#in this house that atrocity does not exist

[chuulyssa]

୨・──── TELL ME I’M A LITTLE ANGEL, SWEETHEART OF YOUR CITY ────・୧

pairing ⸺ satoru gojo x reader

teaser ⸺ as a child, you were taken in by the powerful gojo clan and raised alongside their heir, gojo satoru — but never as his sibling. now, at an elite school, your fragile bond is tested when an actual noble woman enters the picture, bringing in a marriage proposal.

content ⸺ fluff, reader is an academic achiever and has a good handwriting, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, cliff hanger ending, human auctions, implied slavery, jealousy, implied torture, shoko talks about using medical tools for torture (lol), blood, implied abuse, implied grape (not at reader), magic!au, historic!au, the ages of reader and gojo throughout the story: 3, 10, 12, 15, 17

count ⸺ 22k

author’s note ⸺ thank you to everyone for waiting patiently! this is just the part one, i hope it does well to give me enough motivation to write a part two. i have so soo many ideas i’m hoping to incorporate.

🎧 ao3 wattpad

You sat next to the man, bowing deeply with him at some figure you couldn’t care less about. It had to be someone important obviously, and you knew now was the time you were going to get kicked out of a place for the tenth time in your life, unwittingly dragging this poor man with you as well. He had seemed kind enough when he had bought you off at that auction.

He wasn’t anything like you had feared. You had met other girls bonding with each other inside the cage; girls older and prettier than you, getting sold off one by one to old and creepy men who looked like they couldn’t keep it in their pants. You had dreaded meeting the same fate as them. That was, until the man who kept increasing his offer for you looked younger and stronger.

He was probably like one of those army officers you had seen at your mother’s house, who would stand guard outside your small room each night she and her happy family went out to lavish parties, to make sure you didn’t escape. Well, even if you did, you thought that was what they would have wanted, but they kept saying that they didn’t want anyone noticing your existence. Not that they didn’t have a good reason.

In your mind, you had hoped the man would win, and when he had, the triumphant look on his face made you sigh in relief; at least now you were sure you wouldn’t be used as a hole for life. But were you, though? Because the thoughts kept creeping back; the looks on the other girls’ faces when they were taken away by their new masters. But the mysterious man had made you sit on his pretty horse, taking you somewhere, away from the horrifying auctions that represented the worst atrocities made by humans.

You peered from under your hands, still in your bowing position. The person had now risen. He had dark hair and vivid blue eyes. He seemed to peer at you in as much curiosity as you were at him. That was, until a crisp voice had cut through the silence, knocking you out of your bow when it addressed your saviour to “pack his things and leave”.

“I understand, madam,” he said smoothly, getting up to leave, not before giving another curt nod. Then he turned to you. “This is where my job ends, little one. You’ll be much happier here,” he whispered, nodding at you and standing up. You almost wanted to stop him before you remembered you were told several times that you didn’t possess any human emotions. So you watched him leave, wondering how he was so sure this wouldn’t be another one of your previous houses.

“As for the child,” you snapped your head back to the dark-haired man in front of you who seemed to be giving commands, “we must decide which family keeps her. From the looks of it, she needs to be tended to,” he eyed your wounds from previous struggles you wished to forget about.

You stared at the people he was questioning, and they all looked away. This seemed like a meeting room, and the people were lined up sitting parallel to each other. Some were glaring at you like you had come to raid their houses, fuck their wives and drink their blood. None of them seemed to realize you were only a child of ten. Nervous under all the gazes, you wished to find another person you could bow to, just to avoid all the staring you were receiving.

“We will,” said the same voice you had heard earlier, and you finally looked at its source.

She had long, white hair that seemed to reach till the floor. Her eyes were light, and she looked pretty. She had a cold look on her face that made her seem frightening, though, and that was probably why you saw that none of the others could even muster enough courage to look at her eyes when she said those words.

“Well, it’s decided then,” the man said in a final tone, as if he had only bargained about the price of a few watermelons from his local vendor. “Love, if you will.”

Love? Oh, maybe they were married.

The woman stood up and everyone bowed at her again. You were about to sink back into the position before she crouched down in front of you, caressing your hair with a touch that made you look back at her.

“Come with me, daughter.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“I have a sister now?” “Shh, and don’t call her that. I’ve already told you, she’s not your sister—”

“Does she know how to ride horses?” “Do you ever do anything else?”

“She should know how to ride horses.” “You can teach her.”

“Oh, wow, really?”

You scrambled away from the door at the sounds of footsteps returning and sunk back into the expensive bed the woman had had prepared for you. The ‘woman’ who asked you to call her ‘mom’, somehow losing the twinkle in her eye when commanding maids around, which she seemed to regain every time you spoke something.

You knew it was a trap though. If she really ‘adopted’ you and wanted you to call her ‘mom’, wouldn’t that mean you were the sister to whatever child she already had? Yet here you were, all cleaned up and changed, almost believing the charade before realizing the child was being advised not to consider you as their sister.

You bit your lip, trying not to cry. At least you weren’t at your old house thinking of ways to poison your family, or in that cage counting down for when it was your turn, or lying dead in some creep’s backyard. Maybe you could enjoy this while it lasted.

“May I come in?” A polite, boyish voice rang out from behind your door. A hushed whisper of an older woman seemed to reprimand him for not knocking, and the two started to argue.

“Yes?” You didn’t quite know how to respond professionally to the request, so your answer came off more as a question. You sure hoped the man wouldn’t scold you for your manners as well.

A boy stepped forward, and you immediately knew he was the son of the two clan leaders. Not because of his clothes, but because of his face. He had the same white hair as his mother, and the blue eyes he got from his father. Maybe blue eyes were a thing of the clan?

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, and the door closed behind him. “Mother sent me here for ‘bonding time’.” You kept staring at him, not realizing you were staring. He looked up at you and flushed. Only then did you realize, chuckling awkwardly and scratching your wrists, trying to get used to the expensive scents the maids had covered you with.

“Can I… uh,” he trailed off, staring at you, and you blinked back at him, not knowing what he was going to say.

“...sit on the bed?” You offered, and he raised an eyebrow before climbing on it, sitting in the most formal position you had ever seen.

“Do you like horse riding?” “What?”

He flushed even more. “Mother said we should ask each other questions to get to know the other better.”

“Oh.” “Yeah.”

There was another silence.

“So it’s my turn to ask a question now?” You asked. “Yeah.”

“Do you like potatoes?”

“What?” He processed your question for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. You kept staring at him as if he was stupid. Did you say something stupid?

“I like you!” He said in between giggles, his old formal, uptight position long lost. It was your turn to flush now. No one had ever said they even wanted you alive, let alone say that. Well, no one except for three people in the past few hours, and now this guy. You had a feeling you might prefer this over anything else for now.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The soft hum of celebration still lingered in the air. Lanterns flickered outside glowing warmly across your room. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the wrapped gifts and trinkets the Gojo family had insisted on presenting you earlier. It had been strange, the idea of sharing a birthday with Satoru. You didn’t even know your real birthday, so his — no — your mother announced it would be shared.

Satoru had, of course, embraced the attention, dragging you along with him to cut the massive cake. You had never seen anything like this before, and it might have shown on your face, because he had held your wrist tightly as if annoyed you were taking so long, and cut the cake with you. That was what made it impossible to shun the feelings of belongingness.

Now, the house was quiet, and the festivities had faded. But just as you were about to pull the covers over yourself, the faint sound of your door creaking open made you pause.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice whispered, followed by the soft padding of his feet. You turned your head to see him, still in the formal robes mother had fussed over earlier, though they were now slightly askew. His hair was a mess, his face flushed from excitement — or maybe all the sweets he’d devoured.

“Should you not knock?” you asked, folding your arms. You inwardly cringed at the noble accent you had unknowingly adopted from the Gojo family. “And what are you doing here?”

“Escaping,” he said, as if that explained everything. He plopped down without invitation beside you on the bed, leaning back on his hands and gazing at the ceiling. “Mother’s got the maids cleaning up. I was bored. Figured you’d be awake.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the faint smile tugging at your lips. “You’re going to get us in trouble. Again.”

“What’s the point of having a birthday if you can’t even cause some trouble now?” He shot you a grin, then leaned closer to the window. “Let’s go outside.”

“What? No.” “Please, please, pretty please?”

“I am not letting my first birthday become my death day,” you scoffed at him. Taking one look at the pout on his face, which seemed to stretch all the way down to his neck, you sighed, and he knew he won. “Fine. But we’re only looking outside.”

“What!? But what’s the fun in that?” “Then go alone.”

He pouted again, but you merely looked away trying to shield yourself from his cuteness. Soon after though, Satoru relented. He slid the window open and climbed onto the ledge, grumbling for you to follow. You joined him, settling beside him as the smell of night air filled your room. The stars were brilliant tonight, like silver dust across an ink-black canvas.

“They’re so bright,” you murmured. “It’s almost… too much.”

Satoru snorted. “That’s the problem with you. You overthink everything. Just look at them — they’re pretty, that’s all there is to it.”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “Fine. They’re beautiful. Happy now?”

“Very,” he said, grinning. Then he tilted his head, closing his eyes and mumbling something to himself. He opened his eyes, looking at you expectantly. “Now it’s your turn. Make a wish.”

“What?” You frowned.

“A wish! Like for your birthday. I know we already made some during the cake thing, but this one’s private. Just for us.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to wish for, before finally closing your eyes. Satoru watched you intently as if trying to guess your wish, but when you opened your eyes again, he pretended to be fascinated by the sky.

“Oh, done already? What did you wish for?” he asked after a moment.

“You said it was private,” you shot back. “What did you wish for?”

“Not telling,” he replied smugly, crossing his arms. “What if you laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you’re you.” “And you’re stupid.”

The two of you fell into another argument, but when it finally died down, it was followed by a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sound of distant crickets. Then, out of nowhere, Satoru blurted out, “Do you think the stars can hear us?”

“What?” You stared at him.

“The stars,” he said seriously, pointing upward. “Do you think they grant wishes, like gods or something?”

“That’s stupid,” you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the faint curl of amusement on your lips. “They’re just balls of gas.”

“Well, maybe those gas balls are listening,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “You don’t know everything. Maybe they are hearing us right now.”

You opened your mouth to retort but froze. A memory seemed to resurface…

“I still don’t know why you decided to keep the child!” a deep voice was screeching at another, soft one.

“I don’t know what came over me, I swear!”“It is the spawn of Satan himself! I respect you for what you have been through, but it is time to dispose of her.”

“Dispose? You don’t mean—”

Large hands came your way to muffle the screams from your mouth.

Your fingers clenched the windowsill.

“They didn’t hear me before,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

“What?” Satoru noticed the change in your tone, and turned to look at you, his brow furrowing. “Who? The balls?”

You shook your head quickly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

But Satoru wasn’t one to let things go. “Hey,” he said softly. “You can tell me. I mean, if you want.”

His sincerity made your chest tighten. Normally, after the word ‘balls’, he would have made a bad joke about male anatomy. But he seemed to have read the room enough to shut up. You looked at him, his bright blue eyes watching you with genuine concern. For a moment, you thought about telling him. But then, the weight of it all felt too heavy to share. He was too young, too shielded from the horrors of the world to be able to handle any of it anyway.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered. “Just something dumb I used to believe.”

Satoru opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he smiled gently and nudged your shoulder. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about dumb things, I’m here. You know, I’m dumb, so…” he tried making the joke you always did.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, watching the stars. Finally, Satoru stretched and hopped down from the ledge.

“Goodnight,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. “And happy birthday.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. “You too,” you said softly.

As he closed the door as softly as he could behind him, you stared out at the stars, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had started listening after all.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestone path filled the air as the royal carriage swayed gently on its way to the prestigious School of Royalty. The morning sun cast a golden glow on the lush green fields outside, but inside, the atmosphere was both tense and excited.

“You know,” Satoru began, leaning lazily against the plush velvet seat, “I heard there’s a whole batch of new exchange students joining today. Rumor is, one of them’s from the Silver Crescent Kingdom. Ever seen anyone from there? They’re supposed to have that, uh… ‘ethereal glow.’ You think that’s real, or just something people say?”

You barely glanced up from the notebook in your lap, furrowing your brows as you paused your incoherent babbling of equations. “If you spent half as much time studying for the exam as you do gossiping, maybe you wouldn’t need to cheat off me later.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Cheat? Me? I’m offended. I’m just naturally brilliant.”

“And naturally annoying,” you muttered, flipping to another page of hastily scribbled notes.

Satoru ignored the jab, his grin widening. At fifteen, he’d grown into someone who couldn’t step into a room without people swooning for his attention. You guessed it was just a Gojo thing he inherited from his mother. The girls adored him — some from afar, others more boldly (you still cringe remembering that one time a girl with a sorry excuse of a top was taken away by your guards for trying to get a kiss from him last year) — and the boys either envied or wanted to be him. The name “Satoru Gojo” seemed to be whispered wherever he went, and he couldn’t be happier.

You, on the other hand, had decided that the attention you receive at your house was enough to satisfy you for a lifetime, and you would rather spend your time learning something new — at least, that’s what you told your mother; that you would rather cry over your grades than guys, to which Satoru had cleverly remarked, “Why not both?” earning a glare from his mother. While you did have friends, and you did seem to be friendly with everyone around you, you would watch in dismay when most of these friends would recite their love stories, and you had nothing to share. The boys barely noticed you, too busy being gay over Satoru. But you had your books, your achievements, and the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“And get this,” Satoru continued, his excitement growing. “I heard one of them’s some kind of prodigy. Like, they mastered advanced magic when they were ten. Can you imagine? Finally, someone who might be able to keep up with me. They’re a senior too, so I want to see the look on their face when they realize I’m better than them.”

“Mhm,” you replied distractedly, not bothering to look up. You were too busy with the definition of archaic spellcasting principles and the formulas for mana stabilization to muster a reply of more than a single syllable. The exam was in less than an hour, and the thought of failing even one question sent a jolt of anxiety through you.

Satoru leaned forward, peering at your notes upside down. “What’s that? Something about magic circles? You’re still on those? I mastered those ages ago.”

You snapped your notebook shut and shot him a glare. “You didn’t ‘master’ anything. You just wing it and hope for the best.”

“Hey, it works, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Besides, you’ll cover for me if I mess up. That’s what partners are for.”

“We’re not partners.”

“Sure we are,” he said breezily. “Partners in crime. Mischief-makers extraordinaire. The unbeatable duo.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of your head.

The carriage hit a bump, causing you to clutch your notes tighter. Satoru, unfazed, lounged back in his seat and stared out of the window. “You know, you should relax a little. Exams aren’t life or death.”

“For you, maybe. Some of us don’t have a safety net made of charm and raw talent.”

He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Wow, you really think I’m charming and talented? Thanks, baby.”

You didn’t dignify that dumb statement with a response. Instead, you turned your attention back to your notes, determined to make use of every second you had left.

The carriage began to slow, signaling their arrival at the school gates. Satoru straightened, his excitement palpable. “Here we go. Time to make an impression. Think the exchange students are going to swoon over me?”

“Only if they have no taste,” you muttered, gathering your things.

He grinned, standing and offering you a hand as the carriage came to a stop. “Come on, don’t be such a poopy.”

You cringed again before taking his hand, letting him help you down. The moment your feet touched the ground, the buzz of the school grounds surrounded you. Students swarmed the entrance, chattering excitedly about everything from the new arrivals to last-minute cramming for the exam.

Satoru strode ahead confidently, while you lingered a step behind, clutching your notes tightly. He glanced at you, running back to catch up with you. “Where’s Kuro? He’s supposed to be part of the dramatic entrance I had planned.”

“I sent him away. He was annoying me with the confetti.” “You— WHAT?”

You ignored him, continuing to walk up the stairs leading to your exam hall without looking up at anyone. Satoru jogged beside you.

“We haven’t met with any of the exchange students yet!” “Satoru, if you want to, then leave.”

He pouted, planting your face in front of yours above your notes. “You know I won’t leave you.”

“Then stay quiet and let me study.” “Alright, alright,” he said, sighing. He stared at you for a few moments, pacing around the hall with you while you muttered curses under your breath. He smiled. You always hated this one subject but felt the need to excel in it anyway. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’ll do great, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d better hope so. If I fail, you’ll fail too.”

He laughed again, a sound as effortless as everything else about him. “That’s true. Can’t impress anyone with an F on the paper, can I?” The loud bell rang, and Satoru moved to cover your ears with the palms of his hands. “I’ve got you covered, princess. In return, you must guarantee that I pass.”

You smiled a genuine smile at him, something you had gotten quite used to doing in the past four years you had spent with your new family. “I can’t guarantee that. Let’s go, I’m done now.”

His eyes widened comically, “What do you mean you can’t guarantee that?” You laughed at him, and he snatched your notebook from your hands. “Give me that! Oh god. I’m doomed, aren’t I?”

“Yup, let’s go now.”

The exam hall echoed with the sound of faint murmurs and the occasional nervous coughs. While theory had been nerve-wracking, at least you had been able to cram for it. But the practicals? They were a whole different beast. No amount of late-night revisions could prepare you for actual spellwork.

You clutched your wand tightly, its polished surface cold and smooth against your clammy palms. The examiner called your name, and your stomach flipped. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward. What were the steps again? Swing your wand, say the words, and hope for the best.

You stood before the enchanted apparatus. It was a simple magical round glass that would respond to the accuracy of your spell, changing its colour accordingly. The orb pulsed softly, steams of gas floating stilly in its interior, waiting. You were supposed to transfigure a cactus into a goblet full of water. The room was silent, dozens of eyes boring into your back. 

Why did they have to make everyone do the practicals individually, and on stage?

You closed your eyes briefly, mustering every ounce of focus. With a flick of your wand and the carefully practiced words spilling from your lips, you executed the spell. Wand still in the air, you waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Then, the orb glowed a brilliant gold.

“Perfect!” The elderly professor cried, clasping her hands together. She really liked you. “Next, please.”

Relief washed over you, and you felt a disbelieving smile creep onto your face. Scooting off the stage, you climbed down the stairs to your seat. You caught Satoru’s eye and mouthed, Good luck. He was slouching on his chair, winking at you and giving you a lazy thumbs-up.

Just as you sat down, you noticed your gaze didn’t leave him. You kept looking at him, how effortlessly good he looked in his outfit, sunglasses perched languidly on his nose. He was looking straight ahead at the stage above, and you glanced at the front too. Shoko got a pale yellow glow from the orb, an easy B.

Your eyes wandered to the girl in line ahead of Satoru. You recognized her instantly, how could you not? Wavy chestnut hair that caught the light just so, impeccable posture, an air of confidence that bordered on smug, and her pink lips upright looking behind her. She was from one of the distant kingdoms—brilliant in class, annoyingly charming, and unfortunately, quite pretty. And right now, she seemed pretty happy about being positioned so close to Satoru.

It was the way she was smiling at Satoru that irritated you. Not the polite, fleeting kind of smile you’d give a classmate. No, this was different. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curved in a way that made even you highly uncomfortable. You saw her fingers brush a strand of hair behind her ear — twice, because apparently once wasn’t enough — and she leaned just a fraction closer to him.

You squinted. Was she flirting? She was flirting. Yuck. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but your jaw tightened. Getting up sneakily from your seat, you joined the crowd they stood with to spy on the two.

“I hear the examiners this year are super strict,” she said, her voice soft and lilting. “Not that you need to worry. I’ve seen you in dueling practice — you’re incredible,” she sighed at him dramatically, eyes turned to hearts.

Satoru blinked at her, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

She laughed — too loud for a casual compliment. “You’re so modest! That’s so rare, you know.” Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him, clearly hoping he’d reciprocate the energy.

He didn’t. “Modest? Me?” Satoru’s tone was laced with genuine confusion, his brow furrowing slightly. “You sure you’re talking about the right guy?”

You saw Geto, his best friend, stifle a laugh at that, but you didn’t find any of this funny. Geto caught your eye and immediately stopped laughing, trying to inch closer to Satoru to warn him of your incoming wrath.

But the girl kept blocking his way.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said smoothly, leaning in even closer. “I bet you’ll get top marks, as always. You must have so many admirers.”

Your grip on your wand tightened. You might not be as violent as Satoru when it came to dueling, but you couldn’t care less about that at the moment. Nor did you seem to notice the sheer number of students surrounding you.

Satoru, as usual, was utterly oblivious. “Admirers? I sure hope so,” he said with a shrug. “But thanks, I guess?”

You wanted to shake him. How could he not see what she was doing? The way her voice softened whenever she said his name, how her lashes fluttered just a bit too much when she looked at him — it was painfully obvious. And yet, Satoru treated her like he treated everyone else: polite, casual, and just detached enough to make it clear he wasn’t interested.

“Next!” called the examiner, and the girl’s name echoed through the hall.

She turned to Satoru with a dazzling smile. “Wish me luck?”

“Uh, good luck?” he said, scratching his head.

You were half a second away from gagging, Geto slipping from beside Satoru to join you, both of you dissing the situation in hushed whispers.

As she walked away, you muttered under your breath, “Unbelievable.”

Geto muttered, equally frustrated, but this was pointed towards Satoru, “Unbelievable indeed.”

Your eyes followed the movements of her wand, and you tried to calculate the exact angle by which she tilted her wand too high, the length by which her hand movement went wrong and the distance between her wrist and the cactus assigned to her. Geto shook his head at your overly focused expression.

A loud pop filled the air, followed by startled squeaks. Your eyes widened. The examiners scrambled around, now very much turned into rats! The girl froze, her wand dangling uselessly at her side as laughter rippled through the room.

You bit your lip. What were you supposed to be feeling right now? Secondhand embarrassment or vindication? Serves her right, you thought, though a small part of you almost pitied her. Almost.

The headmaster, who had been watching the whole ordeal with an amused expression, quickly restored order, probably glad he wasn’t turned into a mouse or something. He dismissed the rest of the students and awarded automatic A’s to those who hadn’t gone yet.

You groaned and Geto laughed at you, a grimacing Shoko dangling from his arm. Together, the three of you were about to leave the hall when Satoru caught up with you, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Wild. Best exam ever. I didn’t even have to do anything!”

You shot him a sideways glance, your mood souring again. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“Wait, are you mad?” he asked, peering at you. “You’re mad. Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you said shortly, walking faster, waving goodbye to Geto, who was now left alone to deal with a hungry kitten, Shoko.

“You’re definitely mad,” he teased, catching up. “What, is it because I got an A without lifting a finger? Don’t worry, you’ll get to cheat off my usual genius self next time. Maybe you’ll even get an A+++++++ because of me… or whatever the highest grade is.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You’re so modest,” you mimicked the girl from earlier, but he didn’t get the reference.

At break, you sat under the shade of a tree, quietly eating your snack and watching the courtyard buzz with post-exam chatter. Across the lawn, the girl was crying into her boyfriend’s shoulder, her wails loud enough to carry. You frowned, unsure whether to feel sorry for or annoyed at her.

Her boyfriend, a tall, broad-shouldered guy from her kingdom, seemed to be comforting her, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances. Weird, you thought. He doesn’t even know he’s worse than Satoru in her eyes.

The suspension had been swift: four months for reckless and dangerous spellcasting. Watching her now, you couldn’t muster much sympathy. It was one thing to fail; it was another to fail so dramatically. It’s what she deserves.

Satoru plopped down beside you, unwrapping a burger he’d somehow acquired (probably chased after Shoko to steal her food). “Hey, isn’t that, uh... Britney? No, wait, Bridget? Or... Burger?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Burger?”

“Yeah, burger,” he said, taking a huge bite and gesturing vaguely in her direction. “She’s got layers, y’know? Like a burger.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“C’mon, you gotta admit it’s funny,” he said, his grin widening. “She tries to turn on the charm, and bam! Instant ratification.”

You groaned at the pun, but laughter bubbled up anyway. Satoru’s dumb humor always had a way of disarming you.

“Heyyyyyyyy!” A voice dragged out, and you were met with a flash of dark blue hair before you were hugged tightly. “I heard your exam went great, but then, of course it did.” She patted your head. “Well done.”

“Thanks, Utahime.”

“No need to thank me,” Utahime pulled out your favourite chips from her bag and handed them to you.

“Hey, nothing for me?” Satoru wailed.

“Who the fuck are you?” “Rude.”

She ignored him and turned back to you. “Anyway, did you see any of the new exchange students? They’re good-looking.”

“So?” You munched on your chips.

“So,” she said loudly, shooing Satoru off to sit in his place next to you, “we can finally get you a boyfriend.”

Satoru snorted. “Boyfriend? Why does she need a boyfriend?”

“And,” she stepped on his foot with her heel and he skipped away across the courtyard, foot in his hand and muttering curses under his breath. “There’s that prodigy guy. You two could have been academic rivals if he was in your grade. Ugh, this is so annoying. Couldn’t he repeat a few classes? Dumbass.”

“Uh, I’m not interes—” “Yes, you are,” she looked at you with a wide, crazy smile as if daring you to disagree, and you gulped.“No wasting time watching couples break up,” she pointed at the girl in front of you, whose boyfriend seemed to have heard of the real reason she messed up her spell. Utahime lifted you by one arm and practically flew the yards to reach the main hall, where your assembly would take place to welcome the exchange students.

The assembly hall buzzed with anticipation, the crowd of students shifting restlessly as they filled the rows of wooden benches. Your arm still ached from Utahime dragging you all the way here. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel drained—physically and emotionally.

The morning’s drama was still fresh in your mind, particularly the girl’s humiliating display. The idea of someone so brazenly cozying up to Satoru still gnawed at you. And now, you had to sit through an assembly to greet some mysterious prodigies who probably thought they were better than everyone else. Perfect.

“Sit here,” Utahime ordered, pointing to a spot near the front. “I need a good view.”

“Of what?” you asked, dropping onto the bench with a huff.

“Duh, the new guys. Maybe one of them will be your destined academic rival-slash-love interest,” she said dramatically, clasping her hands like a cheesy romance novel heroine.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine without one, thanks.”

“Oh, don’t be boring,” she said, plopping down beside you. “You need some excitement in your life. Besides, I heard some of the new guys are supposed to be really good-looking,” she whispered, leaning in as if discussing a conspiracy theory involving the Monarchy of Mars. “Like, model good-looking.”

You let out a noncommittal hum, tracing the edge of the seat in front of you with a finger. Utahime nudged you. “Don’t you care? Come on, aren’t you curious?”

“Not really,” you lied.

Utahime rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, sure. But if someone walks in here looking like a movie star, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your gaze wandered to the double doors at the front of the hall, where the new students were supposed to enter. You didn’t care much about the guys. But what if there were girls? Pretty girls. The kind with perfect skin and perfect hair and that effortless grace you always seemed to lack.

Your stomach churned. Why were you even thinking about that?

You glanced at Utahime, still chattering away about rumors she’d heard excitedly. She was bouncing slightly in her seat, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. But you couldn’t shake the thought — what if everyone thought the other girls were prettier? You could almost smell the break up stories your dozen friends would fetch for you because the new girls seemed hotter to the dung-nosed guys of your school.

“For the next few months, I will be stuck amidst boy troubles,” you muttered, glancing across the hall. Satoru had finally joined the crowd, sauntering in late as usual. He spotted you almost immediately and shot you a wink before sliding into a seat with Geto and Shoko.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, but you shoved the feeling down. He was just being Satoru like always. That’s all it was.

Right?

The headmaster’s booming voice filled the hall. “Welcome, students, to this year’s exchange program orientation!”

The crowd settled as the headmaster launched into a long-winded speech about tradition, excellence, and the importance of collaboration between kingdoms. You zoned out almost immediately, your eyes drifting back to Satoru.

He was whispering something to Geto, who smirked and nudged him in the ribs. Shoko looked utterly disinterested, flipping through a medical journal she’d smuggled in. Typical.

You pulled your eyes away from them. The last time you had zoned out in class because of him, your mood had been soured for the whole following hour. The sound of applause gave you an excuse out of your reverie. The exchange students were being introduced now, stepping onto the stage one by one. They were all polished, confident, and, admittedly, quite impressive.

Utahime elbowed you sharply. “Look at that one!” she hissed, nodding toward a tall boy with striking blond hair and piercing brown eyes.

You blinked. “Looks like he walked out of a painting.”

“Exactly,” she said, smirking. “He’s perfect for you.”

You groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Utahime ignored you entirely, listing off reasons why he’d make a great boyfriend: “Smart, handsome, probably good at magic���”

“Definitely better at cactus transfiguration,” you muttered, earning a snort of laughter from her.

Meanwhile, Satoru had twisted around in his seat, craning his neck to see what the commotion was about. When his eyes landed on you and Utahime, his expression soured slightly. He didn’t like being left out, and it was written all over his face.

“Who’s better at cactus transfiguration?” He suddenly appeared behind you.

“None of your business,” Utahime shot back, sticking her tongue out.

“Wow, mature,” Satoru deadpanned.

The assembly droned on, with each exchange student introducing themselves in turn. You tried to pay attention, really, but your mind kept wandering. Utahime’s ridiculous matchmaking schemes. Satoru’s infuriatingly perfect smile. The girl’s earlier meltdown. It was all swirling together into a chaotic mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

Finally, the headmaster wrapped up his speech with a flourish. “Let’s give our guests a warm welcome!” he declared, prompting another round of applause.

As the crowd began to disperse, Utahime grabbed your arm again. “Come on, let’s go talk to him!”

“To who?” you asked, bewildered. “The blond-haired guy, obviously!”

“Absolutely not,” you said, digging your heels into the ground.

But before you could argue further, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Leaving without saying hi? Rude.”

You turned to find Satoru standing behind you still, his trademark grin firmly in place.

Utahime groaned. “Go away, Gojo.”

“Can’t. I’m here to rescue my friend from your matchmaking madness,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulder.

You tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight, his presence annoyingly comforting.

“Why do you care?” Utahime shot back.

Satoru’s grin widened, but his tone was surprisingly serious. “Because she doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.”

He tugged you away, leaving Utahime fuming in his wake.

“Thanks for the save,” you mumbled once you were out of earshot.

“Anytime,” Satoru said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice you couldn’t quite place. “And besides, didn’t want you to end up with an annoying mother—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Did he forget he was in a royal school where all the students and teachers were high-class nobles and the mere mention of vocabulary outside of the poshed-up ones exclusively for the rich would make him an infamous wreck in everyone’s eyes?

He caught your eye and continued, “—trucker.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The dining table was as extravagant as ever, its polished surface reflecting the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. Plates were neatly arranged, and bowls of steaming food were placed in a perfect line down the centre. Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture so upright it made your back ache just looking at her. Across from her sat Father, whose stern expression was an almost permanent fixture at meals.

You occupied your usual spot, tucked between Satoru and his mother, a position that felt both safe and stifling. Satoru, of course, lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, pushing peas around his plate with one chopstick, clearly uninterested in the discussion at hand. It was peaceful and calm. But as soon as Satoru’s father set down his chopsticks, you knew this tranquillity wouldn’t last.

“Satoru,” his father began.

Satoru didn’t even look up, lazily poking at his food. “Uh oh. Here we go.”

“Don’t start,” his mother said sharply, and Satoru sighed dramatically, dropping his chopsticks like they were too heavy to hold.

“Fine. What is it this time? Did someone see me napping in class? Because, for the record, I was listening with my eyes closed.”

“Your instructor tells me your theoretical scores are excellent, as expected,” Satoru’s mother began, her sharp gaze sweeping across the table to land on him. “But your duel with Suguru during last week’s practice was... undisciplined.”

Satoru shrugged, not bothering to look up. “It’s not my fault Suguru got cocky.”

His father’s goblet hit the plate with a sharp clink. “And whose fault is it that you refuse to follow proper form? You’re not dueling for fun, Satoru. These exercises are meant to sharpen your skills for real combat.”

You could feel the tension grow, so you instinctively focused on the rice in your bowl. Satoru, however, leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“Real combat isn’t about sticking to the rulebook,” he said lazily, resting an arm on the back of your chair. “It’s about adaptability.”

“That is not an excuse to showboat,” his mother snapped. “You might think you’re untouchable, but arrogance will get you killed one day.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes — irritation, maybe, or defiance — but he masked it with a grin. “Not likely.”

“Only because you’re naturally talented,” his mother interjected coldly. “Talent will only carry you so far, Satoru. You lack discipline, respect, and—”

“Manners,” his father finished, glaring at him.

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “All we’re trying to make you understand is, this isn’t a joke, Satoru. You’re supposed to be the strongest, and yet you’re constantly underperforming. Meanwhile, look at her.” She gestured to you, and your heart sank.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

“Look at her,” his mother repeated. “Top marks in every subject, excellent dueling reports, and the teachers can’t stop praising. Why can’t you be more like her?”

Satoru threw up his hands. “Because she’s a robot! Have you seen her handwriting? It’s terrifying!”

“I just have neat handwriting,” you mumbled defensively.

“Neat? It’s like a calligraphy competition on every page,” Satoru said, jabbing a chopstick at you. “She probably practices writing spells for fun.”

“She’s perfect,” his father said firmly, as if it were an unshakable fact of the universe.

“Exactly my point!” Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “How am I supposed to compete with that?!”

“You’ve been doing wonderfully,” his mother interrupted warmly, and you almost choked on your water. She reached to kiss your forehead and you felt fuzzy all over.

“Really?” you said hopefully.

“Yes,” his father agreed, nodding. “We’re very impressed with your progress. And your last dueling performance was flawless. Keep it up.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s it? No lecture about being even better? No existential guilt trip?”

“She doesn’t need one,” his mother said simply.

“She’s already self-motivated,” his father added.

Satoru gawked at them, then at you. “Wait, are you seriously not going to roast her? Not even a little?”

His mother held up a hand to silence the banter. “Enough. We’re not here to discuss her. We’re here to discuss you and your inability to take anything seriously.”

“I take plenty of things seriously!” Satoru protested.

“Name one,” his father challenged.

Satoru opened his mouth, paused, then pointed to you. “Her.”

You nearly choked on your rice. “What?!”

“See? I take her academic success very seriously,” he continued smoothly. “She’s basically my tutor at this point. Without her, I’d probably be failing food transfiguration.”

“Food transfiguration is not the metric for success,” his father said dryly, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“And yet, it’s a class!” Satoru shot back. “A class I pass, thanks to her.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Never,” Satoru said cheerfully, ruffling your hair like you were a pet.

The room went silent for a beat, and then his father muttered, “Pass the rice.”

You couldn’t help but snort, quickly covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. Satoru’s grin widened, clearly taking your reaction as a victory.

“I’m serious about the food transfiguration, though,” he whispered to you as the conversation shifted. “You saved me from flunking that one.”

“By telling you to stop turning the chicken into a dinosaur?” you whispered back, rolling your eyes.

“Exactly. Genius advice.” Satoru sighed, slumping dramatically. "I swear, if I weren’t so charming, I’d be useless."

“You are,” you replied, teasing him with a grin.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The foreign exchange students filed into the classroom. You hadn’t met any of them yet, but the instant you saw a giggling pack of girls, dressed in a way that clearly screamed “I’m a tourist, please give me attention,” take seats scattered around the room, you knew this would be a long class. They were chatting loudly, condescending smiles on their faces and prissy postures to back it up. One of them locked eyes with you and stood up.

The girl scanned the room, perhaps trying to find something to shift the attention of the bustling and noisy class to her. Sitting beside you, Geto didn’t even flinch as the girl cleared her throat loudly. You could feel it. She was about to open her mouth.

And open it she did.

“Do you guys feel,” she addressed her fellow exchange people, “that the culture here is a bit… Well, I don’t know what you'd call it. Primitive, I guess? It’s like they just dug it up from some ancient ruins," she said, waving a hand dismissively, as if she were talking about a dusty artefact. “This whole— uhm— ‘honour’ thing? So outdated. I didn’t find any such codes on how to behave in the culture of the South, or the West, or the South-West. Maybe it is because the people here still need to be taught manners, I suppose.”

The other students, contrary to what she had hoped, didn’t pay any attention to her. They didn’t seem to have heard her, because if they had… well, all of them were from noble clans, of course they would have a problem with it.

The girl didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“You there!” She screeched at you, coming to a halt in front of your desk after pacing around like she was delivering an important lecture. “I heard you’re the top student. Representative, or something, they told me. Like—” she turned to face you more directly, suddenly noticing the lack of a surname on your badge “—wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?”

You flushed. Most of the students were tactful enough to not point that out to you, and if they did, they would return with a bruise soon after, credit to Satoru. But Satoru was in the hospital wing right now, and thankfully so, because you didn’t want him making a scene here in the middle of your Charms class. Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against your arm; he was trying to calm you down. He didn’t need to say anything; you already knew what he was thinking.

Shoko, sitting in front of you, shifted in her seat. Her fingers twitched toward her coat pocket, and you could swear you felt a chill run down your spine at the look she had on her face. Shoko’s glare was murderous, and her hand slowly moved to her doctor’s tools — just a few inches away from hurling them at the girl’s smug face.

“Don’t bother,” Geto murmured under his breath. “Let her go on. She’s not worth the energy.” His eyes never left you as he spoke, a detached smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ignore her, Shoko.”

The girl leaned on your desk as you continued to determinedly stare at a spot on your notebook

“Oh, but wait,” she continued haughtily, “you must’ve been a mistake. I mean, the Gojo clan leaders, right? They couldn’t possibly have any sense of judgement, could they? Considering who their son is, who he’s raised by. They probably just took in anyone, huh? Just to fill the numbers. I bet they didn’t even care to see if you had any real worth.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geto interrupted her calmly, his smile widening, a maddenned look in his eyes. “If you don’t stop right now, you might have to deal with a curse or two, because I’m not exactly one to be afraid of duelling in front of teachers.”

Alina was unfazed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk plastered across her face. “Oh, I so do. You can’t silence me. The Gojo clan is only famous because they have money and influence — nothing more.” She leaned forward again, her eyes narrowing. “And the leaders? They’re a joke. All that power, and they still let their precious son — what’s his name? Satoru? —play around like the child he is. Tell me, do you ever wonder if he’s actually good for anything besides being the ‘chosen one?’ Or is it just another piece of their precious family’s empire?”

No.

That was it.

You snapped. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Pulling out your wand from your pocket, you let the cold tip touch her throat. The girl immediately shut up, caught off guard and not having the time to reach her own wand, which was kept on the table her friends were sitting at.

“What’s wrong? Can’t speak? I’d love to hear more from that croak of a voice you possess. Please, go on with your pathetic guesses about my lineage.”

“Don’t,” Geto warned, but you were too blinded by the ringing echo of her words about your family. Shoko was already gripping the side of her desk, looking like she wanted to step in.

“You want me to speak more?” The girl said. “I can speak more. Because I know what you are. I would have felt sorry for you if you weren’t so stuck up though. As they say, no power, no future.”

Before you could retort, or even say a quick charm to freeze her throat so it snapped in half, the door flew open, and a voice interrupted your anger.

"Both of you, in my office. Now."

It was the teacher, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly fed up. Without missing a beat, you spun on your heel, flicking a glance at Geto and Shoko.

──── ୨ৎ ────

It was oddly quiet in the headmaster’s office. You sat alone at the desk, gloves pulled snug over your hands, a rag in one and a half-polished trophy in the other. The cleaning did little to distract you from the frustration you felt.

The headmaster’s words still rang in your ears: “Detention builds character, and perhaps a lesson in self-control will serve you well.”

Self-control. As if it was your fault someone had insulted your family.

The soft creak of the door interrupted your thoughts. You stilled, expecting the headmaster to return and scold you for slacking off. Instead, a familiar white head of hair peeked around the doorframe.

"What the—" you hissed. "Are you insane? If someone catches you here—"

“Wow. You, of all people, getting detention?”

Satoru leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk on his face.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Came to pick you up,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Kuro was freaking out because he didn’t know why we weren’t at the gates, so I told him to head home without us.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Relax. He’s used to me pulling stuff like this.” Satoru strolled into the room, glancing around with mild interest before his eyes landed on the pile of trophies waiting to be polished. “So... what’s the story? Did you finally snap and hex someone?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophy in front of you. “Shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere? I mean, you’re not supposed to be here after school.”

“Oh, I’m cutting it. I figured detention with you would be more fun.”

You ignored him, hoping he’d get bored and leave, but Satoru was never one to take a hint. He perched on the edge of the desk beside you.

“Come on,” he said, nudging your arm lightly. “Tell me what happened.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just... a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

You stayed silent, scrubbing furiously at a nonexistent smudge on the trophy. But your hands were shaking slightly, and he noticed.

His teasing expression softened. “Hey,” he said quietly, leaning closer and nuzzling your hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said quickly, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. You cursed under your breath, setting the trophy down harder than you intended.

“Right,” Satoru said dryly. “You know lying is a sin, right?”

Before you could stop him, he reached out and plucked the rag from your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a firm look.

“Enough,” he said, tossing the rag onto the desk. He grabbed your hands, tugging the gloves off gently, his touch warm and steady against your cold fingers.

“Satoru, what are you—”

“Helping,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your breath hitching slightly as he held your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Gotten detention, I mean.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “I didn’t even do much. I just threatened her, ‘s all—”

“I know,” he said. “But you didn’t have to stand up for me like that.”

“Yes, I did.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. “She had no right to talk about your family like that. Or mine,” you added quietly.

Satoru’s expression softened, and he sighed, letting go of your hands only to pull you into a hug. Your breath stopped. It was so sudden and unexpected, but his arms around you were so warm and secure, and for a moment, you forgot just how cold the office was.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair. “For putting us first.”

You swallowed hard, your face pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat. His vanilla scent filled your nostrils, and you couldn’t help but sigh at the sensation.

Just what were you feeling?

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickled along your arms, and your breath caught in your throat. Eyes widening on his chest.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. He studied your face for a moment, his gaze searching, before giving you a small, crooked smile.

“Alright there?” he asked softly.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. His smile widened, and he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

“Good,” he said, picking up your gloves and the rag you had abandoned. “Because I think it’s my turn to polish these things. You’ve done enough.”

You blinked at him, confused. “You can’t just—”

“Too late.” He waved the rag dramatically, grinning. “Go sit down and relax. Perfect students need to take a break to be imperfect once in a while.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off, already humming to himself as he began scrubbing.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You sat with your detention homework in your garden after the headmaster had insisted on giving you some more ‘punishments’ for letting Satoru in his office. On the stone bench, you glared at the crumpled detention slip in your hands. The words from earlier still rang in your ears.

Wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?

You must've been a mistake

The nerve of that girl, whatever her name was. She had no right to talk like that. But as much as you hated to admit it, her words dug deep. Why didn’t you have the surname? Why were you even here?

You sighed, staring down at your hands, throwing the slip away and watching it skid between bushes. The gate creaked, pulling you from your thoughts. Satoru’s mother stepped into the garden. She always seemed to know when something was wrong.

She smiled warmly as she approached. “Trouble at school?”

You let out a small huff, tossing the detention homework onto the bench. “Some girl decided to remind me I don’t belong here,” you muttered. “She’s not wrong. I mean, I don’t even have your family name. I’m just... here.”

Her expression softened, and she sat down beside you. “Suguru told me it was someone from the Kamo clan. She said that, did she?”

You nodded. “She made it sound like I’m just some random stray you all picked up out of pity.”

A shadow flickered across her face, but she stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. Then she sighed softly and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You don’t carry the Gojo surname yet because... you aren’t meant to. One day, you will.”

You were confused. “One day? What are you talking about?”

Her gaze softened further, and she reached for your hand. “You’re not here because of pity. You’re here because I care for you deeply. You’re family to me. And... well, you’re engaged, my dear. To Satoru.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. “Engaged?” you whispered.

She nodded gently. “It was my decision. Not to strengthen ties or fulfill some tradition — I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying you off to anyone else. You’re important to me, and to this family. No one else would cherish you the way you deserve. No one else would love you the way I know he can.”

Your head was spinning. Engaged? To Satoru? The same Satoru who stole your dessert, teased you relentlessly, and drove you up the wall with his arrogance?

“Does he know?” you managed to ask.

A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time to tell him. You know how he is — he’d probably react with some ridiculous joke or dismiss it entirely without thinking it through.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You mean I’m supposed to sit on this bombshell while he’s running around like an overgrown child?”

She chuckled softly, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “It’s not so bad. You’ve already grown close to him, haven’t you?”

Close. You couldn’t deny it. In the past few years, you had gone from tolerating his antics to — well, something. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you every time he smiled or stood too close.

But this? This was too much.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked weakly, peeking through your fingers.

“I wanted you to have time to figure out your feelings without the weight of this hanging over you,” she admitted. “And... I wasn’t entirely sure when you’d be ready to hear it. But seeing you upset, questioning your place here, I couldn’t keep it from you any longer. Forgive me, darling.” She stood then. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” she said gently. “Never let anyone make you doubt that.”

And with that, she disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone with the truth.

Engaged. To Satoru.

The butterflies in your stomach weren’t just fluttering now—they were staging a full-on rebellion. You let out a groan, slumping back against the bench.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over a year had passed. The two of you were turning seventeen the next year, and with the increase in your age, the load of schoolwork increased too. The School of Royalty had seen so many changes. They were rebuilding the duelling grounds and organising even more clubs than before. Girls were mysteriously beginning to drop out of school, and you didn’t want to know why. There were less than ten girls in your class of fifty, and you figured this number would reduce even more as women in nobility were hurriedly married off to distant kingdoms, forced to give up their education to serve as a showpiece for the men to flaunt.

You were thankful the Gojo clan saw you as more than that, or you wouldn’t have been in the same class as your friends this year. You couldn’t bear not seeing Utahime, Shoko, Suguru and of course, Satoru.

Satoru.

The one you had realized you didn’t want if he wasn’t looking at you at all times, if he wasn’t talking to you at all times, or cracking jokes to you at all times. The one you had realized you wanted more of, more than what the two of you are now, more than what you two have ever been, more than friends, more than best friends; you wanted him more than anything in the world. Him, him, him, him. You wanted his eyes on you, his hands on you. You wanted everything about him. Everything. Every single thing—

“Hey, you alive?” His voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh yeah.”

“I was saying,” he pulled a girl towards him by her hands and she landed on his chest with a dull thump. “This is Alina.”

You stared at her. Triumphant looking face, lips giggling into the broad layer of his front.

Wait.Wasn’t she—?

“You might remember her,” Satoru pressed. You did. Vividly.

Oh.

“She needs some duelling practice apparently, so she’s gonna be watching us from there,” he points at the stands. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay,” you said in a voice you didn’t know you owned. The words felt so heavy on your tongue, as if it was an entirely different person speaking them. 

“Great, thanks,” he ushered the girl back to the stands and leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead again. You blinked.

Oh, no, he didn’t see it like that at all.To him, it was just a gesture he had grown used to doing. Yeah.

You stood across from him on the training field, your stance ready and tense. The sunlight was bright today, almost too bright, and you didn’t know if it was the heat or the sudden emptiness you felt. Satoru smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You ready?” he asked, voice nonchalant. It wasn’t the usual teasing edge. The spark was missing.

You nodded.

“I’ve got you today, Gojo,” you tried making the dumb jokes he used to make. You weren’t sure if it was working, but you tried anyway.

The sparring session started, but something felt wrong. Satoru’s movements were slower than usual, his focus elsewhere. He kept glancing at the stands from time to time, as if trying to see if she was watching him. He didn’t block your attack in time, letting you knock him down with ease.

“You alright?” You bent down to help him up, but he just waved you off, a tight smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… tired, I guess,” he shrugged, avoiding your eyes.

Alina came running down the stands, her hands clutched on her chest, fussing over him while he waved her off too, getting up.

“Another one?��� “No, thank you.”

That was the first time you had ever said no to him.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Later that week, you walked into the cafeteria, hoping to find Utahime and grab a quick meal before your History class. You were halfway into the queue before you realized Utahime had Charms class right now. After all, she was a senior of yours; she would have more schoolwork than you. So you were about to take the tray you got to one of the empty tables alone, hoping to find someone else.

And you did find someone. Satoru sat across from Alina as comfortable as ever. They looked like they were on a date. Was this why he had skipped a class he had with you?

“Oh, hey,” he greeted you when you approached, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. There was a coolness in it, like he wasn’t really there.

The girl’s voice broke into the silence, bright and too eager. “I was just telling Satoru about how I’m finally starting to get the hang of wand control now. I know he’s been busy with other stuff, but he’s still managed to help me out.”

You felt the hairs on your neck prickle.

“That's great,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “I'm sure Satoru is happy to help.”

You tried to keep your expression even as you sat down on their table. Wrong choice. Satoru, oblivious or indifferent, didn’t seem to notice any sort of tension in the air. He smiled, nodding along to whatever the girl was saying, while you forced a smile and picked at your food.

You felt like an outsider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

That same week, after a banquet of the noble families held at the Gojo clan’s immaculate residence, you were walking alone towards the girls’ dorms when you overheard two voices seemingly arguing calmly. You pressed an ear onto the door hiding the people.

“You don’t seem to realize your Alina is the same girl who was insulting your own family,” Suguru was saying. “She got us into trouble too. You weren’t there so you don’t know how bad she talked about—”

“I know she’s not like how she was before,” Satoru interrupted loudly. “And I know you guys still have a problem with her, but you’ve got to trust me, okay? She’s changed.”

Your heart sank. “Changed?” Suguru repeated bitterly. “Really? After everything she said about the Gojo clan?”

He didn’t reply right away, but when he finally spoke, it was with that soft, almost apologetic tone.

“I get it. I really do. But she’s… trying, okay? She’s not the same person.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You felt numb all over. Uprooting one leg from your position, you walked backwards, away from your heartbreak.

“I don’t know if I can believe that, Satoru. Not after everything she did.” “I know, but please. Try, for me?”

Your back hit the pillar and you stopped. Slowly lifting feet one after the other, you walked. You didn’t know where you were walking to, but you just walked. You didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he was asking you to trust her, or the fact that you wanted to — because you trusted him so much.

“There you are!” Utahime caught up to you. “Where did you go? How can you get lost in your own house—” You lifted your face up to her, and she looked taken aback. She inhaled, wiping tears you never realized started falling after stinging your eyes so bad, and she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Utahime—” your voice broke.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You were walking down the school halls, your mind preoccupied with your own thoughts as you made your way to the classroom. The noise of chatter and the shuffle of students faded into the background, making you realize you were starting to zone out again. You seemed to do that a lot these days.

“And I just know it will be you!” Alina’s voice cut through, syrupy, too sweet to be sincere. You froze, stopping behind a pillar. They were standing conveniently near the same path you had to cross to get to your class. Great. Now you had to bite back any snide remarks you had because poor Satoru would be upset if you didn’t.

You peeked out. Alina was leaning against the wall, her laughter light and airy as she spoke to Satoru, who was right beside her, looking at her with that familiar, careless smile he used to reserve for you, one that you had now grown to hate.

You could hear her complimenting him, the way she laughed too loudly at every word of his. “Oh, Satoru, your technique today was amazing, as always! I honestly don’t know just how you do it.” Her tone was sugary, and you cringed. You wanted to look away, but something held you in place, as if some invisible force was gripping you to that spot, making you watch the scene in front of you with red eyes and darkness underneath them.

Then you heard his voice. “Come on, Alina, you’re making me blush,” he chuckled playfully. He was oblivious, as usual (or maybe he wasn’t, and he truly trusted this woman more than his friends). But you weren’t. You noticed how her hands lingered on his arm a little too long, how her fingers curled around his sleeve possessively.

You couldn’t breathe.

You turned, hoping to slip past unnoticed, but of course, she caught sight of you. There was a flicker of something dark in her eyes before she forced a smile onto her face, calling out in that voice that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, hey!” she chirped, calling out your name. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

The words hit you like a slap. You were caught between disbelief and anger. How dare she speak to you like that? You glanced at Satoru, hoping he would interject, but he didn’t. He was too busy focusing his attention on her like a complete idiot.

You looked down at the floor, clenching your teeth. “You can have him,” you muttered. You didn’t want to show her how much it hurt, but it was all too clear in your voice and actions.

Alina’s smile faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, are you sure?” she said, “I’m sure Satoru wouldn’t mind at all. He’s such a generous guy.”

You could hear her subtle challenge, the way she was almost daring you to react. But you didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you straightened up, forcing the words out with a calmness you didn’t feel.

“I’m sure,” you said simply. Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, your heart pounding in your chest.

Behind you, you could feel her eyes on your back, but you refused to turn around.

You hated her. You hated the way she acted so confident. You hated how she was so entitled. And you hated how Satoru, in all his charm and glory, refused to hear a word against her; how he couldn’t see the way she was trying to wedge herself between not only the two of you but also your entire friend group.

It was always this way, wasn’t it? The more you wanted him, the farther he seemed to slip out of reach.

──── ୨ৎ ────

After a three hour long soak in your bathtub, you decided it was time to go back into your room without anyone noticing. You spent most of your time hiding away from everyone; your parents, your servants, and him anyway, so you doubted anyone would miss you. With a sigh, you wore your nightdress and pushed your bedroom door open.

Satoru was sitting on your bed, his chin in his palms as he stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought and waiting for you to return. The moment you walked in, his gaze snapped to you, and the tension in the room tripled.

“You’re back,” he said. There was something in his voice — you couldn’t point out what exactly it was, but you didn’t like how it made you feel.

“What are you doing in my room?” The words came out harsher than you had intended them to be.

He didn’t answer right away; just sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face before standing up and facing you fully. “Why are you always so mean to her?” His voice was quieter now, more frustrated than usual.

You blinked, taken aback. "Mean to whom?" you asked, trying to play dumb.

“Alina,” he said. “Why do you always treat her like that?”

You controlled the urge to roll your eyes, though you knew Satoru expected you to. You wanted to scream, but you held it back, just barely. “Oh, you mean the girl who’s been constantly hovering around you? The one who acts like she owns you?” You crossed your arms defensively. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to cheer her on and clap for every little thing she does.”

Satoru scoffed, taking his face in his hands before looking up again. “You don’t have to be so cold all the time! Can’t you just try to get along with her? She’s changed. Why can’t you just see that?”

“Changed?” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his innocence. “She’s the same girl who insulted your family. She insulted everything you stand for, everything you care about, and you think she’s changed? Are you seriously that blind?”

His eyes darkened, and he gritted his teeth. “You’re always so hung up on the past! Why can’t you just move on?”

You shot him a look, disbelief swirling in your chest. “Move on?” Your voice was shaking with the effort of holding back everything you wanted to say. “Why is it that you’re the only person who sees that she has changed? Why is it that everyone else around you swears she hasn’t?”

Satoru didn’t respond right away. Then, he took a deep breath in, as if it was taking every bone in his body to control his emotions to hit you at that very moment. “Why do you care so much? Why can’t you just give her a chance?” he asked, almost pleading with you.

You stared at him for a moment too long. “Because,” you bit back, “She’s using you. And you’re too caught up in your own world to even see it.”

He took a step toward you, voice rising now. “That’s not true! She’s not using me! She—”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You don’t get it, do you?” You were shouting now. “She is using you, Satoru! And I’m the one who’s supposed to stand here and watch while you defend her? While you act like she’s some saint who’s done nothing wrong?”

Satoru’s patience snapped, and his expression hardened. He couldn’t stand anymore of you making assumptions about her anymore. “You don’t even belong in this house! Why do you think you have a say in anything I’m doing? You’re not even part of this!” He took a step toward you, his eyes dark with anger, a final insult.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The blood drained from your face as everything came crashing down around you.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even look at him. You felt your heart shatter into a thousand pieces in your chest.

Satoru’s expression faltered, but it was too late now.

“Leave,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

He hesitated for a second, looking like he wanted to say something more. But he didn’t. With a sharp breath, he turned and walked toward the door.

The second the door slammed shut behind him, you collapsed onto your bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as sobs wracked your body. You cried harder than you ever had before — louder, deeper, until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest ached with every gasp, every sob, the pain of his words echoing in your mind.

You don’t even belong in this house!

He was right.

You don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch?

She was right.

It is the spawn of Satan himself!

They were all right, all absolutely right, weren’t they?

Come with me, daughter.

It was a lie.

You know I won’t leave you.

Lie.

She doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.

Lie, lie, lie!

You know lying is a sin, right?

You clutched your chest hard. You didn’t know how long you cried, but when the tears finally stopped, all that remained was emptiness. A hollow space where something you had always held onto seemed to disappear.

──── ୨ৎ ────

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly.

He shrugged, his usual smirk flickering to life. “Just passing by.”

“Passing by my room?” you shot back, though your voice was devoid of any emotion.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Maybe… I wanted to talk.”

“What do you want?”

He hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a laugh. “I don’t know. How are the studies? Still out to prove you’re the best in the room?”

Your expression didn’t change, and the awkwardness between you grew even more.

“Also,” he chuckled nervously, “what did you say to Utahime? I was almost killed thrice in the last two days.”

“If you don’t have anything important to say, Gojo, move.” You stepped past him, unlocking your door. You had begun locking it since the incident that night, to avoid him sneaking in when you were away and to avoid anyone walking in on you bawling your eyes out, trying to drown the repetitive voices in your head with theories about spells and charms.

“Why are you being like this?” His voice stopped you. He paused, watching you fiddle with the lock, clearly taking the hesitating actions as a cue to continue. “Like… like you don’t care.” His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, they weren’t the Satoru you knew. There was no smugness, no teasing — just guilt.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “You’re imagining things,” you said, pushing the door open.

“Am I?” His tone sharpened, and he took a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t even look at me.”

“Maybe I have nothing to say to you,” you replied, turning to him to see his expression one last time before sorrow overtook your senses again.

His shoulders were stiffened, and for the first time this night, he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You know exactly why, Satoru. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you said, slamming the door in his face before he could say anything else.

The silence that followed was deafening, and on the other side of the door, he lingered. You waited, holding your breath as you leaned against the wood, but no sound came.

And just like that, the distance between you grew wider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Your school year was nearing the end, and summer was around the corner. The days before that had been a blur. You had avoided Satoru like the plague, throwing yourself deeper into your books and classes. Even your classmates had noticed the change, though none dared to bring it up to your face.

Except for Shoko.

“Are you okay?” she asked one afternoon, cornering you in the library.

“I’m fine,” you lied, not looking up from your Curses: A Guide to Identify the Weakness book.

“No, you’re not.” She pulled up a chair, crossing her arms as she stared at you. “You’re avoiding him, he’s avoiding everyone, and the rest of us are stuck in the middle of whatever this is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said flatly.

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. “You’re lucky this is me and not Utahime. Just so you know, he sent a message.”

That caught your attention. Slowly, you closed your book and looked at her. “What message?”

“He said he’s done with Alina,” Shoko said softly. “Said he wouldn’t talk to her anymore.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked quietly.

“Because,” Shoko said, standing up, “you’re both being stupid. And I’m sick of watching my friends tear themselves apart over something that could be fixed with one honest conversation.”

“Honest conversation?” you repeated bitterly. “What’s there to say? He made his priorities clear, Shoko.”

“Did he?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Or did you just decide that for him because you’re too scared to hear what he actually thinks?”

Your jaw tightened. “You weren’t there, Shoko. You didn’t hear the things he said.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t. But I’ve seen how miserable he’s been these past few weeks,” she countered. “He won’t say it, but he’s been beating himself up about it. He knows he messed up.”

“And what about me?!” you snapped, your voice harsher than you intended. “I’m supposed to just forget everything? Pretend like I wasn’t the one he hurt?”

Shoko sighed, her expression softening. “No. But you’re not giving him a chance to make it right. He’s been trying to talk to you — hell, he even took all the hits heroically when Utahime nearly ripped him apart.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Utahime — what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shoko said. “She had a few choice words for him. Might’ve included running him over by her carriage horses. Not my place to repeat them, but let’s just say she wasn’t thrilled with how he handled things.”

Despite yourself, a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Good for her.”

“Look,” Shoko said, softening her tone again, “you don’t have to forgive him right away. But at least talk to him. He’s done with Alina, and it’s obvious you’re not over him. Don’t let this thing between you two fester any longer.”

You stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in despite the stubborn walls you’d built around yourself. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally.

“Good,” Shoko said with a satisfied nod. “Just… don’t take too long. We’re not kids forever, you know.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The knock on Satoru’s bedroom door felt louder than you intended. You had rehearsed this moment in your mind a dozen times already. What were you supposed to say again?

Hey. It’s me. Haha.

No no no. Hey, how have you been?

No, ugh. Hey, nice weather?

Still, when the door opened and his bright blue eyes met yours, every word you had prepared seemed to vanish. The two of you only stared at each other, he in surprise and you in embarrassment.

“Hey,” he said, trying to break the silence.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched between you for a moment before he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. You did, though your fingers fidgeted nervously at your sides.

The room looked messy. The bedsheets were sprawled around as if he had been tossing and turning all night earlier. The curtains were closed so the room was in utter darkness. Yet, you needed no amount of light to see the look of sleep-deprivation he carried on his face.

Was it because of you? Because you had acted this way? Was it because he was regretting what he said to you earlier (he should, a voice in your head said, but you pushed it away)? Or was he failing his classes again? His stream was different from yours so you couldn’t meet him in school either. Or was it perhaps because of—

“I was—” you both started at the same time, cutting each other off awkwardly.

You let out a breathy laugh, and for the first time in weeks, his lips pulled upward, a glimmer of the boy you knew. “You first,” he offered, stepping closer.

“I was going to say that I…” Your words faltered as he reached for your hand. His fingers, warm and tentative, brushed yours before interlocking gently. “Oh. Wow.” He smiled at you, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head. “I missed this,” you admitted finally, your voice breaking slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, softer than you had expected him to be. “For everything. For being such a—”

A sudden knock interrupted him, and a servant’s voice called from the hall. “Young Master, Miss — Madam requests your presence in the meeting room immediately.”

Satoru groaned under his breath, but you let go of his hand, smiling as well now. “We’ll talk later,” you murmured, turning to leave.

The Gojo clan’s meeting room was one thing, but the Gojo family’s meeting room felt even more imposing. High ceilings, ornate woodwork, and an air of superiority — that was the only way anyone could describe it. Mother and Father sat at the head of the low table, their expressions unreadable.

“You’re here,” his father said. He gestured for you and Satoru to sit, and you did, sitting in a formal position with your hands on your knees, feet touching the soft pillow under you. His mother only nodded at both of you. “We’ve received an invitation from the Kamo Clan.”

Kamo Clan? You had read about a legend of theirs in your history class. A man who had dropped himself to the bottom of the hells indulging with curses to create powerful heirs. The Kamo Clan had an awful reputation — ancient, powerful, and, if rumours were to be believed, sinister.

Beside you, you felt Satoru stiffen, and whisper only one word.

“Alina?”

Of course! How could you have forgotten that? The girl who had been plaguing your school ever since she set foot in it was Kamo Alina. Suddenly, what his father said didn’t matter anymore. The way his mother was staring between you and him didn’t matter anymore. What was about to happen in his room that time didn’t matter.

“The banquet,” Satoru’s father continued, and it took a lot of effort from you to keep listening, “is an exclusive gathering of noble families from across the globe. It will take place in the south, and attendance is mandatory for representatives of our house.”

You gathered the courage to steal a glance at Satoru’s expression. The look on his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t surprised by the connection. He knew. He had known it all this time. Your hands curled into fists under the table, your nails biting into your palms, probably leaving marks too.

His mother’s voice said coolly. “Prepare yourselves. You’ll leave at the end of the week. Dismissed.”

You didn’t wait for Satoru as you stood abruptly, your pillow gliding across the floor. You made your way back to your room, trying not to look back at his face, but you didn’t make it far before he caught up with you.

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “It’s not what you think.”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him. “It’s not what I think? Really, Gojo? Because I think you lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You said you weren’t in contact with her!” you snapped.

“I’m not! This isn’t me — it’s her family. They’re the ones—”

“Oh, so her family conveniently sends in an invitation to us to attend their stupid gathering at somehow the right time?”

“I don’t know? Look,” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not at you, no, but at that darn family. “I told you, I’m not in contact with her. That is the truth. I haven’t spoken to her since—”

“Since when?” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Since you told Shoko you were done? Or since you got caught? Because it feels like right now, I’m finding out the actual truth.”

“That is not the truth, please just list—”

“Stop,” you cut him off. You had had enough. “It’s okay. I don’t know why you think I even care. I ‘don’t belong here’, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

You stepped back, shaking your head with a sigh. “Don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice softer now, desperate. But you didn’t look back as you turned and headed for the courtyard, away from him and his stupid, stupid noble traditions.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey to the Southern estate was agonisingly long, but then again, you were from the East, and crossing entire landmarks took more than weeks by unruly waters. After the travel on the Gojo estate’s huge ship, your family was met with a stout, snotty man representing the Kamo clan, in charge of dropping you to their estate by comfortable carriages. The carriage rocked back and forth, and the countryside unfolded before you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate any of it. Your focus remained on the window, your reflection glaring back at you. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Satoru sat beside you, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carriage floor. The silence was so oppressive it practically screamed at both of you to make up already. His mother sat across from you, but her usual composed expression faltered slightly as she glanced between you and her son.

After what felt like an eternity, Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, his head lolling back against the seat. "Are you seriously going to do this the whole trip?"

You didn’t move. “Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in your direction. “Acting like I don’t exist.”

“I’m not acting,” you replied coldly. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

He bristled at your tone, his foot tapping faster. “Wow. Real mature.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead shifting slightly in your seat to angle yourself even farther away from him. The silence returned, heavier now, and his mother finally cleared her throat, breaking it.

“Is everything all right?” she asked delicately, her eyes lingering on you longer.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

Her brow lifted slightly, but she said nothing, her gaze darting to her son. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched as he poked his head out of his own window, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Fine,” Satoru muttered after a beat, as if to echo you. His tone was harsh, though he didn’t look at either of you.

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t press further. The realisation seemed to dawn on her that her carefully curated plans for her son’s life — whatever they might be — were starting to crack at the seams.

Satoru’s foot finally stilled, but his irritation hadn’t seemed to disappear yet. After another stretch of unbearable silence, he tried again, his voice softer this time. "Look, I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do.”

“Good thing I’m not expecting one, then.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you at least try to meet me halfway here? This is ridiculous.”

You finally turned to look at him. “What’s ridiculous is pretending any of this matters. I shouldn’t even be here, right? So why don’t you just—”

“That’s enough,” his mother cut in, her tone sharper than you had ever heard it. Her gaze pinned you both in place. “We’re almost there. I suggest you both compose yourselves before we arrive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, retreating back into silence, but not before catching the slight smirk on Satoru’s face. It wasn’t amusement, though — it was frustration barely held in check. He didn’t say another word, leaning back against the seat and staring resolutely at the ceiling as the carriage rocked along. You pressed your lips together and turned back to the window.

That was when you saw it.

The estate loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette framed against the dusky sky. It wasn’t grand in the way the Gojo mansion was. No, this place had an oddly familiar air of foreboding. Its high walls and shadowed towers looked like they were whispering secrets and things long forgotten in history. The closer you got, the more a strange chill settled over you, prickling the back of your neck.

Goosebumps ran down your arms as the carriage rolled closer. The gates opened with an almost eerie slowness. There was billowing mist surrounding the entire area, and it made the scene even more creepy. You couldn’t explain it, but something about this place just felt… wrong. It wasn’t just the estate’s imposing presence or the way the evening light seemed to bend around it — it was something you couldn’t place at all.

You felt like something bad, really bad was going to happen here, or perhaps had already happened. A chill ran down your spine when you recalled the pages of absolute horror you had seen attached to the restricted books in your library, and their vibes seemed to match that of this place.

Beside you, Satoru shifted uncomfortably. You glanced at him for a moment and saw that his confident facade had slipped. His eyes lingered on the estate, as if trying to figure out just what it was that made the place seem so uncanny and unreal, like it was something straight out of a horror novel.

As the carriage came to a stop, his mother stepped out first, poised as ever. She didn’t seem fazed by the oppressive air of the place, but then again, she rarely showed any cracks in her demeanour.

You followed, your legs unsteady as they hit the gravel path. The chill hadn’t left you, clung to your skin. Satoru came last, his usual swagger dimmed.

“Remember,” his mother murmured as the servants approached, her voice low and pointed, “appearances are everything. Do try not to embarrass the family.”

You nodded stiffly, but deep down, all you could think about was how much you wanted to leave this place. Sighing and ignoring the tremble of your gut, you held your own hands and entered the estate.

The estate’s grand entrance hall was vast, its high ceilings decorated with intricate wooden carvings that spiralled into ominous shapes. A line of servants stood on either side, their heads bowed low in synchronised precision. “Welcome to the Kamo estate,” they chanted together, their voices echoing.

A servant stepped forward, addressing Satoru’s father (and not batting an eye to his mother) with an apologetic tone. “We regret to inform you that our — that is, the Kamo clan’s — leaders could not greet you in person. Urgent matters required their immediate attention, but they send their sincerest apologies and look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

Satoru’s father met his wife’s eyes, and she nodded curtly, and the servant's eyes widened as if he realised the error he made by ignoring her and addressing only the male leader in your group. “It is of no consequence,” she replied coolly.

As the servants moved to escort you all further inside, you couldn’t help but glance around. The estate was undeniably grand, but there was something cold and uninviting about it. The polished marble floors gleamed under flickering chandeliers, and the thick, musty air clung to your skin. It felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

The servants led you through endless corridors, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps on stone. Every now and then, you passed ornate doors or shadowy alcoves, each one looking more foreboding than the last. You tried to shake the feeling of being watched, but the creeping sensation never left.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door, and the servant gestured to it with a bow. “This will be your room,” he said before retreating with the others.

You stepped inside hesitantly. The room was smaller, far removed from where they were escorting Satoru now, and you had a feeling his would be uncomfortably close to Alina’s. The room was smaller, colder, and had an air of neglect, as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Dust coated the surfaces, and the faint scent of damp wood lingered in the air. There were faint scratches on the walls as if someone had clawed at them long ago. The wallpaper had started peeling in places, and the furniture looked untouched, as though someone had decided only yesterday to disturb the fifteen year old cobwebs. The architecture, the layout, even the faint smell of mildew — it was unsettlingly familiar, though you couldn’t quite place why.

Satoru’s mother appeared behind you. She took one look around the room, and her eyebrows twitched into a carefully concealed scowl. “Well,” she said. “This is... quaint, to say the least.”

You turned to face her, unsure of how to respond. She gestured vaguely at the room, the bare walls, the dull, muted colours. “If you find this unsuitable, arrangements can be made. I’m sure a clan as proud as Kamo wouldn’t want their guests to feel...” She paused, her lips curling in distaste, “uncomfortable.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No, mother,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “This is fine.”

Her brow arched, as though she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t press. “As you wish,” she said softly, turning on her heel and leaving without another word.

The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and the silence of the room enveloped you. You exhaled slowly, taking in the sparse furnishings, the musty air. You hated the idea of being a burden, but now, as you sat on the bed, watching it creak loudly, you wondered if you had made a mistake.

Late that night, you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get yourself to sleep.

“One sheep, two sheep, three sheep—”

What would he be doing right now? Was he still upset?

“Fuck, lost count again.” You sighed loudly. This was probably the sixth time you had tried but failed to sleep. All because of him. You closed your eyes tightly to try again.

“One sheep, two sh—”

Shit. Nature’s call.

You widened your eyes and glanced at the door, dreading the thought of stepping out into the pitch-black halls of the manor. Your room didn’t even have a washroom, which seemed absurd for a house of this size and considering who it belonged to. Clenching your jaw, you tried to distract yourself from the pressure in your bladder by examining the room, but there was nothing to look at. No paintings, no books, no trinkets — just plain walls and dull furniture.

With a sigh, you finally pushed yourself up, deciding to find a maid to help you find the washroom. You lit a candelabrum sitting next to your bed to help you navigate the area. The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the walls. You tried to stay calm, but every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made you jump. 

You walked, and walked, and walked. The layout of the house was like a maze in itself, and every turn seemed to lead to another identical hallway. Within the span of minutes, you found yourself descending a set of stairs you didn’t remember seeing before.

The air grew colder. The scent of damp stone and decay was thick in your nostrils. You paused at the bottom of the staircase, realizing with a jolt of horror that you were in what looked like the basement of the manor. The little light coming from your candles barely illuminated the space.

A wave of nausea hit you. The place smelled like dead rats, but somehow, despite your lack of sight in the room, a lot of scenes seemed to cross your mind. Shadows in the halls. Muffled screams. The overwhelming fear of being dragged into this very basement to be punished for something you couldn’t understand. Your eyes caught on the walls, and you lifted your candelabrum up and stepped closer. There were faint marks carved into the stone. Tally marks. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

Your hand reached out, trembling, brushing against the ridges. A flash of a memory hit you — your hand gripping a piece of stone fully covered in blood, dragging it across a surface, one line after another. But where had it been? In a classroom, on the board? No — this was something else, something darker. Your stomach twisted, and you stumbled back, the nausea overwhelming.

“Miss?” A voice shattered the silence, and you whipped around to see a maid standing at the top of the staircase. Her face was pale, her brows furrowed, as if you had offended every fibre of her body by stepping down into this basement. “What are you doing down here?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. The smell of the basement, the tally marks, the scenes — they clung to you, and you could only shake your head.

“Let me escort you back to your room. You shouldn’t ever be here”

You nodded mutely, following her up the stairs. She led you back through the winding halls. By the time you reached your room, the trembling in your legs had mostly subsided, though the chill of the basement still remained. She opened the door for you, offering a rigid nod before disappearing back into the dark hallways. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and exhaled shakily.

Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady your breathing. The scenes — fragmented, disjointed — played on a loop in your mind. What were they? Forgotten memories? Flashbacks? The tally marks, the muffled screams. They were just like something out of your worst nightmares. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the sting of tears prickling at your eyes.

A soft knock at the door startled you. You hastily wiped your eyes, rising to your feet. When you opened it, Satoru’s mother stood there. Her expression softened slightly when she saw you.

“You’ve been crying,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, stepping aside to let her in.

She swept into the room, her gaze flickering briefly to the empty, barren space. “This room is unacceptable,” she said bluntly. But then, as she turned to face you, something in her eyes looked gentler, almost human — something she had always carried around you. “You should have asked for it to be changed, darling.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to be a bother. It’s fine, really.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she studied you. Then, to your surprise, she stepped closer, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You’re far too used to accepting the minimal,” she said quietly. “That’s not what you deserve.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness in her tone. Before you could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her cool hand lingering briefly against your cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so maternal, that your throat tightened with emotion.

“I will speak to the servants in the morning,” she said, straightening but not pulling away. “And if you ever feel uncomfortable — ever — you will tell me. Do you understand?”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to trust your voice.

“Good.” She adjusted the edge of your sleeve with a small, practised motion, as if tidying you was a second nature for her. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. “And whatever it is that has you so unsettled tonight... I will see to it. Do not let it weigh on your mind. The past has a way of creeping into the present, but you are stronger than it.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room.

For the first time since you had arrived at the estate, you felt a sliver of comfort.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over the next week, your efforts to blend in with the household paid off in more ways than one. Most of the maids, initially wary of you as a noble guest, had warmed up to your presence. They appreciated your willingness to help with menial tasks and often joked that you were more reliable than some of their own peers. Soon enough, their dislike for the Kamo family began to slip into their conversations.

It started one evening when you were helping two maids, Haru and Tomoko, carry water from the wells. They spoke in hushed voices, glancing around nervously as though the courtyard’s walls themselves might eavesdrop.

“I’ve always said the Kamo family has skeletons in their closet,” Haru muttered. “Well, in this case, they’re probably in the basement. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded. “I have. It’s disturbing. What were those tally marks on the walls?”

Tomoko sighed, setting her bucket down with a huff. “No one really knows for sure. Some say it’s the number of people tortured down there. Others think it’s the number of people who died. Either way, nothing good ever happened in that place.”

Before you could press further, another maid, Aoi, cut in sharply. She was older, sharper, and rigid. Yet you had watched her pull the buckets back up from the walls with such brute force that it was no wonder she was still working for the clan despite her age. “Enough! You shouldn’t fill her head with stories. She’s a noblewoman; this isn’t her concern.” Her eyes avoided yours, fixed firmly on the stone path.

Haru rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, relax, Ms Aoi. She’s not like the rest of them. She’s helped us more than half the family ever has. Why shouldn’t she know what’s really going on?”

Tomoko nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And she’s already seen the basement. It’s not like we’re revealing some great hidden treasure. Besides, it’s about time someone outside this house knew what the Kamo family is really like.”

Aoi crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “And what good will it do her to know? The Kamo family isn’t to be trifled with. You’re putting her in danger — and yourselves, too, for that matter.”

You cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension. “I appreciate the concern, Ms Aoi, truly. But if the Kamo family has nothing to hide, then why should talking about it be dangerous?”

Haru smirked. “See? She gets it.”

Tomoko leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you want to know what I heard? Years ago, when the punishments in the basement were still happening, the head of the house would personally oversee them. And sometimes…” she trembled visibly. “Sometimes, they weren’t even punishing people who broke the law. Just anyone they didn’t like. Servants who fell out of favour. Merchants who got on their bad side.”

Haru shuddered. “They say the screams would echo up through the floorboards. That’s why most of the older staff refuse to even talk about it. Too many bad memories. There is also the ghost of that little girl—”

“That’s enough!” Aoi snapped. “The girl doesn’t need every grisly detail.”

“Oh, come on, Aoi. You hate them as much as we do. Don’t act like you’re above this.”

“Whether I hate them or not is irrelevant,” Aoi huffed. “You’re still being reckless. If anyone hears about this...”

Tomoko grinned mischievously. “And who’s going to tell them? You?”

Aoi gave an exasperated sigh but said nothing.

That night, you wrote letters to Shoko and Utahime, recounting the strange conversation and the haunting basement. You might have mentioned a glimpse of Satoru, too, though your thoughts on him were far more conflicted.

Shoko’s reply was predictably blunt.

Sounds grim. Torture rooms, tally marks, mysterious deaths — real classic Kamo vibes. Maybe they’re compensating for their family’s lack of charm.  But, you know, not my circus, not my corpses. Still, were they tortured with surgical precision? If so, let me know which tools were involved. I’ve got a scalpel set if you want to reenact it. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see how far someone could go with a bone saw and no anaesthetic. For science, of course. Stay alive. Bye.

PS: If you find any good booze down there, bring some back for me.

Utahime’s letter was far less chill.

That two-timing bastard is probably off doing handstands to impress some girl who can't tell her right from left. Honestly, I’m waiting for your mother to tell him the truth already. If he doesn’t start acting like your fiance, I’m going to come over there and bury him in that damn basement myself. If I had to spend more than two breaths in his company, I’d kill him. Actually, I’d kill him for free. Just say the word.

PS: If I didn’t love you, I would’ve told you to go into that basement again just for fun. But I do love you, so stay safe.

The Kamo clan leaders remained an enigma. Somehow, their presence was so secretive that their portraits were absent from every book and document in the library. You wondered if even the servants themselves had seen these people. “Maybe they’re so ugly they’re too ashamed to show their faces?” Shoko had suggested in one letter, and you still snorted remembering that.

From all your time in the estate’s library, you could only  find their names — Kamo Daijiro and Kamo Akane. Creepy. You also learned they had two daughters: Alina, the eldest, and her twin who had married into another prestigious family and no longer lived at the estate.

You still hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Daijiro or Akane, but that would change soon. A grand gathering was scheduled for the following night, and the maids were already preparing for their arrival in the estate.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The Kamo maids worked on you, dabbing floral scents to your neck and pulling a corsage on your hands. Behind you, Aoi’s hands deftly pulled at the laces of the corset you were reluctantly being tied into. Earlier, an unexpected scuffle had broken out between the Gojo clan maids and the Kamo maids when the latter had shown up, intending to tend to you.

“She’s our priority,” one of the Gojo maids had sniffed, her arms crossed.

“Not anymore,” retorted Tomoko. “She is living in the Kamo residence right now. Your loyalty isn’t required here.”

“Well, she’s from the Gojo clan!” snapped another maid, her tone haughty.

“Yes, and?” Haru shot back. The Gojo maids had given up after a reassuring smile from you, muttering about how they are only leaving because “the Lady asked so”. 

Now, Aoi was tugging the corset strings tighter. The conversation had shifted from the petty bickering of maids to something far darker.

“You wouldn’t believe the stories this house holds,” one of the younger maids murmured, a shiver in her voice. “Do you know about the little girl?”

“What girl?” you asked. You hadn’t seen the story of any little girl mentioned in the books you had read, but you had distinctly remember a mention of her story in an earlier conversation with these maids.

“Ms Aoi knows about it best!” Haru exclaimed.

Aoi’s face darkened as she let out a long sigh. “It happened about a decade ago,” she began. “A child had appeared on the doorstep, barely an year old, mind you. The family had taken her in, but of course, they did not treat her like a daughter. They had left her in the care of us servants. I was like her mother,” she said proudly. “She had turned three, I still remember, it was her birthday that night. She spilled a glass of expensive red wine on Lady Akane’s dress. It wasn’t even the girl’s fault. She was just a baby, carrying a tray too big for her tiny hands. But Sir Daijiro… he doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The other maids exchanged uneasy glances as Aoi huffed loudly, pausing her hands on your laces to wipe stray tears. “The girl was dragged to the basement, where they lock away the disobedient. She… she never came out.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “She was… killed?”

“Yes,” whispered one of the younger maids, her voice trembling. “It’s said her ghost still lingers. Sometimes we hear her cries late at night. And the mist that hangs over the estate? They say it’s her curse — her anger at the clan.”

Aoi nodded grimly. “I was here. I wasn’t much younger than I am now, but I couldn’t do anything to save her. All I could do was sneak her scraps of food and try to mend her torn dresses after… after the punishments.”

You were horrified. “Punishments? For a child?”

Aoi’s tears couldn’t be held back anymore. “She was just a baby,” she croaked thickly. “I’d hear her cry at night, calling for her mother. And when… when…” Haru handed Aoi a cloth to wipe her face. “When she died… it was the moment I stopped believing the Kamo family had any humanity left.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Aoi’s sniffling and your shallow breathing. “How can someone be so cruel?” you murmured.

“That’s why we’re all so terrified,” Tomoko confessed. “If they could do that to a child, what chance do we have? Everyone here walks on eggshells, afraid to make even the smallest mistake. The leaders haven’t changed. They’re still the same people who let that little girl die.”

Aoi’s hands resumed their work, tying the last knot on the corset. The maids stepped back. You glanced at the mirror, seeing not just your reflection but the haunted expressions of the women around you.

The little girl’s story stuck with you, her cries echoing in your mind. If the Kamo clan could be so ruthless to a defenceless child, what horrors could they unleash on those who dared to cross them?

──── ୨ৎ ────

The grand gathering was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense and expensive perfumes, the soft hum of conversation occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. You had probably sent about fifty letters in all to Shoko, Utahime and even Geto asking them if they would come to the South, and they all had replied with repetitive no’s. You had tried to keep your head down, avoiding the heavy gazes of the Kamo guests. But you were glad to see that Satoru, for once, was sticking close to you, uncharacteristically quiet. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Alina all evening, and perhaps even all this time during the visit if you were lucky. Not that you cared, of course.

Earlier, when you had overheard his mother asking him to keep his distance from “that Kamo girl”, and you remembered how he had rolled his eyes so hard you thought they would have gotten stuck.

“Fine,” he had said with mock drama. “But only because I’m such an understanding guy. And because I want you to stop looking like you’re ready to shank me with a chopstick.”

Now, true to his word, his focus was entirely on you. Every time you caught him looking elsewhere, it was never in her direction. He had even waved off her attempts to engage him, subtly turning his back to her as though she didn’t exist.

“See?” he murmured, leaning down to your ear. “Haven’t even looked her way. You believe me now, right?”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “You don’t get points for doing the bare minimum, Gojo.”

“Bare minimum?” he gasped, and you smiled a little. His response reminded you of the ‘old times’, as they were now. “This is maximum effort for me! Have you met me?”

“Hush now, both of you,” his father interrupted. “They’re here.”

The Kamo clan heads arrived, and the air shifted. The room quieted, all eyes turning to the doors as Daijiro and Akane Kamo entered. Their presence was magnetic, commanding. As they moved through the crowd, the guests bowed slightly, parting to make way. You moved your eyes to the carpeted floor. You didn’t want to introduce yourself to someone who would torture a little girl to death, for God’s sake.

But then curiosity overtook your senses. You had been thinking of what they would look like for ages. They were like a mystery you had been picking apart ever since you stepped foot into that basement. Now was finally the moment you would get to see the leaders who hid from newspapers, books and even their own servants. You finally looked up. And the moment you saw their faces, the world seemed to tilt.

Sharp cheekbones. Piercing eyes. Their very presence struck a chord you hadn’t felt in years. Distantly, hauntingly familiar…

Your parents.

“Hush, little baby, everything you need is right here,” your mother cooed, and you walked to where he was leading you. “Yes, that’s it. There are your favourite snacks here, and all your favourite toys. Come on. Go there.”

But you found something else to interest you. Aoi, the maid, was standing right there, watching everything, and you wanted to walk to where she was instead of your bad mother.

“Stupid girl, where are you going?” your father pushed you from behind into the basement, and you fell over its many steps. Falling, falling, falling. By the time you reached the bottom, your face felt hot with some weird liquid.

“This is your new house — for now,” your mother said finally, walking down the steps. “You have given me enough trouble. From the moment I was cornered in that dark alley, alone and frightened, till now — you have been nothing but trouble. You are a constant reminder of what happened to me that night. You shall die, die!”

“There, there, now, Akie,” you watched your father cradle your mother’s head in his chest. You tilted your head, and the force almost made you fall back to the ground. “The child will no longer remain here. I have the most secretive merchants arriving from the North to here. They will be taking this… thing away from us, away from you. And then you shall finally be free.”

The realisation hit like a crashing wave, pulling the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred, and your chest tightened. It was too much. Too much. It was unbearable.

Without thinking, you reached out, your trembling hand finding Satoru’s mother instead of him. Her warm, steady grasp grounded you back to reality, and she turned to you immediately in concern. She studied you for just half a second before realising something was wrong, horribly wrong.

“Come,” she said softly, guiding you out of the hall without a moment’s hesitation.

Satoru’s voice trailed behind you, confused. “Where are you—”

“Stay with your father,” his mother ordered firmly over her shoulder.

Once outside, the cool night air hit your face, and it made you realise the warm wetness flooding your cheeks and stinging at your eyes. She led you to a quiet corner of the garden, still holding you as tightly as possible.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. “Are you unwell?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “They’re my parents.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who are?”

“Them.” You swallowed hard, finally breaking down. “They! They left me. They sold me. I didn’t know their names but… I’ve seen them. They’re…”

Her expression shifted from confusion to horror. You looked at her face. You had never seen a look like that on her ever before. She released your hand only to pull you into a tight embrace.

“You poor thing,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. But I swear to you, they’ll never hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”

You cried on her shoulder loudly, and you could feel she was crying softly too. “Why? Am I not worth raising… Mom?” She pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands. “Why didn’t they come back for me?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care what their reasons were. You will be a Gojo soon. It is only a matter of time now. And you will forever, forever,  be a part of our family. I will not let the Kamos stain your history, ever.”

You sniffled. From somewhere in the hall, you could hear Satoru’s loud voice, probably causing some kind of scene.

“See?” his mother said softly, trying to distract you. “He hasn’t looked at their girl once, just like he promised. That boy might be infuriating, but when it comes to you, he’s surprisingly reliable.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

Satoru’s mother stood behind you. Her fingers were combing through your hair softly, as if to sooth your emotions with her caring rhythm. She adjusted your corset strings next, pulling them tighter, not harshly, but enough to make you focus on the present instead of the roaring panic threatening to take over.

Beyond the ornate doors of the gathering, voices rose and fell. You strained your ears to pick out the words, leaning slightly toward the source. And then you heard it.

A deep, booming voice. The same voice from your nightmares. The one that haunted your memories. Your breath hitched. It felt as though the walls were closing in to suffocate you.

Satoru’s mother’s hands immediately moved to your shoulders to steady you. “Breathe, darling,” she said firmly. “I’m here, am I not? You are safe.”

You nodded, though tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m trying,” you whisper, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly.

And then, the voice spoke words that made your blood run cold.

“…a marriage between Kamo Alina and Gojo Satoru.”

You froze. Your heart seemed to have stopped. The room seemed to have crashed down onto you. You tried to process what you had just heard. Satoru’s mother stiffened behind you, her hands pausing mid-movement.

“What did they just say?” you whispered.

She didn’t respond, though her head tilted slightly as she listened intently to the conversation happening inside the room. You caught snippets of whispers as noble families exchanged their astonishment at the bold proposal.

Surely, Satoru’s father knows. He knows that Satoru is supposed to be engaged to you.Right?

But then you heard him speak. His voice seemed proud and approving. “An excellent proposal, Daijiro Kamo. This alliance shall strengthen both our families. I accept.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your stomach churned, and for a moment, you thought you might be sick.

“Mom?” you whispered and turned to Satoru’s mother. “Why…?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “That moron,” she hissed under her breath. Her hands fell away from your shoulders furiously. “He didn’t consult me. He didn’t consult anyone except Daijiro. Of course, he didn’t. Men like to think their decisions are final simply because they made them.”

The applause from the other side of the door grew louder. The sound vibrated in your ears as the nobles toasted the ‘union’. Your panic surged again. “What do we do?” you asked desperately.

Satoru’s mother exhaled sharply. “I shall handle it.”

When she threw the doors open roughly, the room fell silent. The silence following her entrance was not mere courtesy; it was submission. Her presence demanded it. Yet Kamo Daijiro, standing near the center with a goblet of red wine in his hand, immediately stepped forward with a smug smile. “Ah, my lady Gojo,” he began, his voice filled with condescension. “I was just about to inform you of the wonderful arrangement your husband and I have come to. My daughter, Alina, will—”

“Will do nothing,” she cut him off coldly.

Daijiro blinked, clearly taken aback by the interruption. “I beg your pardon?” he said with mock-politeness.

“You heard me,” she said, stepping further into the room. Every eye in the room was on her. “You dare discuss an engagement for my son without consulting me?”

Daijiro’s lips curled into a patronizing smile. “With all due respect, Lady Gojo, this is a matter for the men to decide. Your husband and I both agree that this alliance is mutually beneficial. Surely you trust your husband’s judgment.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Trust his judgment? You think I’m going to stand by while you play politics with my son’s life?”

She turned to glare at her husband. Satoru’s father cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, but Daijiro waved him off. “Lady Gojo, your anger is misplaced. This is a matter of strategy. You may oversee the household, but these are decisions of power — something women cannot fully comprehend.”

The room grew deadly quiet now, and Alina seemed to have understood that what her father just said had been a mistake. Satoru’s jaw tightened at the insult at his mother, but he did not say anything yet. You were still frozen in the doorway, but you could feel that he was about to snap at any moment now.

Satoru’s mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Women cannot comprehend power?” Every word was pronounced clearly, and she took a single step closer. “You’re standing in my authority. Under my presence. Having begged for my appearance at this folly of an event. And you think I don’t comprehend power?”

“But this is an alliance—” Daijiro started.

“An alliance that disregards my authority,” she interrupted sharply. “An alliance that treats my son like a pawn in your political game of blind chess,” Her eyes flicked briefly to Satoru, who watched the exchange with a furrowed brow.

The room erupted in whispers. The many noble families exchanged shocked glances. Even Satoru’s father looked uncomfortable now, though he didn't dare interrupt.

Daijiro straightened, his tone hardening. “Lady Gojo, I understand you may feel... emotional about this. But this is for the good of both our families. Surely you don’t mean to disrupt an agreement between two patriarchs.”

Her expression darkened further. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for a glass of wine from a nearby tray. In one swift motion, she threw it to the ground, and the crystal shattered into thousands of shards. The sound echoed in the silence.

“The marriage is off,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “Because Satoru already has a fiancee.” She turned and gestured to you, standing awkwardly in the doorway having followed her from outside. “My future daughter-in-law, her.”

The room erupted into chaos. Gasps and furious whispers filled the air. Kamo Daijiro’s face turned a deep shade of red. The Kamo clan, the maids (who were standing outside, peering through the gates you left open, having not been allowed to enter the prestigious ceremony) and leaders alike, looked mortified at her words. 

“You cannot be serious,” Akane said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve never been more serious,” she countered.

“You have humiliated my family!” Daijiro growled, stepping closer threateningly.

At this, Satoru stood up, his sword in his hand as he placed himself between his mother and Kamo Daijiro. He tilted the weapon slightly to make sure the threat of blood was sent across to Daijiro, and blocked the way to his mother. Her eyes softened at his action, and she straightened. “This discussion is over. Take your child and leave, Kamo. I will take mine. There is no alliance to be forged here. Gojo clan!” She called to the maids, soldiers and workers of the Gojo clan who had come along with them on the journey. “We shall set off back home right now. Prepare.”

Daijiro stared at her with rage and humiliation. But when he glanced at the sea of judgmental eyes surrounding him, he knew he lost. With a barely concealed snarl, he turned on his heel, motioning for his family to follow.

Satoru fixed his sword back into its scabbard. His mother turned to you, softening again. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Come. We shall leave this place now, for good this time.”

She led you out of the hall, her grip steady and reassuring, even as the whispers behind you grew louder.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey back home felt strangely fast compared to the painstaking crawl southward. Perhaps it was Satoru’s mother’s fiery words that had lit a spark of patriotism among the servants, and maybe even the horses. Whatever the case, you arrived at the Gojo estate far sooner than expected.

You barely had time to set foot inside when Satoru found you. He cornered you in one of the quieter hallways. The first thing you noticed was his face; his usual, easygoing expression was clouded with something you had never seen before.

“Did you know?” he asked.

You blinked, thrown off by the abruptness. “Did I know what?”

“That you’re my fiancee.” The words came out bitter and flat, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying them aloud.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been bracing for this conversation, but not so soon. Not like this. “Yes,” you admitted after a moment.

He reeled back, as though the admission had physically struck him. “You knew?” His voice rose, echoing off the corridor walls. “How long? How long have you known?”

“A year,” you said hesitantly, feeling guilt rise up in your throat. “I mean… last year, your mother—”

“A year?” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’ve known for an entire year, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought she would tell you,” you stammered. “She said she’d handle it.”

“Well, clearly, she didn’t!” he snapped, spinning to face you again. “So what, you were just going to wait until the wedding invitations went out?”

“That’s not what I meant!” you shot back. “I didn’t even agree to this in the first place. I was just as blindsided as you when she told me!”

“But she did tell you, and you did know,” he repeated coldly. “And you didn’t think I had a right to know?”

“You’re acting like I had a choice!” you said, your voice rising to match his.

“That doesn’t excuse keeping it from me!” he shouted too. “You and my mom — both of you — went behind my back. You made me feel like an idiot standing in that room today.”

“Oh, we made you look like an idiot?” you scoffed. “Why? Because you were actually planning to agree to her proposal? Because you wanted to marry that witch of a woman?”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious? I barely even looked at her if I didn’t have to!”

“That was because mother had told you not to!” you countered. “Don’t stand there and question me when you’ve been acting like you have other options.”

“I didn’t know I didn’t have other options!” he shouted. “Because no one told me! The two people I trust the most in this world, you both kept me in the dark!”

You sighed. “Satoru—”

“No,” he cut you off. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? To know that the people you rely on the most didn’t think you were worth the truth?”

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, trying to find the right words. “I was just obeying mother—”

“Obeying mother?” he laughed incredulously. “By lying to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, you should have figured it out,” he said bitterly. “Because now, all I can think about is how little I actually know about you. About us. About… anything.”

The air between you felt heavy, suffocating. You wanted to say something, anything to fix the look of betrayal in his eyes, but your mind was blank.

Finally, he shook his head, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Look… I’ve never thought of you that way before, okay? You’re… you’re pretty, but you’re like a sister to me. That’s how I’ve always seen you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Oh. Of course.

“I need space,” he muttered, stepping back. “I need time to think.”

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[madlori]

the issue with kamala is shes a genocidal fucking maniac like every single other candidate available. dont pretend like shes going to do any good, who fucking cares about any of her other policies. what matters is she advocates the killing of children in the middle east just as much as anyone else. vote for her but dont pretend like shes the best. i hate liberals

Yes. She's definitely 100% in favor of killing children. She loves it. Can't get enough of it. That's definitely the most logical interpretation.

It can't be as simple as that our treaties with Israel cannot just be ignored. It can't be that we don't actually have any direct control over what Israel does. You can take issue with those things but to suggest that she - or Biden, for that matter - just CAN'T WAIT to murder children is stupid.

No, it's that she's foaming at the mouth EAGER to murder Palestinian children.

If you believe that you're just as propagandized as the Trumpsters.

Because yeah, who CARES about protecting reproductive rights? Queer rights? Immigration? The housing market? Minumum wage? Healthcare? Protecting social security and the ACA? Those things don't matter at all.

I got news for you. Every election any American has ever voted in - in the last 100 years at least and probably more - has been in support of a government that's complicit in some kind of atrocity. Because the US has been in the business of being complicit in atrocities for the entirety of its existence. Not that we're alone in that. It's true of all the world powers. And a lot of countries that AREN'T world powers. I dunno, maybe Monaco has clean hands, but I doubt it. We have to do the best we can with what we have.

"They're all genocidal maniacs" is not a useful position. Despair and disengagement is not the way to achieve change.

[tombofthemummy]

THE WHITE PHARAOH

This man (The WHITE PHARAOH) is the one being that I hate the most in the world.

His horrific antics exceed any kind of annoyance I have ever felt towards anyone, HUMAN or otherwise, LIVING or otherwise, PHARAOH or otherwise, WHITE or otherwise. His existence is an atrocity on the concept of being a PHARAOH.

1: HIS UNJUST WAYS

I myself am an EVIL MUMMY, often killing people for fun and to defend my TOMB. However, the WHITE PHARAOH does far worse things for far worse reasons. His continued enslavement of people with MINIMUM WAGE for the sole purpose of building more PYRAMIDS is awful, and he likely thinks of himself as a good person.

2: HIS IMMEASURABLE GREED

Any PHARAOH will tell you that all you need is 1 good PYRAMID. So why does he want more? My one PYRAMID has a COMBAT ARENA, a GIANT PIT, a BAR, a SARCOPHAGUS CHAMBER, a PUZZLE ROOM, and much, much more. What more could the WHITE PHARAOH want from hundreds of PYRAMIDS? He is going to sell CHARCUTERIE BOARDS and WINE in shops in the PYRAMIDS? He is going to sleep in 100 TOMBS? It sickens me. His GREED for PYRAMIDS is horrendous.

3: HIS LIES

I know for a FACT that the WHITE PHARAOH is not, will not be, and has never been a real PHARAOH. His HEADDRESS was stolen from a TOMB, and he has never been to EGYPT. His insistence that he is The WHITE PHARAOH comes from a twisted view of EGYPTIAN SOCIETY that he wishes to appropriate. His OBSESSION with PYRAMIDS has spurred him to build an EMPIRE of LIES so he can control more of the world in unjust ways.

4: WHITE

The WHITE PHARAOH says things like "aw shucks," calls people "Pal," and is always eating some CHEESE AND CRACKERS. It isn't morally reprehensible, but it is very annoying. There are few people WHITER than the WHITE PHARAOH in his irritating mannerisms of the ANGLO-SAXONS. Normally, I would be okay with someone being so WHITE, but in conjunction with his AWFUL PERSONALITY and EVIL WAYS, it becomes far worse.

5: HIS MUMMY DISCRIMINATION

Some may recall that in a PRESS CONFERENCE, the WHITE PHARAOH stated that he would not be MUMMIFIED because it's "gross and ugly." As a MUMMY, I found myself terribly offended. But to make matters worse, he constantly alludes to his HATRED OF MUMMIES elsewhere. In the televised HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION MEETING of the WHITE PHARAOH'S EMPIRE, he gave an entire speech about how PHARAOHS should not be MUMMIFIED, and every PHARAOH that is now a MUMMY should be unraveled and buried in a CEMETERY like "normal people." He mentioned ANIMATED MUMMIES as one of the worst things of all time, and said that every MUMMY who is alive in any way (like ME) should be KILLED. I need not elaborate how terrible of a person this makes him.

THE WHITE PHARAOH SHOULD BE HATED BY ALL

I know that when the WHITE PHARAOH dies, for a reason that I hope is me KILLING him myself, or some other extremely painful event, ANUBIS will be waiting for him. When his HEART is placed on the SCALE, it will be so heavy and drop with such force that it will immediately SLAM into the GROUND, shaking the EARTH in the LAND OF THE DEAD and catapulting the FEATHER into the sky.

The WHITE PHARAOH deserves nothing that he has. His POWER, his WEALTH, his HEADDRESS. He is worthy of none of them. The WHITE PHARAOH is a truly horrible being and I wish nothing but the most painful suffering on him for eternity.

I hope each and every one of his PYRAMIDS falls and crumbles into SAND scattered across the houses of the UTAH SUBURBS.

Words cannot describe how much I hate the WHITE PHARAOH.

[draculancer-flow]

We movin' Manual. pussyboy in a witch tried to hack my systems with his Full Subjectivity Suit™️ before realizing the shitbucket I'm in got no systems to hack. real Analog hour. I'm in the cockpit, high off the fumes of a pre-space-era cradle diesel engine, pulling levers and pushing buttons like my life depended on it, because as a matter of fact it does. frame so fucked up it ends up in multiple HORUS pattern group spotting lists. I'm in the middle of a junkyard building atrocities that would make Harrison the 2nd blush. SSC bioengineered me to beat the think tank, couldn't handle the fact they succeeded. give me a screwdriver, a box of scraps and 48 hours I'm building you a way to solve the union-karrakin conflict. I'm piloting naked in more ways than one. my continued existence is an affront to RA, he can't accept I'm Her. I'm the Hergemony. the Heristocracy. I'm laying claim to the title of defender of Hercynia. pushing in the danger zone by merely existing, frame lighting up in the night like a red hot knife, next motherfucker who crosses me gonna feel the Sunshine.

In this house we ride naked AND stupid

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! fem reader

it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. 18+only, minors dni note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. i'm so sorry for the wait, I've been writing and rewriting this chapter, and even now I'm not sure if I have Paul's voice right. I hope you like it!

tw: paul has some quick naughty thoughts!

if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

CHAPTER THREE

THE STEEL IS THE WATER.

Paul Atreides did not dream, he augured.

What great and terrible things existed beneath his eyelids, a pocket world of hope, atrocities, and hopeful atrocities all at the command of the young emperor. 

He was still young, wasn’t he?

There were times when he looked upon his own reflection and saw a thousand Fremen faces, no eyes nor mouth, just Paradise.

 In the corner of his lips, he stole a glimpse of Chani.

At night, in the very edges of his vision, Paul stared at himself and his father stared back.

Yet now, the emperor’s visions turned to you  in bed, still adjusting to the heat, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning.

He could hold you still to rest if he wanted to, flatten the stress crease between your brows. The sweat between your breasts would not be wasted water for Paul, the tongue of the outer world would lap quick and perhaps venture further south-

No, it was not time.

Paul's sight moved from sleeping you to hundreds of thousands of visions in a single second, your past and futures laid out before your soon to be husband. 

He saw your daughter learning to sandwalk, he heard the laughter of his grandson echoing from Caladan and through his mind’s eye. 

So much love and destruction in between then and now.

  “You give the sister absolute power over the Bene Gesserit, why?” Jessica asked, not bothering to knock before entering Paul’s rooms, ripping him back into the present.

  “So the sisterhood falls in line under me, as you have done, as Alia will do. The sister is the key but I am the door, Mother.”

“Power over the Bene Gesserit is earned, the choice of Mother Superior takes planning yet you give it like a wedding present.”

 “Why does it bother you? You created the prophecy, I led the Fremen through it, the holy war has ended. You have everything you want, and now my bride and her sister are the future of the empire you desired. Is it because you can no longer whisper in my ear?”

Paul loved Lady Jessica.

But long gone were the days of Jessica’s son and he caught the way she looked at him now.

 Reverence, amusement, and just a whiff of fear she believed to be hidden from him but there was nothing anyone, Bene Gesserit or desert mouse, could hide from him, The Water of Life had seen to that.

Lady Jessica had birthed Shai Hulud in human form and yet still wondered why he swallowed the world. 

      “You turned away the most powerful family for an alliance and have given a nameless house two seats at our table. Your new  bride has no training, no rank and you bestow upon your almost assassin the sacred sisterhood.  I’m worried for you, Paul.” Lady Jessica said, kneeling in front of Paul, her son, her product.

   Paul took his mother’s hand gently and looked her in the eye.

THERE IS NO OUR TABLE.

 I AM THE TABLE.

 I AM THE WOOD THAT CARVED IT.

 I AM THE STEEL BENEATH YOUR FEET.

WHEN YOU CRY FOR LETO I AM YOUR WATER.

THERE IS ONLY ME.

“Do we understand each other?”

Jessica was gone before Paul could blink.

He turned his sight back to you, present you, but you were not there.

Lady Jessica had not brought worry to her son, but a distraction.

You had been taken. 

Again, I’m sorry this took so long but I hope it is worth the wait! Thank you for reading!

Tag List

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[codenamesazanka]

because like, Tenko, age 5, wanted to be a Hero and the reason he gave for it was "there were these two kids who was being excluded by the others, but I was nice and became their friend," making the very core of that desire kindness. A sense of fairness, a refusal of rejection even if everyone else was doing it; then the willingness to reach out, to bring them them into his fold. Connection. Friendship. Belongingness.

And see, Tenko himself understood rejection, for he was rejected by his own family - gently, he notes, the house my father built rejected me gently - but it was denial all the same, it decayed him from the inside out; then he understood it to a level that shattered him, when an entire city of people ignored him at his most desperate and vulnerable. Saw him, and decided he wasn't worth helping. A city of people who lived under All Might billboards and touted Heroes as the pillars of their society, who expected, demanded help and saving from Heroes, and yet turned around and did not feel the need to embody those ideals themselves, never even thought to pay it back or forward. The common trash, all too dependent on being protected. And the Heroes themselves? Brave guardians who created the trash that need coddling. They uphold all this. Whatever they believe, whatever genuine and high ideals individual Heroes hold, they have relinquished it to safeguard the system. A corrupt, vicious cycle.

(Even now, Heroes see him and—what happens is this: Possession by All For One has them musing strategically that they rather deal with All For One than Shigaraki; the arena to battle him in is called his Coffin In The Sky. Those jerks who hurt me over and over, he calls the Heroes he fought - and he tells this point blank to Deku. And above all, Heroes would give their lives to save a corpse - already broken and gone, I already destroyed that one - in midst of an urgent war, when years ago on a normal day, they never showed up to reach out a helping hand to a child looking to live on after the end of everything he knew. The dead have their place among the Heroes; but not all of the living. Do they even consider him as part of their world? Not like anybody would even look at me.)

Tenko can't forgive them; Shigaraki won't forgive them.

And these two things are what make up his origin, feeding into each other. It's because he values connections, friendship, belonging, that he refuses to forgive - everything I've witness in this world, lead to the existence of that house...this whole system you've built has always rejected me...Now I'm ready to reject it…; and because he refuses to forgive, he wants to destroy the world to create one where there's nothing but the one enclave of solidarity and belonging he founded - the League of Villains. The future? Unnecessary. Whatever lies ahead, I want them to live how they see fit.

That unforgiving valuation of connection and belonging, though, is also directed at himself. After all, Shigaraki himself rejects the world, rejects having a place in it. It’s not allowed to be part of what comes after his horizon. He does not believe in futures. He killed his family and destroyed any chance of reconciliation. He’s committed atrocities that put a chasm between him and the rest of humanity. Now he rejects being human at all. Shigaraki believes the rejection to be complete both ways, and belongingness to be mutually exclusive. Understanding is no longer on the table. It’s him vs the world; it’s the League vs everyone else; it’s I don’t care if you don’t understand… That’s why we’re Heroes and Villains.

To stop Shigaraki is to save him; and to save him, the key is exactly that origin, the two things most important to him, but remade: forgiveness, and reconnection.

[girlactionfigure]

Know Thine enemy

I am not a Jew and I’m not a citizen of Israel. I haven’t even visited Israel. I don’t trace my religion back to a holy site in Jerusalem and I don’t have a problem with Arabs or Muslims or Christians. I’ve read about Abraham, Moses, David and Solomon; the Umayyads, the Abbasids and the Ottomans; I know about the British, the Balfour declaration, Ben Gurion and Golda Meir. I know a bit about the Six-Day War and the Intifada. I might not have any personal stake in the Holy Land, but humanity certainly does - and I’m a human being.

The women, men, children, elderly people and soldiers who were kidnapped, tortured, raped, humiliated and murdered on Saturday by Hamas in sovereign Israel were human beings too.

Those who did it to them are not.

Imagine what kind of rational and ethical gymnastics you have to do to justify the cold-blooded murder of teenagers at a music festival; or watching a child, perhaps 5 years old, being prodded with a stick and made to cry for his mother in Hebrew while children of a similar age laugh and mock him? We don’t know that child’s fate and for all we know what followed may have been much worse. It’s depraved. To even enter a conversation about these disgraceful facts with a rehearsed retort about territory or Gaza being an “open-air prison” reeks of moral bankruptcy.

If you wail and scream about your land, dignity, rights, oppression and poverty but are willing to murder, rape, kidnap, torture or humiliate children; then I don’t have to listen to your reasons. When the video footage, photographs and stories of Saturday’s carnage come not from "Israeli propaganda” but from the Hamas terrorists themselves, then how am I to read anything else into it but that you want credit for these atrocities? You want me to know you did it. You want me to know you are proud of it. You want me to see you for who you are. Well, I do.

So, if you swarmed the Israeli Embassy in London, waving Palestinian flags and calling for genocide; if you went down to Times Square to celebrate a victory for decolonisation against “apartheid Israel”; if you sang along to “gas the Jews” chants at the Sydney Opera House or hung a “one settler, one bullet” Palestinian flag over Grayston bridge in Johannesburg then you’re telling me who you are. Well, I see you - and you’re my enemy.

I’m one of those people who believe civilisation is a real thing, and I’ve resisted the poison of moral relativists in the humanities departments of universities across the west who think that being nuanced about the idea of civilisation versus barbarism is a signal of intellectual prowess or critical self-reflection. Upon even a cursory investigation of these people or their positions, you will find every sign of pedestrian intelligence and self-absorbed navel-gazing, combined with a fetishisation of victimhood and always concomitant humourlessness. They too, are my enemies.

It is always interesting to note that only western liberal democracies tolerate and give succour to the most heinous arguments and positions in public protests. You couldn’t picket on the side of quite laudable things like education for girls in Taliban Afghanistan, gay rights in Syria, or against the death penalty in Saudi Arabia. The Ayatollahs of Iran wouldn’t allow women to protest the hijab there under threats of violence. But London, New York, Sydney and even Johannesburg will embrace marches where people actively call for genocide. This is not how allies behave.

Perhaps when the dust has settled we can examine the insidious links between Anglo-American leftism and antisemitism, between Europe never reckoning with what happened in the holocaust and their growing Muslim populations, and between ignorant regimes like mine in South Africa and their determination to stand alongside the worst human-rights abusers in the Middle East.

For now, it’s no big mystery that this has nothing to do with the existence of the State of Israel and everything to do with Jew-hatred - that great, festering wound in the side of humanity from which all prejudice flows. It has been there for thousands of years and every time we think it has healed, some monstrous collective claws it open again.

Hamas aren’t hiding the ball. Their leader, Ismail Haniyeh, safely skulking in Qatar, made this clear. He celebrated dead Jews, not territory won, nor Gazan lives saved.

I’m afraid there are only two sides in a war - your allies and your enemies. On September 11th, 2001, I knew whose side I was on. I feel the same today.

Gareth

Gareth Cliff

[tgcf-fic]

Hello, I’m back.😁🤚 I’ve got another tgcf fic rec request. We always see Hua Cheng putting his best or original face on in front of XL, but we’re pretty explicitly told he’s fond of frequently shape shifting based on his mood and whim, and then it’s pretty well ignored for most of the story. I’m looking for any recs that show Hua Cheng earning/showing off his faceless shapeshifter reputation. I’m looking for stories where hua Cheng is only consistently recognizable by his bells. If you don’t know of any like that then just some where he shape shifts beyond his “Hot guy og form”, or “ hot guy younger form” at least more than once.

This one might be tough to find anything for.😅 But I’d be grateful for anything you know of.

Hmm, that's a tough one. I couldn't really find anything about the bells but here's a couple fics I hope you enjoy:

--

Husband Robes by Linisen (T, 1k, HuaLian, Boyfriend T-shirt only make it HuaLian, Post-Canon, Spoilers for the novels, Implied Sexual Content, scaring the heavenly realm while being domestic, HC living his best dead life, XL too let's be honest, Silly silly, eternal husbands, Fluff, Established HuaLian) this one doesn't have shapeshifitng aspect in it but it does feature the bells

On Our Way to Fall by etymologyplayground (T, 6k, HuaLian, Fluff, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Making Out, Humor, Intimacy, Shapeshifting)

Shook by Sheer Atrocity by crowdedcafe (E, 3k, HuaLian, PWP, Demon Sex, Shapeshifting, Biting, Finger Sucking, Painplay, Rimming, Riding, Rough Sex, ft. hua chengs funky demon dick)

Pulse Points by fullmetalpotterhead (G, 1k, HuaLian, Post-Canon, Fluff, Shapeshifting, Heartbeats, lazy kisses, XL is so in love with his husband, HC wants to be warm for his husband, Nonsexual intimacy)

on trusting foxes by huacheng (G, HuaLian, Shapeshifting, Fluff)

cosmetics by marquisguyun (G, <1k, HuaLian, Nail Polish, Shapeshifting)

house finch hua cheng by periwinkleblossom (G, 1k, HuaLian, Modern, Shapeshifting, hualian are in love, Fluff, Afternoon Cuddles, finch HC, Mild Hurt/Comfort, reassurance and cuddles, HC's self worth issues)

Ever-changing Faces, Unwavering Devotion by fullmetalpotterhead (G, 1k, HuaLian, Fluff, Post-Canon, Hualian’s typical overlap of worship and love, Shapeshifting)

A Pesky Pest by moonlight_goose (T, 6k, FX & HC & MQ, HuaLian, Shapeshifting, Bickering, Fox Hua Cheng, Humor, Shapeshifting HC, There is no peace for FX and MQ when XL's husband exists, Post-Canon)

--

~A

[animehouse-moe]

Mobile Suit Gundam - The Witch From Mercury S2 Episode 8: The End of Hope

So, last episode was violence on earth, and this episode is violence in space! What do we call that? A cycle! That's right. Good old Gundam, perpetuating violence through one sided fixations on the other's wrongdoings, which is perfectly personified through Shaddiq in this episode. Lots of stuff to talk about for sure!

This episode is interesting in that sense, it's less methodic and progress focused than the previous, almost catching you off guard as you shift from the norm towards combat. Regardless of that though, Shaddiq is a total piece of work through it all. It's pretty incredible.

The Earthian boy that allowed space to get to his head. Shaddiq was an orphan from Earth who worked his way up through Grassley to get a spot at Astacassia, and is now using it "to his advantage" to bring equality and power back to the hands of Earthians. What he doesn't, and will probably never realize, is that he's only serving to exacerbate it by perpetuating exactly what his adoptive forefathers did. In a terrible twist of fate, all Shaddiq is able to do is dirty the lives of others. He forces Guel to kill his own father to survive, he forces Miorine to dirty her hands because she doesn't want to be owned by Shaddiq, and he ruins the lives of such an innumerable amount of people that you can't begin to quantify it. All because he wants to bring peace and equality to Earth. But he can never understand his actions. He could never understand what it's like to kill your own father, what it's like to watch on as violence is incurred in your name. And this episode illustrates that incredible well, that Shaddiq is a Spacian, more than any of these other characters he despises, as his words completely betray him.

His entire existence is centered around his ability to bring their own lives back into the hands of Earthians, but he entirely misses the point. All he does is take advantage of. He takes, and takes, and takes some more, and offers nothing but hellfire and brimstone to the people that he wants to help. He brings oppression, violence, sanctions, all manner of terrible fates to the people he cares about, because the scope of his desire is so narrow. He wants to erase the past that he existed in, rather than focus on the future moving forward. In that sense, he plays a very solid second fiddle to Prospera (and raises up Guel even more, which I'll touch on later), as their foolish grasp on history blinds them to the atrocities that they commit in their names.

Just a quick little interlude here as the grounds of Astacassia are under attack during Guel and Shaddiq's fight. I thought this was a really great piece to appear in it. Miorine's tomato greenhouse was destroyed. Not by gundvolvas or even Norea herself, but someone defending Astacassia from her. What a sad, sad fate. A peaceful existence, quashed not by the enemy, but the people she might even call allies. Such a throwaway piece, but one that speaks to the boundless and senseless act of violence. To how inescapable it can be, to both sides of the conflict.

Anyways, back to Guel and his hubris. The sheer mockery that is his existence is palpable. "If you didn't get expelled from the school, if you didn't try to make things right and help out Plant Quetta during a terrorist attack, if you didn't try to thwart my plans, your father would still be alive, if you didn't fight to be a better person, my Miorine would still be clean.". Shaddiq embodies more selfishness than Guel could ever manage to muster in his existence. Even as the self-centered Holder of Astacassia, he could never stoop to the depths that Shaddiq inhabits.

And that's illustrated perfectly here. Shaddiq blames everybody around him for everything that has happened to him. Despite being the leading son of the Grassley House. Despite having the tools to change the world at his fingertips if he so wanted. He believes he needs to deliver power to the Earthians, through terror and violence that incurs the wrath of Spacians. Despite the peaceful approach that Gund-ARM desired, despite the wishes and fears of Guel, at each step he has refused to use his power, and relies on that of the group. He relies on their reactions to violence, he relies on the hatred of Spacians by the inhabitants of Earth. He only uses his power to take from those around him, and in turn drags them further into this abyss.

Then there's this moment. This line from Shaddiq. The sheer hubris of it is hilarious. And Guel destroys it right away.

The difference in wording speaks volumes. Shaddiq could only ever acknowledge what he's doing. He can sit and there and say, "I did some bad things for the sake of Earthians", and immediately, he absolves himself of it because of why he did it. Guel, on the other hand, chooses to carry that weight with him for the rest of his life. The inescapable burden of his father's death, of that girl dying in his arms, of his inaction and what it's led to. He refuses to justify his sins in the bigger picture. And that dissonance extends to the girls around Shaddiq, as they speak of "silver spoons" while piloting their top of the line Gundams, as they sortie from the incredibly exclusive and highly expensive Astacassia school ran by Spacians.

Then there's this last part from Guel is just outstanding. Given the context of Shaddiq and his crew being out for blood, Guel's effort in bringing in the Grassley House unharmed just further widens the ocean's width between the two characters. I especially love it because it speaks to exactly what I was saying so far about Shaddiq, and because it's Guel's version of the words that Suletta gave him.

And to finish off the Shaddiq content of this episode, we have Sarius. His forced passivity through this all, in concert with this comment, speak volumes to his feelings of it. He's lived through this before, he's experienced similar issues and challenges, and he knows where this path will lead to. But in the end, he remained powerless and oblivious to the plight of his son. It's rather depressing to see the resignation on his face at his failure in raising Shaddiq.

Now then, we can move onto Norea and Elan! What an interesting pair, I do think that Norea's character is a bit overblown than need be for he purpose, but there's still plenty of great moments. I really like how despite her hatred of mobile suits and Gundams, the only thing that she thinks she has left is to pilot them. Through her short life, all she could do at the end of it was fight, she could never find a way to run, to leave behind those feelings of hatred and resentment for the life that she was forced into.

And Elan can't help but intervene. The Elan that would only ever run away, only ever fight to preserve his own life, is drawn to Norea. Forced to pilot for the sake of others, relinquishing their chances at a normal life because of the selfishness of Spacians, the pair find common ground in losing their lives and passions to capitalist money machine that is the Benerit Group. I think it's a really great and emotional moment, to bring the puppet of a clone of Peil Technologies, and the child soldier of the Dawn of Fold together in their desire to flee their lives and discover something outside of their current existences. Sadly, this Elan has his chance, but Norea's fate has already been sealed due to her actions.

Finally, we arrive at the end of the conflict. A mass of rubble and bodies litter the ground from the conflict as we find Suletta on her own moving earth to try and help the people beneath it. I think it's a really important piece, both in regards to Suletta and the relations between Earthians and Spacians at Astacassia. Though they're meant to be cogs in the cycle of perpetuated violence and control, some of the students at this school have found ways to connect with one another past the boundaries of Earth and Space. Working together to defend Astacassia, or helping save injured students, or removing those trapped from the rubble. It speaks to the passion and desire to good that the Earthians aboard Astacassia have spread and infected those around them with. Alongside Suletta, they've broken the curse of Prospera's words, and in doing so, have helped free Suletta. Without Aerial, without her mother or Miorine or any of the other crutches that brought her this far, she remains in the dark, with bloodied and bruised hands, searching for life amidst the destruction.

It's an astoundingly good GWitch episode, and moves the characters forward in incredible ways. Shaddiq's hubris arrives at his doorstep as Guel find vindication in bringing him to justice, while Norea makes peace with the life that was stolen from her that Elan carries onwards, and Suletta and the Earth house continue their calling of peace and helping others even in spite of the atrocity that was committed in the name of their company.

The cycle of violence leaves nobody untouched, but it doesn't mean you must succumb to it. This episode speaks to that greatly. That you are justified in your hate and resentment for what life has done for you, but that you also hold the tools within your own hands to change that. To rally against it and make a difference, to speak out against those actions and to fight to find ways to break that cycle. Whether it's within the scope of the school you go to, or the whole of humanity.

[so-very-small]

i think hannigram would be fascinating in a g/t dynamic. not healthy, absolutely not heathy at all, but my god would it be fascinating. real Live Slug Reaction shit. i wanna see what those freaks would do

(warning for Hannibal typical content)

my current thoughts are

normal Will, tiny borrower Hannibal. Will is aware there’s a borrower in his house, because the borrower keeps bringing him severed ears and fingers and it’s VERY concerning, but he can’t catch the damn tiny thing. no one at the FBI believes him that borrowers exist, much less tiny serial killer ones. (there’s also a debate on if it’s cannibalism if a tiny eats a human, cause like, are they the same thing? does it count?)

borrower Will/human Hannibal. Will lives in his office and watches this man commit atrocities. he’s trying soooo hard to get the FBI to catch him, while also hiding that he’s a borrower. Hannibal knows Will’s in his office. he loves him <3

human Jack Crawford + tiny Will/tiny Hannibal. Jack is a very tired FBI agent, and they are two tinies living in his house doing Wille E Coyote/Roadrunner levels of shit to each other. they’re covered in blood and holding each other on Jack’s coffee table and Jack’s just mad bc he has to get blood out of his carpets. again. cmon guys be bloody and gay elsewhere? please

[eddieredmayneargentinablog]

"Cabaret 2024 Musical Ending Explained"

By Gillian Blum Posted: June 29, 2024, for The Direct.

Elusive by nature, Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club is not exactly the Cabaret audiences are used to, and its ending reflects that.

At its barest of bones, Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club starring Eddie Redmayne tells the same story as the four Broadway productions of the show before it. A writer checks into a Berlin boarding house, meets and becomes intimately involved with a tormented Cabaret singer, and watches as the city falls victim to the atrocities of World War II.

Beyond this basic skeleton, though, the 2024 take is not the Cabaret theatergoers are familiar with. Audiences are fully immersed in the story being told on the circular center stage, with the August Wilson Theatre having been transformed into the nightclub from the show itself.

How Does Cabaret 2024 End?

Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club uses its signature shock value to bring a message to the conclusion of the show that audiences familiar with Cabaret might not expect.

In all versions of the show, the Emcee (Eddie Redmayne in 2024) speaks directly to the audience over the course of several interludes throughout the musical. Sometimes he moves the story along, akin to a narrator, sometimes he is part of the story, sometimes he is simply commenting on the story or its setting at large.

The Emcee has been portrayed differently over the years, which will be discussed in more depth later. But at his core, the Emcee is always a unique enigma. He does not fit into any sort of box or label, he is in the show but he exists outside of it, he is crazy but he is also an intelligent guide.

As it repeatedly says on the revival's website, the Kit Kat Club is somewhere to "Relax. Loosen up. Be yourself." So, as Berlin is falling to the Nazi regime, the Emcee exists inside of the club that allows others to escape the chaos of the outside world.

In 2024, the Emcee's intense individuality is portrayed in many ways, including the Emcee's costumes (and those of the ensemble at large). Throughout the show, he wears elaborate, often androgynous, costumes that match the strange, almost Eldritch-like way Redmayne portrays the character.

That is, until the show's finale, wherein the Emcee bids the audience auf Wiedersehen dressed in a plain, gray suit.

In fact, throughout the show, more and more of the ensemble and cast start replacing their loud, colorful, extravagant costumes with this identical gray suit, ending the show all wearing the same, dull outfit.

2024 Cabaret Finale Meaning + Changes Explained

At its core, Cabaret is a show about the dangers of political ignorance or indifference. Sally Bowles quite literally chooses to ignore the outside world, in favor of losing herself to drugs and alcohol in a desperate attempt at escapism.

The Emcee's role in that messaging differs from production to production. In the original Broadway version from 1966, Joel Grey's Emcee represented the city of Berlin itself, his malevolence most obvious in the dark conclusion.

When Sam Mendes re-imagined the show, first in London in 1993 and then on Broadway, with Alan Cumming taking on the role of the Emcee, the character's metaphorical significance was drastically changed. Rather than being the perpetrator, the Emcee represented the victim.

Instead of through extravagant costumes like in 2024, Cumming's Emcee displays his uniqueness through unabashed sexuality. He spends the show essentially seducing the audience and wearing revealing costumes, seemingly without shame.

This version ended with the Emcee taking off an overcoat to reveal a striped concentration camp uniform, with badges denoting him as Jewish, Communist and/or Socialist, and part of the LGBTQ+ community. This was done in an effort to highlight the tragedy faced by the victims of the Holocaust — people like the Emcee who were perceived as "different" in some form or another.

In the 2024 Broadway revival (another reimagining that originated in London, this time by director Rebecca Frecknall in 2021), the Emcee's role in the show's messaging has changed once again.

Redmayne explained to the Washington Post that in playing the Emcee, he shows that even the most silly and out there people "can then shape-shift their way into being something that is serious and is quite dangerous:"

“It was intriguing to me that those people that perhaps you don’t take seriously can then shape-shift their way into being something that is serious and is quite dangerous.”

Throughout the show, there was this idea that no matter what is going on in the outside world, within the Kit Kat Club, "life is beautiful." Despite the spread of Nazi ideology, the Kit Kat Club remains a place where people can express their individuality. The Emcee's (and ensemble's) extravagant costumes demonstrate this.

The gray suits represent the cracks in this fierce escapism, with the darkness and chaos of the crumbling city around them slowly infiltrating the Kit Kat Club. But whereas the ensemble is seemingly forced to conform, the Emcee just shifts into a new role, one that perpetuates this loss of individuality.

Talking to the Washington Post, Redmayne described this new role as the Emcee "being puppeteer, conductor, perpetrator," and not "a victim:"

"Individuality was stripped away as fascism rose and people had to become more homogenized ... So the idea, therefore, of our Emcee as being puppeteer, conductor, perpetrator — rather than the version of the Emcee as a victim — was important."

The Kit Kat Club could not remain somewhere to escape to, it was swallowed up by the chaos many characters hoped it would protect them from. Those who saw the club as refuge, a place to be their unconditional selves, lost the individuality they once proudly demonstrated within the Kit Kat Club's walls.

And the Emcee simply embraced it, just as he had previously embraced the individualistic culture the Kit Kat Club had once been home to.

Why Did Cabaret Change Its Ending?

The 2024 revival of Cabaret is a drastic re-imagining of how the musical can convey its story most effectively.

By immersing the audience in the Kit Kat Club, the show is able to reinforce the feelings of escapism the club offers, before stripping it away and turning it into another place consumed by Nazi conformism.

For her version of the story, Frecknall wanted to emphasize "it being the ensemble’s tragedy," not the Emcee's. Part of this, she explained to the Washington Post, is because, Redmayne is a "a cis, White, beautiful Aryan man," and so "would have been okay" in the eyes of the Nazis.

Despite the Emcee being the pinnacle of individuality throughout the show, when push came to shove, he could adapt and become the Nazi ideal. So many others did not, and those were the people whose story Fracknell wanted to highlight:

"“Productions often land on the tragedy of the Emcee, which works really successfully ... But I was interested in actually getting to the end and it being the ensemble’s tragedy. You know, Eddie would have been okay. Eddie is a cis, White, beautiful Aryan man. I thought it was interesting just really acknowledging that and going, 'Actually, you would walk out of this and these people wouldn’t.'"

Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club is now playing at the August Wilson Theatre.

[slothquisitor]

What Doesn't Break

Summary: Set about a year before the events of Veilguard, Lucanis makes a deal and Rook makes a choice and both of them are determined not to break. TW: child abuse (pulled from Bioware's canon). Eventual Rook/Lucanis, 3k.

Read on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

Lucanis has long since memorized the walls of his prison. At first, the magic of this underwater pit had given him splitting headaches, but now the pain recedes to a low buzz of the magic keeping the water from bursting in. Some days he wishes for the barriers to fail, for this whole place to flood, for all of them to meet their watery grave. In his worst moments, it is the only escape he can fathom now. 

In the quiet and the dark, he holds onto the only thing he has to keep him going, to keep him alive. It is a thin thread, something to keep his back straight, his will from breaking. Whatever they have done to him, it will fail. He will make sure of it. He will not give them the satisfaction of twisting him into something else. It isn’t survival, not really, but it is all he can do to spite them now. 

They call this place The Ossuary. It’s fitting. An ossuary is a final resting place, a small box, supposed to be something like peace. Like quiet, like sinking into a chair in the soft morning light. He wishes this wasn’t going to be his. 

He is Zara’s Orlesian dancing bear. She parades him around in chains, shows him the atrocities she’s committed with the gall to call them experiments, and gloats over how she sent a body back to Treviso wearing his face. He has been reduced to a symbol, the great Demon of Vyrantium brought to heel by the Venatori witch. 

Think nothing. Feel nothing. Pay attention, seek only what is needed to escape. It has been his motto for how long now? It’s hard to say, impossible to track the days in a pit like this. He has guesses alone based on bits and pieces of information, overheard conversations he picks up from his jailors. They feed him things, shove acrid substances down his throat, and hold him down, using their magic to open the fade, to fill him with it until all he can hear are the screams. He is something new. They have made him something new, something that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be here. 

I do not want this . 

He knows what is happening here, has heard the screams, sensed Zara’s frustration at the failures. He knows that his days are limited, that sooner rather than later a demon will burst out of him, leaving his body behind like some broken chrysalis. He is but the host now. But he will not go quietly. The world tilts as the magic convulses his body, and he is drifting, wading knee-deep through half-forgotten memory. 

“Again,” Caterina’s unyielding voice says, her cane coming down on the stone as a staccato tap. He flinches at the sound but continues through the movements they have been drilling. 

He is eleven. Not quite a boy, not yet a man, but already honed into something sharp. Something built to kill. He will be a Crow, and not just any Crow but one of House Dellamorte, grandson of the First Talon. He has never been asked if this is what he wants. If this is the future he envisions for himself. It is expected, like the perfection of his footwork. His focus slips, and he stumbles. Again. 

He knows it, knows even as he glances at his grandmother what is coming. He is already turning away from her, already pulling up his shirt to expose his back. Once he had cried, had begged for mercy, but there is never mercy in her eyes. 

“I will beat you hard so that the world will not beat you harder,” she says, like a litany or a prayer. He swallows his screams as each strike hits with a white-hot heat. Love and hate twist and writhe within him, but he does not scream. He does not cry out. He already knows it wouldn’t save him anyway. 

The prison lurches back into focus and he knows he has lost some time, but how much? Who could say? His back aches as though the beating is fresh, but he has not felt her cane on his skin in years. And though the memory is not a good one, he finds that there is some deep ache in his chest. He longs to be back in that garden with his grandmother again, longs to hear her scold him for his stupidity, for being so careless as to be set up and captured by the Venatori. He wants to hear Illario complain about something , anything. More than anything, he wants his family, all that he has left of it anyway. He is almost sure he’ll never see them again.

There is something wrong with his limbs. He cannot move from where he lays on the cold sandy floor of his cell. His head aches and his thoughts swim. Everything hurts. 

But he will not break. He will not give that Venatori witch the satisfaction. If it is the last thing he does, he will make sure that no demon bursts forth from him. He knows that is one way this ends, he’s heard them talking about the failures. It is not how he wanted to go, but if it is the only stand he can make, he will. 

Illario always used to say that he didn’t know when to quit. Well, he was probably right. The pain bursts bright and sharp as a dagger to the ribs. His thoughts scatter as his stomach roils. 

“You know, there was coffee back at The Diamond,” Illario says, leaning back in his chair. 

Treviso glows in the darkness, the picturesque canals reflecting the stars. There is plenty wrong in the world, but right now, everything is perfect because he has a cup of coffee before him. He sips it from his cup and grins at his cousin. “If you can even call it that.”

“Snob,” Illario glowers, but it’s not menacing. This is their way. Old and practiced. 

He swirls his coffee, taking in the bitter aroma. “Rich coming from you. I didn’t think you’d be the one to complain about escaping from Caterina’s ire.”

Illario sighs bitterly. “How is it that I can finish out a contract perfectly, and still there is always something I should have done differently?”

Because their grandmother’s expectations have always been impossibly high. Because she is First Talon and she will not be seen as going easier on them simply because of the relation of their blood. No, instead she is harsher, crueler. It has always been that way. He used to resent it, resent her. But now he sees that she had prepared them to survive in this life in the only way she knew how. 

“She’s hard on you because she needs you to be perfect when you are First Talon,” Lucanis says before taking another sip of coffee. 

This too is a familiar refrain. And it used to be enough to banish the anger from Illario’s gaze, but even in this remnant of memory it is not enough. 

“Sure, cousin.” 

He will never fail to provide reassurance to Illario again, but now it will not matter. It is a relief to be free of that at least, the pressure of expectation, the anxiety of watching his cousin try and fail to quell the slow-building resentment between them. Should it not be enough that Lucanis never wanted the job?

The backs of his eyes itch and suddenly he knows he is not alone. The demon they have bound to him, the one they ripped from the Fade and stuffed inside him is here. He clenches his jaw so hard he’s sure the bones creak, but he will not give in. He will not break. 

He will not. He will not give in. This demon will not have him. 

“Not broken. Not breaking. Determined.” The demon’s voice stretches and scratches, angry and harsh. No mortal thing sounds like this. 

He forces his eyes open and sees the grotesque purple mass. It is a tangle of limbs of too long fingers, a twisted face. It cowers in the corner like a feral street cat, tired and hurt, but hissing at whatever might come near. He should be afraid, he knows that, but he has been trapped here for too long. He has nothing left to feel except exhaustion.

“What do you want?” he manages to spit out around the chattering of his teeth. When did he become so cold? His body still hurts, still aches with every movement, but he sits up, pushes through the burn of the pain. If he hurts, he’s still alive at least. 

“Trapped. Can’t leave.” Each word scrapes out of the demon as if it is an effort to make any sound at all. 

“Welcome to the club,” he replies grimly. Great, not even the demons want to be here. 

“Escape?” 

He sighs. “If there was a way, I would have found it by now.” Of that much he is sure. Zara is a lot of things, but careless is not one of them. Without outside interference, death is his only way out of here. Probably. 

“Want to leave! Want OUT.” 

“Then go back to the Fade,” he replies with annoyance. The last thing he wants is to comfort this demon. 

“Can’t. Tied to YOU.” On the last word, the demon jumps from the corner and brings itself within a breath of Lucanis’s face. Two enormous wings have sprouted from its back. It is a lifetime of training that keeps him from flinching away. This close, everything about the demon is horrifying, from the open maw to the too-sharp features, and finally to the skeletal wings aimed in sharp points. 

“So what? I get out? You get out?” Lucanis asks.

The demon pulls back just a bit. “Yes. OUT. Freedom.”

It’s a bad idea. A terrible idea really, but if this demon is already tied to him, what else could go wrong? “We work together then? Wait for the right opportunity and then strike?” He is practiced at this, at waiting for the exactly right moment. He can be patient. 

“Offering a deal?” the demon asks, voice scraping and screeching. Is this how it happens? Were these the final moments of those who had demons burst from their ribcages? Is this the final moment of being himself? It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like survival. 

“Yes, a deal.”

“A deeeeaaallll,” the voice hisses, but now the demon is wearing his face. 

***

Camina Ingellvar shouldn’t have ever been in charge of anyone or anything. Case in point: she currently sits in the hallway outside Myrna’s office. Like much of the Grand Necropolis, there is a sort of faded opulence to the place, muted almost. She’s never sure if it’s an actual decor choice, or if that’s just what happens when one lives so close to the dead. 

She’s still in her battle robes, still covered in grave dust, and somehow still awake. Maker, she needs a nap. And a bath. She’s tired enough not to be picky about the order. She’s not even sure when she last slept. As deep as they were in the Necropolis, it’s not surprising that time got away from her. 

Camina can’t make out the exact words being said, but she can hear the yelling coming from the office. It’s mostly one-sided, and it doesn’t seem to be going well. 

She’s not really sure what happens to disgraced Watchers. Will she be demoted? Forced to supervise the incoming initiates? Or maybe they’ll put her on urn cleaning duty again. The order is too old, too steeped in tradition to simply discard her after all of the effort they’ve put into her abilities and training. It doesn’t mean that they won’t find some way for her to regret this particular choice.

She leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees, and tries to care. The civil war amongst the restless dead is over, and she’s not sorry about how it ended. There’s several violations of her Watcher Oath that had happened in the ending of the whole thing, but she knew that when she disobeyed the order to retreat. All she can do now is face the consequences of her actions. 

“LORD AMUNBERG IS VERY LOUD.” She doesn’t need to look up to know that the speaker is Vorgoth, she’d recognize that death rattle anywhere. Vorgoth is…well, Camina isn’t quite sure what Vorgoth is. Isn’t sure anyone really knows. But she’s known it for the whole of her life. 

“He’s had a lot to say,” she replies. The Amunbergs are one of the wealthiest families in Nevarra and give heavily to the Mourn Watch. Unfortunately for her, Amunberg’s relatives were amongst the undead she’d destroyed earlier today. 

Vorgoth gently floats beside her, not so much taking a seat as sinking down near her. “IT IS NOT GOING WELL.”

Camina folds her arms. “Nope.”

They sit in uneasy silence while the shouting continues…until it abruptly ends. The door to Myrna’s office opens, and she stands at the door with a frown. “Watcher Ingellvar, if you would, please?”

Camina stands rather stiffly and follows, noting that Vorgoth floats in her wake. Yeah…this feels pretty serious. She’s always liked Myrna. She’s only a few years older than Camina, but she holds a lot of power and influence within the Watchers despite her age. 

Inside Myrna’s office, Lord Amunberg stands rather red in the face. His gold-adorned jacket is also red, and the effect is that he looks rather like an overripe tomato. But it’s the presence of one of the Lich Lords that catches her attention. Her stomach sinks. 

The Lich Lord turns its green-flame gaze to the Duke. “This is Watcher business and will be handled accordingly.” That’s a dismissal if she’s ever heard one.

Amunberg looks like he wants to argue, but also looks like he’s a bit scared of the Lich Lord, so he doesn’t. Instead, he looks down his nose at her. “I’ll trust the Watchers to deal with this traitor appropriately.”

Amunberg is angry, but too polite to say what he really means. But it goes unspoken. She is an elf among the ranks of the Watchers, and she is here mostly by colossal accident. The reminder is unnecessary, she loves the Watchers and they’re more open-minded than most, but still, she never forgets. 

Amunberg leaves and Myrna sinks into her chair behind her desk, gesturing for the other three occupants in the room to do the same. Myrna sighs, looking utterly spent. “Would you like some tea?”

It is not the beginning she is expecting, and Camina is too shocked for a moment to respond. “Uh….sure.” 

With a wave of her hand, a skeletal attendant emerges from a side-door, a tea tray carried in its bony arms. It pours the tea and then hands them each a cup in jilted, stuttery movements. Camina desperately wants to fill the silence, but doesn’t dare. Several long minutes pass. 

Finally, Myrna begins. “Watcher Ingellvar, you disobeyed a direct order from a superior necromancer. Leading your team straight into danger.”

Camina has explanations ready, but Myrna holds up her hand. 

“While you destroyed a legion of undead, you saved countless other lives of Watchers and undead alike. You may have saved us all.”

Oh shit. Well, that’s…unexpected. “Oh…well…I mean, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“THE WAR IS OVER AND THE UNDEAD REST THANKS TO YOU,” Vorgoth says, voice rasping out of its hood. 

“But as you have clearly seen, the upper nobility of Nevarra, those we depend upon for funding and support…well. They are unhappy.”

Camina takes a steadying sip of her tea; it’s warm and tastes faintly of vanilla. “Will you need me to draft an apology? I’m not necessarily sorry, but I could say I am…”

Myrna’s answering smile is tight. “No, that will not be necessary.” She looks between Vorgoth and the Lich Lord before turning her attention back to her. “It has been decided that it is time you take a sabbatical. You have worked in the Grand Necropolis non-stop since you took your vows. It is time.”

And then the bottom falls out from under her. Oh, this is bad. The Grand Necropolis is her home . She has no other. She has no family, no connections. She was found here as a baby, drawn here as a child, but only invited back once her magic manifested. And she has spent every day since trying to prove that she deserves to be here. 

“But I have nowhere to go,” she says. She hates how small her voice sounds, how her fear is clear. 

Myrna nods as though she understands, but Camina knows she doesn’t. Myrna has the backing of a powerful Nevarran family in addition to her magic. She will never know what it means to scrape and claw and fight for every scrap of legitimacy. “We’ve received a request from a former contact with ties to the Inquisition. He is in need of a necromancer. You’ll meet him at The Watcher House in the city. We’ve arranged a carriage to take you there tonight. It leaves in an hour.”

“An Inquisition agent? Wasn’t the Inquisition disbanded? What does he need with a necromancer?”

Myrna’s smile never fades. “We’re unsure. It is likely that your work will take you away from Nevarra for some time.”

“But Mourn Watchers rarely leave Nevarra.”

“But you will,” the Lich Lord says. And there is enough authority that there is no sense in fighting it. 

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? An excuse to discard her. She has spent years working hard, keeping her head down, trying to be twice as good, to make this investment in her worthwhile. And all it took to undo it all was one choice, the right one, she still believes. But for all it cost her? Her home, her work, her friends, her life . 

She will not give this council the satisfaction of her tears. Still, she feels the weight of Vorgoth’s bony hand rest on her shoulder, as if it can sense her emotions. “I’ll go pack.”

Myrna does her the favor of at least looking sorry. “Camina, no one ever really leaves the Watchers. ‘A home in life, a berth in death’.”

A house of many mansions , but she can’t seem to get the words past her throat. She stands and leaves, aware with every step that it might well be the last she takes in these halls, in the only home she’s ever really known. 

It is only in the cramped space of her tiny quarters as she packs up her sparse belongings that she allows the tears to fall. Allows the grief to move through her. Forty-five minutes later her bags are packed and she climbs into the waiting carriage pulled by two skeletal steeds without an ounce of hesitation.

“Back straight, Watcher,” she whispers to herself as the Necropolis slips away behind her and she rides on toward an uncertain future.

[peithopathos]

How Proficient Would the Cast be at Using Computers?

Will The original iPad kid. Knows just enough about computers to get on the internet, but otherwise uses his iPad and phone exclusively. The "Sent from my iPad / iPhone" signature at the end of emails is the bane of his existence.

Horace Decided he wanted to start gaming, dropped 3,000 dollars on a gaming laptop, only uses it to play Minecraft.

Halt Halt is just about as fluent in computers as he is 'fluent' in Gallic in-cannon. Halt's computer is a 2010 Dell desktop that still runs Windows 7 as he refuses to upgrade it.

The only thing he ever uses his computer for is work and Rollercoaster Tycoon. (atrocities have been committed)

Crowley Crowley builds computers as a hobby. His current rig is a 20-year-old, Theseus's ship of a tower. At least 5 other machines have been sacrificed to keep it going. That being said, Crowley's computer could out-process god himself on any gloomy Tuesday morning.

He also has MacAfee installed

Gilan Gilan is absolutely a gamer, maybe even a minor Twitch streamer. Gilan and Crowley's go-to small talk is about their current rigs, though Gilan tends to be more bark than bite in that respect. Plans on eventually building/optimizing his rig one day though. (eventually)

George In the daytime, George works as an assistant to a hot publishing house mogel, during the night he is a competitive spreadsheeter.

Pauline Pauline absolutely does not know how to use a computer but makes it work anyway. Pauline doesn't know you can save files anywhere except the desktop, Pauline has never used a folder in her life, nor does she know how to type, she needs help connecting to the printer EVERY TIME, and her computer has never been restarted or turned off. (And somehow its always Gilan's job to help her)

She can also grind out a 200-page grant in two days.

Maddie Made Skyrim and Minecraft mods ever since she was a little kid, now she mostly works on her own indie game or manages her custom Minecraft server.

[branwinged]

what's your take on rhaegar?

take as in, my opinion of his moral character? we don't have all the details for that, filling in the blanks involves a great deal of speculation. my read of him is based on what purpose he serves within the story.

i don't think much of him outside of what he means for dany. it's the way robb is not a character in his own right to me and exists only to serve catelyn and bran's arcs. which is why my opinion of rhaegar is mainly informed by that scene in agot, where dany dreams of him in his armour and lifts the visor to find that "the face within was her own", dany is clearly inheriting his narrative role (jon too in some capacity, but i'm not thinking of jon in relation to the targaryens before the reveal happens), it's for purely this reason i've never seen him as someone with no redeeming qualities. the memory of rhaegar shadows and informs everything she does (it is time to cross the trident) grrm writes her with shades of all her targaryen ancestors, because she's the last of them and embodies three hundred years of her house's glorious and terrible history. but rhaegar's particular echo is the strongest because that's the brother she would've married under slightly different circumstances, she imagines rhaegar as the ideal vision of the king in her mind whom she must emulate, he died and made her the prince that was promised. her entire character is constructed around him. he's not simply a strong influence in her life, she is him. they call her aegon the conquerer come again but she's been having visions of battling the others at the trident since agot, she's also rhaegar come again. she'll do everything he couldn't. it's just a bit inconceivable for a character like that to be revealed as a cold, unfeeling schemer. like, where's the heart in that? if everything rhaegar resembled was antithetical to dany's own beliefs and motives? aerys is already there to serve that exact role.

but what we learn about him from a number of contradictory sources is interesting. melancholy bard prince, born in grief, sang songs of doom and loss among the ruins of summerhall, presumably plagued by prophetic dragon dreams. he's framed as a character out of some song. all rebellion characters have that quality to them, there's a girl who dies trapped in a tower, another throws herself off a tower, the tourney at harrenhal episode is told to bran (and in turn, the readers) in the form of a song. they don't feel very real, or at least, they'll never get to be real the way our present day characters feel real because they're dead and their stories have been distorted and repurposed. robert's version is that of a king valiantly fighting for his abducted lady love, the version told to dany is that of tragic star crossed lovers torn apart by the realm. they're songs, and cannot be the whole truth. it's in the name. it was the year of the false spring and they all thought they were changing the world. rhaegar was going to call a great council and depose aerys, robert and ned where overthrowing a mad king to put an end to his atrocities. except rhaegar died having achieved nothing, robert ascended his throne on the corpses of children, then in fifteen years' time recreated the conditions for the start of another war. and lyanna simply traded one kind of gendered sentence for another. i'm not drawing a 1:1 equivalence between rhaegar and robert (and i do think it will be written as a romance with the truth somewhere between robert and dany's versions), but that she died either way is a pretty significant detail. she died in more ways than one! when they talk about her they recall a helpless maiden dead in some tower, not a girl capable of besting renowned knights.

like, it's very clear to me that the rebellion and its immediate consequences are meant to be read as a tragedy, caused not by the actions of a character(s) but as a result of the systemic failings of their world (which is why it's once again leading up to the burning of king's landing, where it all began, the city is symbolic of the very worst of westerosi feudalism). lyanna's death is less about robert and rhaegar and more about the way there was no escape possible for a girl like her—a theme that's carried over in sansa and arya's stories, except this time it will end with them getting to live the life lyanna wasn't allowed to, because this time they will change the world. dany's earnest dream of "to plant trees and watch them grow" is just that. it's the dream of spring.

[333mp444thy]

YOU STAYED SILENT WHEN PALESTINIANS WERE BOMBED AND KILLED THIS YEAR, LAST YEAR, AND EVERY OTHER YEAR. YOU STAYED SILENT WHILE PALESTINIANS ARE FORCED TO LIVE IN AN “OPEN PRISON” WITH NO WHERE TO GO. NO FOOD, MEDICAL OR WATER SUPPLY.

YOU STAYED SILENT AS CHILDREN WERE KIDNAPPED FROM THEIR HOME AND HAD THEIR HOMES DEMOLISHED AND THEIR FAMILIES TORN APART. YOU STAY SILENT EACH DAY A PALESTINIAN'S RIGHTS ARE TAKEN AWAY WITH NO REGARD TO THEIR HUMANNESS. BUT YOU OUTRAGE WHEN ISRAEL EXPERIENCED WHAT PALESTINIANS HAVE EXPERIENCED FOR THE PAST 75 YEARS?

YOU WANT PALESTINIANS TO STAY QUIET AND BE THE PERFECT VICTIMS? TO JUST SUFFER AND STAY OPPRESSED? THE OPPRESSED HAVE A RIGHT TO RESIST AND HAVE A RIGHT TO EXIST! IF YOU ARE SPEAKING UP IN SUPPORT OF ISRAEL THESE LAST WEEKS AND HAVE NEVER SPOKEN UP IN SUPPORT OF THE DAILY ATROCITIES TAKING PLACE IN PALESTINE. SIT DOWN. YOUR PERFORMATIVE ACTIVISM IS SHOWING. HAMAS WAS FORMED IN 1987. PALESTINE HAS BEEN UNDER ZIONIST OCCUPATION SINCE 1948. ISRAEL JUST LIKES USING HAMAS AS THEIR “EXUSE” SO THEY CAN PORTRAY THE OCCUPATION OF PALESTINE AS A "CONFLICT" OR A "WAR".

IT'S ALWAYS BEEN AN OCCUPATION AND A SETTLER COLONIAL PROJECT. NOTHING MORE. WESTERN COUNTRIES SENDING WEAPONS, WARSHIPS, AND FIGHTER JETS TO SUPPORT ISRAEL. AMERICA FUNDS ISRAEL MILLIONS OF DOLLARS. MUSLIM COUNTRIES ARE JUST MAKING PHONE CALLS TO EACH OTHER. AT LEAST SEND PROPER HUMANITARIAN AID TO GAZA. WHEN ISRAEL BOMBS HOUSES. WHEN ISRAEL KILLS JOURNALISTS. WHEN ISRAEL KILLS CHILDREN AND WOMEN. WHEN ISRAEL BOMBS HOSPITALS WHERE NOT JUST THE INJURED ARE BUT WHERE PALESTINIANS ARE TAKING SHELTER! WHEN ISRAEL STEALS LANDS. WHY DON'T YOU CALL THEM TERRORISTS? I SERIOUSLY DON’T UNDERSTAND! OR IS IT BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT BROWN OR MUSLIM.

A MUSLIM NEVER LOSES HOPE. IT HURTS RIGHT NOW WHEN THE WORLD DOES NOT EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE OUR CHILDREN DYING, AND THE PEACE THEY ADVOCATE FOR IS A RETURN TO APARTHEID AND SUBJUGATION. BUT A MUSLIM IS NEVER HELPLESS. ALLAH SWT IS THE LISTENER AND THE HELPER OF EVERY SINGLE MUSLIM BROTHER AND SISTER OUT THERE. IT MAY TAKE TIME. BUT THE TRUTH WILL PREVAIL. AND THIS, THIS IS WHY THERE'S A JUDGMENT DAY. THERE HAS TO BE. BECAUSE NO ONE GETS AWAY WITH THIS.

🇵🇸 FREE PALESTINE AND CEASEFIRE NOW!

[just-your-average-cryptid]

correct me if I’m wrong but I feel like an aspect of cultural Christianity that doesn’t get discussed a lot is how the mutually exclusive human/animal dichotomy does so much harm to people’s understanding of ecology

because, like. it seems obvious, to me at least, that humans are also animals, part of our ecosystem, necessary to its function. indigenous people in the americas created food forests that supported them and local wildlife with incredible productivity. in its native range, kudzu was controlled and turned into fabric (? might be remembering that wrong.) humans didn’t just pop into existence and start destroying everything, we had our niche(s) and our adaptations just like everything else.

and yet so many people seem to think that humans going extinct immediately is the best outcome for the world, that nature means “unsullied by Dirty Humans,” that we have no place in the ecosystem except protecting it or breaking it. like we are outside observers to a great machine, one that will crumble if we get too close.

and yeah, I know most religions make a distinction between humans and animals for obvious reasons, but Christianity is the one that seems to drive the people saying “let’s kill everything we can’t use bc god said we’re Special and outrank every other living thing”

and that idea, that humans are so different from nature and that if we’re not subjugating or destroying it we must exclude ourselves from it, is worryingly prevalent in a lot of online climate change/conservation spaces. it feels like a reaction to the above sentiment, and it’s less horror-inducing to me but still very bad.

you are also an animal! you are the product of millions of years of evolution, same as the whales and the falcons and the newts!

destruction is not your nature, creation is. art, clothes, food, communities. we build, we learn, we tell stories and leave marks in caves to say we were here

do not be convinced by those in power that their atrocities are your nature and legacy! look around you. we make little wooden houses for birds to nest in. we smile at small children. we cry because an animal is so tiny.

you are a part of the ecosystem. we can create a better world together. it’s kind of what we do.

we create, and we share it with others.