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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year

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all of this (& heaven too) - hades!Gojo

He is not what you pictured. You had a painted image in your head of a terrifying immortal, ancient and dreary, who ruled over the dead. Instead you discover the king of the underworld is young, all brilliant wide smiles, and more importantly - dangerously handsome.

You are a goddess of spring torn between two fates, that is until you meet a strange man leaning against a tree…

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader

tags & warnings: 18+ only mdni, loose interpretation and altering of the hades & persephone myth, complicated/strained parental relationship (could be read as controlling/manipulative), mentions of kidnapping, brief physical assault, clingy + lovesick Gojo, slight wound licking and finger sucking, allusion to fem!oral receiving, Gojo being Gojo and offering gruesome violence as a form of love… if there is anything I missed pls let me know!!

wc: 14k

a/n: title is from the florence + the machine song of the same name. I already hate myself for wanting to write a companion piece to this from gojo’s pov… okay that’s all please enjoy, thank you for reading! Also biggest thank you to @stellamancer & @willowser who have been my best comrades in Gojo hell

When you were just a young little sapling your mother once asked you what your favorite thing about this world was.

“The great big sky!” You had told her brightly.

“The sky?” Your mother asked, amused. “Not any of the flowers? The rivers? Or the fields, my little sprout?”

“Nope!” You were adamant.

“Then why?” Your mother grinned and so you told her.

“Because it’s so big! Like there’s so much room to grow!”

Then you added. “And it’s so blue, like the sea!”

Your mother had laughed warm, vibrantly loud like the morning rays waking you up.

The sky. You always loved the sky. Even as an immortal crafted from ichor and stardust, the sky made you feel mortal in the best ways, especially now.

Now, as a fully matured celestial being, you are as old as one of the grand redwood trees you loved running alongside when you were a little.

You glance up at the sky while the wind blusters through your fields. Even with looming clouds clustering above signaling the arrival of a storm, you find reassurance there. The storm now actually feels comforting as a similar storm of unrest swirls inside of you. You stomp down from the mountain not even waiting for your mother.

That entire meeting with her, you, and the lord of the skies was pointless. Gakuganji, with his thunderous melodies and even with all his wisdom, made you curse the skies.

“We shall need to discuss terms of the arranged courting rituals soon.” You had almost choked when you heard the old god’s words. He could not be serious.

Even when you yelled confused, even when your mother sent you a sharp glare to keep quiet, Gakuganji never once acknowledged you. It was like you were not even present, just a simple wallflower ignored against the grander of other immortals. Because to them, you would always be a little sapling, your mothers offspring, nothing more.

The thunder booms ahead and you wish the rain would pour down on you. Maybe the rain would help simmer you down.

“Well now, don’t you look just as feral as a chimera?” A voice emerges,a coy playful tone you’ve never heard before.

When you snap your gaze to the side, you discover a man. Clothed in deep obsidian robes, he seems just as tall as the sycamore tree he leans against.

His hair is a startling white and -

His eyes are blindfolded.

Being so close to the sacred grounds tells you this man must be another immortal. But you had never met him before.

Then again, you had happily enjoyed staying unaware among your blooms. You wistfully ignored the problems and squabbles the others had. Even when you came of age centuries ago you did not have any desire to accompany your mother to Olympus. It was only recently that she began dragging you with her. Now you wonder if that decision has caused you to be the fool.

You glare at the mystery man. “I’m just fine, thank you.”

“Mhm, doesn’t look like it.” His taunts lightly and it makes you want to shriek.

“Wanna tell me who’s responsible?” Now his lips form into a soft grin. “I could deal with them for you.”

Even as strange as this man is, there’s some sense of comfort in his casual comment. The tension in your body, even in your face, slowly flutters away.

You sigh. “No it’s fine.”

Looking at his covered eyes, you already wonder what color they are.

Your name is called out sharp before you can ask your mystery man what his name is. Your mother’s voice snaps your spine straight. Quickly whipping around you see her scurrying to you with wide worried eyes.

“Head home, little sprout.” She urges you.

“Wait, why?”

“Head. Home.” Her words echo with the same force as the storm brewing around you.

Your mother’s magic swiftly swirls all around. She is getting ready to sweep you into the wind that helps her run along her wheat fields. You can’t help it. Your eyes fall to the mystery man. His handsome features smirk amused. You mother however stares at him as if he is an abomination from the depths of the underworld.

“Lord Gojo, good day to you.” And when she says his name, you discover this mystery man is not just from the depths of the underworld, but its ruler.

Your heart plummets fast into your stomach. The strangest concoction of emotions swirls in you. Terror and curiosity are not a desirable pair to navigate through.

Then in a wild gust, you are teleported home. You wonder if your mind might have flown out in the whirlwind because you still cannot believe it.

You just met the Lord of the underworld.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

His existence was a simple phrase of his name you were told never to utter.

Lord Gojo.

The strongest of the immortals. The rumors paint him as a mindless monster who slaughtered titans during the Great War. He was a ghastly terror. The only immortal fit to rule over the dreary underworld. You used to paint him in your mind as someone aged like Gakuganji. The lord was carved from myth, ancient and terrifying. So you imagined him more creature than man.

Yet instead he exists a smiling handsome man who appears to you now.

“M-my Lord!” You stammer out frantically.

You had been sitting by the riverside braiding another floral crown to keep your mind at ease. Then, out of the blue, like a strike of lightning, the underworld’s king appears beside you.

“Oh no,” Gojo simply waves. “Please no titles, they disgust me.”

You almost choke on your own confused inhale.

“What are you doing here?” You squawk confused, trying to ignore how rapid your heart races in your chest.

This god was painted to be a terrifying tale. You mother once even told you he would only bring chaos and misfortune to anyone who crosses his path.

Now he lounges beside you under the shade of the trees.

“I came to see if you were alright. You looked so upset before.”

His words knock you breathless. Your mind could not believe this was truly the dreaded god of the underworld. Suddenly said king gasps obnoxiously loud and you almost jump out of your skin.

“What are you making?!” He leans down to point at the flowers in your lap.

“Flower crowns, they’re for the village children nearby.”

You loved to leave them off at the edge of the fields where the children played. Whenever you catch them wearing the bright floral wreaths your heart soars .

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Gojo admires, like a loud wind chime. “Can you make one for me then!?”

You wonder if the ground has given out from under you. The man whispered to be pure power, now wears a childish frown with his lip sticking out in a full on pout.

“Please?” He pleads.

Left with no choice, your attention goes back to the flowers bunched lonely in your lap and you furiously return to braiding.

“That one better be for me!” The king of the underworld comments in a song-like tone. A quick temptation rises in you to throw the flowers in the nearby river.

“What are you even doing here?” For some reason, you blurt that out.

The words leave before you can stop yourself and your eyes widen in horror. This is it. Your mind jumps to every awful thing he could probably do to you. And he does the absolute worst.

He laughs.

It colors his cheeks lovely and you hate how it somehow intensifies his handsome features even more.

“I told you! I wanted to check up on you.” Gojo smiles toothy but swiftly the image of a grinning crocodile waiting in the water comes to mind.

“I don’t believe you.” Again, you speak out too fast. Thankfully his lips thin into an amused line.

“You’re a lot more perceptive than you look, I like that.”

His words shake your brain, a fierce little rattle that has you staring at him stunned. Your heart races to find a regular beat.

“Well,” Gojo sighs. “I did have an annoying meeting with the others. But… while I was up here I thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing, petals.”

The fond playful name he bestows upon you is done so casually. Yet, it snags your breath.

Petals.

The nickname has your mind reeling until you fully process what he said. The meeting he went to was the same one your mother must have gone to earlier and is still at.

“What was it about?” You ask a bit calmer as you braid simple dandelions to pop against the forget me nots.

Silence softly settles and mixes in with the rush of the river.

“You mean…no one’s told you?”

Gojo’s voice is a soft but stunned whisper that steals your attention back to him. You now are frustrated you can’t see his eyes, can’t see the emotion in them.

“Told me what?” You frown.

The lord of the underworld stays quiet. He tilts his head towards your lap.

“The color of those flowers are lovely.” He says simply and even with a touch of awe.

Indignation rises in you, a heated over spilling boil and you snap. “What did you all discuss!?”

Then it hits you. You just flat out demanded so fiercely to the ruler of the underworld.

“I apologize-”

“No,” Blindfold or not his attention is fully directed towards you now. “Don’t apologize. You deserve to feel frustrated. Believe me I would be too.”

You exhale shakily.

“There's been more talk about your place among the others.” Gojo tells you simply. “Arranged marriage is being thrown around.”

Your heart sinks fast.

“I should have known.” You sigh as you rapidly return back to looking at your flowers. Slowly vines start to grow against your ankles. Your powers react to your emotions, and now the sensation of feeling tired manifests itself.

“Everyone thinks I’m just my mother's offspring,” you snap mainly to yourself. “Or that I’m only here to be someone’s marriage partner, but I’m not.”

The vines start to prickle against your skin. When you glance down so many have already grown across your legs.

“Who are you then? And who do you want to be?” Gojo’s words are so soft, casual and almost friendly.

The question even seems like one of your nymph companions would have asked you. Except Gojo’s directed unflinching attention almost makes you fidget.

“I…” you don’t even know how to answer. Even as you try to gather a reasonable one, the words feel chained in your throat.

You instead sigh and return to braiding.

Eventually the words come out, more of a whisper than anything.

“I’m me…that’s all. And I want to continue just being me.”

It probably made no sense, maybe even sounded awfully simplified at all to the god who watched over the dead. But the words held heavy truth in your heart.

You might not fully know who you truly are, but the choice to figure it out, to grow and simply make decisions for yourself, is all you wanted. You don’t want to be a simplified extension of your mother or a piece to use in a marriage arrangement.

After braiding in another daffodil stem, you notice the king beside you has gone quiet.

When you turn to the side you discover the god of the underworld is gone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

Something dances in the air, an unknown sensation that tingles and crawls against your skin. It feels like a warning you can’t fully describe.

When you try to press your mother about the meeting she avoids the conversation completely. It causes enough anger to rise so quickly in you that thorned roses pierce your hands. Then, one morning she arrives at your side with the heaviest expression.

“Mother, please tell me, what is happening?” You try asking as earnestly as you can.

Your mother, with her emotional turbulent eyes like a brewing storm, instead walks over to you and tenderly holds you in her arms.

“Know everything I do, I do for you.” Then she vanishes.

You swallow back a frustrated scream and instead furiously stomp away to your spot by the river stream.

Thankfully none of the tree or forest nymphs come near you. They must sense your frustration or see the prickly cacti slowly starting to sprout around you like a safely sharp fortress.

“Did you finish my flower crown, petals?”

A twinkling voice comes swift. It galvanizes your body as you scramble up fast to whip around.

There behind you, with an amused ease, stands the king of the netherworld. At the sight of him, the cacti plants bloom wild and bright buds.

“I like the color of these.” Gojo smriks nudging his face towards them.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper.

“I’m sorry, petals, don’t have much time.” Gojo frowns and then squares up firmly. It stuns you at how broad and striking he looks, a black ink stain against the picaresque forest landscape that has you captivated.

His face is somber, a true image of a composed ruler.

“The others made a decision. You’re going to be married off to another young immortal. But… your mother is coming to get you. She plans to keep you locked away. Made a whole scene about it.”

The words pierce your heart, piece your lungs and maybe your very soul as you choke on an exhale.

Blinking away tears, you stare at the king.

“Why are you telling me this?” Your voice cracks.

“Because I believed you deserved to know, and that you deserved a choice.” Gojo answers but in its simplicity you find absolute comfort.

“So here are your choices…” Gojo continues and the scenarios flash a vivid picture in your head.

You can let your mother whisk you away and keep you locked by her side forever. Or you can let the lord of the sky decree all powerful and place you in a marriage with someone you don't even know.

“Or…” Gojo’s voice now dances optimistic and light.

“You can come back with me.”

The offer hits you with the force of a landslide. You sputter out nonsense, unable to process what you just heard.

Gojo decides to clarify himself.

“Come back with me.” He beams. “No one will know where you went. You’ll get to lay low for a while, maybe figure out what you want to do. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

“And, best part of all? You get to enjoy as much time as you’d like with me.” Gojo sounds absolutely ecstatic at the idea.

Spending time with him and in the underworld however sounds like a terrifying punishment. Just the thought of the underworld itself draws a haunting dread. Would you be safe there? Could you even last long among the cold dreary depths?

The wind blows fluttering leaves around you. The strange sensation you sensed in the air arrives thicker and now the wind swirls like a warning. This time it urges you of your mother fast approaching with the fate tied with her.

Surprisingly, the lord of the underworld waits so patiently silent. Then, a cocky smirk twitches his lips, a silent challenge almost as if to say he might know your answer.

Your answer comes in three simple steps. Before you are even fully by his side, you blink and disappear from the surface.

In the forest, all that remains of you are the cacti now completely covered in glorious colorful blooms.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

The underworld is a crystal dream.

When you first thought of the realm of the dead your mind conjured up a dreary desolate wasteland, one filled with anguish and wailing, dark hallowed hallways lined with skeletons. Instead gem lined caverns greet you wherever you go.

A solemn gloom however faintly hangs in the air and could not be ignored. You spot multiple shades, souls of those who have passed, wandering towards the different rivers or simply fading in and out at the edge of the castle. Death did soak this land. From a distance the looming light of Tartarus solidifies that haunting realization. The blood soaked fire orb flickered a chilling reminder of the dangers this realm posed.

“How long will I be here?” You had asked.

“As long as you want.” Gojo chirped. “You can leave whenever you want. Can take all the time you need to figure out what you want to do.”

It was warm and heartfelt. However…

“There are only two rules I need you to follow.” Gojo had added ominously and shattered the warm welcome. The rules were simple.

Never go to Tartarus.

And never eat anything from this world.

Simple, but the ominous directness sparks your mind to wonder about what terrors really did lurk here. Besides those two warnings, Gojo welcomes you with grand excitement into his grand home.

That first night you arrived he practically bounced with every step as he showed you around the kingdom. You were so worried the sight of this world would scare you. Instead elation and even a tinge of appreciation blooms in you. You had never once imagined in your lifetime that you’d ever see this. A new appreciation emerges for this place that would be housing you until you figured out your path.

Gojo also introduced you to the two other immortals living within the halls of the underworld.

Shoko, the goddess of death, who with her stunning features and dreary eyes smiles so kind whenever she sees you.

Then there was Utahime, the goddess of magic, of spells and the crossroads.

“I hope you will enjoy your time here. The underworld has a special way of… revealing to us our true selves.” She had told you sagely. You enjoy browsing her vast collection of scrolls and you eagerly listen to any tales she shares with you.

Even during the times you spend with her or Shoko, the king of the underworld quickly arrives to your side like a persistent gnat.

You decide to take strolls along the charcoal sand riverside, a familiar tradition you did on the surface. Gojo accompanies you any chance he can.

He’s a curious creature and asks you a range of questions. What do you love most about the surface? What do you dream of? What color do you associate with yourself? You answer them all and then some. You tell him about the nymphs, your friends, about the days you used to grow sunflowers so big they would rival trees.

He snickers, makes playful commentary, but listens with full rapture. His attempt to know you better has you grudgingly slowing easing into his presence.

As much as you enjoy the time spent along the riverside, it doesn’t compare to your favorite place in the entire underworld.

The Elysian Fields stole your breath away the moment you first saw them. You never believed anything organic could grow in a realm meant to harness and hold the dead. Yet the fields stretched before you in wonderful waves of green, of color, of life.

It’s why you spend so much time here.

Among the grass and the trees, your mind can freely wander. Your mother must be upset. You could only imagine the pain she must be going through not knowing where you are. But frustration quickly leaks in remembering if you did return to the surface, what life could you be able to find there?

You dig your feet into the lush grass and try not to let poisonous annoyance overwhelm you.

“You look lost in thought.”

Gojo’s voice flutters in. Then his shadow falls over you. You don’t even have to glance your head up because the king of the underworld casually sits down beside you.

“Haven’t figured anything out yet huh?” He asks and you shake your head a quiet no.

“That’s okay. There’s no need to feel pressured or get upset about it. It’s a big decision, trying to figure out what path you want your life to take.”

You never expected him to be this comforting.

“Besides, it’s not often I get visitors here. So I’m enjoying your company as long as I can, petals.” A grin spreads across Gojo’s face as wide as a sunrise.

All you can do is yank up some of the grass and playfully throw it at him.

He laughs a bright snicker but you notice something very quickly. The grass never fully hits him. The slight distortion peaks your curiosity and you go to do it again.

“If this is your form of attack then I can only imagine how terrifying you’d be in battle.” Gojo teases but you pay him no mind because the grass again does nothing. It falls short from hitting him as if he’s protected by something.

Completely ignoring his comment, you ask him about the strange occurrence.

You appreciate how comfortable you’ve become here and with the god of the underworld to now ask such questions. The king’s lips twitch.

“What exactly have you heard about me?”

A strange question but one with a layered answer. Simply put, he’s the ruler of the underworld, considered the strongest of all the immortals.

When your mother had told you stories of the titan war, she never failed to mention the power the ruler of the netherworld held. And there is one image tied to him you remembered vividly.

“A helmet, I heard you wrote a helm that gave you immense power.”

The entire time here your mind has thought too much about the helm. You wondered what it looked like. What was more dangerous though was the curiosity, the desire, to see what he would look like wearing it.

Gojo’s face blooms with a toothy smile.

“It’s…not technically a helmet.”

Then the god playfully points at the blindfold across his eyes.

The grand helm has been in front of you this entire time and you didn’t even know. Of course he wore it constantly.

“That’s incredible.” You can’t help but fully admire the black cloth now. To think something as simple as this cloth was so strong to be considered a war helmet, it amazes you.

“I heard it made you invisible though. I remember asking about it!” You blurt out. That was another legend you heard about from a few of the nymphs.

“Oh? So you’ve asked about me, petals?” Gojo smirks slyly and your face heats up. Carnations rapidly blooming start to tickle your ankles and you immediately squish them.

“You know, I’ve always wondered where that rumor came from.” He hums, thoughtfully. “But no. I don’t have powers of invisibility. Instead I have something way more impressive.”

Pride swiftly leaks into his voice and flourishes more when his chest visibly puffs up. The vivid image of a colorful squawking peacock flashes in your mind and you almost snicker until Gojo raises his hand up.

“Hold your hand out for me please.” His voice drops lower and the tone jolts your heart. You wearily lift your hand up.

Gojo presses his hand against yours. Your heart beats faster, rivaling a humming bird’s wings, and you wait for the impact.

It comes. However, Gojo’s hand applies no actual pressure. You don’t touch his skin or brush against his fingers. Instead only liminal space floats between. The barrier can’t be more than a hair width away yet feels as if it’s oceans wide.

“What is it?” You ask breathless and intrigued.

“Infinity.”

Gojo explains how the helm, his powers, rely on the eternal force that is infinity. Everything repeats. Everything can be continued into an unbreakable cycle, the purest form of infinity.

“And what is more infinite than death? Even universes are born and die.” He speaks with an ancient patience. But, you swear you catch an underlying sadness in his voice just out of your reach. Or maybe it is just your own sadness that you were facing as you realized the weight upon Gojo’s shoulders.

He exists as the personified infinity of death’s cycle continuing over and over again and someone must watch over it. He is unable to step free from that cycle because he is it.

“You look so sad, petals. What? Am I boring you?” Suddenly Gojo’s jovial voice shatters your thoughts.

The black cloth hiding his eyes holds more weight than it did moments before.

Then you notice none has pulled their hands away, neither your or him. No one makes an attempt to move even now. You simply sit there with the space of infinity resting solid, unwavering, against you and Gojo just out of reach.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

In the underworld, monotony can creep in easily. You find even after browsing all of Lady Utahime’s interesting collection of spells and curses, you grow restless.

“If you ever get bored,” Gojo previously told you. “You’re more than welcome to join me in the throne room.”

You had only seen the throne room during the first grand tour Gojo took you on. Now you stare at the throne room’s grand doors petrified to even open them.

“Why don’t you go inside? He would enjoy your company.”

Shoko’s calm sweet voice makes you almost bolt like a skittish deer. Caught red handed and the goddess of death sleepily smiles.

“Oh no. I couldn’t!” You sputter out.

For some reason, the thought of seeing Gojo on his throne, in his role as king of the underworld flickers something hot to boil under your skin. Shoko’s curious gaze burns a hole in the side of your face.

The goddess gives you a soft nod then continues her walk down the hallway.

“You know, there’s a hidden alcove above the throne room that can be accessed from the stairs…just a thought.” Shoko muses aloud glancing over her shoulder with twinkling amused eyes. Then the goddess turns a corner and leaves you alone with her words rattling in your brain.

Were you going to watch Gojo from the shadows?

Before you could even rationalize your thoughts you move quietly up the stairs until you reach your destination.

The alcove is a type of balcony obscured by the columns towering in the throne room. The view from high up grants you a wonderful sight of the entire room composed of marble and crystal. Instead of the imposing grand ruler you imagined sitting regally composed on his throne, the white haired god is sprawled half lying across the large throne. For some reason you’re reminded of a lounging lethargic cat and you bite your cheek from laughing.

Gojo stays reclining for some time. Eventually he does pull a scroll out from beside his throne and glances it over. At first you thought he appeared bored. But now as he sighs and flops to the other side of the throne childishly, you now think -

He looks lonely.

Even among the walls gleaming of the riches soaked in this realm, this incredibly boisterous immortal seems lonely. You even notice a hollow air rests in the room and reminds you of a day in winter when the earth seems frozen.

Then a giggle comes.

You wonder if maybe you misheard it. That is until a child quickly peeks from behind a column. The little girl pops out a bit more before returning to hiding.

Very quickly she scurries to a column closer to the throne.

Your eyes flicker to Gojo who continues overlooking the scroll on his lap.

The girl begins to tip toe closer and closer to the throne. You now wonder how the king will react. She seems gleeful, unafraid of him. Especially as she approaches with the proudest toothy grin on her sweet face.

Then Gojo whips around to her.

“GOT YOU!” He shrieks proudly and even points at her accusingly. She jumps like a scared little rabbit until she hunches over laughing. Her joy fills the throne room with so much warmth you find yourself smiling at the interaction.

“I got closer this time!” The girl stomps pouting and her face puffs up adorably.

“You did! I have to give you credit for that Rika.” Gojo addresses the girl with a delighted friendliness.

“I’ll get you next time!” The girl, Rika, announces sternly as her face furrows determined.

“I believe you.” Gojo nods and you even believe him.

The girl narrows her eyes harder at the king but then she quickly giggles.

“Why don’t you go back and play in the fields, Rika? It's much nicer than playing around here in this boring place. Trust me I don’t even enjoy being here sometimes.”

They both share a giggle and Rika beams up at him so kindly.

A molten smile draws over Gojo’s face and your heart melts. Softness, gentless, looks wonderful, beautiful even, on his handsome features.

“Alright you little pest, head back to the fields you go.” He playfully shoo’s Rika away with a dismissive wave and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Turning on her heels, you watch Rika slowly fade into the air. A sadness settles over you knowing this young girl passed away so young. But, it comforts you seeing how joyous and bubbly she is even in the afterlife.

Then, it slowly dawns on you.

The lord of the underworld is not the terrifying monster whispered to be. He is a silly terror, a bit eccentric, but a kind man.

Your eyes glaze over staring at nothing in particular and you decide to leave as well.

As you rise from your little secret perch a shadow looms across you. Glancing up, the lord of the underworld towers grins down disgustingly victorious.

“Well now, aren’t you just the sneakiest little weed I’ve ever seen!”

His comment pulls an indignant shriek out of you as you scramble up. Your face is on fire and you storm away in fast rapid stomps.

Gojo follows fast behind laughing so loud it bounces off the walls and echoes among the throne room.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

Days come when tears sting your eyes thinking about the surface. You do miss your mother.

You miss the feeling of the sun on your face, the breeze of autumn fluttering in for the change of the season. You can’t even remember how many days have passed since your arrival in the underworld.

But even thinking about returning to the surface terrifies you stiff. It makes your stomach turn because you know your answer to what lies above.

You don’t want to be in an arranged marriage and you don’t want to be locked to your mother’s side. There was no middle way, or other option between these two.

You stay in your room for a few days, wiping away the tears.

Eventually out of your clouded haze a soft knock arrives at your door.

Gojo waits on the other side. You don’t like how effortlessly your heart jumps seeing his tall stature leaning against the door, a striking ink stain with his black robes. His lips are a small but sad crooked grin.

“Can I show you something?”

You wordlessly nod and follow his lead. He doesn’t press you about your sudden cloistering. He doesn’t try filling the space with talk. You’re grateful in the silence that he understands.

Through different corridors of the castle this area feels unfamiliar and a spark of curiosity flickers in you. Then Gojo stops.

There in the shade of the hallways, a secluded large square open area is before your eyes. The area seems out of place carved out from the marble and gem walkways

“What is it?” You feel a bit foolish asking.

Gojo grins wide beside you. “Why don’t you go and find out?”

You give him an incredulous and worried look. This could be a playful trick. Utahime had warned you how notorious the lord of the underworld was at playing surprise tricks which included hiding behind corners to scare anyone passing by.

“I promise, you’ll like it.” Gojo however reassures you with a gentle earnestness. So with a sigh you walk and step into the patch.

Beneath you is actual soil. It’s soft, smells of comfort and you can’t help it, a watery laugh escapes you. How long has it been since you felt the earth above?

Even since you visited the Elysian Fields, you discovered an ominous truth about your favorite spot.

“Nothing can grow there.” Utahime told you sadly. “While everything is lush and beautiful and cannot die. However, nothing can grow as well.”

But you remembered the carnations. You knew they bloomed when you were there and you revealed that to Utahime.

Her lovely face scrunched up in wise thought and her eyes became distant.

“Unfortunately it could have just been a simple fluke. The Elysian Fields are meant to be a place of peace. Maybe it was trying to comfort you as well… let you feel some sort of semblance of the surface world.”

The thought was comforting but also carried an ocean abyss of sadness. Understanding nothing could grow here in this world made sense.

But now you sat on solid soil, true soil from above.

You scramble to your knees and can’t help but dig your hands through it. The cushiony familiar texture, the smell that has been with you since you were a sapling. Tears threaten to cloud your vision.

Turning around, Gojo is there leaning against the hallway’s frame and beaming bright like a marigold.

“How?!” You ask breathlessly, unable to still process this.

“I have my ways.” Gojo coyly replies. More questions only rise in you but you quietly set them aside.

“Utahime said nothing could grow here.”

“Hm…that is true. But, why not give it a try?” Curiosity oozes out of him.

So you decide, why not. With your hands in the soil you inhale and the magic in your veins flickers to life.

You clutch the dirt tight in your grasp as if trying to hang on to this last sense of who you are.

Out of the earth. a small green sprout suddenly peeks out.

Absolute excitement and giddiness unfolds in you like a wild hurricane. You can’t help but snap your face back to Gojo in pure joy.

A wide open and even a bit proud smile illuminates his handsome face.

“Well look at you, petals! Nice work. Although I was expecting a tree or something, that little thing is nice I guess!”

You playfully throw a handful of dirt at him. It’s childish but it’s the only way you can fight the fondness growing in you, a festering weed you don’t know if you want to eradicate.

Gojo breaks out in amused cackles. His cheeks puff up and you can almost sense the amusement in his covered eyes.

“I’ll let you enjoy.” He pushes off the hallway frame and is about to turn around when you quickly call to him

“Wait.”

He freezes and glances over his shoulder.

You have to ask. “Why did you do this?”

Now the god of the underworld fully turns his attention back to you.

“Do what?”

You sigh exhausted at his innocently coy reply.

“Why did you do this? Give me this plot of land?”

Gojo’s lips, which you have been alarmingly thinking about more, turn into an eased crooked smile.

“It’s a gift. You’re my guest here and my friend. So why not?” He replies anticlimactic, even shrugs.

The answer is not satisfying and it slightly irritates you. But you’re still grateful. You might not know the true reason why he did this and might not ever know. But Gojo still did this for you all the same.

So gathering that gratitude you smile at him, a true earnest one.

“Whatever the reason is…Thank you, Gojo.”

This is the first time you say his name. Just the taste of it in your mouth leaves a strange tingle.

The ruler of the underworld’s face. It drops so fast that you barely catch it. But it was there. A look of pure surprise, confusion and something else you can not pinpoint. But all of that quickly vanished only to be replaced by a smile radiating artificiality. Then Gojo vanishes.

In this new space, you exhale against the new weight building in your chest. Leaves then begin tickling your hands and you glance down at your new blooms.

Pure confusion strikes because this is actually a brand new bloom.

You’ve never seen this flower before.

Delicate cotton white star-like flowers greet you and you’re afraid to even touch them. So many of them cluster around each other in rather tall stalks. They remind you of lilies in their shape but are smaller and have a fragility to their thin petals.

You stare at the blooms slowly filling out the area around you until you are completely surrounded.

Horror strikes you fast.

The cloudy white petals match the white hair of the lord of the underworld.

Unknown to you, as you sit frozen among your new flowers, wheat fields decay above on the surface.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

As much of a king and ruler he is, boredom plagues Gojo most of the time. It doesn’t surprise you one bit.

He pesters you constantly in your garden now. Currently you threaten to grow Venus fly traps large enough to eat him.

“You know, I’d actually be interested to see that.” He muses light and you hate that the thought of creating such a thing has you curious as well.

Gojo and you exchange a glance. Soon enough a large Venus fly trap stands around the same height as the god.

“It’s huge!” He cries impressively and pride flutters through your chest.

Then the underworld's king sticks his whole head inside the opening mouth of the Venus flytrap and waves his hands with the brightest expression.

You scream in panic and Gojo cackles beyond entertained. He thankfully removes his head. It’s perfect timing as the plant’s prickly mouth snaps itself shut.

You are horrified but Gojo just continues to laugh.

He opens the plant’s mouth and starts moving it. Changing his voice to a high pitched tone, he begins talking as if he’s the plant itself in some sort of bizarre performance.

“I beg your garden?!” He shrieks in an absurd voice.

It’s ridiculous, unbelievable and you can’t help it. You burst into wild giggles that shake your body. You have laughed more in his company than you can even remember. You’re having true fun with him in a way that you can’t even remember experiencing with your old companions.

You remember previously noticing how lonely the god of death looked and it only made you wonder how you’ve also tasted loneliness. Always stuck to your mother’s side, living in her shadow, it grew lonely there.

“Don’t laugh at me! Just wanna have fun, be-leaf me!” Gojo continues in that shrill tone.

Now here you are laughing in pure fun at his antics.

Gojo quickly drops the performance and immediately asks you to make a lotus as small as a clover. It’s tricky but when the flower unfurls a tiny lovely blossom in the palm of your hand, Gojo cheers.

Then you start thinking of jacaranda trees the size of bonsai. With a furrowed concentration you form a beautiful miniature tree. The lovely violet blooms even so small color the area exquisitely.

“You’re incredible.” He breathes out the words and they almost sound in awe.

You try not to get flustered but it is hard with his attention so intently focused on you. Instead you wave your hand out. Playfully a bunch of cherry blossoms nearby rapidly swirl in a whirlwind of petals all around him

Gojo shouts an amused ecstatic cheer, flinging his hands up among the petals. You snicker even more.

It becomes a game. Gojo offers new plant ideas or to grow vegetation he never knew existed. His face genuinely scrunches up at the odd smelling plants you call forth and you snicker pleased at his reactions.

Eventually you take a seat and start to make a few flower crowns. One particularly is for the young girl you saw in the throne room, Rika, and who you’ve caught now a few times peeking at you from around the palace columns.

No surprise but the lord of the underworld takes a seat right by your side.

“A flower crown huh… You know, you never made the one I asked for when we first met.” He comments with the worst pout.

Of course he remembers that. You had even forgotten about that meeting by the riverbank.

You scan around looking for something to use until you spot the perfect crown.

Reaching to a nearby shrub, you break off a bare small twig. You regally place it on top of Gojo’s head.

“Aw!” His deflated reaction, seeing this powerful god with a simple twig on his head, has you snickering. Then you realize Gojo stopped his infinity barrier for you to place it on him.

You don’t even want to linger on that thought. So violently shoving it away, you continue braiding the flowers. You concentrate hard, even scrunch your face as you weave in lily stems.

A delicate but soft crawling sensation suddenly dances across your leg. The culprit is a branch from a leatherleaf fern Gojo has plucked. You wiggle away in a panic.

He again drags the delicate green leaves to playfully tickle you and try squirming away from him as much as you can. An urge to even hiss at him rises.

“What?! Are you ticklish, petals!?” Gojo beams with excitement.

“No, you’re just annoying!” You reply sharply trying to stay calm.

The king however is patient and stubborn. Instead of relenting he wiggles the fern’s large leaves firmer across your arms then to your shoulder where it meets your neck.

You squeal, laughing so unattractive as you wiggle away with all your might to flee from his playful torment. You can’t even chide him to stop, too caught up in the wild infectious giddiness taking over.

Your body buckles under the ministrations very slowly until your back rests on the solid soil ground. Your eyes snap open.

There, the god of the underworld leans over you.

Gojo is handsome. You knew that from the first moment you saw him. But now you take in how wide his shoulders are, how celestially white his hair glows, and how compromising, as well as dangerous, this position is.

Your mind had started drifting more and more towards deeply temptatious thoughts of him. Thinking of how your hands would grasp his broad shoulders, wondering how his body without any barriers would feel pressed over you.

A dizzying fire licks through your veins. Gojo finally stops his tickling bombardment and now stares down at you. Even without seeing his eyes they pierce you with a hypnotic pull.

A moment passes or maybe a millennial has. Time ticks by too molten to process.

You want him. You hate how badly you want this infuriating man. You hate thinking about how easy it would be to lean up and kiss him. As tempting as that idea is, how much it consumes you, you remember a heavy truth. If your lips leaned up to kiss him you would only find infinity.

Before anything else can be said or done you rapidly spring up from the soil like a new bud. You say nothing. Neither does Gojo. Quickly you return to braiding your poor discarded flower crown. He remains quiet long enough you wonder if maybe he left your side quietly.

Until the ground shifts besides you as Gojo moves to stand.

“Don’t let the plants eat you, petals. You wouldn’t make good fertilizer.”

You can’t even find a quick retort to shoot back at him.

When you reach for a few roses to add their lovely color to the floral wreath, you wince. A sharp prickling sensation stabs your fingers.

Drawing your hand back you see your golden blood, the ichor of an immortal, dripping down your fingers.

Suddenly an image flashes wild and frantic in your mind.

Gojo appearing before you suddenly. He inspects your wounded hand. Instead of applying a wrap or even allowing you to heal with time as all immortals can, he delicately places your bleeding fingers into his mouth. He sucks on them gently and fierce. His tongue swipes against your wound, against the blood. He moans, loud, debauched, and it mixes with the wet slurps. He sucks and sucks without any desire to stop. His tongue fondly runs up again along your fingers. The pressure of his mouth, the warmth of it, letting yourself bravely trace his teeth, then feeling him playfully bite your skin…

You scramble out of your thoughts as a slick liquid heat pools between your legs. Grabbing your flower crown, you storm off to your room praying to flee from the god of the underworld haunting you.

But you know it is hard, almost impossible, to outrun and hide from a god.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

“I have to leave for a few days.” Gojo explains as he sits besides you in the garden.

The garden has now become a lush oasis for you. Various ferns happily grow to one side. A few fruit trees already take root and grow steadily. So many flowers sprinkle beautiful clusters of colors all across the space.

Of course your new white flowers continue to bloom patiently and delicately. Wherever you turn, so many seem to pop up. It's to the point even Gojo made a comment upon seeing the new florals.

“Oh? These look new.” You ignored his curious comment.

Now you ask about his trip with the same curiosity.

“Leaving? What for?”

A pause comes.

“Unfortunately there’s been a recent increase in the amount of newcomers arriving in our realm.”

You don’t miss the way your heart jumps hearing him say “our realm.” The main issue at hand however has you concerned.

“Do you think it’s a sudden war? Or a natural catastrophe?” Your heart twists thinking about either terrible possibility.

“Don’t know. That’s why I’m heading up to figure it out.” Gojo sighs.

You nod understandingly and sympathetically to Gojo. Even with his eyes covered, his gaze seems to stare somewhere far away. Then he quickly averts his attention to the budding trees you’re tending to.

“This one seems to be doing great here.” Gojo notes curiously. He leans closer to you, a pressure softly pushing against you. Any giddiness of having him so close is quieted by the truth that it’s infinity against you.

“It is.” You agree happily. “Pomegranate trees are resilient. They just need the right soil and can bloom with much worry. They even can handle different types of pests.”

Gojo hums a curious thing.

“Sounds a little familiar, don’t you think?” He comments but his voice is deep, low. Hearing his tone this way sparks a dangerous desire to life and it drags its claws down your spine.

“Familiar how?” You hesitantly ask.

Something gentle, barely with the lightest of pressures, runs across the back of your hand. You think it might be his fingertips. Your body reacts, galvanized in a frenzy. But when you whip your head to the side, the king is gone.

As you sit alone in your garden, you almost scream.

When the time comes to bid Gojo farewell, you now wonder how you’ll handle truly being alone without him.

“Don’t miss me too much, petals.” He teases and you roll your eyes.

“Please, I’m going to enjoy having this place all to myself.” You scoff.

Gojo grins like a cat that’s caught a canary and then, he leaves without another word.

In his absence you find, at first, you do enjoy the peaceful solitude. But that gets old quickly because stars above you do end up missing him.

You didn’t realize how much your existence here has now become so entrenched with Gojo’s. You miss the strolls you and him take. You miss his questions about the new blossoms growing. You even miss the way he playfully throws figs at you at dinner while you sit not eating a single bite. It has become not just a friendship with the underworld’s god but a true deep bond with him.

“Can you stop with the wistful sighing please?” Utahime sternly asks as you lounge in her study.

“I’m not wistfully sighing!” You stammer out embarassed.

“Uh huh.” She does not seem convinced but also does not press the subject further. The goddess of magic instead stays completely focused on her piles of scrolls scattering her area.

The underworld seemed to be slowly constricting around itself. A tension tightened the air. Everyone, even Shoko, seemed scarce and occupied. Whatever was occurring above on the surface was greatly impacting this world.

You decide to leave Utahime to her devices and slip away quietly.

Now you wander the edge of the royal grounds. Your eyes scan the realm stretching out before you. There, like a lantern among the darkness, the fluttering flickering red light of Tartarus shines unwavering.

It is the last place that you have yet explored.

You remember Gojo’s rule, his warning about not going to it

However, a small twinkle inside you even feels as if it’s being drawn there by a soft gentle pull.

You could just walk and see it from the outside, not even enter its gates. No harm would come from just inspecting the grand prison from a closer distance right?

Before you can stop yourself your feet guide you across the river’s path to the other side.

The atmosphere distorts into something sinister like the way the air hollows out before a terrifying storm.

Soon the crystalized rocks become jagged spikes. A smell of sulfur fills your senses and a wave of heat begins to tickle your skin. Soon the glowing red is now a vibrant bleeding sun before your eyes.

You dare not step any closer.

Terror slowly claws over your body. This is as close as you will get and will ever get. You turn around to walk back.

“…Little flower…” a soft raspy voice sends a horrifying chill up your back.

Your head snaps to the side. A creature unravels from the bottom of a rock and stares up at you with tree branches like eyes.

A cursed soul.

Something now besides the creature wiggles from the ground. It morphs and shifts from a clay like structure to take the shape of man. He reminds you of a patch quilt and his body screams that he too is another cursed soul.

“You are far away from home, little goddess.” The curse coos.

You can’t even speak as fear chokes your throat.

Move, you have to move! Something inside you screams. It sounds almost like Gojo.

Before you can move, hands, or maybe branches of some sorts, suddenly snap around your legs and yank you back. A scream escapes you or maybe you believe you hear a scream.

Everything happens fast. Your body is dragged and pulled closer to the prison. Laughter cackles sinisterly all around you and you thrash as much as you can. Tears clog your eyes. You wonder if this is it, if this will be how your end greets you. You swat at anything you can reach, but the panic is rising more and more.

Then a blinding heat sears under your palms.

You can’t help it, your eyes squeeze shut and your hands feel as if they have exploded.

Then the pressure is gone from across your body. Your eyes, water soaked with tears,

Your eyes open and you find you are free. No more decayed limbs and branches on your body.

You scramble up as best as you can. Your legs however give out from the amount of wounds sliced across you. You try to heal as quickly as you can but being around such sinister evil for so long has drained you.

Suddenly something rushes besides you and you are too late to react. The patchwork creature jumps on you. With a gleeful monstrous smile he morphs into like a cage claw against your body and has you in his grasp.

You scream but you can’t even hear it over the horrifying laughter. You thrash, try to free yourself again, but your body grows too exhausted to even move. Your vision begins blurring.

Then another scream of anguish comes but you can’t even process what or who it is.

Your body is released. You pitch forward, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Then someone catches you.

“Petals.” Gojo’s voice rings panicked in your ears. You wonder if he is a figment of your imagination. Before you can even focus, your vision gives out and you fade into oblivion.

The next thing you know, you wake up in the comfort of the softest sheets and a place that is not your quarters.

When you come into consciousness and see the grandness of the room, the dark shade of the walls, you piece together quickly this is Gojo’s bedchamber.

A new type of panic grips your heart and you scramble up.

“Careful, careful!” Suddenly the man himself reprimands you in a quick panic. Gojo sits up from his chair beside the bed. Whatever emotion lies in your eyes freezes him from approaching you.

“What happened?” You ask in a small whisper. You wonder if it was all a nightmare, a terror fueled fever dream.

“I found you in Tartarus.” Gojo replies. This is the first time his voice has sounded this upset. His face darts away from you.

“What were you thinking? What were you even doing there?” His voice is sharp as a blade’s edge and it cuts you swiftly.

Your reason now sounds so childish.

There have been multiple times when you rolled your eyes at Gojo’s antics. You believed him to be a fool, a childish king who has not grown up, a result of being alone for so long here in this realm. But now you wonder if you are the foolish one.

You croak out an apology that rips your heart open. Squeezing your eyes shut you try to stop the tears from coming but it’s no use.

“I just…I just wanted to see. It was…it was something you wouldn’t understand. I’m sorry.” You apologize again. A poisonous frustration and anger at yourself for being so foolish fills you. If you had only listened.

Suddenly a hand rests gently on top of yours. No barrier, no infinity. Just Gojo’s soft larger hand enfolding yours. It’s warmer than you expected.

Gojo does not yell, doesn’t even say anything else. He simply sits besides you staring so concerned but understandingly. You squeeze his hand and more tears form rivers down your face.

The underworld’s king stays by your side the entire time.

Right before you fall asleep, still in the king’s bedchamber, you swear the most delicate and tender touch runs across your face.

Once you are healed Gojo, holding your hand, takes you back to Tartarus.

“I should have showed this place before.” He explains quietly. “I could have only imagined your curiosity.”

You try to focus on his voice but it is hard when you try to process what lies before you.

“Wait…Are you sure we’re at Tartarus?”

“Uh…yes?” Gojo replies a bit confused but you are more confused than he is. Because there is no possible way this could be the same place.

The same burning furious fiery glow is now a simple flicker of a flame like a dwindling candle. All the rocks and sharp spikes have been crushed and leveled into debris cluttering the whole area. The air even holds a haunting stillness. This reminds you of a forest after a fire, a quiet entombment that spoke of a tremendous fury. Did he do this?

You realize as much as you want to know, you want to leave even more.

A squeeze of your hand is all you have to say before Gojo squeezes back. In a blink you and him are back at the palace’s main atrium. But a quest stands there waiting.

“Ijichi!” Gojo cries bright and happily.

Your eyes go wide.

The messenger of the gods. You had seen him in passing and even then you found him to be an uptight god. Now his face is hardened and upset. His keen eyes spot you and his mouth drops.

Ijichi cries your name and something inside you falls.

“What brings you here Ijichi?” Gojo asks with a twinkling curiosity.

“You know exactly why I’m here Gojo!” The messenger snaps and a part of you wants to shrink away. But, another piece of you knows you can’t run anymore.

You know why the messenger is here.

“I need to speak with you.” Ijichi urges with pleading eyes staring so intensely at you.

Reality weighs you down. You have to address this. You cannot keep hiding anymore.

So you let go of Gojo’s hand and you and Ijichi move to a private room.

You sit down ready to hear about your mother, about the urgency that you need to return to the surface world and face your fate.

But what comes to you instead plummets your entire soul. With a gentle but stern kindness tells you all that is happening.

Horror, dread, and all of their friends, fill your body.

The surface world is dying. Famine plagued the fields. Livestock is suffering. People are suffering.

All because of your actions.

Ijichi, bless him, is not accusatory, does not shame you or put blame.

“You need to return home with me. I’m sorry.” The messenger urges but sympathy seeps out.

You don’t hesitate to nod yes as tears come in tidal waves.

There is not much to take with you. You say farewell to your garden, to the beautiful palace, to Utahime and Shoko who both hug you incredibly tight.

But when you go to say goodbye to the lord of this world, he is nowhere to be found.

You do not have to search long. He sits in his study. This the most you’ve ever seen him actually use it and look so dashingly studious, regal, at work. He completely ignores your entrance and does not even spare you a glance.

“I’m leaving.” You announce. He stays silent.

You swallow hard and compose yourself.

“Thank you so much for letting me stay here for as long as I have. You’ve been a wonderful host.”

A wonderful friend. A wonderful companion, and maybe something even more wonderful, so fond and dangerous, you dare not speak its name.

He stays quiet and you are about to walk out of the door when suddenly Gojo’s hand grabs yours in a rapid grip. Your heart trips over a skipped beat from feeling his true hand clutching yours.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He argues.

“I have to go back. I have to face this.” You urge even though your voice wavers waterlogged.

“You don’t have to. We can figure this out.”

He does not want you to go.

You even accept you don’t want to either. Not just because you fear the truth awaiting you, but because you’ve become terribly attached to this place, attached to him.

At first you wanted to laugh it off as simply being stuck here and left with no choice but to just tolerate the god of the underworld. Instead you found you sought Gojo on your own more and more. You wanted to know him, not as a ruler of the eternal realm of death but as the man you learned hates pickled radish and loves any type of sweet treat.

You swallow hard and shake your head.

“I can’t keep running away.” You even surprise yourself at how firm, how solid and unwavering, your voice resonates.

Gojo’s hand releases yours. The air brews tense and thick. Then the god of the underworld lifts his blindfold up.

Your heart stops.

Beautiful ocean blue eyes stare at you. Of course his eyes would be luminous pools.

You can’t speak, don’t know what to say.

“Satoru…” he instead speaks first. “That's my true and first name... Thought you should know it before you leave.”

The gift he is presenting to you is immense. No mortals know the true name of your kind. Even you are addressed by a secondary name so tightly tied with your mothers.

Now he is giving you this pure full piece of himself. His eyes, his name, his heart, all are pieces you tenderly lock away in your heart. They hold more precious value than any of the gems buried in this land.

Before you can even reply Gojo leans forward.

With the most delicate of pressure, he kisses your forehead. Your eyes water but now for another emotion too grand to process while you drown in its waves.

He whispers out and says your name, your pure true name. He’s never said it before.

Then he disappears.

You swallow back a deep sob and return back to the atrium.

Gojo is nowhere to be seen even when you head to the stairs that lead back to the surface.

Before you leave, Utahime gives you one final hug then discreetly slips something into your hand. It’s a simple cloth with a sigil on it. You had seen her work on these types of spells many times and knew they all had various uses.

“Should you ever need us again or want to return, just use this.” She whispers low in your ear.

You clutch it tight, like a lifeline. When you go to give one final glance back to the underworld, the king is missing. You can’t find him anywhere and heartache clogs your throat. So you turn your back to the darkness and step into the light of the surface.

The smell of the air hits you first. The crisp scent of the dying leaves arrives in the brisk breeze. A barren earth stretches out before you and you walk into the desolation to meet your fate.

The sky above is a clouded muted gray.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧

Your mother is furious, absolutely in a rage that would rival a tsunami. But thankfully with your return the earth flourishes overnight as if by a miracle. The lush green should be a comfort to you. The smell of the sunlight should elevate your spirit warm but instead you ache for the soft glow of the gemstone walls.

“You have two choices.” She tells you sternly. “Either marry the immortal chosen for you or stay here with me.”

You stay quiet and she snaps out your name, a part of you wants to laugh because it sounds like a curse.

“Answer me!” Your mother demands and you break.

“I dont want neither!” You cry back. “Can’t you see?! The reason I ran away to the actual place of death is because I cannot pick either! Because I don’t want to!”

“Could you truly be so selfish?!” Your mother accuses you with a seething venom.

Selfish. Were you being selfish?

You once discussed this with Gojo because you had wondered many times if you were simply being a selfish brat running away from your problems.

“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. “Isn’t it selfish of you mother to want to keep you beside her forever? Besides, if you are being selfish then who cares. Nobody realizes it’s actually okay to be somewhat selfish every once in a while, especially when you’re deciding what direction your life is going to take.”

His voice becomes a soothing balm to your frustration.

So you bare your soul and heart before your mother. You could never be happy being forced to wed another. Nor would you ever be satisfied staying stitched to your mother’s side. You need your freedom. You wanted and deserved to have your own choice away from those options.

Her eyes flicker a kaleidoscope of emotions. She thankfully lets you speak the entire time without interruptions. When you are done, she gently walks forward and embraces you. You squeeze her tight.

“I’m sorry, my little sprout.” She comforts you.

You exhale, relieved.

“That damn monster of the underworld,” she says with a steady anger. “He filled your brain with nonsense.”

She pulls away and your face falls in horror.

“Don’t worry. I already plan to discuss with Gakuganji a meaningful punishment for him.”

You cry out a plea to her. But she simply smiles and pats your cheek.

“You won’t have to worry about him or anything else ever again.” She affirms confidently

Your frustrated scream falls on an empty room as she leaves in the breeze of the wheat fields. Emotions bubble up in you so wildly that your head begins to throb.

The panic clouds your vision. What will happen to Gojo? Why couldn’t your mother listen to you? Then an idea quietly emerges among the chaos.

You remember the slip of cloth tucked away in the private corner of your chambers.

Before your mother could come back, before you can even fully think, you race to grab it. You trace your finger along the intricate ink and then close your eyes.

When you open them, you are in the underworld, back in your garden.

It is as lush and beautiful as the day you left it except now the trees have grown in beautifully. Their shady leaves flourish against the marble and crystal. Your eyes land on the lone tree standing so firmly among the others.

The pomegranate tree flowers happily in full bloom filled with a fruitful harvest.

You remember the discussion you had with Gojo over these trees. You spoke of how resilient they were, and he quietly offered how familiar that sounded. The beautiful reddish violet fruit you now pluck so effortlessly from the branches you recognize is you.

You grew and flourished, gained a new sense of yourself. You carved out an existence here and bloomed into a new life.

You act fast. With all your strength you smack the fruit against the bark of the tree. Thankfully it cracks open to reveal the glistening seeds inside.

A conversation you had with Gojo has been playing in your mind since you returned to the surface.

“Why can’t I eat anything here?” You asked the first time you joined him for dinner.

“As tempting as these cakes are,” he grins, taking a large bite out of the sugary sweet.

“Eating anything from here means…you’re pretty much stuck here forever, petals. And I don’t think a pretty bud yourself could handle that now could you?”

Those words echo more than ever as the pomegranate seeds stain your fingers.

You could handle it. In fact you want to embrace it. A life here, with Gojo. You knew the consequences awaiting you. A part of you even screams to stop.

But you instead scoop out a handful of seeds and swallow them swiftly.

Their juicy delightful nectar fills your mouth. If this is being selfish, you think it has never tasted sweeter. You wait thinking there would be a reaction to doing this, to stealing yourself to this world. The only thing that comes is someone breathing out your name.

You snap your face to the side. There Gojo stands completely frozen.

His blindfold is missing. The ruler of the underworld now stares at you with his bare wide cerulean eyes that rival a field of bluebonnets.

“Petals…” Confliction strangles his voice and his eyes flicker to the pomegranate in your hand.

“What are you doing here? What did you do?” You don’t think you have ever heard him sound this confused and panicked.

“Satoru.”

His name, it’s all you can say. It’s a prayer so beautiful you never want to stop saying it.

You blink and the king vanishes. Then he is before you. His hand clutches your face firm and he swoops down to kiss you.

You can’t help but whimper as your breath gets stolen from your lungs. You clutch onto the god tighter, desperate to get as close to him as you can.

Under your touch infinity disappears.

Satoru’s tongue slips effortlessly into your mouth and explores with a chaotic mess. You taste the same desperation he has mirroring your own.

He lifts you up effortlessly with one hand and it makes you squeak. Then, the two of you are whisked away.

When you arrive in his chambers a frantic edge is set ablaze as Satoru presses you against the cool wall of his room. He effortlessly grinds against you and another whimper leaves you to get caught against his lips.

You are drunk on the taste of him. You don’t even care how loud you pant because you are too afraid this moment could end at any moment.

Satoru starts to kiss the corner of your lips. He quirky nips sharp bites against your skin and your eyes close in bliss.

He kisses across your cheek, down your neck, alternating between kissing and softly biting.

Then cool air tickles your bare kiss soaked neck and your eyes wearily open.

Satoru is now on his knees.

His hands reverently run against your delicate robes. A meditative but possessive gleam darkens his eyes making them look like deep trenches.

He kisses your exposed thigh and you tug at his soft white hair. His rich cobalt eyes now flicker up to you.

You sigh out his name with a slight whine as you miss his lips against yours.

“Shh...” he urges softly as he bites at your skin again harder. Your hips rise on their own accord. He chuckles deep and thick.

“Let me worship you.” He whispers with reverence with eyes drenched in delicious lust. It’s the last thing he says before his tongue suddenly licks an intent path up your thigh straight to your sex and you see stars.

Eventually he carries you to his grand bed where you now lie against him.

Love drunk in the afterglow you can’t stop giggling at how Satoru continues to kiss any inch of your body.

“You really are the terror of the underworld.” You snicker playfully.

“Oh of course. Can’t let you forget my reputation.” He beams proud as he kisses your fingertips once again.

His chest is solid and warm under you as you rest against him. His heart beats like a beautiful strong drum you can rest your ear against and hear now. Instead you slide up higher to burrow your face against his neck. All of this is intoxicating and a gift you cherish.

But even in the afterglow, the weight of this union settles over a grim cloud.

“My mother is going to set the world on fire.” You mutter soft and pained.

“No,” Satoru kisses the top of your head. “The old geezer upstairs won’t let her.”

A comforting in his own Gojo way and you snort amused for a moment. Against his warm solid neck Satoru only draws you closer to him. The two of you stay in bed for what feels like a millennia but still not enough.

You are about to slide out of the bed when the god of the underworld whines grabbing you back like a child refusing to let go of their favorite toy.

“I need to get ready.” You softly say as you run your fingers through his cloud white hair.

“No.” He pouts. “You’re stuck here with me forever now, petals.”

That is true.

“I am, but you know I can’t avoid this.”

As you go to slip on the new beautiful robe that of course Satoru had ready for you, he blurts out-

“Marry me.”

Your knees almost give out.

You screech out a confused noise and whip your attention back to him.

“Are you serious!?”

“As serious are you were when you banged that poor pomegranate against a tree!” He fires back.

In a blink Satoru is suddenly holding you in one of his arms while the other cradles your face in his hands.

“Marry me.” He repeats again but this time his voice leans sincerity. “Let me annoy you for the rest of eternity by your side as your husband.”

You don’t hesitate. You pull his face towards you and kiss him desperate. The poor robe you slipped on is hastily yanked off and you are returned back to the cooling bed sheets.

“You know,” Satoru muses playfully as you rest again tangled up in his arms. “I never heard you say an official yes or no.”

You lift your head up and give him an incredulous glare.

“You can’t be serious, Satoru.”

“You’re right.” He softly beams down to you. “The amount of times I heard you screaming ‘Yes Satoru! Yes my love!’ was the best answer.”

You grab the nearest discarded pillow and smack him with it. It fully collides against his too gorgeous face and he laughs at the collision. The tables turn when he swiftly snags the pillow from your hands and playfully retaliates. Your laughter and his bounce together so brightly in the room. It fills you with enough strength to finally face whatever fate awaits you.

Your beloved headache of a fiancé reassures you with one soft kiss to your shoulder.

Before you can even step out of the palace, the surface world’s entrance cracks open. From the shadows you see your mother and then beside her is the god of the skies himself.

“Oh ho! Well now…this is going to be fun!” Satoru cackles with excitement.

“Hey, my darling soon to be wife,” he turns to ask you. Even with his eyes covered again you know glee shines in them. “You want the old man’s head on a platter as an early wedding gift?!”

You almost choke on air. Of course you’re not the only one outraged at what he said.

Your mothers voice cracks the air with destructive anger

“You’re engaged to this monster?!” Her eyes are blistering fires threatening to scorch you where you stand. You reply a solid yes without hesitation.

“Aw! I didn’t realize you liked me so much already, my dear mother in law!” Satoru coos. Your mother flat out ignores him as do you.

“This is prosperous! Outrageous!” The lord of the skies, Gakuganji, thunders in an outrage rivaling your mothers.

“She ate food from this world, and is so bound here.” Shoko explains with a steadied ease.

“There is now way you will survive here any longer!” She seethes at you. “You are not meant for this world!”

“Actually…” Suddenly the poised voice of the goddess of magic herself flutters into the room. With a steeled conviction, Utahime steps forward. She explains how she has been watching you ever since your arrival and noticed changes happening.

“Growth, new life has emerged here. We have all witnessed it. On top of that, I think being here has unlocked new abilities I don’t think we even thought were possible.”

Powers?

“When you momentarily stopped those curses from Tartarus.” Gojo explains patiently as if he read your mind. Faintly you hear the horrified voice of your mother screaming Tartarus?!

“I did that?” You ask stunned.

“Yup, you did.” Satoru beams, prouder than ever.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Gakuganji demands.

“It means she can survive here. If anything it maybe even suggests she might have even been destined to be here.” Utahime replies steady.

Destined to be here.

You think of the words she once told you, about how the underworld revealed truths about one’s self.

“Even with that possibility, you stay here and there will be no peace.” Gakuganji urges.

You know the suffering that could come. Your mother is a stubborn creature who would never relent.

For some reason, you think of the bleeding heart flower. You think of their stems and how distinctly the flower seems to be two parts blended together beautifully. Some of the petals even have to curl open for it to grow. So you decide to split your existence in half.

“For half the year I will be here, in the underworld with my husband.” The word rolls effortlessly off your tongue and it feels right, feels as if you have always said it. “And the other half will be on the surface. Equal time to each place.”

Gakuganji hums a moment to consider.

“You cannot allow this!” Your mother pleads to the grand elder god.

“No one can undo what has been done. The fruit has been eaten and she’s tied to this world.” Shoko clarifies simply.

Satoru hums a playfully amused noise that makes you want to smack him upside the head. Instead you ask for the room to speak with your mother. Now it’s just you and her, as it has been for so many centuries. Except a canyon now stretches between you and her. She waits on the other side of it a vengeful fury.

“Did you do this to spite me?” Your mother asks pained. Exhaling exhausted, you shake your head.

“I did this because it’s my choice, and because I love him.” You tell her with a patience that even surprises you.

“And that’s all I’ve wanted. Not to choose between what you wanted me to pick but instead make my own decision.”

“You…you cannot love the lord of the underworld.” She croaks with so many emotions tangled in her voice.

Your lips tug as if Satoru himself pinches your cheeks into a smile.

“I’m sorry, but I can and I do.” Might be one of the hardest tasks you ever faced, but you would do it for all of infinity.

Your mothers eyes scan over your face. The emotions in them seem endless, a bottomless well that you can’t even swim in.

“You’ve grown, my little sprout.” Her voice wistfully comments. The two of you simply stare at each other.

After that she barely looks at you even after the others return.

The decision is made rather simply compared to the riotous calamity that preceded it. Six months with your mother and six months here. But of course, your mother declares your time on the surface begins now. Gakuganji agrees and your spirit pops.

Any moment of celebration, any hope of wanting to enjoy being here, decomposes in your chest. You gather yourself as best as you can.

“Can I at least say goodbye to my husband?” You ask.

“You are not even married yet.” Gakuganji sneers.

“We aren’t. But you could wed us right now and change that if you’d like, old man!” Satoru offers. The old god’s face crumbles up so disgusted you have to hold back a laugh.

Thankfully you’re allowed a moment of solitude with Satoru in his chambers. You embrace his tall frame and he holds you tight.

“My offer still stands. Just say the word and I’ll throw the old man in the one of rivers.”

“Satoru please.” You sigh.

“What?! All I am saying is there is still time, I could easily throw him in. He wouldn’t even know what hit him.”

A small snicker does leave you as you shake your head no.

“Fine.” Your soon to be husband sighs disappointed.

“So much for an engagement announcement.” Gojo teases trying to soothe the moment with humor but a question about your sudden engagement has been weighing on your mind. You need to ask him before you leave.

Holding Satoru’s hand you gently lead him to the beautiful carved out window nook. When he sits completely flush besides you, you reach over to draw his blindfold away.

His eyes are oceans you never wish to leave. But you will have to. Every six months you will be away from this man who has burrowed a hole in your heart and made it his home.

“Why do you want to marry me?” You ask.

His eyes scrunch up slightly curious but also as if he doesn’t understand your question.

“Because you’re my other half.”

That’s beautiful, but it’s not enough. You’re thankful Satoru senses that’s not the answer you wanted and he sighs dreamily.

“That first time I saw you, do you remember?” He begins.

At Olympus, that seems like centuries ago now.

“You had so many petals and leaves stuck in your hair. Yet, your face was so angry…like you could’ve ripped apart the mountain in half.” He explains fondly. “Now I have no doubt you could if you smack a fruit against it.”

“Hey,” you playfully laugh but it’s watery, soaked in disbelieving love.

“But you were incredible, this hilarious creature of both fury and flowers. I had never seen someone so beautiful.” Satoru adds

His hands now have moved to encompass yours.

“Do you think we’re rushing into this?” You question.

“Do you think we are?” He mirrors it back to you.

A piece of you agreed this is rushed. But then the ache inside of you already dreading leaving this man speaks louder than your doubt.

“Look,” he speaks first. “My life has been the same for so long. Like I got stuck in my own infinity and then you came stomping in… ”

Satoru’s cerulean eyes fiercely flicker up to you and he stares unwavering.

“I’d tear apart the skies for you.” He says simply “You make my life brighter. You and your scrunched up annoyed face you always give me. Your laugh. The way you talk to all your planets like they can speak back-“

“Plants respond better to hearing voices.” you croak interrupting him.

“It helps them grow faster, yes I know.” He finishes for you so cheekily and your heart is about to float out of your body.

“So you really want to marry me?”

Satoru rolls his eyes at your question.

“Petals, I wanted to marry you the moment you threatened to shove me in the River Styx during one of our morning strolls.”

You bark a watery laugh. “Don’t tempt me. I’d still do it.”

The god of the underworld suddenly breathes out your name.

Tenderly Satoru leans forward and kisses you. You don’t care that your mother is waiting for you. You simply want to enjoy this slice of eternity for as long as you can.

“I love you.” You whisper the words, a holy sigh, against his lips.

“That’s nice.” He muses. He’s lucky no throw cushions are nearby or else you would have smacked him.

It dawns on you that this is the closest to a wedding you will get until you return. So you pull away from his lips and vow yourself to him.

You vow to always roll your eyes and snap at him when he says something ridiculous. You vow to always now take the biggest bite out of his confectioneries even if he complains. You vow to be by his side until the cosmos collapses and even beyond that. But mainly, you vow-

“That you never feel lonely for too long ever again, Satoru.”

His eyes go wide, shimmering almost in awe. The king rushes forward and kisses you with a dizzying passion.

“We would make terrible marriage officiants.” He mutters against your lips.

“Who cares.” You scoff.

“Hm seems I’m rubbing off on you in many other ways, petals.”

You chide him for being crude and he snickers, your ridiculous husband.

“What a cute new queen you are.”

Queen. By marriage, by love, you are a queen now.

“Your crown is going to be a twig, like the one you placed on me that one time.” Satoru grins playfully.

“As long as you match with me.”

He laughs so freely and it’s beautiful.

The thought of being a ruler, a monarch, for some reason does not scare you. You thought it would. Instead it only comforts you knowing the king who would be beside you is Satoru.

This joyous bubble however deflates as you return to your mother. This would be it. This is your goodbye until six months from now. But even among the heartbreak, a wave of reassurance washes over you. Because it is just six months. Compared to a lifetime without Satoru, six months is a simple breeze.

Once again you bid goodbye to Utahime, to Shoko, both embrace you tighter than ever. After all, you are one of their own now. And your husband, your poor Satoru, now wears the most obnoxious teary face that makes you want to flat out walk away from him.

But of course you embrace and kiss your king softly.

“You better not kill my garden.” You warn against his tender lips.

“No promises.” He smiles.

As you’re about to start your journey, Satoru wails dramatically.

“One last kiss to remember me by!” Then making a horrendous kissing-like sound, he rushes to your side. You effortlessly hold your hand out to stop his face from reaching you. He weeps horrified while Shoko and Utahime kneel over laughing in unison.

You’re amused at his antics but among the hilarity, Satoru leans into your palm. Gently he tilts his face and leaves a soft kiss on the palm of your hand.

It grants you tremendous strength to start your journey.

As you reach the edge of the stairs, so close you can almost taste the sunlight, you turn around. The last time you did this, Satoru was nowhere to be found. Now he stands at the very edge of the bottom of the walkway.

A moment passes. It is just you and him staring at each other. You’re tempted to run back to him one final time. But you can’t. You inhale a deep resolve and Gojo looks on proudly as he nods.

“I’ll see you soon, petals.” His voice is low but you hear it, clear as day, even from the top step. You nod back, not trusting your own voice to reply.

His words give you the push to reach the surface.

The morning breeze tenderly greets you first. Your legs feel like they can give out from all the emotions rushing through your body. So you look down to focus on where you step.

There among the lush green grass your white underworld flowers already sprout below you. Your lips twitch trying to hold back a tearful laugh.

Glancing up you see the grandest blue sky stretching far and wide.

You’ve always loved the sky.

Except now your breath hitches at the sight.

Because the color above is the same captured and crystallized in your husband’s eyes.

In the endless blue you find a new reassurance about the growth waiting for you in this new life. You also think of Satoru waiting for you as well. With the open sky now a welcoming blessing, you walk confidently into this new life.

With every step you leave behind delicate cloud-white underworld flowers blooming beautifully among the grass.

#I’m so nervous and petrified about posting this but knowing like me & three other angels will read this is all that matters #anyway I hate Gojo and here I am writing a 14k epic for him LMAOO peak clown behavior HONK HONK 🤡#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #Gojo x reader #Gojo 🩵

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lou-struck · 5 months

Text

The Hall Of Faces

Diavolo x reader x Barbatos

WC: 2.9k

~ After a trip through the palace’s art gallery, you find that a picture of Diavolo may need to be updated.

Warnings: Mention of eating humans, moments with both Barbatos and Diavolo showing their love of the reader.

No matter how many times you find yourself visiting the castle, you can't help but think it is one of the most beautiful places you have ever seen.

Despite being thousands of years old, its gleaming marble flooring looks brand new, and the historic art and statues line the halls with museum-level prestige. Every time you walk the long, carpeted hallways you always seem to find something new to captivate you.

On this visit, you find yourself following Barbatos down a grand window-lit hallway. Although he tries to keep his excitement at your visit to himself, you notice there is a joyful spring in his step as he leads you. "Thank you for joining the young master and I for tea this afternoon. I prepared a wonderful selection for us on the west balcony that should be to your liking."

"Of course Barbatos, thank you for the invitation," you say watching as his deep green eyes shimmer under the moonlight. "I don't believe I have been in this wing of the Castle yet."

"Then it is my pleasure to be the first to guide you," he replies with a smile. He slows his pace, allowing you to walk beside him. The two of you walk in content silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence, until you notice a strange-looking vase resting on an elegant pedestal. It seems to be composed of two types of clay: one looks like melted pearls that seem to absorb the light of the moon, and the other is a matte ebony material. The contrast between the light and dark is so captivating you stop to look at it.

Barbatos, sensing your distraction, chuckles behind you, "I thought that would catch your eye," he muses. "Would you like to know the significance of this piece?"

"I would," you nod. It takes so much self-restraint to not trace your fingers along the priceless art, but somehow, you manage to resist the urge not to touch it.

"This vase contains two different types of clay, one from the Celestial Realm and one from one of the depths of the Devildom. Usually, these substances repel from one another, but thanks to a bit of water from the human world, they are able to come together and create something beautiful."

"That's amazing," you breathe, looking at this art, this manifestation of what can happen when all three realms work together.

"I knew you'd appreciate its beauty," he smiles. "Shall we continue?"

You nod as he holds out his arm to escort you down the hallway.

The palace is a labyrinth, and after turning right, then left, and then right again, you find yourself staring down a long hallway littered with portraits on the walls.

"What is this place?" you ask, passing the painted eyes of regal-looking demons that seem to follow your movements.

"This is the hall of faces," Barbatos answers. "It is a place to honor those who have made a difference in the Devildom, past royalty, war heroes, and other notable figures."

"I see." your eyes rest on a figure with broad shoulders and familiar-looking eyes. "Is that?"

Barbatos' face falls slightly, "Yes, that is his majesty the King, the young master's father."

"Diavolo's father," you repeat, letting your eyes wander from the darkened painting to the one next to it. One of the Prince himself. But instead of the tender warmth in the Prince's features, you find him looking stern and cold. "That doesn't look like him," you murmur. "I hate that someday people will walk by this portrait and not see him as the ruler he is."

"I agree," Barbatos says. Although it is a subtle shift, you detect a hint of disdain in his voice as he pulls his gaze from the painting. "The artist who painted this portrait, and many others, is well renowned but does not know or care of the true light of the Young Masters' smile."

"He sounds like a jerk," you grumble, stepping away from the painting.

Barbatos laughs; the sound is light but pleasant. "That certainly is one of the many words to describe the Artist. Come, let me escort you to the balcony. I fear the Young Master will become jealous if I steal you for the entirety of your visit today."

You take his outstretched arm and allow the Butler to guide you away from the Hall of Faces and to the eagerly awaited tea party. But as you get farther and farther away from the portrait, you cannot rid yourself of the effect Diavolo's portrait had on you.

The balcony air is warm and comforting as you raise a hand-painted teacup to your lips. It's warm, rose-scented steam tickling your nose with it's tantalizing fragrance,

"Mc, is something troubling you?" The Prince asks gently from his seat next to you. He places his large hand on top of the one you have resting on the table's edge. "You seem troubled today."

You place your teacup back onto its saucer on the table and look at his handsome face fondly. "It's nothing, just lost in thought."

Barbatos lets out an amused chuckle as he comes up behind you to top off your cup. His gloved hand rests gently on your shoulder. "Mc and I walked through the Hall of Faces today, Young Master."

Diavolo's smile falls slightly as he shifts nervously in his seat. "Oh. So you saw my portrait?" There is an embarrassment in his gaze that makes you wonder if looking at royal portraits of the past is the Devildom equivalent of looking through your friends' old middle school yearbooks.

You nod hesitantly. "I did."

"And what did you think of it?" he asks, his golden gaze coaxing the truth out of you.

"It didn't look like you," you admit. "I mean, it was you in the picture, but it was weird seeing you look so serious and unhappy.."

"So you think I am unserious?" he smiles amusedly.

"No. I just really like your smile," you admit, shyly grabbing a lemon cake from the three-tiered stands.

"Well then, I suppose it's about time for me to update my portrait," he says, looking over to his Butler. "Barbatos, can you please fit that into our schedule?"

"Absolutely, young master. How about midday tomorrow?" The Butler hums thoughtfully. He knows the Prince's schedule by heart.

"Wonderful, and does that work for you Mc?"

"Me?" you ask with a mouthful of cake; a bit of the glaze drips down your chin as you look at the two demons in bewilderment.

"Of course," the Prince laughs, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your face. "You are the one responsible for this appointment, so It is only fair that you join us for an afternoon."

He says it lightheartedly so you know that if you truly had something going on, or if you did not want to go. You would not have to. But in truth, sitting for a royal portrait probably isn't something that happens very often; your curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself happily along with the Prince.

Both demons, seeing your acceptance, look absolutely elated. Diavolo flashes you a sincere grin as he claps his hands together. "Wonderful, then we look forward to spending the afternoon with you."

The next day, you find yourself sitting in the Parlor at the castle. Diabolo is finishing up a meeting and Barbatos is greeting the Artist at the doors. Apparently this Demon is older than the Butler himself, having been the one responsible for painting most of the portraits in the Hall of Faces. The idea of meeting such an ancient being makes your stomach bubble up with nerves as you wonder what they are like.

Looking around the Parlor, you notice that the room looks a bit different than normal; the furniture has been tastefully rearranged to make room for a lavish-looking armchair and an art station across from it. Instead of the typical moonlight streaming in through the large windows, some kind of enchantment on the glass fills the room with something close to sunlight.

When you close your eyes, you can almost feel the warmth on your face.

You hear a soft chuckle from across the room as Barabtos comes in carrying a large, worn case with little streaks and splatters of color on its surface. "The artist prefers to work in the light." he smiles, setting down what must be painting supplies.

"Can't say I mind it," you smile as the demon strides across the room, around your chair, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. This little act of affection is reserved for the moments when the two of you can be alone.

"Then I'll make sure to use this spell more often." he smiles, placing his gloved hand on your shoulder. You find yourself getting lost in the warmth of his emerald gaze just as the parlor doors burst open.

A short demon, swimming in a bright smock, takes quick, impatient steps into the room. His skin is the color of dried dandelion petals, and his tail is tipped like a paintbrush. "Canvazu," Barbatos greets, stepping between you and the Demon politely. "It is a pleasure having you join us today."

"Yes, yes, you said it before; now, where is my subject?" he says with a wave of his hand.

"the young master will be here momentarily," The Butler says. In the meantime, Lord Diavolo would like to invite you to enjoy some refreshments."

"Diavolo?" The Demon, you now know as Cavazu, questions, "Haven't I painted that one before?"

"Indeed you have," Barbatos answers calmly, but you know him well enough to know that the Artist's disrespectful question irritates him greatly. "But as he plans to take the Devildom into a new era, he wishes to have an updated photo."

"I see." The Artist says shortly as his eyes take on a slightly red hue. Curiously, you lean forward to get a closer look. His pupils look like splatters of paint and seem to change color depending on his mood. Your movement catches his eye, and he notices your presence for the first time since he has arrived.

"A live one, eh?" he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "This Prince of yours has some questionable taste. I prefer my humans slow-cooked."

You shift back in your seat as the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. Do you know that eating humans has been outlawed and the Devildom for quite some time? Maybe this guy is so old he missed the memo?

Barbatos clears his throat and takes a step toward the Demon, who is looking at you like their next meal. "Clearly, you are mistaken; this is Mc. A distinguished guest and friend of the Devildom."

The Artist opens his mouth to surely make another snarky comment, but he's interrupted by the doors parting and Diablo's timely arrival.

He looks just as handsome as ever as he greeted you with a smile, "Sorry I'm late, Canvazu. Thank you for taking the time to meet us today."

The Demon, who is becoming one of your least favorite beings in the three realms by the second, looks the prints up and down. "oh, I remember you. You look the exact same as the last time I saw you. So why do I have to immortalize your face again?"

Your jaw drops, how could he say this to the ruler of Hell?

You look at the Prince, but to your surprise, he only laughs. The wonderful sound fills the room and calms your nerves. "I suppose I wish for the Devildom to see the true me~"

"Actually, I don't care." the Artist says in an annoyed tone. "Go sit over there so we can begin."

Diavolo is unphased by the Demon's rude behavior but shoots a quick look at you and Barbatos, whose smile is murderous, to not intervene. If this Artist is as well respected as he appears to be, he certainly can get away with this attitude toward nobility.

"Is there anything else you need before you start?" The Butler asks, clearly wanting to get this whole exchange over with.

"Yeah, Silence." the Demon sneers, his voice low enough for Diavolo to not hear from his chair across the room. He dips his long- brush-shaped tail onto his palette. And painting the backdrop.

You see Barbato's jaw clench, and you gently reach out and give his hand a little squeeze to calm him down. He relaxes and looks at you warmly. "I apologize for my rudeness, Mc. You have been here for quite some time, and I haven't given you any refreshments. May I fetch something for you?"

"That would be lovely; thank you," you say, happy to give him a distraction. He nods and goes to make you something in the kitchen, leaving you in the room with the Artist and the Prince.

It kind of sounds like the start of a corny joke, and you smile to yourself, thinking up all the different ways you can set up the punchline.

You watch in amazement as Canvazu works, his tail flicking back and forth; his paintings are so lifelike, so realistic it looks like you can step onto the canvas and still be in the same room.

Diavolo sits perfectly still in his seat, but despite his best efforts to hide it, he looks extremely bored. He meets your gaze and gives you a little wave.

You stick your tongue out at him teasingly in response, and he beams back at you; at the change in his subject's face, Canvazu's head snaps toward you, and he glares into the very depths of your soul. "You, human. You are distracting my subject; stop that at once! Do you realize how privileged you are to be sitting in on one of my sessions?." Embarrassment boils beneath your skin and you open your mouth to apologize, but Diavolo stops you standing abruptly.

"There is no need for that; Mc is doing exactly what they're supposed to do, making me smile.

"As the artist, I will capture your image as I see fit." Cavazu objects. "I cannot immortalize your face looking so undignified with a silly grin."

You sit up from your chair, "there is nothing wrong with his smile," you say defensively, your patience finally running out . "will you really not paint him if he doesn't look miserable in the chair?"

"Absolutely not." The Demon says, throwing his pallet on the floor. Paint splatter everywhere. "Watch your tongue, Human. You are nothing but an insignificant pest. You have no right to speak to me that way."

Immediately, Diavolo is at your side, looking furious. "I believe we are at an impasse then, Cavazu. I tolerated your disrespect as a courtesy for your continued service of the Devildom, but you have crossed the line. As of now, you will no longer be contracted by the crown."

Canvazu looks absolutely frazzled, for once having to actually deal with the consequences of his actions. "You cannot be serious, My lord. I have served the Devildom for years and you choose this, your pet? Over me?"

"A thousand times over." Diavolo declares with certainty; he looks down at you and takes your hand, pressing it to his lips. "And this Human may one day rule the Devildom at my side. They mean more to me than anything. I refuse to let you rob the Devildom of its smile any longer." Diavolo says, his authority clear in his voice.

"Barbatos, if you please." The Prince says, addressing the Butler, who you haven't noticed come back into the room.

"At once, young master." The Butler says, and with a snap of his fingers, the Artist disappears from the room, leaving the three of you alone in the Parlor. "I must say, kicking that oaf out has been one of the highlights of my existence, Your Majesty. Thank you for that opportunity."

The Butler sent the two of you into a fit of laughter and, despite his prim and proper nature, lets out a genuine smile in response.

"Are you alright, Mc?" The Prince asks softly, the anger on his features disappearing as he looks at you.

"I'm alright; I'm sorry your artist was such a jerk, though." You reply. "Is there another artist you can use to paint your portrait?"

He shakes his head, "this situation has made me realize that I do not want to have my portrait painted anymore."

"But I thought you wanted a new painting to replace the one in the Hall of Faces," you say in surprise.

He smiles, "I do, but I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sitting with me in my portrait."

"Is that really okay?" you ask in bewilderment.

"Of course it is," Barbatos says simply. "You have done more than enough to earn your place up on the wall."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"How about yes?" The Prince asks, his golden gaze overflowing with hopeful affection.

You smile and nod eagerly, your heart feeling tender with love. "Yes, I will."

"Wonderful," he replies eagerly, looking like an excited golden retriever. "Barbatos, would you do me the honor of painting our portrait?"

"I would be delighted to," he replies, striding over to where the Artist once stood. "I have not practiced my oil paintings in quite some time, but I believe I can capture your feelings appropriately."

"So. Shall we begin?" The Prince smiles leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network, @starbbyy

#obey me!#obey me nightbringer #x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #barbatos #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader

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disasterofastory · 11 months

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Bedtime story (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Bedtime story // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 13/14 Warnings: mommy kink, nursing/breastfeeding kink (I'm not sure which)

Summary: You read (Jane Eyre) while Brahms is busy with something else.

"After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel." Your voice is gentle in the quiet room as your eyes scan the long line of words as you read under the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table. The old book is a comforting weight in your hold while your other hand rakes through Brahms's dark hair as he rests on your shoulder. The soft strands curl around your fingers every now and again as you play with them mindlessly. His arm is over your middle, fidgeting with the hem of your pajama shirt. He smells like evergreen and sandalwood. His body is pressed to your side, keeping you warm and comfortable. His breath fans over your collarbone with every exhale. "I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

It's dark and cold outside. You can barely see the garden of the manor through the thick fog flowing close to the ground. The pale face of a moon and the stars around it are hidden by the clouds gathering at the top of the sky. The scent of oncoming rain is carried by the wind as the branches of the trees rock back and forth in the darkness.

While you are busy with the book in front of you, Brahms's hand slips under your shirt, caressing your side and moving to your stomach. "It's ticklish," you tell him. Your stomach quivers under his fingertips. "Continue," he hums as an answer, moving his touch up on your torso. His fingers brush over the soft skin under your breasts. Your shirt is almost at your neck now. "Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down with grief, and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror—for this still voice was the pant of a lion rising—"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world, and to let me go another?" Brahms's movements are lazy as he pushes your shirt out of the way entirely. His thumb brushes over your nipple until it becomes a hard pebble under his fingertip. "Give one glance to my horrible life when you are gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left?" Your voice trembles as you continue reading. The man in your arm tugs on your nipple, soothing the slight pain immediately after. "Continue," Brahms hums against your skin when you stop for a second. His lips slide over the side of your breast as he leans closer to your chest until his mouth closes around your nipple. "What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for a companion and for some hope?" The words roll down your tongue heavily as your voice shakes. Brahms's teeth graze over the sensitive skin around your nipple while his tongue laps on the hard bud. His other hand finds its way to your other tit, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh. "You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?" You feel like a raw nerve as you read. Your breasts ache under his ministrations. Your nipple is soaked by his saliva as he sucks and sucks on your tit. His tongue circles and laps and draws. Your hand is still in his hair, holding onto his curls and pushing his face even closer as your back arches. "I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back—walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my hand." Your fingers tighten around his curls. You gasp and groan. "Fuck! Brahms! Please!" "Read," he murmurs, not even bothering to lift his mouth from your breast even though you can feel his erection pressing to your thigh. For a second, you turn back to the book, lips open to continue reading, when suddenly, you change your mind. A smirk tugs on your lips as you look at the top of Brahms's head as he still suckles on your nipple. "Brahmsy," you coo. Your voice is deep and sultry. You can feel him freezing next to you. "Be a good boy for mommy." His whine trembles through your body from your breast to your pussy. The visible change in the air makes your thighs clench for some friction. "You want to be a good boy, don't you?" You ask him. His hips jerk against your thigh. "I want your words, baby." His mouth leaves your breast with a quiet pop. Your skin shines with his saliva. "Yes," he replies, staring at you with wide eyes. "You should eat my pussy to prove it," you smirk at him, already pushing away the blanket to open your legs wider. "If you will be good enough, I will let you fuck me." His eyes dart down between your legs while his head is still resting on your breast. There is a fight in him. He wants to stay and suck on your tit while you read him, but his hand already reaches between your thighs, palming your sex through your thin panties. You are warm under his possessive hold. "Mommy is waiting," you break the silence again. "Mommy," he groans, sliding down your body to become face-to-face with your center. His voice is high and whiny.

There are times when Brahms calls you mommy without really wanting to say anything. He just likes the way the word rolls down his tongue and grabs your attention.

"Good boy," you hum, lifting your lower body to help him tug down your panties. You are not even sure why you wear them when you go to bed. Brahms loves waking up early in the morning when the sun isn't even showing yet to warm his cock in your tight hole as he falls back asleep.

His eyes are on your wet slit as he throws your panties over his shoulder, not even caring where it lands. He uses his fingers to open you up, gliding a third finger over your folds. Your wetness soaks his digit before he takes it in his mouth to lick off your juices. A satisfied rumble breaks free from his chest.

You spread your legs wider, digging your feet deeper into the mattress to brace yourself. Brahms's fingers grab onto your thighs as he adjusts himself on his stomach, his broad shoulders pushing against your flesh.

Your head falls back on the pillows when you feel his tongue on your pussy. He laps over your slit, wanting more of your taste. Your hands go to your breasts to tease yourself while he is busy between your legs. His tongue rubs on your clit before closing his lips around it to suck you there this time. His eyes are on your breast, watching your nipples peaking out between your fingers. He suckles and slurps, pushing you to the edge with each brush of his tongue over your sensitive bud. Your pussy aches and flutters as you get higher and higher. "Good boy, Brahms," you praise him. "You are such a good boy for mommy." He whines under your words, diving into your pussy even more. His face is slick with your wetness, and his tongue glides down on your slit to poke into your hole. Your hips jerk against his prodding tongue while he tries to keep you in place. Your taste and smell fill his senses. There is nothing else in the world for Brahms but you. Only you. "Your finger, baby." Your words come out weak and quiet. The familiar burn in your lower stomach is distracting. Brahms just hums, latching on your clit once again while pressing his finger into your hole as you asked. One finger, then two. He is eager and overwhelming. Your eyes fall shut, and your lips open with a hoarse cry. Pleasure flares over your body, and your thighs tighten around Brahms's head. At the feel of your sweet hole fluttering around his thick fingers, he laps up your arousal more frantically. He helps you ride out your orgasm and prepares your pussy to take his cock next. His hips grind against the bed, humping the mattress without his noticing.

His face and beard glint with your juices when he breaks away from your pussy to look at your face more clearly. Your chest heaves and your hands are still on your breasts. Your eyes shine with satisfaction and desire when you look at him.

"You are a good boy, Brahms," you tell him, smiling. "You are mommy's good boy, hm?" "Yes," he nods. "Can I-?" You hum, putting your hand on the back of his head to pull him over your body. His weight is warm and comforting on top of you. The tent in his pants nudges your center. "Do you want mommy's pussy?" You grin. "Do you want to fuck me, Brahmsy?" He almost wails. "Please!" His hips prod against you, chasing any friction he can get. "Please."

While you are busy in each other's arms, it starts to rain outside.

#brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

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rainystarters · 7 months

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๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 stories and songs . . . 〗 a collection of sentence starters inspired by various codex entries from the dragon age rpg series. some prompts usfw. adjust details as necessary.

the wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song.

heed our words, hear our cry.

oh, fair damsel of the garden!

surely your work is far too vital to be interrupted by one like me.

i was a fool to pluck that flower.

you are not a man known for your honor.

you allowed me to live once, and so now i do the same for you.

i am humbled by your words.

but some things cannot be repent.

there is something in here with us.

death is certain, either way.

you have been my rock and my shield.

strike true, do not waver. and let not your prey suffer.

as the sapling bends, so must you.

you are lost, and soon you will fade.

go forth and claim the empty throne of heaven.

you have brought doom upon the world.

magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

they shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

there is but one truth.

all things in this world are finite.

each night in dreams you may always remember me.

the light shall lead you safely.

i am but your faithful servant.

if blood must be shed and used, so be it.

step away from this folly, before it consumes us all.

i long to dance with you beneath the moonlight.

do not despair. for it is not you, it is of me.

my most heartfelt apologies for the ripped bodice.

such depravity i have never been forced to suffer!

let them hunt, and dread finding me.

truth will hold you for that is what truth does.

i shouldn't have doubted your resolve.

please accept my humble apologies.

in truth, it is i who has been most vulnerable.

the seals are already weakening.

it must be protected at all costs.

of unknown metal and magic keen, a finer blade there's never been.

any army is only as good as its equipment.

blessed by the vine in spring, i shall not fear the winter's sting.

only fools ignore the history of the ground they walk and the people they meet.

i could use an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night.

i hope they found peace.

blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

in blood, my will is written.

we are forever in your graces.

the oath you have taken is all but broken.

can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?

once we raised up our chalice in victory.

why change the past when you can own this day?

the wolves are our allies.

always keep an eye out for the noble owl.

nothing burns like the first cup.

gallows master, hold they hand. hold it back awhile.

look away, look into the sun.

you know we all are dying.

alas, i cannot stay.

we'll beat down the bastard, and then we'll get plastered!

what of the old secrets the burn in our hearts?

now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

but it is our blood he seeks.

you will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge.

for all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth.

it moves on without you, uncaring.

who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

what was your vision of our purpose?

so buy the lads a round.

i'm ashore for the night and seeking company.

i'd still rather die.

why be what i am when i can be more?

have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today?

for have i not grown in skill and measure?

binding a demon of higher power is dangerous...

let it be my choice to have served and died.

i'm not staying to watch you die like a fool.

the undead you have been fighting are people i killed with my own hands.

here is my soul, trapped in a cage of bone.

turn around, face the shadows. don't blink.

just going to lie here for a while.

chopping off their heads should do the trick.

i am empty, filled with nothing.

arrogance becomes our end.

i'm here to die. but i won't go quietly.

i don't want to die like this.

cry for the past; only there does glory dwell.

so the forest grows, a reflection of our might.

mourn the past and all that was left there.

mastery of the self is mastery of the world.

suffering is choice and we can refuse it.

pride disguises itself in its surety.

#rp meme #fantasy rp meme #action rp memes #sentence starters #rp sentence starters #rp prompts #rp sentence meme #rp starters

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thelustybraavosimaid · 1 month

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There is an unfortunately pervasive aspect of this fandom in that people conflate and replace what is established in canon with what is "true" in fanonland. Or they let their biases run wild and come up with a wide array of baseless ideas.

I tire of this.

Was is when a 22 year old adult started showing interest in a pubescent 14 year old?

This is not out of place in a universe where the author turned Daenerys and Drogo into some love story, twisted as it was, or when he had admitted he was playing around with Sandor and Sansa in the books and that "there was something there," or when he has commissioned Sansan fanart hanging on his wall.

The man does not give two flying fucks about age gaps, even problematic ones by our modern standards.

Was it when he trapped her in Dorne with knights outside ready to kill anyone who tried to help her?

Why would they kill anyone who tried to help her? Lyanna was found in a bed of blood and was ill, so she possibly had puerperal fever after giving birth. There was no way she didn't have a wetnurse to accompany her. Was this wetnurse supposed to have been slain by the Kingsguard for daring to assist Lyanna?

Was it when he joined the war to kill her remaining family and Northerners?

He didn't join the war to specifically kill her family. I find it hard to believe that anyone could forget Rhaegar had stakes of his own, and family of his own. Like, if it wasn't for Rhaegar dying, Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon wouldn't have been killed by the Mountain and Amory Lorch.

He didn't deliberately join the war to kill Lyanna's family, he did it so he could win it, return to King's Landing, and depose Aerys. This has been his goal as far back as the tourney at Harrenhal:

His lordship lacked the funds to pay such munificent prizes, they argued; someone else must surely have stood behind him, someone who did not lack for gold but preferred to remain in the shadows whilst allowing the Lord of Harrenhal to claim the glory for hosting this magnificent event. We have no shred of evidence that such a "shadow host" ever existed, but the notion was widely believed at the time and remains so today.

But if indeed there was a shadow, who was he, and why did he choose to keep his role a secret? A dozen names have been put forward over the years, but only one seems truly compelling: Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone.

If this tale be believed, 'twas Prince Rhaegar who urged Lord Walter to hold the tourney, using his lordship's brother Ser Oswell as a gobetween. Rhaegar provided Whent with gold sufficient for splendid prizes in order to bring as many lords and knights to Harrenhal as possible. The prince, it is said, had no interest in the tourney as a tourney; his intent was to gather the great lords of the realm together in what amounted to an informal Great Council, in order to discuss ways and means of dealing with the madness of his father, King Aerys II, possibly by means of a regency or a forced abdication. (The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring, The World of Ice and Fire)

—

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but...well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." (Jaime I, AFfC)

The major wrench thrown in Rhaegar's plans was Aerys attending said tourney.

Was it when he left her to die in a pool of her own blood?

Rhaegar was dead before then, and even as he was dying he whispered Lyanna's name, as was semi-confirmed in the World of Ice and Fire app.

Leading a large host to the Trident, Rhaegar met Robert in battle duelling on horseback in the fording of the river Rhaegar was killed after giving Robert a serious wound. He would die with Lyanna's name on his lips. (Rhaegar Targaryen, AWoIaF app)

She was in his thoughts even while dying.

Was it when she screamed for her brother to save her?

She didn't. And she would never call Ned "Lord Eddard."

As they came together in a rush of steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. "Eddard!" she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.

"Lord Eddard," Lyanna called again.

"I promise," he whispered. "Lya, I promise..."

"Lord Eddard," a man echoed from the dark. (Eddard X, AGoT)

This is based on a fever dream, of which George already said that not all dreams are literal. Rose petals certainly were not blowing across a blood-streaked sky, after all, and by Ned's account, the petals in Lyanna's hold were not blue, but crushed and blackened.

Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. (Eddard I, AGoT)

Moreover:

I might mention, though, that Ned's account, which you refer to, was in the context of a dream...and a fever dream at that. Our dreams are not always literal.

[Source]

So we're still, deliberately, in the dark about the events surrounding the tower of joy.

You'll need to wait for future books to find out more about the Tower of Joy and what happened there, I fear.

————

Was it when she begged to be buried with her family in Winterfell?

About this.

It was already a given that Lyanna's body was going to be returned home, as all Starks are traditionally interred in the crypts.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that. (Eddard I, AGoT)

The only exception to this rule has been Brandon the Shipwright, since he was lost at sea. Rickard and Brandon died in King's Landing yet they were returned to Winterfell, so I doubt she'd truly have to beg Ned for that:

They were almost at the end now, and Bran felt a sadness creeping over him. "And there's my grandfather, Lord Rickard, who was beheaded by Mad King Aerys. His daughter Lyanna and his son Brandon are in the tombs beside him. Not me, another Brandon, my father's brother. They're not supposed to have statues, that's only for the lords and the kings, but my father loved them so much he had them done." (Bran VII, AGoT)

The problem is how frequently this allusion to a promise has been in Ned's chapters. I doubt he would be thinking of it nearly as much if it was solely about Lyanna's bones returning home, so her pleading must narratively carry a deeper meaning. We are talking about a man who has said before that he had lived with lies for fourteen years and how it often troubled him at night.

Jon was fourteen at the start of the series.

Please direct me to the "love story"

Regarding the possible nature of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship, I believe this quote of George's implies it was indeed a romance, in his own preferred telling of one:

It’s interesting, to get back to this issue of romance that you raised earlier. When I was in Spain a few years ago, I had dinner with a woman — a Spanish academic — and a big fan of both science fiction and romance, and she had read a lot of my stuff because people said I was a very romantic writer. And she sort of launched at me and said, “What are you talking about?! You are not a romantic writer, you know. Nobody ever lives happily ever after in your books!” I was defending it, saying, “Well, but that’s a different tradition of romance. I don’t — I’m a romantic writer in the tradition of The Great Gatsby and Romeo and Juliet, and, you know, the Beauty and the Beast. These things don’t necessarily have happy endings, but aren’t the most powerful romances the unfulfilled romances — the romances where people go their separate ways, but they’ll always have Paris, like in Casablanca, one of the films I showed here. You know, they go separate at the end, but they’ll always have Paris.” And she basically said, “No, you’re wrong. They have to be happily ever after together for it to be romance, otherwise it’s just sad.”

[Source: 03:19]

Rhaegar and Lyanna's story is analogous to the tale of Bael the Bard and the Stark maiden; there was a reason why this tale of the blue winter rose was told to Jon specifically. Like the Stark maiden in the story, Lyanna loved Rhaegar so much that she bore him a son.

Bael and the Stark maiden's tale was not a happily ever after, either; both lovers died in the end. But their union did produce a child.

#asoiaf #rhaegar targaryen

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holdmytesseract · 11 months

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moodboard by @chennqingg <3

Through The Years

Jotun!King!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: This story takes you and Loki on a journey through the twins life. From their first steps all the way to their first time falling in love.

Warnings for this Chapter: fluff, tiny bit angst, babies!

Word Count: 2,1k

a/n: I know, I know, it took me a long time to finally post it... I hope y'all can forgive me. 🙈 Anyways, here it is! Enjoy! 🧡

This sequel is based on @eleniblue 's ideas. 😊

Divider by the lovely @fictive-sl0th

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @theaudacitytowrite @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @valencia-rou @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @lokiforever @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @hisredheadedgoddess28 @km-ffluv @jaidenhawke @vbecker10 (Continuing in the comments)

❄️Chapter Two ❄️

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter One - First Steps

"Over a year old, really?" You nodded with a smile, bouncing Áki gently on your arm. "Mhm. They are growing very fast." "My my..." The sweet and kind older lady said, shaking her head. "Time flies by." "Indeed."

Once in a while you would visit the city; go to the market place - mostly when there was a market, and talked to several citizens - bonding with your people. After all, you were their queen - and even though Loki did most of the royal duties, you wanted to do at least that. It became a tradition. Whenever you made your trips and talked to the Jotuns, you went alone. No guards. No Loki. Just you. You wanted them to see you as their queen, sure, but also as a normal woman, who is interested in their lives and wellbeing. Your husband didn't quite like it at first. Well, not the idea itself, rather that you were going alone - but you insisted. This time, though, you didn't go alone. You took Áki with you, while Váli was with his father. Both twins would've been a bit too much to take care of alone in the city with dozens of people. Especially now; given the fact that they were a few months over a year old now and therefore very quirky. Winter was luckily over and spring had just begun - so it wasn't that cold when you went to on your traditional trip.

"Can they walk already?" The female Jotun asked, looking adoringly at the baby boy in your arms, who enjoyed the sun on his face and played happily with the wooden warrior figure his father had gifted him. "Áki is on the verge of starting to walk. I think it won't take him very long anymore to get the nick of it. And Váli… He has just learned how to pull himself up on his feet, so... He needs a bit more time - which is totally fine." The woman smiled, causing you to smile as well. "My son took his time as well, but now he grew into a strong, healthy man. I do hope the princes are growing up strong and healthy, too. Thank you for your visit, your majesty." She curtsied, "I hope so, too. Thank you - and you are welcome." and gave you a last, sweet smile, before she redirected her attention back to her ice flowers.

After that conversation, you decided to call it a day, given the fact that you were quite tired and your son as well. "Let's head back home, Áki, shall we? Home to your brother and father?" The little boy smiled, ruby eyes shining. "Dada, Vava!" You giggled, pressing a kiss against his cerulean, chubby cheek and said your goodbyes to several Jotun's before you made your way back to the palace.

You spend the rest of the day alone with the twins, after you've been told that the king was indisposed, because of a stupid incident with one of the merchants, which supplied the kingdom.

After the night had swallowed Jotunheim and the princes were deep and fast asleep, you changed into your nightgown and read the book you found in the library yesterday; waiting for your husband to return. As it got very late and he still wasn't back, you decided to go to his study; looking after him. And that's what you did. Tip-toeing down the dimly lit hallways of the palace, until you reached the big, familiar door. You lifted your hand to knock; getting a quite annoyed and grumpy 'Yes?!' in return. Gently, you opened the door and peeked inside, finding Loki sitting at his desk, hunched over the table; one big hand rubbing his temple. He was stressed. You could tell that already. The fire in the fireplace crackled and creating a warm and cosy atmosphere.

"What is it now?! I-" Loki interrupted his harsh sentence as soon as his tired eyes landed on you. "Darling!" The rudeness in his voice was immediately gone. "Oh, what a sight for sore eyes!" You smiled, happy that you were able to make him smile. "Hello, my love," you said, rounding the desk to greet him. As soon as you were in reach, Loki stretched out his hands and pulled you immediately in his lap; sitting you down on his thick, strong thighs. You shrieked up in surprise, but giggled when he buried his face in the crook of your neck, literally inhaling your scent and holding you close. "I missed you, my flower... This day has been way too long..." "I missed you, too..." You ran your hand through his raven locks, causing him to relax even further into your body. "When is the king returning to his chambers, to join his wife in their marital bed?" A big sigh left Loki's lips. "Unfortunately, not yet. I have to finish this." You almost started to pout. "Can't this wait until tomorrow?" You felt him shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, my darling. I'm sorry." Now you were the one who sighed and just cuddled closer. You and Loki spent the next few minutes like that. Tangled up with each other, enjoying the other's closeness.

"Áki almost took his first step today." Your husband lifted his head, looking at you smiling and with a twinkle in his beautiful red eyes. Proudness. "Really?" "Mhm... Back in the city. When he was about to set one foot in front of the other, though, he lost the balance and fell on his bum." A sweet chuckle slipped past the Jotun's lips. "He's going to learn it in no time, I'm sure of it."

And Loki was proven right... Only two days later, the little prince took his first steps.

You, Loki and the twins were out for a little walk outside the palace; catching up on some precious family time and enjoying the first strong rays of the spring sun. No duties, no advisors, no guards - just the four of you.

Váli sat upon his father's shoulders, visibly delighted at the sight he had now; his eyes having so much to look at suddenly. Áki was in your arms, being very restless. He always wanted to be let down and move forward himself without your help. It was difficult at first, but you let him try and try and try, of course, always supporting him. On the third try, the little boy made it then. Holding on to both of your hands for dear life, he took his first three steps. "Yay!" You squealed excitedly. "Loki, look!" Your husband was walking quite a bit ahead with Váli, but turned at your words. A light-hearted, proud laugh rumbled through his chest and he smiled from ear to ear. "I told you, my love! I told you!" "You did!" You giggled, carefully helping Áki along. "You're doing so great, sweetheart. Mama's so proud of you - and Dada, too." At the sixth step, he cautiously let go of your hands, wanting to walk alone. You let him, of course. Loki came closer and squatted down, reaching out one hand. The other kept his other son safe and steady on his broad shoulders. Váli had his small hands buried inside his father's luscious curls. "Are you coming to daddy, little man?" And he did. Walking on very wobbly legs and almost falling two times, Áki reached the safety of his father's hand and arm after three small steps. Loki smiled broadly, scooped the small boy up in his free arm and peppered the soft cerulean skin of his face with kisses, causing Áki to squeal and giggle. You just smiled; loving to see Loki being a dad. He was perfect. Made to be a father - and a king.

About two weeks later decided Váli to take his first steps as well. You had put both boys down for the night; got yourself ready for the royal banquet and just wanted to check in on them a last time, before the caregiver was going to take over. To your sheer shock, you found Váli not inside his crib, but outside. A short wave of anxiety rocked your body; already afraid something happened to him, while climbing out of his bed. But then your brain caught up with the situation; eyes landing on the slightly damaged crib. Váli must've slipped through the gap in the wooden frame... You immediately made a mental note to get this fixed.

Shaking your head, you approached the little prince. "Sweetie, what are you doing, huh?" You spoke in a hushed voice, not to wake Áki. The little boy turned around to face you with a big smile on his lips. "Mamama!" He was standing on wobbly feet, holding on to his bed tightly. But when he saw you approaching, he suddenly let go, swaying dangerously for a moment (You were already on the verge of jumping forward to catch him and prevent him from crashing against the crib.) - and then he started to walk towards you, putting one foot in front of the other. You froze in motion; looking with awe at the toddler. Walking... He was walking! An audible gasp left your lips. "By the norns... Honey, you are walking!" You exclaimed excitedly - but as quiet as possible, catching Váli. "I'm so proud of you!" You kissed his chubby cheek - when you heard a knock on the chamber's door. Must be the caregiver, you thought and stood up, carrying the boy with you to the door. It was, indeed the caregiver. "Good evening, your majesty." She curtsied, softly smiling. "Good evening, Alruna. Before you look after the twins... Would you please fetch my husband? Tell him it's urgent and that he has to come to our chambers right away." You didn't want Loki to miss this. You know how sad he'd be, if he missed his son's first - well, now second steps. "As you wish, my queen."

Alruna was quick to leave; making her way towards the grand hall of the throne room. The doors were open; a few guests for the festives had already arrived. The caregiver's eyes searched the small crowd, looking for the king. As soon as her eyes landed upon Loki, she approached him. "My king." A curtsy. "Apologies for the disturbance but the queen sent me to fetch you. I shall tell you that it's urgent. She wishes you to come to your majesties chambers right away." Loki's ruby eyes widened at her words. Fear started to flood his veins, heart hammering against his chest. What if something was wrong with her or his sons? He gave the caregiver a nod. "Tell her I'll be with her right away." "Yes, my king." With another curtsy, Alruna vanished again; returning to her king's and queen's chamber.

Loki turned to face the few guests, which had already arrived. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. My wife seems to be in need of me. I'll be right back." He excused himself and walked with fast, hasty steps towards your shared quarters. The anxiety was still present. Without knocking he stormed inside. "Love, I came as quick as possible! What is the m-" The king's words died down as his eyes witnessed what was going on. You were in the middle of the spacious living room, squatted down near the fireplace with a big smile on your face. Váli was highly focused, as he made a few wobbly steps forwards. But when he noticed his father - Y/E/C eyes looked up to meet his and the little boy lost his concentration and balance; resulting in him crashing to the hard floor. He landed rather ungently on his bum - thick tears starting to fall immediately.

Loki was the first to react. Eyes widening, he immediately picked his crying son up, holding him against his chest. "Hush, my little love, everything is alright." You were back on your feet as well; a concerned look on your face as you stepped over and placed a hand on Váli's back. "He's not hurt, is he?" Your husband shook his head, pressing a kiss on the boy's head and rocking him gently. "I don't think so. It was just the shock, I'd say." "Seems so." A silent minute passed, before Loki spoke up again; audible joy in his words. "Was that the reason why you called for me? To show me his first steps?" You nodded; expression shifting into a smile. "Yes, sorry. I have the feeling I worried you. I just didn't want you to miss this." The king smiled. "Why thank you. I'm happy that I was able to witness such a big milestone in our son's life." Then he directed his attention to the child in his arms, who had calmed down again and was now clinging to his father's chest; cuddling close. "Daddy's so proud of you, my little prince."

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #jotun loki #jotun loki x reader #jotun loki x you #the ice flower au

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pininghermit · 6 months

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Alucard Dating Trevor's Cousin

Genre: Fluff

Summary: A Belmont falling in love with a non human?

AN: enjoy :)

Afterlife audiences

Lisa: Aww its giving enemies to lovers 🙏🏻

Dracula: in a state of constant homeostasis I would take Lisa's word on that.

Living world audiences-

Trevor: She uses a whip. And not for right reasons. (Face palms)

Sypha elbowing Trevor in the ribs: They're a good match glares at her husband

A Belmont chasing vampires? Old news in both Transylvania and the afterlife. It was a destiny the Belmont clan had shouldered for centuries, a duty to shield Transylvania from the encroaching darkness.

But that duty, Trevor grumbled to himself, never included courting a dhampir from the House of Dracula.

Specifically, the only surviving member who just happened to be the prophesied savior with hair like spun gold.

Trevor watched, aghast, as you, the oddball of the Belmont clan, leaned in towards Alucard, the aforementioned dhampir, with a line so cheesy it could curdle milk.

"[Name], let's get you back to the forge," a very flustered Trevor pushed you back into the your smithy before you could spew any more black mail material.

"Why is he taken?" you whispered loudly in his ear, just as Alucard's head snapped in your direction, a single eyebrow raised in amusement.

Trevor wanted to crawl under his workbench. "Repair my dagger before I stab you with a dull one," he muttered, shoving you towards the forge and uselessly trying to manhandle the heavy wooden door shut. "And for the love of garlic, keep it professional!"

You, of course, just grinned that impish grin that both infuriated and strangely charmed him. "Professional? Where's the fun in that, fellow Belmont?" With a wink, you disappeared into the depths of the forge, leaving Trevor to face a potentially bemused Alucard alone.

Alucard's mouth barely formed a sound before Trevor glared back at him.

"Not a word!"

"Not a word, Alucard." The ale lover declared. Leaving the bemused dhampir chuckling by himself.

Alucard's mouth quirked into a barely-there smile as he looked up from his tea. "A smith with so much time to spare must not be that good of a smith," he remarked, his voice dry but his amusement evident. His gaze flicked to the fistful of marbles you held, a question hanging in the air.

"From where?" he asked, already knowing the answer was irrelevant. These were just the latest trinkets you'd woven into his life – a slingshot you'd found, a peculiar feather, a chipped clay figurine. He kept every one, tucked away in a hidden drawer that no one else ever touched.

Satisfied with the chosen marble, you met his eyes with a playful challenge. "Whatever shall blacksmiths ruined by the virtue of love do?" you inquired, your voice dripping with mock despair.

He snorted, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. "Are you reading those sappy romance novels again?" It was a struggle, but Alucard managed to maintain a semblance of seriousness despite the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Undeterred by his amusement, you revealed another book from your ever-present satchel. "Just browsing, Alucard," you said with a wink. "Expanding my horizons, you see. One can't rely solely on the thrill of forge and gruff warriors."

"Somehow," he began, his voice a low murmur, "it always comes as a wonder how you find those… treasures in the Belmont library."

Either you have taken over the task of expanding the library or fierce Belmont clan had always had a predisposition for sappy romance novels.

Alucard's first love had been a cold, unforgiving winter. Betrayal, sharp as a blizzard wind, had shattered his heart into a million pieces. He had retreated into himself, a fortress of ice and solitude.

His second love was a fleeting spring, a succubus who reveled in the sting of manipulation. Her touch was sweet fire, but the flame died as quickly as the coins exchanged in stolen nights.

Yet, his third love was Summer. You were his summer. Heat of forge, clang of metals, unabashed laughter and corny love confessions. Summer heat that melted his frozen heart and evaporated the maddening poison of spring.

Your love, a gentle force like a bird's flight, had chased away the lingering poison of his foolish choices.

You were his third love, the one who stayed. And unlike the fleeting seasons of his past.

#castlevania #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #Alucard x Belmont Reader #fluff #Belmont reader #Hermit has given up on sanity

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searchingforserendipity25 · 1 year

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Maedhros builds Himring to be impenetrable, unbreakable, and inviolable.

He shows Fingon every corner, whenever he visits; for always it grows, alters like a beast with many skins. All the secret stairways and mind-wearying labyrinths, the pipework of thermal water that kept the hallways thrumming with life as if with heart’s blood.

In case of a siege, he says, for it might come to be that the hidden routes should serve as places for Fingon to bring reinforcements and supplies under the eye of the Enemy.

They both know what Maedhros might come to be; and he learned with diligence all the places the besieged might use to escape, or for trickery, where he might leverage an entry to the stronghold of his beloved, and close tunnels, and trap the red-plumed elves of the Lord of Himring.

“In case of a siege,” says Fingon, allowing that possibility only.

He looks down at Maedhros from where he walked ahead among the curling turret steps, familiar with the heart of the fortress. “But a siege shall not come. We, besiegers ourselves, shall have our day. In the days to come the land will ease its ceaseless winter, that flowers shall bloom in spring in the shadow of Himring.”

“Come to me in the summer of our victory, and Himring will greet you in splendour,” laughs Maedhros; and Fingon bends down as he reaches, presses Maedhros against the warm stones, captures the master of the castle with a dizzying kiss.

Himring is Maedhros’ masterpiece, and it outlasts the sinking of the continent, the sundering of the world.

The towers fall to ruin, are worn down into lonesome isolation. Himling island remains, still: all the turret walls shattered, worn smooth by the hands of the wind. Century after century; the gulls conquer it without mercy, build nests among the old pantries, atop the rusted metal of the pipes.

Sparse white grass grows through and around the shattered stones of the last worn steps. On rare days, before midsummer, desperate mariners make the journey to the cursed isle, to gather the small buds among the wreckage.

Men say they are bad to eat, but good to have; good fortune for sweethearts they bring, courage against the swells, and certain fidelity if worn on wedding days.

#ficlet #my fics #maedhros #fingon #russingon #the silm #tolkien fanfiction #tolkien

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 days

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Virginia Woolf: On Words

Listen to the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf’s voice.

A transcript of Woolf’s broadcast, ‘On Craftsmanship’, BBC, 29 April 1937.

Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations.

They have been out and about, on people’s lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields, for so many centuries.

And that is one of the chief difficulties in writing them today — that they are stored with meanings, with memories, that they have contracted so many famous marriages in the past.

The splendid word ‘incarnadine’, for example — who can use it without remembering also ‘multitudinous seas’?

In the old days, of course, when English was a new language, writers could invent new words and use them.

Nowadays it is easy enough to invent new words — they spring to the lips whenever we see a new sight or feel a new sensation — but we cannot use them because the English language is old.

You cannot use a brand new word in an old language because of the very obvious yet always mysterious fact that a word is not a single and separate entity, but is part of other words.

Indeed it is not a word until it is part of a sentence.

Words belong to each other, although, of course, only a great poet knows that the word ‘incarnadine’ belongs to ‘multitudinous seas’.

To combine new words with old words is fatal to the constitution of the sentence. In order to use new words properly you would have to invent a whole new language; and that, though no doubt we shall come to it, is not at the moment our business.

Our business is to see what we can do with the old English language as it is.

How can we combine the old words in new orders so that they survive, so that they create beauty, so that they tell the truth?

That is the question.

And the person who could answer that question would deserve whatever crown of glory the world has to offer.

Think what it would mean if you could teach, or if you could learn, the art of writing.

Why, every book, every newspaper would tell the truth, or would create beauty.

But there is, it would appear, some obstacle in the way, some hindrance to the teaching of words.

For though at this moment at least a hundred professors are lecturing the literature of the past, at least a thousand critics are reviewing the literature of the present, and hundreds upon hundreds of young men and women are passing examinations in English literature with the utmost credit, still — do we write better, do we read better than we read and wrote four hundred years ago when we were unlectured, uncriticised, untaught?

Is our modern Georgian literature a patch on the Elizabethan?

Well, where are we to lay the blame?

Not on our professors; not on our reviewers; not on our writers; but on words.

It is words that are to blame. They are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most unteachable of all things.

Of course, you can catch them and sort them and place them in alphabetical order in dictionaries.

But words do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind.

If you want proof of this, consider how often in moments of emotion when we most need words we find none.

Yet there is the dictionary; there at our disposal are some half-a-million words all in alphabetical order.

But can we use them? No, because words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind.

Look once more at the dictionary.

There beyond a doubt lie plays more splendid than Antony and Cleopatra; poems more lovely than the Ode to a Nightingale; novels beside which Pride and Prejudice or David Copperfield are the crude bunglings of amateurs.

It is only a question of finding the right words and putting them in the right order.

But we cannot do it because they do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind. And how do they live in the mind?

Variously and strangely, much as human beings live, by ranging hither and thither, falling in love, and mating together.

It is true that they are much less bound by ceremony and convention than we are.

Royal words mate with commoners. English words marry French words, German words, Indian words, Negro words, if they have a fancy.

Indeed, the less we enquire into the past of our dear Mother English the better it will be for that lady’s reputation. For she has gone a-roving, a-roving fair maid.

Thus to lay down any laws for such irreclaimable vagabonds is worse than useless. A few trifling rules of grammar and spelling are all the constraint we can put on [words].

All we can say about them, as we peer at them over the edge of that deep, dark and only fitfully illuminated cavern in which they live — the mind — all we can say about them is that [words] seem to like people to think before they use them, and to feel before they use them, but to think and to feel not about them, but about something different.

They are highly sensitive, easily made self-conscious.

They do not like to have their purity or their impurity discussed.

If you start a Society for Pure English, they will show their resentment by starting another for Impure English — hence the unnatural violence of much modern speech; it is a protest against the puritans.

They are highly democratic, too; they believe that one word is as good as another; uneducated words are as good as educated words, uncultivated words as cultivated words, there are no ranks or titles in their society.

Nor do they like being lifted out on the point of a pen and examined separately.

They hang together, in sentences, in paragraphs, sometimes for whole pages at a time.

They hate being useful; they hate making money; they hate being lectured about in public.

In short, they hate anything that stamps them with one meaning or confines them to one attitude, for it is their nature to change.

Perhaps that is their most striking peculiarity — their need of change.

It is because the truth [words] try to catch is many-sided, and they convey it by being themselves many-sided, flashing first this way, then that. Thus they mean one thing to one person, another thing to another person; they are unintelligible to one generation, plain as a pikestaff to the next. And it is because of this complexity that they survive.

Perhaps then one reason why we have no great poet, novelist or critic writing to-day is that we refuse words their liberty.

We pin them down to one meaning, their useful meaning, the meaning which makes us catch the train, the meaning which makes us pass the examination.

And when words are pinned down they fold their wings and die.

Finally, and most emphatically, words, like ourselves, in order to live at their ease, need privacy.

Undoubtedly they like us to think, and they like us to feel, before we use them; but they also like us to pause; to become unconscious.

Our unconsciousness is their privacy; our darkness is their light...

That pause was made, that veil of darkness was dropped, to tempt words to come together in one of those swift marriages which are perfect images and create everlasting beauty.

But no — nothing of that sort is going to happen to-night.

The little wretches are out of temper; disobliging; disobedient; dumb. What is it that they are muttering? ‘Time’s up! Silence!’'

Source Virginia Woolf: The Censorship of Books

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writingcold · 2 months

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Guess what...

I thought a double post to get us going would make for a good start. So, we’ve met our Jacob, let’s roll into chapter one, shall we?

Content Warnings: I need to put this here - this is a work of fiction. There will be imagery of violence, character deaths, inequities, poverty, heavy angst, and adult sexual situations throughout the story. Please read at your own discretion. All characters are fictional, though some of the big events that are shown are historical, but may not be historically accurate.

Thank you to @edgingthedarkness for all of her help as my all mighty beta for this fiction. She listened to me drone on and on about it for months on end. She really took a bullet for this one! She created the banner for this story as well! Also thank you to @katuschka for her amazing skills in bringing our hero Jakub to life. Divider art by @ firefly-graphics.

The Dead

Jake X Fem!Reader

Chapter One word count: approximately 7100 words

Warnings in this part: None other than language, being in the graveyard, perhaps seeing our ghost for the first time from y/n’s pov.

Chapter 1: The Visitor in the Graveyard

Cemeteries were supposed to be places of honor and reflection. For some, there is nothing but deep grief and despair but cling to the ground in a stark effort to hold on to loved ones lost. For others, the spaces are stained with loss and suffering but avoid to negate the trials of their painful, broken hearts through avoidance. For me, however, it is a place to allow my imagination to run wild. To latch on to pieces of history and rehydrate the roots of the past to weave new stories. I was driven by the need to visit the grand and lavish cemeteries of the huge urban areas, but I was equally intrigued by the tiny, backwater village graveyards of rural communities. There was inspiration to be found in the rotted marble and granite as well as the new, heartrending loss of pristine stone and vaults.

I may be known to some as a writer of spooky stories, so it would make sense that I find spaces of hallowed graves the perfect place for inspiration. Spooky is just happenstance. A cowl over the meat of what really interests me - the history; the stories that were deemed too unimportant to record, but the memory of them live on in the people who may have once had a frayed thread to the wider story. Now granted, I am not a ghost hunter, nor am I one who likes to troll these spaces in the dead of night. No. I find that they are just as freaky in the broad light of day. It may be just the flicker of shadow or color that resides in the corner of the eye, but you cannot convince me that nighttime is the only time ghosts and other entities exist or have the ability to reach out to the living side of this world. In reality, I’m the biggest scaredy cat ever.

I had passed by the forgotten cemetery way out on County Road 15 somewhere in middle Michigan two years prior when I was on a solo Spring Break road trip up on the Upper Peninsula. I had taken a few photographs with my phone of the little, closed up church and the cemetery grounds that lay across the street. While the church was surrounded by barren crop fields, the graveyard was encased in ancient, scraggly pine trees with a smattering of old oaks on three sides, as if the farmers did not dare encroach on the hallowed ground. Honestly, I had forgotten about the scrap of space until I was clearing out downloaded trip photo files on my laptop back in August.

I had found myself needing to return to the desolate grounds. My fingers ghosted across the ragged scar on my forearm that seemed to throb as I looked over the pictures. The church was that typical Midwest narrow, white structure with a steep roofline and high steeple that housed a large bell to call the farmers in for services. The weathered wooden siding needed some love and the once lush stained glass that was housed in the window casings needed attention. There were heavy locks on the doors and an old air feel to the overgrown dirt parking lot that indicated that it was no longer utilized for a spot of worship. A voice buried deep in my brain, whispered a longing to stand in the seemingly forgotten grounds of the dead. There was a drive to be amidst the weather and time eroded blocks of memories of lives that needed to stay in the distant past.

One headstone in particular had snagged my attention that day. It was truly ancient, caked in mold and dirt, the top was decayed from centuries of exposure. However, someone had attempted to keep the stone sealed with a heavy lacquer. Unlike the other antiquated monuments where the lettering was faded or completely eroded, the carved letters appeared fresh, despite the overall condition of the stormy colored granite. It was strange. No surname, just a formal name. No dates. No inscription that identified the life it memorialized. Jacob. I had felt strange when I had snapped the last bit of pixels and turned my back to the sullen treeline. My foot wobbled on the path and I tumbled down, catching my forearm and tearing open my arm in the most nasty manner. The wound healed, leaving a gnarly scar behind that had been forgotten. That was until I tripped once more across the pictures of the graveyard.

There were four weeks in October that had very few items on the calendar. I convinced my publisher and dear editor, Vinny, that I needed to return to that mid Michigan town for the sake of research. Vin was receptive. The publisher not so much. My deadline was looming and they wanted something - some manner of work that I could show to prove that I had not fallen down another hole of … Nope. Never you mind about that. I have three books under my belt and I’m only thirty three. It’s not like I’m experiencing a block or anything. A bit distracted is a good way to explain the situation. I had packed my bag, booked a room in a tiny roadside hotel and headed out from Ypsilanti with the full intention of finding the central character to my next novel, and perhaps the scrap of story that could help me get over this dry spell.

The trees were whispering with color, not the full show of Autumn yet, but it was already swirling with crispy air and chilly skies when I arrived in Frankenmuth. Oktoberfest banners were plastered across the touristy town. I found the little hotel and checked in, all the while being cordial and warm the best way I knew how. The lady behind the desk gave me recommendations for the best coffee shop and diner to visit that the locals kept secret for the most part. I smiled like she had given me insider information.

The suite was cozy with a lovely quilt across a queen sized bed, an office space and little kitchen. It would be fine for a home for an initial two weeks. I spent the better part of my first hour setting up my laptop and stack of empty notebooks, favorite pens… I had a method that was not to be trifled with. It was evening, and the sun was on the horizon when I decided to find food and make a plan for my first official day of research.

I drove through a fast food place for a sandwich and drink then proceeded to drive around the town, finding it a bit larger than what my memory had remembered. I cruised past the huge Christmas store, and through the downtown area, getting a lay of the land. I found the little coffee place and the diner that the lady at the motel had said to visit, as well as the city hall and library. I fought the urge to drive north of town to the church and graveyard. It was growing dark, and knowing me and the fact that I can get lost trying to get out of a paper bag, I opted to return to the hotel and call it a night.

Sort of.

I set up my coffee pot in the kitchenette and filled the room with the scent of chai. A smile bit at my mouth as I settled in at the desk with the local history of Saginaw county. I scrolled through a few minutes worth on the state site before I tripped over a local historical page on Frankenmuth. I had no direction as of yet, so all this reading really was moot. Just as I was getting comfy in the not-so-comfy office chair, my phone illuminated with Owen’s picture. I debated for a second, knowing that the fucker was in Rome and probably was salivating to rub it in.

“Hey, baby sister,” he said as I answered.

He sounded way too happy and the music in the background drowned out his light hearted voice. I tried to ask how he was doing, but he was pretty much shouting over me.

“Have you been paying attention to my texts at all?” he jabbered, his words spilling out fast.

“I’ve been objectively staying distant,” I remarked as I kicked my feet up on the table.

He let out a laugh that was instantly joined by a frilly little trill. “Come on, you’re missing all the fun we’re having.”

Ah. There it was. He had company when he hadn’t left with company. I grinned and waited for their hushed conversation to turn back to me.

“Talked with Gran earlier,” he said, his breath heavy with movement. “She said you’re in fucking Frankenmuth?”

“Yeah, research,” I said, picking at a flaw in my pants.

“Why there? It’s like milk toast and beer,” he replied just as a woman’s laugh carried across the line.

“We’ll see. Just something here is all.”

“Shit, Y/n,” he said, his tone light. “If there’s something weird about a tourist trap, you’ll find it.”

“You bet I will.”

He talked at me for another fourteen minutes while I scrolled through local county history, moreso looking at archived pictures than reading. We ran through our typical litany: check in with Gran, make sure we pay attention to each other, and actually answer a text every now and then. That last one was on me. I get it. We lost Mom and Dad when we were really young. Grandma and Grandpa raised us in Ypsilanti. After Grandpa passed, I didn’t have the heart to leave. I may have lived on the opposite side of town, but I didn’t have the heart to leave completely. Owen was a freelance photographer, and a damn fine one at that. He had built a solid reputation traveling with bands and artists and other clients around the world. But Ypsilanti was home to him still as well. We always returned home to Grandma.

There was a pause and it sounded like he was stressed. I sat up in the chair with an awful squeak as I listened to his companion speaking.

“Hey, Owen?” I asked, trying to keep my voice free of tension and failing.

“It’s all right, little sister,” he sighed. “I gotta go. It’s an early morning shoot and a few of the permits weren’t filed properly. Talk soon?”

We said our hurried goodbyes, but included a heartfelt ‘love you’. There was never an end of conversation without that phrase. It was a shared scar from losing the parents that remained. We could be angry with each other, but we always parted with a ‘love you’ for fear of never seeing the other again. It had happened. Wouldn’t happen again - not in our family.

Tea savored and some soft music in the background, I tucked in to read a bit. I caught up on the socials, and called Gran to say goodnight. We shared a giggle and a promise to say goodnight tomorrow. There had been rain through the night. I woke at some point, light shimmering in the fringes of my sight and my stomach sloshing around. I tried to breathe through the pain that lurked there, refusing to give in to another migraine. There was a moment where I was unsure if I should move to get my meds, or dash to the bathroom to empty my stomach. So, instead, I drifted through that wasteland between conscious thought and dream. It felt like hours that I lingered in that state. The warmth of the quilt and the softness of the pillows did little to tug me deeper. I felt my lashes tickle my skin but never did they fully close.

At the three o’clock mark, I felt a chill course through my flesh. The pain was mostly gone, thankfully adverted, and simmered at a dull roar. I took in as much air as I could and slowly counted it away from my body with a soft count. I felt gray around my edges. It was a dogged malaise that haunted me for nearly two years. The migraines had increased, robbing me of days at a time. They ate my creativity and stole my will to even move. Owen and Gran were more than concerned, but when your doctor says it’s ‘just’ migraines, what is one supposed to do?

Sleep finally came; the welcomed stranger that it had been as of late laid its hands upon my brain and allowed me to be still. I woke after only a few hours, but it was enough. I lay there for more than a few beats, just listening to the world around me, my breath keeping time like a metronome. The ghost of a touch brushed itself against my shoulder. I pictured many of my characters of the past, but none fit. This was a touch that whispered of forbidden love. The striking heat was full of longing and desire and barriers. It was a shimmer of inspiration that blazed and was gone as I slipped from the snug bed.

The diner was my first stop. It was beyond crowded, but the kind waitress found me a two-top in the far corner, nestled amongst the local art and news clippings of important events. I sipped my coffee, taking in glorified high school sports from decades past, and yellowed pictures of smiling faces of long forgotten achievements. Breakfast completed, I found myself in the car heading out to Old County Highway 15. The sky was a startling shade of blue with little swirls of clouds, as if framing the lovely shades of orange, yellow and red that were gaining momentum. The church and cemetery came into view along the long stretch of straight, rolling road. My heart quickened its beat the closer I got.

I sat, parked on the side of the road, hands on the steering wheel. There was a stab in my belly that I initially identified as anxiety. But that’s not what it was. I couldn’t understand this emotion as it needled me. Instead of listening to it, I grabbed my camera, notebook and pen, and my phone, braving the wind as it swept in from the distance in waves of sharp gusts. If there was no wind, the day would actually be warm. I rolled my eyes at myself over the old feel of my thoughts. Obviously, I was suffering from too much influence from Gran. I moved towards the overgrown lawn of the church first. There were signs that it had been mowed, not often, but certainly taken care of a few times a year. I stood way back and snapped a few pictures of the stained glass on the east side of the building. I walked up and took note of the tiny etched metal placards that held names. I took a picture of each one, recording the surnames of those long since passed who had worshiped upon this ground. I repeated the process on the other side.

Pausing a moment, I looked down at my camera screen to make sure the names on the placards were clear for later research, when movement across the street caught my attention. It was no more than a shadow of tree limbs, surely, but my spine was telling me that it was a form that was clearly moving in a very non-tree-like manner. I raised my camera and took a few pictures, first of a wide angle to make sure I got in the whole range of the grounds, but then a few of the older side of the cemetery. The sight of the Jacob stone made my skin quiver with curiosity.

I crossed the street without actually looking for cars. Dangerous - not really. The only sound was that of the trees creaking and shivering in the breeze. I wondered what constituted a traffic event on such a desolate stretch of road. Perhaps my singular parking was the highlight of the day. Pausing to really look at the wrought iron, taking note of the patches of exposed rust, the fencing was actually quite beautiful for such a rural setting. Odd. The latch moved easily, betraying the care that had obviously been taken to maintain the gate had been recent. The hinges hissed a high pitched screech, but it was more like an old person getting up - once they got moving, they quieted.

My eyes skated to the Jacob stone once more, but I turned east, away from the point of interest. The small lobe was dotted with headstones marked with more recent years. My steps were measured and slow, taking in the years as close as 2017. The church may have not been used for some time, but the cemetery was still visited, and was still utilized by those of the living. The corner of my mouth tugged at the notion that the grounds were not completely forgotten.

With resolve, I turned to the much larger western stretch, but again, strayed away from the Jacob stone. I worked my way back towards the gate, finding a truly ancient stone that held a ghostly 1847 with all the other lettering eroded from its surface. The idea that this was hallowed ground for nearly two hundred years chilled me. I paused as my brain scolded me for not looking for the memorial plaque that surely would give information about the church and graveyard. I scanned the fence line, feeling like an idiot that I walked right past it. Thankfully no eyes were there to see me bumble back out the gate to feast upon the information, I took in that the church was The Church of the Redeemer, founded in 1850, although the cemetery had been consecrated well before that, with burials taking place prior to 1800. I took a picture of the information before returning to my grim browsing.

The wind began to whip through the top of the pines, creating a jaw clenching sensation swim through my guts and shiver across my flesh. I took in the formal names of James and Myrtle, William and Gertrude matching the surnames that I had seen on the stained glass on the church walls. I stooped to touch a few of the smaller stones, brushing back the soot of time, to be rewarded with dates that tickled the late 1700’s. All the while, my gaze strayed to the Jacob stone despite my need to pay attention to the spectral memories of those whose graves I lingered across.

My head tilted as I once again looked to the Jacob stone, catching how each letter of name looked to be carved by a different hand. I frowned as I returned to the stones close to the gate, careful in my footing as the ground buckled and bucked against its inhabitants. The overall condition of the headstone matched that of the first stone that bore 1847, but somehow, it felt older, despite, or perhaps because of the thick lacquer that appeared to be poured over it. The 1847 stone faced the same direction - north - as the Jacob stone. It was not as tall, but the weathering would be similar, wouldn’t it? It was interesting that the letters of Jacob appeared to be freshly scored in the stormy granite. Surely, someone was maintaining the marker, but why do that to the letters of the man’s name? Making each one different. Even the carving styles were distinct in how the letter was crafted. I snapped a few pictures before I proceeded to my target. I finally approached the grave, as if it beckoned me like a long lost… Stop. Stupid brain getting all weird, just ignore that, yeah?

The thought that each letter signified a different era struck hard as I reached out to touch the apparent flaw in the ‘A’. I scratched the thought down in my notebook. A grimace perched itself on my mouth as if accusing me of being an idiot at that moment. The scent of water wafted past my nose as I traced a finger across the name as a whole. Odd. My heart thudded thickly as I followed the cap of the ‘B’ back to the ‘J’. What was this sensation that bound itself across my chest with such… strength? Confusion touched my thoughts as I pulled my hand away. The smell of water - the smell of big water like a lake - wafted into my nostrils once more as I lifted my camera to take a few more pictures. Rationally, none of what was before me, around me, made sense. I took a step back and a sense of longing the likes I had never felt before attacked every cell of my frame. I fought for breath. My stomach pinched in anger for no reason. It was as if my life shattered without cause.

“Fuck,” I sighed as I leaned on the back of a bench that rested at the edge of the main path.

There had only been one time where that level of dread had struck - when I was told Mom and Dad were never returning to us. But somehow, this pain was deeper. It was even more painful of a sensation than that day. On the verge of sobbing, I glanced back at the stone as if that had been the source of all my woe. A shimmer of linen and a lock of chestnut seemed to peek out from the edge of the monument to disappear around the back. My feet stumbled forward. I caught myself before I could fall over. With my heart pounding sickly, and my throat closing on a yelp, I managed to move with a shred of grace towards the gate in a hurried retreat. Before I pushed my way out, I lifted my camera once more and turned back to the Jacob stone. Nothing. There was nothing there. No shadow. No sound. Even the breeze had grown gentle. I snapped a few last pictures.

Unsettled, I nearly fell across the threshold of the gate and rushed to latch it behind me. I ran across the broken asphalt of the road and hopped into the waiting driver’s seat. I discarded my camera, phone and notebook into the passenger seat before cranking over the engine. I paused before locking the doors. As if that would stop anything that lingered in the air. My eyes strayed to the headstone once more, strained in an attempt to see anything that was clearly not of this world. A profile of a man’s face was unmistakable, peering out from beyond the back of the headstone. The skin was translucent, the hair danced around like it was caught in a wind. For a moment, it turned towards me as if seeking me out over his nonexistent shoulder.

“Nope,” I gulped as I slammed my foot to the gas pedal and took off like a shot down the long, straight road.

I was all the way back to town and in my room before I could feel my skin start to slow from crawling. The hair on my head felt like it was full of static from the swirl of thoughts. Was the apparition that I saw Jacob? My hands shook as I took a long, slow drink of water. Whatever I had seen out there may not have realized my presence. Or if it did, was it playing coy? Shaking out my hands before reaching for the camera, I found I needed just a few more breaths before plugging it into the laptop.

“Fuuuuuuuck… Do I really want to do this?” I asked myself, outloud.

I opened up a music app and found my soothing playlist to start before I flipped the cover of my notebook to look once more at the stray thoughts that I had recorded. I reached for my pen and added a fuller note beneath my initial observation.

The name was clearly not carved by either the same hand for each letter, or it was not fully carved by the same hand in the same ‘era’. Each letter of Jacob seems different, not belonging to the name as a whole -whatever the fuck that means.

I dropped the pen with a disgusted huff before I turned my eyes to the screen before me. The warmth of my skin evaporated immediately at the sight of the first picture - it’s of a wide shot of the headstone and it was completely hazy. My lips pursed as I moved to the next one, where I knew I was zoomed in on the carving to capture the detail. And it was the same damn thing - it wasn’t just hazy, but pixelated. I scrolled through and sure as shit, every shot of the Jacob stone was the same - totally unreadable.

“What the literal fuck,” I whispered, as my eyes hardened on the mess I somehow made of the most unnerving morning. “Okay, go back to the beginning.”

I closed it out and opened the file that would bring out all the day’s photographs. I started with the first one I took of the church and it was fine. All the names that I recorded of the stained glass were also fine. The first headstones of the cemetery were fine. I gritted my teeth with frustration as I scrolled to the first wide shot of the grounds. The gate and subsequent fencing, the headstones in the foreground were fine. It seemed almost like someone was smudging the picture around the Jacob stone only. I was so focused on the screen, my nose was practically touching it when I realized there was something at the edge of the treeline…

“What the hell?” I whispered as I tried to zoom in.

My mouth hung open at the sight of that same man whose profile I had seen looking over the edge of the stone earlier, but this time, it was nearly the entire face that was captured - and it was on film. I could see the tree limbs through the spectral face, but it was a face with a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, round cheeks and a point to the nose that rested above a full set of lips. The brow was furrowed and eyes were almost… angered?

I felt like my chest was caught in a vice as I continued to stare. This was not a human. This was not anything close to human. And yet, my stupid brain was screaming at me like he was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. The confusion wrapped me up as I panned back out on the picture to look at it once more as a whole. My eyes remained glued to the foggy patch where the creature’s face resided.

I brought up the next picture, and there it was again, this time, not just the face, but the upper torso was revealed. He was strong, as evidence his chest peeked out, and he seemed broader than I would’ve expected. I moved to the first of the seriously blurred pictures, allowing my eyes to remain right where the apparition had been in each of the previous frames.

My hold on the moment was already fragile but the longer I remained frozen to that spot, my vision of what was in the frame became clearer. It was the full outline of a masculine figure from the top of his head to the bottom of his foot. My jaw slackened and my stomach churned. The apparition could only be Jacob - whoever that might have been, I was looking at what he was in the ‘now’. My body oozed back into the stiff chair and my feet tingled as my weight shifted. My logical mind did not want to accept what the picture was depicting. I knew I was alone. I knew there was no one remotely close to that cemetery that could have accidentally “photobombed” the scene. And yet. There he was. He looked to be seeking out something. He looked to be seeking the answer to a puzzle.

“Damn.”

The word slithered out from between my lips like it was the most important thing possible. I glanced down at the time and realized that I could run for lunch and possibly have time in the library to round out my afternoon. My eyes strayed to the man in the photo once more. The corner of my mouth tugged a bit before I reached for my keys.

I grabbed a sandwich from the local deli and followed the directions to the library from my map app. I delved into my ham and cheese in the parking lot of the library, my eyes skating across the grounds of the park that lay just beyond the tidy brick building. I was instantly wrapped in the smell of paper and books and all things wonderful as soon as I walked through the narrow foyer and into the library proper. There was a kind, round face that greeted me from the circulation desk.

“Local and regional section?” I asked with a shy smile.

Instead of just pointing me in the direction, the soft looking woman emerged from behind the counter with a huge smile and bubbly conversation. By the time we arrived in the back corner that was decorated in local art and what appeared to be hand turned bookcases, she knew that I was a writer and that I was researching for a character. She started pulling all sorts of books out that I may find the little church in the country in, that included platt books, local history, and the best part, she disappeared for nearly ten minutes only to reappear with a narrow flat bed cart with three volumes of bound newspapers.

“We have these going back to when the paper got its start,” she huffed as she maneuvered the volumes up onto the table beside me. “I’m talking way back. But this will get you through the last seventy five years.”

My eyes must’ve been sparkling something fierce as the woman snickered at my reaction. “These are perfect. I will be sure to find something I can use for sure.”

“Oh good. I was afraid I was going to overwhelm you,” she remarked with a wave of her chubby hand. “We still have the old microfiche readers in the basement, but I find going through the actual papers gives things a bit more oomph.”

“Absolutely,” I gushed, dragging my fingers across the shiny gold lettering.

She let me be with an offer of more help when I was ready before she made her return to her desk. I fished in my backpack for my earbuds, notebook, and laptop and settled in to immersing myself in the information before me. At first, it was like walking across a highly polished sheet of ice. My eyes were skating over words of little import and my brain was begging me to stop with such mundane events. Business openings. Business closings. School events. Football games. Dances. Graduations. Spelling bees. Concerts. Festivals. Court news. Fires. Arrests. Storms. Tornadoes. Weddings. Obituaries. Births. My neck was screaming at me as I sat back in my hard chair with a sigh. I needed to take a break from the newspapers. I shifted my playlist to something heavier and moved my attention over to regional history in the few hefty, leather bound books that had taken up the corner of the table.

Flipping the cover back, I bypassed the meager table of contents and moved towards the index in the back, figuring to look for churches first. Sure enough, there it was, beneath my fingertips - the little forgotten country church out on 15. The Church of the Redeemer Catholic Church was founded in 1850, giving service to the surrounding farms that would go on to make up the future township of Frankenmuth. The strip of land that the cemetery was located had been used for many years prior to the founding of the township, being used by trappers and their families for much longer, but the date was not disclosed. The series of photographs of the church had to have been taken at the turn of the 1900’s, with updates from the ‘40’s, 60’s, and the most modern was no later than the early ‘90’s. I flipped to check the imprint of the book and I was correct - it was published in 1994.

My fingers were tapping against the few pictures of the actual cemetery, as I began repeating the names I knew were on the stones with each tap of my finger. Biting the inside of my cheek, I reached into my backpack for Grandpa’s trusty magnifying glass. It was the only thing Grandpa treasured as much as Grandma. She bestowed it to me since I was the only one of the grandchildren who she trusted to care for it as well as her husband had during his lifetime. I passed the thick glass across the pictures, straining in my search for the Jacob stone. Like the wide shots of my own pictures, the location of the headstone was all blurred and smudged.

I pushed out a breath before I turned back to the newspapers. At least I know the church was still in operation in the 1990’s. I disregarded the top volume of newspapers, setting it on the table behind me, opting to peruse the volume that held 1975 - 1999. Honestly, I had no clue what I was actually looking for, but as I flipped through the pages I felt a pull like I was on the right path somehow.

“How are you doing back here?” the librarian asked as she stopped at my side.

“It’s all interesting,” I said quietly with a smile and a glance over to her. “So much information, but interesting.”

“Oh, that’s the Redeemer you’re looking at there,” she remarked as she reached for the open book with the pictures of the church.

“Yeah. Full disclosure - it's what brought me here actually. I was heading home from up north when I saw it,” I explained. “I don’t know what it is, but there are some really interesting headstones.”

She licked at her lips before setting a book - my book - down on top of the newspapers. “For research, right?”

I picked up my novel with a laugh. “Wow. You’re trouble.”

“Naw, just aware of all of our authors that belong to the state,” she said, a faint blush on her face. “We have all three of your titles, by the way. They do very well in circulation.”

“Nice,” I said before handing her back the clearly lightly read tome. “And yes, it’s research. I may have a story to tell if I find something here. But… can we…?

“Lips are sealed, of course,” she beamed with a hand over her heart. “I do need to tell you that the library will be closing in an hour.”

I put every ounce of disappointment into my eyes as I nodded away. “I see. I know these books cannot leave the library…”

“Nope, but I’ll tell you what I can do - we can leave everything right here. We’ll make this your workstation,” she offered kindly.

“That is amazing,” I oozed as I placed a hand on her arm. “I would really appreciate it.”

I watched as she nearly floated back to her desk with a wave. In the meantime, I could feel it… The pounding behind my eyes. I knew I was pushing it just a bit on the day. I knew I probably should have laid down instead of continuing on to the library. I stretched my neck and told myself I can last a little while longer.

I was somewhere in the summer of 1984 when I landed on an article about a musician from the area that had made his way onto the stage in Detroit. The picture above the article was grainy but… My brain literally froze at the sight. The black and white image sizzled into my eyes like a beacon. I rushed to the picture folder on the laptop and brought up the one of the near full face and nearly screamed from the likeness.

Before me was Jacob. He had been real once. A guitar player for some rock band that was doing well within the local scene. I scanned the article and my stomach was swirling as I learned that the band was getting some serious notice from heavyweights and were in the process of cutting an album. I glanced back at the busy circulation desk before reaching for my phone to snap a few pictures of the article and picture.

With my head screaming, I packed up my backpack and straightened up the table. I left with a whispered thank you to the librarian and made my very quick exit. I started to feel the waves of nausea echoing through my gullet as I made my way out of the parking lot and easily made my way back to the hotel. I made it into the room just as the blinding pain started. I skipped turning on the lights and struggled out of my shoes before landing into the bed. This was a routine that I had down pat for the past two years. Migraines really were a bitch. I knew I had pushed it too far and now I was going to have to survive the consequences of those actions.

Pulsing lights jabbed behind my eyes. I slowed my breathing down, counting to five in between each time I took in air or blew it away. I felt my toes getting heavy, followed by my legs. The best I could do was sleep it off. It was too late to take meds. I pictured the man in the cemetery. The subtle cleft of his chin and the point of his nose soothed me. The sharp ridge of his cheek and the shadow of his eyes were haunting. If this man had been alive he would be beautiful. I had to pause the thoughts as I waited to see if I needed to book it to the toilet to throw up. Instead, I lulled, my mind adrift in the blackness of the room and the ghost in my thoughts…

⭒☾ The absolute exuberance of a child pumped through my veins as I ran across the solid earth. I knew every turn and hole of the land, so I ran with a confidence that could only be gained through youthful sureness. The cream colored linen of my dress billowed around me and seemed to dance with my laughter. I caught sight of my hands and knew that I was indeed locked in the form of a young girl. The field I was dashing across was vast and full of untouched tall grasses and locks of wildflowers. The sky was heavy with bright white wisps of clouds and crisp Springtime breezes.

A blink of my eye and I knew I was older. Not running, but still traversing across the ground of this foreign space I had no idea where it resided. Happiness touched me still as I looked over my shoulder to see a woman in a much heavier dress trying to keep up. I laughed as I did turn and run as she called out to me to wait. The near black waters of the lake spread out before me as I finally stopped on the edge of the ground before it fell away to the storm beaten rocks below. I held my arms up to feel the wind across my whole body and was instantly scolded for being so ‘wild’.

Another blink and I was standing upon a beachhead littered with tiny wooden shanties. There was a desperation that lingered in between the structures where children wandered and played while women applied their few trades to gain coin to keep those bellies fed. There was a heaviness here that I didn’t like. Once more, the woman was with me, scolding me for stopping her in our task. Her sour expression only stirred my emotions. I snatched the purse at her side and proceeded to the open air market with her right on my heels. I must’ve been no more than fourteen, but she did not pursue me like a thief. She protested as I stopped before the man who sold bread. I pointed at the largest of his baskets that was brimming with food. I handed the whole purse over and started to lug the basket away.

The children on the beach took notice of me as I struggled through the sand. I stopped and untied the ribbons on my shoes, leaving them behind as I moved much more swiftly barefooted. I started to knock on the doors of the shanties, one by one and handed each a loaf of bread. The woman was standing with her arms crossed as if she were angry but I waved her down to help me. These people were hungry and I had at least a few scraps to aid them through their day. It was a happiness that filled me to the brim and continued to flow over.

Another blink and I was alone in a grand bedroom filled with fine fabrics and rugs and a bed that would hold the likes of many sleepers. It felt wrong to have such lavishness when there was such blatant need only moments from my door. There was wealth here that could help the poor for many years. The woman from the market was brushing my hair, her voice speaking foreign words I did not understand, but the tone was certainly scolding me for my actions. I walked from the dressing table to the narrow balcony, leaving the chilly air to infiltrate the room behind me as I leaned against the elaborate railing. The moon was full, splashing down upon the waters of Le Lac Superior. The ships and their great white sails seem to play across the dark current of the black night waters. I realized this was home. Home from forever ago… ⭒☾

Dreams play a big role in our story, probably more than they should. How did you like the official chapter one? Let me know! I will be posting every Thursday - you can find a sign up for my tag list here. 💚💚See you next Thursday!

@edgingthedarkness @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @katuschka @thewritingbeforesunrise @ignite-my-fire @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @demonrat444 @klarxtr @peaceloveunitygvf @hollyco @lipstickitty @joshym @itsafullmoon @josh-iamyour-mama @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @way-to-go-lad @jjwasneverhere @gretavangroupie @emojakekiszka @wetkleenex-gvf @vanfleeter @losfacedevil @myownparadise96 @lizzys-sunflower @literal-dead-leaf

#jake kiszka #jake gvf #greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fan fiction #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fic au #jake kiszka fan fic au #jake kiszka fan fiction au #the dead

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polkadotjohnson · 2 months

Text

Honorable mention - Doctor Fearless

...Or as I like to call him, Faustus D. Fearless. Mwahahahaha!

No, actually his name is John Smith, and he was a horror host on the local tv station in his small town. One day returning home, he is walking around the swamp as always so his shoes won't get wet and a radioactive vampire springs from the swamp and bites him. Seriously, he's green and glowing, what is he if not a radioactive vampire? Anyway, hand over his bleeding neck, Fearless stumbles around in a daze until he reaches a hut deep into the woods, where he promptly crashes against a cauldron and spills all of its content on the ground. From the depths of the hut comes a woman with a pointy hat and starts yelling at him and motioning her hands. He can only make out the words 'love potion', 'buffoon', 'darling vampire' and 'curse'. He leaves the hut in a panic that's at odds with his last name. Finally, he reaches his small apartment, where he plops down on his bed and sleeps for 3 days.

When he wakes up, all he can think about is... conducting experiments, maybe find some (un?)willing vict- subjects and find out what is it that makes them tick. Maybe throw some ticks at them.

He doesn't remember falling asleep in his horror host getup, and pulls the wig off so he can get ready for the activities. Or at least he tries to. The wig won't come off. Strange, since he doesn't glue it, maybe there's a hair clip stuck or something? Oh, well. The fangs, then. ...Nope, not coming off either. Huh.

"What is this?" In shock, he clasps a hand over his mouth. Why did he just speak in his horror host voice? "What is going on?" Again. Properly spooked, he finds his bathroom so he can try to remove the stuck items. The voice thing... maybe he's still in the show's mindset. Yeah, that's it. It's probably better to avoid speaking until he's back to his former, normal self.

Not even the makeup will come off. Then he remembers. The... the witch. Because that's what she was, right? Her words.

"How dare you spill all my love potion, you buffoon! it took me so long to get a sample of my darling vampire's dna, and now you've ruined it! A curse upon you! May you forever be stuck in this dreadful form! Forever! Hahahahahahahah!"

...Oh, well. Whatever.

Experiments.

His noisy neighbors would be the perfect first guinea... subjects. Yes.

He tries every door, but no one answers. It isn't until he's on the lobby that he notices a, well, a notice about the fumigation that's about to take place. In ten minutes. "I must depart, I must escape from this wretched place!"

But the front doors are locked, and there are already men in uniform starting up the process.

"Meow."

He looks in the direction of the sound and finds the only unlocked window, a beautiful tabby cat catching his eye.

"Meow," she repeats, a little impatient.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your whiskers." He climbs out the window, and the cat starts a brisk stride towards the woods. "No, not the witch."

But the cat is going a different direction, up the hills, down the swamp, up more hills, now a bog. And then... there's a mansion!

It's old and falling to pieces, but it's a mansion! There's a plaque beside the front door, but it's too worn out and he can't make out the name. Fr_nk__st__n. Interesting, interesting. The cat insists on him following her, and he explores the mansion, which is obviously abandoned. They reach a basement, and he can feel his eyes sparkling with joy. There are all kinds of electrical devices and gadgets, brains in jars and gizmos and doodads.

"You beautiful cat. From this day on, you shall be called... Princess Carmelia Morgana Bubblegum Fearless. And together, we shall rule the world! Mwah hahahaha!"

"Meow." The cat shrugs, somehow, even though cats are not supposed to shrug, and leaves.

And they live happily ever after.

Oh right, and he's a vampire too. Don't worry about it.

#david dastmalchian #doctor fearless #no this wasn't written by a.i.#just a very sleep deprived me #this is for my love/hot list btw #doctor fearless is in both #obviously

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 4 months

Text

Blue Castle Book Club 2.0 - Chapter 3

Cousin Stickles is a fascinating character. She seems almost… not immune to the Stirlingness of her family – she’s definitely a Stirling in her own right – but off in her own world almost? She’s entirely unphased by the weather or by her companions’ moods. She wishes Valancy many happy returns on her birthday because that’s what you do on birthdays. The weather has nothing to do with it! She’s definitely with Cousin Georgiana in the ‘we do things because that is how they are done’ Stirling camp. Some Stirlings make rules and others follow them, and Cousin Stickles follows them.

Is it ever explained how Cousin Stickles came to live with them? Are they just the two outcasts of the Stirling family – two widows, one who married and then killed a Stirling and one who had the audacity to marry someone other than a Stirling? Cousin Stickles doesn’t seem to have been close with Mr. Fredrick Stirling, or if she was I don’t think it’s ever mentioned. Did Mrs. Fredrick just need help after Valancy was born and Cousin Stickles happened to be available? Honestly the tumblr shipping goggles are as reasonable an explanation for it as any.

Mrs. Fredrick announces that if a person makes up her mind not to have colds she won’t have them. Given the whispers about how Fredrick himself died from last chapter, one has to wonder if Mrs. Fredrick is especially touchy on the subject of colds and what can or cannot be done about catching them. Again, nothing excuses her treatment of her daughter, but she herself clearly has not been well treated either.

“Oh!” Mrs. Frederick had been a Wansbarra and the Wansbarra smile was not an asset. “I see. Well, it should suit you then. You are childish enough in all conscience, my dear child.” “I am twenty-nine,” said the dear child desperately.

I don’t have much to say about these lines except that I like them a great deal and Maud is very good at what she does. Her plotting is at times dubious, but her turns of phrase are honestly divine.

An interesting note: the house is filled with portraits of dead Stirlings, but Valancy has to guess what her mother and Cousin Stickles looked like on their wedding days. You would think, given the importance that the clan places on being married, that wedding portraits would be proudly displayed, particularly in this household where the other obvious indicator of marriage – a husband – is no longer available. But clearly Valancy has never seen portraits of either event. Was it not the done thing to do wedding portraits? We have photographs, no matter what era you think the book is set in. But no images of either wedding to be found.

John Foster enters the narrative! Let’s see what wisdom John Foster has to share:

“The woods are so human that to know them one must live with them. An occasional saunter through them, keeping to the well-trodden paths, will never admit us to their intimacy. If we wish to be friends we must seek them out and win them by frequent, reverent visits at all hours; by morning, by noon, and by night; and at all seasons, in spring, in summer, in autumn, in winter. Otherwise we can never really know them and any pretence we may make to the contrary will never impose on them. They have their own effective way of keeping aliens at a distance and shutting their hearts to mere casual sightseers. It is of no use to seek the woods from any motive except sheer love of them; they will find us out at once and hide all their sweet, old-world secrets from us. But if they know we come to them because we love them they will be very kind to us and give us such treasures of beauty and delight as are not bought or sold in any market-place. For the woods, when they give at all, give unstintedly and hold nothing back from their true worshippers. We must go to them lovingly, humbly, patiently, watchfully, and we shall learn what poignant loveliness lurks in the wild places and silent intervals, lying under starshine and sunset, what cadences of unearthly music are harped on aged pine boughs or crooned in copses of fir, what delicate savours exhale from mosses and ferns in sunny corners or on damp brooklands, what dreams and myths and legends of an older time haunt them. Then the immortal heart of the woods will beat against ours and its subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own forever, so that no matter where we go or how widely we wander we shall yet be drawn back to the forest to find our most enduring kinship.”

I have heard that Foster’s passages are recycled from Maud’s own forays into nature writing, but I’m going to look at them more thematically because honestly I mostly skimmed them the first time ‘round and I’m curious if they’re all quite as on the nose as this one. Because this passage comes to us immediately following Valancy’s morose pronouncement that nobody loves her and she might as well go eat worms for all anyone would notice or care if she died. And John Foster tells us that the woods, like humans, must be deliberately cultivated if we want to win their friendship. We must approach them openly and earnestly with love in our heart, and that they will be able to tell if we’re just going through the motions and don’t really want to get to know them.

Valancy, as we already know, has lived a stifling life filled with keeping up appearances and doing things because that is how they have always been done. No one has ever been interested in Valancy for her own sake, not her family, not her peers, not even the adults in her life who might have been able to reach her, like the librarian in town. And so they don’t get to see her heart and are forbidden from knowing her secrets. She is desperate for love, but not so desperate that she will try to force it where it doesn’t exist.

We’re also given a very clear thesis statement about how John Foster loves: deliberately, and with his entire being. This is definitely not foreshadowing.

Colors mentioned:

Yellow neck

Black notebook

Not even John Foster can bring color into this world yet.

#blue castle book club #moonlight and mistawis #last chapter for tonight #the utter lack of colors is so interesting to me because i so distinctly remember the presence of color descriptors in this book #but we don't get to see them until valancy does

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bookished · 3 months

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( a collection of starters. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post 💛 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"Every time she sings, it starts to rain. It's like her voice is connected to the weather."

"He says he can paint portals to other worlds. Do you think it's true, or just a clever illusion?"

"The bookstore at the corner seems to change its layout every time you visit. Yesterday, I found a room full of floating books."

"There's a garden in the heart of the city that never wilts, no matter the season. It's like a piece of eternal spring."

"I saw a cat with eyes that glowed like stars last night. It seemed to be watching over the neighborhood."

"They say a white deer appears in the forest during the winter solstice, granting wishes to those who are pure of heart."

"Every year on the same day, the town is covered in a mist that makes everyone forget their worries. Have you felt its magic?"

"At dusk, the lake glows with an ethereal light, and sometimes, you can see figures dancing on the water."

"The clock tower chimes thirteen times every full moon. No one knows why, but it feels like a call to something."

"Sometimes, the wind carries the scent of flowers that don't grow anywhere nearby. It's like a breath from another world."

"The old man at the pier claims he can talk to fish. Yesterday, he told me about a conversation he had with a whale."

"She has a way of making flowers bloom with just a touch. I wonder what other secrets she holds."

"I found an old pocket watch that, when wound backward, shows moments from the past. What should we look for?"

"There's a room in the old mansion where time stands still. People say those who enter never age."

"Legend has it that the mountain holds a sleeping giant. During thunderstorms, you can hear its heart beating."

"There's a story about a hidden city beneath the waves, visible only during the lunar eclipse. Shall we go searching?"

"I bought this music box at a flea market, and every time it plays, I see glimpses of a different life."

"This old key doesn’t seem to fit any lock I've tried. I wonder if it’s meant to open something magical."

"Whenever she draws something, it comes to life for a brief moment. I've seen it with my own eyes."

"He claims to dream of future events. Last night, he dreamed of you."

"I found a trail in the woods that wasn't there before. It led me to a place that felt like a dream."

"There's a bridge in the village that, when crossed at twilight, takes you to another realm."

"She whispered to me that the stars are actually spirits watching over us. I believe her."

"The old lighthouse keeper says the light guides lost souls home. What if he's right?"

#prompts #uservolkova #dialogue prompts #romance prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #rp prompts #drama prompts #fanfic prompts #magical realism #writing dialogue #character dialogue #random dialogue #dialogue rp #otp dialogue #story prompts

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silent-sanctum · 2 years

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Can I ask for a story in which Jotaro wants to confess but he just doesn’t know how to since the reader is just a kind and gentle soul and he’s the total opposite, and the crusaders, especially Kakyoin and Polnareff, give him advice on how to confess to the reader? 💕

ask and you shall receive anon :>

Only You - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 3.2k

The night had fallen, blanketing the world in a veil of starlit darkness. Besting 2 enemy Stand users, the Crusaders took solace in a remote island on the Red Sea just before traversing to Egypt.

And sitting around the warmth of a crackling bonfire, the group rested that night, each having their own way of spending the provided spare time- Joseph speaking with a Speedwagon Foundation personnel regarding a method of transportation, Avdol shuffling through the dusty books from a nearby cabin, Kakyoin and Polnareff engaging in a hearty conversation-

And Jotaro listening to you sharing more lighthearted bits of your past to him with a flow akin to a fountain smoothly letting out fresh water to cool his tired and dried-out mind. Though admittedly, he found it harder and harder for him to pay attention.

Was he to blame when all he took in from you was your soft soothing voice calming his ears, the contrasting gleam in your expressive eyes, the genuine smile formed by your pink lips?

All those pieces of you had impacted him in some way or another even at the start when you met at that rooftop. Back then, he found you confusing yet intriguing. Midway in the trip, Jotaro found himself caught in the light of comforting kindness and understanding seeping through your outgoing bravado, one that touched his heart no one could.

And he ended up completely enthralled, compelled to make you happy and safe in ways he could the moment he witnessed you breaking down into complete vulnerability and you opened up to him about your abusive past. You had thanked him wholeheartedly with tearful eyes and it struck him.

For the first time, Jotaro admitted to himself that he wanted to hold you close for a long time, to be with you even after this journey ends and they returned to normalcy.

He… liked you.

But how could he say such thing to someone such as you? You were so different from him; Where you were the warm sunshine in a blossoming spring, he was the chilling wind in a frigid winter. The headstrong angel and the lenient devil. The yin and yang.

The social darling and the reclusive delinquent.

Would she even consider someone like him as hers? It was a hard tell because you got along with everyone so well, but at the same time, you were sensitive to intimate, romantic relationships. This is hard. I can’t see what I can do in this situation.

While all his turmoil boiled within him, someone tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his trance. “I’m gonna speak with Avdol and Mr. Joestar for a moment, alright?”

Blunt as ever, he spoke without looking. “No one’s stopping you.”

You smiled and left to join the older adults as simple as that, leaving him to wallow in his newfound feelings by himself. He watched you skip over to Joseph and Avdol just as the old man finished his call, opening communication while they discussed it elsewhere.

Jotaro sighed a deep exhale, nearly groaning to himself as he hunched over with clasped hands. “This is harder than I thought…”

“Hey Jojo,” he lifted his head by a bit to frown at the ever-intruding Frenchman Polnareff and his fellow batch mate Kakyoin. “You looking a bit worked-out. Everything good?”

“What do you want?” Jotaro asked, short and sharp. He still had to deal with accepting these sappy feelings in him; the least he wanted right now is 2 other people adding to his problems.

He followed the cherry-haired student’s movement as he sat down beside him with a knowing smile. “If I were to guess, I’d think our delinquent friend here is stressing over a certain girl in our group.”

Jotaro clicked his tongue. “You shut--“

Though before the delinquent could curse at him, Polnareff let out a prolonged “ah” of amusement. “Ohoho, is this what I think it is?” He plopped himself on the other side with a giddy demeanor that soured his mood. “Could it be… monsieur Kujo is finally realizing the classic j’ai le béguin towards our mademoiselle?”

“The fuck are you saying?”

“It means you’re finally accepting that you have a crush and much like in your fashion, immediately act on it,” Kakyoin supplemented with a pat on his shoulder, to which the raven-haired shoved off with rapidly warming cheeks.

“It’s not like that--“

“Non non non non~”, Polnareff wagged his finger sideways. “Deny all you want but you can’t fool a man hailing from the City of Love itself. I know and sense what a smitten man looks like from a mile away.”

“Besides, if you refuse to listen to Pol’s words, take it from me,” Kakyoin said. “Ever since our first boat ride, I’ve been keeping tabs on you and Y/N and we really can’t ignore the fact that you consistently… hover around her a lot like a satellite.”

Jotaro looked elsewhere, trying to recall whether he made the conscious decision to do that, but the student continued to his dismay. “And from what I’ve seen when it comes to her, you’re attentive to her needs and complacent to her sudden sparks of joy that would’ve annoyed you if it was someone else.”

“Right!” The Frenchman snapped his fingers. “Don’t forget how his eyes had this certain look of fondness one would give to a lover, and how he smiled more often when she’s around!”

It was one thing to come in terms with what his heart was telling him, it was a whole other thing hearing those words from his friends. As they kept on rambling on and on about all the lovey-dovey details they observed, Jotaro couldn’t stop his cheeks and the tips of his ears from fuming in embarrassment.

Was I really that invested in you Y/N? You made me do all these stuff with you and I somehow didn’t realize?

Visions of you flashed in his mind- a self-made film reel containing numerous moments of your flushed cheeks and radiant smiles directed at him, your confident and determined poise alongside your Stand faced against his enemies, your vulnerable figure pressed against his firm body with his gakuran draped over your shoulders, puffy cheeks, fluttery lashes, kneading hands, pouty lips-

Jotaro buried his face in his hands, thoroughly ashamed of his current state. “Fuck.”

“Called it,” Polnareff said. That smug piece of shit.

“What should I do then?” The delinquent snapped, dropping his hands to face his companions. “How do I make… this go away? I’ve tried everything from ignoring it to rationalizing it, but damnit it’s still here.”

“Have you thought of confessing?” Kakyoin suggested.

Jotaro cocked his head. “Confess?”

“Oh you know, where you approach the person of interest and say how much you--“

“I know what a confession is dumbass,” the raven-haired spat at an unfazed Polnareff who merely shrugged off his insult. “What I meant is how would that help me?”

“Well… you get to express yourself to the love of your life and at the same time release all those pent-up emotions within you instead of bottling it all in,” Polnareff said. “It’s hitting 2 birds with one stone!”

“Knowing you, I’m actually surprised you haven’t confessed earlier,” Kakyoin continued. “You seem like the type to get things done as soon as possible- you know, the directly-saying-I-like-you-and-waiting-for-feedback type.”

They had a point. Jotaro was aware he’s fully capable of saying his mind if he wanted without any filter and he could just say he liked you and your company, but when it came to you, it was more complicated than an average confession.

You’d been through a lot-- living through a toxic childhood, witnessing death, and coping through numerous betrayals- both platonically and romantically. Would that make me selfish if I were to say my feelings for you without considering that perhaps you needed more time? If I were to confess, would that make things awkward between us?

Would you grow distant because you weren’t interested in someone like me-

“Hey Jotaro!” He blinked and faced the Frenchman. “There you are again with the overthinking! Whatever you have in that brain of yours… stop.”

“Think of it like this,” the cherry-haired student crossed his arms. “Just say how you feel and wait; if she’s into you, then great. If not then… you shrug it off and remain friends.”

The delinquent scoffed, unconvinced. “Easy for you to say.” Sure, he hasn’t been in a relationship before and is shit at it to begin with, but at the very least he had some awareness of the side effects resulting from a friend-zoned confession.

“When you think about it, our reserved buddy here needs some tips on how to get-the-girl.” Jotaro side-eyed the adult beside him with clear judgement, to which said adult eyed him in return. “What? It’s better than saying ‘I like you’ as your usual overly crude self.”

“I don’t--“

“Alright listen up.” Polnareff slung his arm over the student’s shoulders with determination plastered on his face. “The way to ensure guarantee in winning a girl’s heart is to find a secluded area that’s scenic to set the vibe.”

“And then…” Jotaro cocked his brow, admittedly waiting for the continuation. “You whip out the flowers, speak your heart out and say- ‘Je n’arréte pas de penser a toi ma chérie!’ And then the fireworks explode, the crowd bursts into applause, and the musicians start playing in the back--“

The whole sentiment of the overly romantic French got cut short with a solid whack behind the head by the most anti-romantic in the group that was Jotaro himself. “Shut the fuck up with that. You’re not helping.” Polnareff pouted, rubbing the smacked area with puppy eyes.

“Since our friend here is too ambitious, perhaps I may pitch in an idea that could work better for you.” The delinquent turned to face his other side, hoping someone with a more gentlemanly attitude could provide actual tips.

“Pol’s right in one thing and that’s heading somewhere private. When you get there, you ease your way into the confession by starting things off with casual dialogue-- you open up a topic, maybe about the surroundings or a hobby, she returns it by talking about said topic, and vice versa.”

“And then-“ Kakyoin pointed a finger up to emphasize a point. “Weave that conversation leading up to the confession once you get into her good spirits. Finally, all you have to do is just say something in the lines of ‘I wanted to tell you something. It's a little hard for me to say, but I think you should know that I have feelings for you.’”

“After all, nothing’s more genuine than a simple statement of truthfully expressing your love without being too direct and sudden.”

The cherry-haired student probably thought he contributed something given how smooth and proud his tone was while addressing his “tip”, but Jotaro simply held the other student’s bicep and said--

“Kakyoin… look me in the eye. Do I look like I’m able to do whatever the hell you just mentioned?”

And his friend took one good look at him—an overly tall and awkward 17-year-old, with a face that screamed ‘I’ll beat you up’ on default, who barely knew how to sustain more than one sentence without involving battle tactics or corny one-liners.

With that assessment in mind, the cherry-haired man read his mind and let out one “ah” and left it as is. The Frenchman let out one short laugh. “Yeah Kakyoin. Clearly my idea was--“

“Same goes for you too dipshit.”

Said Frenchman let his mouth close shut.

“Jotaro! I have something to tell you!” All three men looked up to spot you skipping past stray shrubbery and trees until you paused before the delinquent. “Avdol introduced me somewhere that’s amazing. You have to come with!”

You peeped at the other two sitting beside him and flashed a shy smile. “Excuse us,” You reached to grab Jotaro’s wrist, prompting the latter to stand without question. “But I have to borrow Jotaro for a moment if you don’t mind,” you said, addressing both the raven-haired and his friends.

“No problems with that Y/N! Take your time with him!” Polnareff exclaimed, making hand gestures to shoo the both of you away.

You beamed and turned to your grumpy friend with an excited smile, tugging lightly at his wrist. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

Jotaro’s cheeks might have warmed yet again as he turned his head elsewhere to cover it up. At least the private place is secured. “Let’s just go.”

Like an obedient overgrown wolf pup, the delinquent allowed your hold to remain around his wrist as you half-dragged him through the numerous tall grass and plant-life, careful to not trip on any protruding root or large stones, until you led him out a line of trees and onto a clearing.

And honestly, he was amazed even if he didn’t look like it.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. A lone, lit lamp hanging on its post stood within the spacious area, providing the tiny hill in the middle of the island’s forest cozy amber lighting underneath the night sky filled with countless tiny stars.

You let go of him and walked over to sit at the middle, patting the ground beside you as you looked at him with expecting eyes. Jotaro huffed and complied, making himself comfortable on the dirt.

“When I said you’d like it, I was actually just making that up in front of the guys to look more confident, but I’m not sure if you actually like it. If anything, I might have just dragged you here for nothing.”

“I like it,” he said in an instant, not giving you a moment of doubt. He glanced at you and offered a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.”

Your cheeks turned pink and sighed a breath of relief. “Here I thought I was being a bit much again.” Both of you sat in comfortable silence, your heads turned up to gaze at the sky, watching the stars twinkle amidst the darkness.

“Avdol said this area’s one of the spots near his cabin where he could meditate or read a book in when he was younger. It was nice of him to suggest a place like this out of the blue.” You reached your hand up, motioning as if it was wading water. “It reminds me of something…”

Jotaro watched you engross yourself in your sightseeing with quiet fondness, letting Star Platinum out to hover before you with wide eyes as he bowed his head.

You gasped for a second and in the next, you giggled in delight letting your fingers comb through the Stand’s flowy hair. “Jotaro, I have the night sky in my palms!”

He didn’t say anything in return, his mouth fixed as an uncharacterized smile of adoration directed at your joy. His cheeks stayed warm and his heart raced in his chest, and it struck him then. Confess. Let your feelings out.

With one wave of goodbye, Star disappeared into his user, leaving both of you alone with the gentle breeze and sounds of crickets faintly chirping in the evening.

“So,” you said with your head leaning on your shoulder to look at him. “Do you have anything to share in a beautiful night like this?”

“Uhm… I…” Shit. Fuck. How should I do this? Kakyoin and Polnareff did approach him about the topic, but none of them provided him a proper flow on how to execute this process. Should he just go for it? Or should he stall for more time?

For the first time in a while, Jotaro fumbled over his words with squinted eyes-- a habit he does whenever he gets flustered. “I… want to… I mean…”

His attempt of making a proper sentence stopped when a hand rested atop his on the grass between them. The delinquent stared at your hand, shifting to the soft smile on your face. “Do you want me to go first?”

He nodded once, gaze never leaving yours despite his embarrassment.

“I don’t know how to put it in a way that won’t cripple me with cheesy cringe and possible regret, but I might as well rip the Band aid off and get it over with.” You took in a deep breath and he felt your hand tighten around his.

Jotaro waited patiently for your words to continue, even as you broke eye contact and stared at your lap. “Ever since we started being friends, I… may or may not be feeling something when it comes to you…”

His breath faltered and his eyes widened at the revelation, a tiny huff of disbelief leaving his throat. You… had feelings for him?

You didn’t seem to catch his change in expression when you laughed nervously, shaking your head in a complete flustered mess. “I-I mean, that’s just my personal feelings or maybe I’m just feeling sentimental, o-or maybe I was too caught up in the vibe of the place I started blurting random shit—”

His lips curled into a knowing smile, his mind and heart syncing into doing what he wanted to do for the longest time. This makes it easier for me then to… “Listen! I completely understand if you’re uncomfortable with this. That’s just so I can let go some brewing emotions in me! You can just treat my blabbering platonically if that makes it better—”

You couldn’t say more as Jotaro took the initiative to lean forward and plant a soft yet firm kiss on your lips.

His way of confessing.

He drew back, slow and careful, gauging your reaction with hooded eyes to see how you responded. You froze on the spot, stunned and fuming pink all over. The delinquent cleared his throat and tipped his hat over his face to hide his own heated cheeks. “You really can’t shut up at all, can you?”

He figured that both parties had expressed what needed to be said, and he made a move to get up and walk away to recoil from his growing embarrassment. However, he let out a surprised sound as a hand yanked on his collar chain, pulling him to sit back on the grass.

At the same time, you threw yourself to him and gave him a firm kiss of your own, wrapping your arms around his neck and causing his hat to fall off his head. With the sudden weight, he held himself up with one arm behind him and used the other to wrap around your waist, holding you close to him as he reciprocated your gesture.

You pulled back an inch to let out a breathless giggle, pressing your forehead with his. “Mm I really can’t. Why don’t you shut me up more often then?”

Jotaro chuckled for once with a small playful smile. “You brat.”

“You ass.” You teased before leaning forward to slot your plush lips with his, gently pushing his head towards you the same time he sat more upright to allow his other arm to secure your body closer to him.

Just then, his heart swelled with unexpected joy underneath the glow of the stars, and all those emotions in him that had been vague and stagnant turned clear and into motion.

He liked you and you liked him back.

As simple as that.

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo

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