#pardon to those tagged

[vischys]

What type of symphony are you?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐚: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐓

You are the silence in the theatre as the soloist readies his bow, and the chill one feels at the strike of the first note. You are the undeniable gravity that brings everything together, and you hold captive the fool and the genius alike. You make no promises with life for which path you are to take, and that is why your life can be nothing but extraordinary-- you know no other way. Though the mirror may be your greatest enemy, you know there is no absolution but that in the reflection. Through light and dark, you feel no discomfort in being alone though at times you crave affection. No matter. You persist. And that is your greatest strength. Your song: Partita in E Major by Bach

⠀⠀⠀“ To be a soloist is to naturally bear the onus of the performance solely upon your fingers and instrument. Beyond thus, it provides a musician with the unparalleled opportunity to recognize a leitmotif distinct to their aptitude without deferring to another's play. It is thereby a demonstration of one's musical essence, unadulterated and undistrait. ”

Tagged by: chanced upon

Tagging: @demon-blood-youths (Shdwykz, Oblivion, Hellmare), @lovelyxhorrors (Matt), @sorrowshared , @hohuios , as well as anyone inclined to the fun!

[seysei]

One of the many tragic aspects of Mikuni's character is that if he were to prevent the affair from happening, misono wouldn't be born.

With that being said, the reason why he would want to be misonos' father becomes simple. It's because that's the only way to prevent the affair from happening, and still make sure his little brother is born.

I mean, someone's gotta do it. (Im sorry lmao)

Im thinking he goes back in time, offers Hokaze to marry him to solve the money digging issue, meaning she wouldn't have to go after his father. Preventing the affair, preventing his mothers death & countless others, while also making sure misono still gets born eventually, except it's as his.. and Hokaze's son.

...yeah

And this might be the first time you'll find me not rooting for him.

[thylacines-toybox]

this is the aforementioned patch puppy i mentioned in my ask about plush naming!! they’re a forever work in progress, when i get new fabric i like i’ll add smth small to them as well as adding a tonne more beans inside so they’re super heavy now! (also the sewing isn’t the best lol cuz i made them super early on)

Omg they’re fantastic, and I love that they’re constantly evolving!! All those different patterns are so fun, and using pawprint fabric on the paws is so clever. Also their nose ring is great hehe! Thanks for sharing and good luck finding the right name for this pup! (Maybe you can add a new letter with every new patch you add, heh…)

[avocadolaw]

Realized I forgot to post these! Well, it’s done and it’s been dropped off at a show, so we’ll see what happens.

[digitalgate02]

Hello, it's Ni again with a little idea in mind: What if we start breaking the comfort zone and trying the most difficult part of Digimon writing/arting? Yes, the digimon.

I'm making this post an encouragement for you to start trying something new and expand your skills -- I'll share some of the tips I've been using for a whole decade when it comes to writing and drawing digimon with their human partners.

Bear with Ni!!

For writing:

My method is: making any inner monologue into a conversation and letting the digimon complete, elaborate, or comment on the human partner's lines.

The technique of the former has been observed by some people that this is basically what happens in-series (at least in Adventure/02 material) -- all of that planned inner monologue you had planned for the character? turn it into a conversation with the digimon. There's so little inner thoughts depicted in Adventure and 02 BUT there's a ton of little exchanges between the human with their partner. It also helps that in Adventure & 02, the digimon are somewhat an "other self" of the children, so they basically know them enough to point out when they're hesitant, nervous, angry, embarrassed or happy.

It also helps that certain digimon partners like Daisuke's V-mon, Jou's Gomamon and Wallace's Gummymon/Terriermon have no filter and try to encourage their partners by either roasting them by sheer accident. Remember, the digimon are extremely honest when it comes to their partners feelings, they can spot a lie pretty easily. So why not write Taichi saying a lie to hide something and Agumon innocently commenting aloud that that was a lie?

The latter technique is my own personal flavor. I'll give you an example: Daisuke is explaining his delicious new ramen recipe, and V-mon adds some commentaries like a TV announcer on TV commercials by saying "And there's more!" "Look at this delicious ramen broth!" "It's 100% approved by the customers!"

The digimon usually tends to put extra emphasis on what their partner is saying, or they make little comments! Or even, they might elaborate or complete phrases as well. The reverse can happen too, of course. Think about stuff like Happy Smile, 2-TOP, Fly High, HEY-Rasshai!, Forever Adolescence, etc songs where they have a little talk between the songs, or are bickering, or are completing the others’ lines.

For Drawing:

This part is a little more trickish, but here we go. Let’s watch a few shots of Digimon anime/movies and analyze how they depict the kids interacting with their digimon.

Since Tailmon is small, Hikari crouches to her eye level in order to talk with her in Kizuna. Note that this is how you can have both in the same scene/shot when Tailmon is not in Hikari’s arms. You need to plan where to place the digimon in your art, by knowing its size in-series, which form you want to feature in the picture, and where to place them.

For the celebration of Hunters’ final episode 10th Anniversary in 2022, The Digimon Web profile on twitter posted this illust of Gumdramon and Tagiru. Note that Gumdramon is the main star of the composition and Tagiru is behind him, as if he was commanding Gumdramon in a battle.

Now, some personal examples from my own art, to show how I deal with this:

This composition plays with the idea of a selfie. Gumdramon is being held by Tagiru here.

Middle Schooler Daisuke & Chibimon meets Kiyoshiro & Jellymon. The interaction between them is Daisuke and Chibimon looking at Kiyocchi’s hand, which is also the exact arm Jellymon is tied to.

Now, for bigger mons: Know their size and how to place them in the scenario, like Angoramon is here in this official art:

Since Angoramon is bigger than Jellymon and Gammamon, they decided to place him and Ruli behind the other two pairs. You can see this composition shows an interesting dynamic between them and also Jellymon on top of Kiyoshiro’s head.

Remember: the bigger the evolution/form you want to depict with their human partner, the more trickish might be. But don't worry! I trust you to figure it out! You can do it!!

I hope this post can help people, those observations and tips really helped me once and are still helping me when working on digi-stuff ;v;

[zeldabecameaqueen]

hello qsmp enjoyers, here's my goodbye to a server that saved my days for a year now

i don't know what will happen with the qsmp in the future but i just can't put myself in it anymore

i feel disrespected by the choices Quackity's Studios made, as a french person, but also as someone who's been abused as a worker. I understand that the process may be long (every administrative stuff is hell) for the studio to solve the financial and hierarchical situation, and I believe Quackity did everything to solve the issue as fast as he could (it's a belief, at no point i'm saying this is the truth of course).

however, i do not agree with him being neglectful towards his own project, towards his own admins, towards the qsmp community, i do not agree with him being radio silent towards his employees/volunteers, not thanking them once they left, not communicating anything to them about their own future, i do not agree with him either being blind to their loudly expressed needs or purposely ignoring them, i do not agree with him telling everyone "stuff takes time" but also allowing new events to happen on the server, and i'm extremely disappointed in this whole situation, because it divides more than ever a community and a project that i, among a lot of other people, cherish since a year now, when simple mesures such as COMMUNICATION were ignored.

frankly i think that most of the people would have better understood and been patient if Quackity's Studios didn't keep on announcing new events like nothing was happening

the reason i'm not talking too much about the financial issue is that : 1. I believe finding a way to pay admins that are still in the qsmp is a priority to Quackity nowadays, along with firing those who mistreated the employees/volunteers ; 2. I believe they will find a solution regarding the incomes (merch actually being a means to pay the admins is one of them)

i'm writing this during qsmp awards, i know a lot of ccs will be there. i'm a little hurt and disappointed but at the same time, i know some of them have a personal relation to Quackity that we as viewers don't have, they have their reasons to trust Quackity, i just don't agree with them, but please, no hate towards them or to people who'll watch the future events

it's a goodbye even though no one knows me lmao (i spent hours and hours watching, filling the vods of timestamps, translating youtube clips, even drawing again since a long time, i filled in the qsmp fandoms, did presentation docs and put hours into spreadsheets of the ccs statistics), but know that being a part of this community was a life experience for me, in so many ways, i'm forever thankful for the people who made this project possible, i'll miss sharing my hyperfixation with you all

🎨 also, I saved a bunch of qsmp fanarts that I didn't want to rb because I didn't want to support in any way what was happening, i didn't want to make people feel like watching the streams was ok, instead, I wanted to let the most room for any info about the admins' situation

i realize now that it wasn't fair, their art comes from a place of love, and whatever their reason was to continue watching qsmp despite all that was happening is not my business. They did art, and good art, so i'll reblog the last qsmp fanarts and probably will continue to share some from time to time

🩵 big big thanks to the artists and the ccs for creating such an amazing universe, i hope you'll keep the spirit and maybe leave with good friends, and obviously i'm so proud of all the eggies (by that I mean their admins), who have spoken up and left a project despite their obvious love for it, thanks to Lea for starting all this, freeing admins from an unbearable situation they might have not even recognized as so at the time

i don't know if i'll be back, for now i need to step back, but if i see one day that the situation got all fixed and safe and that actual apologies were made, then maybe i'll come back to this unique qsmp (it'll certainly feel changed tho)

[melkyt]

Heh, it's not 100% in character, but it would be hot and fun

Durge as Hannibal doing his own thing and getting obsessed with Gortash (Will).

The little dance between the two of them where Durge slowly makes him worse, or making Gortash realize that its okay to be worse, to let everything he bottled up in the course of his life to escape.

Durge talking of how murder is an art, and they can both thrive in the beautiful chaos.

[fullmetal-angelgrace]

well damn, they sure shoved a ton of bullshit into the last 30 minutes of shadow and bone season 2.....

[dykefever]

my year in fic

thanks for the tag @rollercoasterwords :-) 

provide a line (or two. or three. hehe) for every fic you wrote this year.

(in my room) i want you here

“Who are you trying to kiss, Padfoot?” The air stills, stifling, and Remus is caught in the turnover of every lyric, the scratch of the record player and the soundless lull as it ends, waiting to be flipped. He stares at Sirius. Sirius blinks, sucks his cheek between his teeth and raises his eyebrows. “It’d ruin the fun if I told, wouldn’t it?”

the way we look like animals

Sirius is whole countries of pale skin and James has mapped out his edges. He knows Sirius like he knows his own mouth - a dangerous, unpredictable thing. He wants to live inside him forever. They’re a duo of disaster, the two of them, the two of them; but it’s the three of them, really, if anyone is paying attention. James has always been paying attention.

a sawn off shotgun

“Sirius,” Remus says softly, and it guts Sirius to hear him say it like that; it’s cupped palms around his eyes beneath the covers and no one else is here but us whispered into the sacred space, it’s nudging knees in a church pew and snickering beneath the hymns. It’s them, in years. 

beautiful boy

It has been since first year: this delirious want suffused in Remus’s veins. James introduced himself on their first day at university and Remus’s heart hasn’t sat right in his chest since. It’s been bunched over, scrunched in a corner to make room for James and his booming laugh and bright smile, the way his calloused fingers grip Remus’s elbow as he passes him in the hallway of their shared flat and scoops out his pulse.

seasons in desire

The sun is sitting low on the horizon, an egg yolk above the brick and sandstone buildings. It spills into the hall and lights Dorcas in orange and yellow, and she looks like a god, like Aphrodite or an angel, and Marlene’s eyes keep catching on the hook and drop of Dorcas’s collarbone and shoulder even from across the room.

tagging all the mutuals please xxxx

[chaoticgoodcaptain]

also you know studying international relations fucked you up bad when you go see oppenheimer and your initial reaction is "oh, so just another thursday in the world politics"

[hurryflurrie]

Wow the first post I'm making and I've had this account for how long?! Welp, good of a time as any. I recently made this bundle of joy and I'm quite proud of how they turned out. For context, this was originally a grim reaper OC that I played in character.ai. (Very cringe I am aware)

They were originally a really boring run of the mill grim reaper that wasn't any different from the original. I really wanted them to stand out from other grim reapers I've seen and honestly it ended up better than I expected, so here they are:

Tenshi Nevermore

Age: Unknown

Species: Reaper

Gender: N/A and doesn't care what pronouns are used to refer to them

Sexuality: Aro/Ace

Height: 8'0"

Backstory

Reapers are soulless beings that do not have any emotions and are naturally apathetic creatures. They exist in a realm completely devoid of life. It's a barren, dull, desolate wasteland with the only surroundings being random huts built by the Reapers out of sheer boredom. Many Reapers have died out as a result of their eternal boredom, so very few remain in this realm. Getting sick of letting the boredom overtake them, Tenshi left the realm in search of a purpose for existing, picking up bounty hunting as a way to hunt for souls, the only thing they are able to eat. They wound up in Hell after taking a bounty to kill a seemingly harmless demon named Azamuku, but failed to do so due to the demon matching them in strength. They gained their own way of respect for the demon, spared her, and overtime the two gained a one-sided friendship with Azamuku being the one wanting friendship and Tenshi only keeping her alive to have an occasional rematch from time to time.

Description

Completely skeletal with no organs or skin. Their skull is like a raven's with a torso similar to a human's but the fingers have very sharp ends akin to claws and the legs and feet are talons with black claws. On their back they have black feathered raven wings that span 9 feet which allows them to fly. Tenshi does have blood-red pupils but they only appear when they sense they are in danger or when trying to be intimidating. Their eye sockets are usually empty otherwise. Their attire consists of a black cloak with a hood fashioned with pockets on the inside for storage and black skinny jeans tailored to fit their proportions. All of Tenshi's clothing were made by Azamuku much to Tenshi's protest against it. Their voice is deep, but feminine sounding which is unusual compared to others of their species who have raspy bass voices.

Personality

Nonchalant and non-caring. Due to them being a Reaper, they were born without a soul, rendering them incapable of feeling any emotions so they come across as cold and apathetic. They are also impatient and can be annoyed very easily if prompted. They speak in a soft and monotonous manner when relaxed, but speak with a menacing and sadistic tone when on a job or threatened. Coming from a realm devoid of any life and a bleak colorless atmosphere, they also have an undying boredom that is nearly impossible to satiate. The only times it is temporarily relieved is if they successfully complete a bounty or fight a strong opponent that nearly kills them but it only lasts for a few minutes before coming back. They have a quirk when speaking where instead of saying "god" they instead say words synonymous to nothingness, such as "null".

Likes

Souls

Quiet areas

Combat (takes bounties often for this reason alone)

Melee weapons

Dislikes

Killing things (due to the mess, they'd prefer to just rip the targets' souls out and leave them as husks, but will not hesitate in completely killing them if their job requires it)

Loud constant noise

Boredom

Targets talking to them while fighting

The other members of their race due to their idleness

Guns, Bows, any weapon that is ranged

Weapons

A scythe with the snath being made out of a reinforced, durable dragon spine that has grips wrapped in black leather to make fighting with it easier. The blade is made of a sharpened dragon tooth

Very sharp dual wield daggers carved out of femurs

Strengths

Remarkably clever and observant when in a fight, finding their targets' weaknesses quickly and able to capitalize on them efficiently

When disarmed, they are alarmingly strong despite being skeletal and they are able to maneuver in an agile manner due to their light weight

Creative, and learns crafts rather quickly. Their forging skills are impressive, considering their weapons are made of bone and do not break easily

Weaknesses

Due to their anatomy having avian features, their bones are hollow much like actual birds so they take damage much more severely

Them being quick to annoy also can hinder them in combat, often resulting in them lashing out without thinking and becoming predictable

Tends to underestimate opponents a lot and pays gravely for their error

Very stubborn and will not retreat unless absolutely necessary, which has almost killed them numerous times

You'll need to know this for the test

Tenshi is the shortest of their race. The average height of a Reaper is 12 feet.

Reapers do not care about identity, so none of them have names. Tenshi only has one because Azamuku started calling them "Tenshi" one day and they just got used to it. Their last name they picked for themselves after hearing Azamuku recite an Edgar Allen Poe poem

Tenshi's screams of rage sound like a distorted mix of a Falcon call and several blood curdling screams screaming in unison

Tenshi can die, but eating souls actually adds to their lifespan, making them artificially immortal. If they do not eat souls within the span of 5 years, they will die

When Reapers die, their body disintegrates, leaving nothing behind. They are unable to be resurrected due to lacking a soul

Whenever Tenshi sustains damage, they are able to heal by eating souls, how many they need to eat depends on how severe the damage is

Tenshi can physically feel, such as touch or pain.

When they kill a target/opponent, they usually take a random bone from the body, either as proof the target is 100% dead (they usually just present their soul though) or as a keepsake if they deemed them worthy to remember.

Tenshi has a hidden fascination in weaponcraft and whenever they encounter a new type of weapon, they start studying it immediately. If they like using it enough, they will design one of their own using the bones they have collected

Tenshi can only play most video games for a couple minutes before immediately getting frustrated and/or bored, but they are able to play for longer if the games are specifically Minecraft or Toribash, where they will go for days playing them nonstop.

In Minecraft, Tenshi has a habit of making dirt shacks and completely forgetting where they built them when they go too far from them, so they build a new one and the cycle repeats until the world is littered with abandoned dirt shacks 30 chunks apart from each other...and they will still forget where their numerous dirtshacks are and keep building new ones.

Tenshi is 5th Dan in Toribash and finds enjoyment playing Aikido Big Dojo and Lenshu

If Tenshi played Smash Bros Ultimate they would main Greninja (They would find enjoyment for a few minutes, but never play again since they prefer "realistic" fighting over cartoon violence)

If Tenshi played Mario Kart 8 they would main Dry Bowser and Bone Rattler (They find racing games really boring)

If Tenshi played Splatoon, they would primarily use Splatana Stamper and Splat Dualies (They lack the necessary patience to play shooter games)

If Tenshi played any Pokemon game, they would use only Ghost and Dark types (They think RPGs are tedious and frustrating, especially those with exp systems)

[eyesteeth]

totally real and canon new world of steam scene

all one image under the cut for those who are into that sort of thing

[o-sahiba]

Out of all the things I want to know, the thing I'm most curious about is history. History of the world. As students in high school, we were Ofcourse taught about the dynasties and the empires and the wars, different things in different classes/grades like about certain time line or certain dynasty or empire in one grade and then about another certain time line or empire in the other grade. The curriculum, however vast it was, was poorly organized. We were learning about revolts of 1857, tribal socities, british rule in india and colonialism. Then in 9th we Were taught about the French Revolution, Russian Revolution and Hitler's rise. Suddenly about the world? And then in 10th the focus shifted on learning the books written in those periods and the famous authors and life of people back then and about nationalism in Europe. Seriously!? Like you are making us learn about the wars and casualities one after the other making us traumatized by reciting and repeating and recalling those inhumane things and in between you are bringing those mini episodes of 'happy times' and simple and poetic life of people back then and how things progressed and got better!? And that too isn't happening as per the actual timeline. Hitler's history is coming after the world war 2 ended!? Like what is this behavior bro? I mean where's the closure man?

Apparently, I have developed a very vague understanding of the world history. I know the things that have happened but I don't know how they coincide. I know the struggle of Indian Independence, the Vietnam War, the cold war, the french revolution, Russian revolution, Chinese revolution, the world war, the atomic bombings, the Napolean, Hitler, Alexander and all the other things. It's like I know the pieces but I'm unable to put them together to complete the picture. It's a chaos in my head.

[qimicloud]

This is going both on this blog AND in the tags because I'm that.... embarrassed isn't the right word, neither is shy. Alas. You get the idea. Unfortunately my place for putting these sort of thoughts has been barred from me atm so

[nevthereader]

books that fundamentally changed me that I'll talk about someday:

Neanderthal Opens the Doors to the Universe

The One Memory of Flora Banks

The Poisonwood Bible

The Raven Cycle (series)

The Catcher in the Rye

The Memory Keeper's Daughter

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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