of their souls, assuring you that everything would be alright, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

As Satoru straightens, his resolve firm and his heart heavy with the weight of his decision, he meets your gaze one last time. In that fleeting moment, you share a silent understanding, a mutual promise to await his return and embrace whatever the future may hold. Suguru wraps his arms around you, grinning at Satoru. 

With one final glance at the two of you. You urge him forward, your eyes swimming with a watery glaze. He smiles at you and whispers to you, to Suguru – ‘I love you’;

‘I know.’ Both you and Suguru whisper back.

As Gojo Satoru takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed towards the north, a sense of resolve washes over him. He knows not what awaits him on the path ahead, but he steps forward with unwavering courage and determination. The road may be shrouded in uncertainty, but he finds solace in the knowledge that the bonds of love, forged over years of companionship and camaraderie, will serve as his guiding light.

You and Suguru stand by, silent witnesses to Satoru's journey, your presence a source of strength and support. Though the time for your reunion may not yet have come, Satoru carries your wishes in his heart as he ventures forth into the unknown. He is determined to fulfill your desire for him to live a long and happy life, to carry on in your memory and honor your legacy.

But there are tasks still left unfinished, promises yet to be fulfilled. Satoru's thoughts turn to the future, to the responsibilities that await him. He must see to it that your final wishes are carried out, that you and Suguru find peace together. He must be there for Shoko, for Megumi, for his students who look up to him with admiration and respect. They still need him, relying on his guidance and wisdom to navigate the trials that lie ahead.

With each step he takes, Satoru embraces the uncertainty of the journey, knowing that with courage and determination, he will find his way home. And though the road may be long and fraught with challenges, he walks it with the assurance that love will light the way, leading him back to the warmth and comfort of your embrace, one day. But not yet. For now, he walks forward, his heart filled with hope and his spirit fortified by the knowledge that you and Suguru will always be with him, guiding him home.

It may take some time. 

He’d be away from you.

But he knows he’ll return.

Three of you, together.

You’ll be happy together.

[ishomieokay]

I basically write Homelander fanfiction bc I really want to see latino rep in this fandom and I feel like it's a story that I can and should tell. I won't lie, though. I generally love the idea of this walking and talking allegory of white nationalism falling in love with a woman of ANY minority.

Homelander being inescapably attracted to a Chinese woman? Count me in.

Homelander finding a kindred spirit in a black girl? I really fuck with that.

Homelander going through an enemies-to-lovers arc with a native american? That's some gourmet shit!!

Homelander becoming obsessed with a Russian/slavic girl? I love to see it!

Homelander going weak on the knees for an arab woman??? I'll read it with that ya lili song playing in the background.

Pls, guys, I'm on my hands and knees. Write ethnically diverse stories. I've literally NEVER been fed!!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello~ I don't know if someone has already ask this but I'll just ask anyway. What made you so interested in Jade? I'm not saying it's a bad thing or anything of the sort. I'm just very intrigued.

Also to feed into your J-word brain rot I present to you this, but picture Jade. Lol I saved this photo as hot damn Sebastain.

Hello, hello!! ^^ I’ve made a post before that explains my interest in Jade, but if I’m being entirely honest 💦 it’s all over the place and difficult to read because of how often I go all caps and keyboard smashing. I’ll try to summarize my thoughts here in a way that’s more digestible and calm.

I love many of the little details about his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, how his brows are arched, etc. I also have a visceral, near animalistic urge to tug on that black bit of hair he has sprouting out...

His manner of dress also resonates with me! Jade is usually well covered and in formal attire, and I think that makes it more exciting on the instances when he dresses down (whether that be going without his gloves or choosing something more casual to wear).

His intelligence. I've always preferred characters who rely on their smarts over their strength to achieve their goals, and Jade fits the bill. One particular example is how his UM is limited in scope and usage, so he has to carefully plan and strategize about how and when he casts it. It's nice that Jade can also loosen up and use his cunning not necessarily for nefarious deeds, but just to tease others.

He plays support and he plays it well. I also have a tendency to like "helper" characters (butlers, bodyguards, knights, etc.), which is another archetype that Jade slots into. He is highly competent as a vice dorm leader, personal assistant, and right-hand man (eel?) to Azul. Plus, Jade knows when and how to play to his strengths (especially when it comes to deception and disarming others) and adapt to any situation he is placed in. Jade has even earned the approval of the notoriously hard to please Vil!

He keeps you guessing, and you'll still never even see it coming. I think it's interesting that he appears more docile than Floyd, yet Azul warns his peers that Jade is the more dangerous twin since Jade won't telegraph his schemes or bad moods (unlike Floyd). I 100% agree with Azul; not knowing what Jade has in store or when it will hit you is much scarier--but also much more thrilling in a way, haha...

Similar to the last point but much more specific; I love Love LOVE those moments when he's smiling while saying the most horrendous things (the infamous "what I'd do to anyone that betrays me" line lives rent free in my head). I also adore it when Jade is lying to your face and overacting (like when he pretends he got dust in his eye in book 4). He's so dramatic while lying his heart out, it makes me giggle.

Jade works with many of the tropes I like to go for when I want comfort. Househusband/domestic life stuff, butler looking after you, etc. I have a habit of overworking and forgetting to take care of my needs, so it's easier for me to remember if I pretend like Jade's the one doing the self-care for me.

I appreciate that he appreciates nature. I don't get to touch much grass (not that I don't go outside, it's that there isn't much grass in the area I live in)... so I get very excited whenever I get to just enjoy nature in its purest form, taking in that fresh air. It makes me feel like we're kindred spirits.

The duality of eel. Overall, I'd say that the reason I like Jade so much is because he can be many things which typically run contradictory to one another. I think that makes for a fun character that keeps me on my toes ^^

NOT YOU USING “J WORD” TOO… 💀 It’s spreading… just like a bunch of spores…

Aaaah, it’s Sebastian!! It’s been years and years since I read Black Butler (I think I stopped around the Blue Cult arc?). He’s still just as effortlessly elegant as I remember him being… I guess that’s par for the course for one hell of a butler, huh?

Here, lemme just… *crudely draws on him* THERE WE GO, THE J WORD SSR FOR AN EVENT WHERE WE VISIT THE LAND OF CRIMSON LONG :>

Thank you for your question and the rot fuel 🥰