#problematic husbands part 4

[villainsidechick]

Husbands I want to slap --

Just because I'm morbidly curious what would happen if I did slap either of these men (knowing I'd probably die)

It would have be a left-handed slap, because I'd feel bad about hitting his scars.

This bitch, however -- Young Wilhuff is just asking for a beating.

Slap fish --- just kidding. I could never touch this sweet baby girl.

[musical-chick-13]

.

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 4

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, small amount of angst, some hurt/comfort. also kinda problematic paige but i get her

a/n - guess who’s endo cramps are killing her!! that’s right, me! fml. as usual this is unedited but i’ll come back to edit later! also, i changed paige’s step-dad’s name from tim to dean because i remembered that azzi’s dad is named tim and i felt like that would be confusing lol. also, thank you so much for all the fic recs i got! i’m so excited to start working on them :3

They’re ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride and nobody has said a word. Country music is playing quietly over the radio, and Dean and Amy keep glancing at each other. But the awkward silence is deadly.

Nobody spoke earlier, either. After Paige dropped the bomb. It was silent for a good minute before Dean had coughed loudly and turned back to the car, getting wordlessly into the driver’s seat. Amy stared at them for another minute or so, giving them no clue as to what was going on in her head other than her ears, which rapidly turned bright red. Finally, she’d shook her head and said, “We will talk about this when we get home,” before following her husband into the car.

As soon as they were both out of hearing range, Paige had sagged, and Azzi’d looked over at her, concerned. Usually, she’d lay a hand on her arm but she wasn’t sure if Paige wanted to be touched, especially by her, so instead she’d said, “Remember, we can leave anytime.”

Paige had nodded stiffly. And then, without looking at Azzi, she’d gotten into the car as well, leaving the door open for Azzi to follow suit.

And now they’re on the road, Paige and Azzi sitting in the back seat like two little kids in trouble. Azzi wants to go on her phone to avoid the awkwardness but her parents raised her to be polite, no matter the circumstances, so here she sits, stiff and awkward while she rides in this car that smells new and fancy and she hates it.

Chancing a glance over, Azzi sees that Paige is still staring out the window, the same thing she’s been doing the whole car ride, and Azzi hates that, too, because Paige only ever gets quiet when she’s bone-tired or truly upset. And Paige got a pretty good nap on the plane.

Based off the way she acted to Azzi’s words before they got on the road, Azzi’s pretty sure she’s doing that thing where she shuts people out because she’s mad or on the verge of tears or thinking too hard. And when she does this she can get mean, because she’s trying to protect herself, and it comes out all wrong.

She’s always done this, been reluctant to open up about the hard stuff, shut out the people who care about her. She and Azzi have talked about it a lot. She once admitted that Azzi was the first person to get her to actually talk about her feelings. But despite Azzi’s way with Paige, and despite the fact that they just get each other in a way no one else ever has, they still have their flaws. Azzi still doesn’t always know the right thing to say. And Paige still gets mean.

This fact keeps Azzi glued to her seat, thinking sidling closer and trying to comfort her best friend would only end badly. Azzi acts like she has a tough skin but often, the things Paige says when she gets like this cut deep, and it ends with both of them hurt. She’s scared to add a fight between the two of them onto whatever will surely go on with Paige and her parents later. So she stays put, even though every bone in her body is telling her to make Paige better.

Azzi has only managed this for maybe five minutes when she glances over again and notices that this time, Paige’s hand is splayed over the middle seat, fingers tapping anxiously, almost like she’s subconsciously reaching over. And that sight alone is enough to get Azzi sliding over, moving Paige’s hand so she doesn’t sit on it. Dean looks at her through the rearview, but Azzi pretends not to notice.

Paige doesn’t look over when Azzi settles in beside her. But she does reach blindly for her hand before taking it and placing it in her own lap, playing with the fingers nervously. Azzi breathes in relief. Paige hasn’t rejected her outright—she can’t be too upset. At least not yet.

They sit like that for the remainder of the ride.

When they pull into the driveway, Paige gives Azzi’s hand a squeeze before subtly shaking herself out and exiting the car. Azzi follows, afraid to be alone with Paige’s parents for even a second.

Before Paige can close the door, Amy calls, “Bring your bags into your room, Paige. And when you’re done come down and talk to us in the kitchen.” There’s a weighted pause. “Alone.”

Paige doesn’t answer, just slams the door shut. Azzi winces.

Azzi doesn’t say anything while Paige opens the trunk, or when she starts aggressively pulling their things out, or even when she slams the trunk shut. No, Azzi keeps her mouth shut, wanting to allow her best friend to seethe in peace, but when Paige slams into her shoulder when she passes her, Azzi doesn’t want to let it slide. “Ow! Paige, what the fuck?”

“Get your bags,” Paige responds gruffly.

Okay, so it’s gonna be one of those times. Perfect.

Despite not wanting to, Azzi does as she’s told, gathering her bags and following Paige to the front porch. She tries not to think about how usually Paige would’ve carried her things for her.

Paige opens the door without a word and they walk inside. The house is nice, open, smells of cedarwood. Paige doesn’t give Azzi a chance to look around, though, instead walking briskly to the staircase, lugging her shit upstairs with impressive strength, and Azzi thanks God she’s in such good shape because she’s practically jogging by the time they arrive at a room at the end of the hall.

“Paige—“ Azzi starts to stay, but Paige cuts her off by throwing her own backpack off her shoulder and dropping her suitcases, as if she’s trying her hardest to make as much a ruckus as possible.

Azzi places her things much more nicely on her usual side of the bed, eyeing Paige cautiously the entire time. It’s the only reason she’s able to catch her before she leaves, anticipating her movements just like she does on the court and darting between her best friend and the door, blocking her.

For the first time in nearly an hour, Paige looks her in the eye, and there’s fire there. “Move, Azzi.”

“No.”

“God,” Paige sighs, “seriously, don’t piss me off. Get outta my way.”

“No, Paige,” Azzi repeats, keeping her feet planted.

Paige stares at her and then shakes her head. “Why are you being so fuckin’ annoying?”

“Don’t,” Azzi says, trying to stop her before she gets too fired up, but it’s already started.

“No, Azzi, you don’t,” Paige snaps. “I knew you were gonna get like this, do your fuckin’ peace and love shit that you think will solve everyone’s fucking problems.”

Azzi swallows hard. It’s been years since Paige went on a rampage like this, and she opens her mouth to stop her, but is quickly interrupted.

“It doesn’t solve anything, dawg. It actually makes shit worse, because it’s so motherfucking annoying having you acting like everything’s fine when you don’t even know.” Paige shakes her head, taking a step towards her. “And that’s the thing, is you really don’t know but you wanna pretend like you do. You don’t know what it’s like to have your mom fuckin’ leave you for some fuckass guy, for her to have new kids outta state and raise them to be hateful just like her. Just like him.”

At this point, Azzi has tears in her eyes, and she attempts desperately to swallow them down. “Did you forget that my dad fucking left me when I was a baby? I’ve never even fucking talked to him, Paige. He doesn’t want shit to do with me.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.” Paige sends her a withering glare, so different from the way she usually looks at Azzi. “You have Tim. You have your mom and your brothers and they all love you so fucking much.”

“You have your dad!” Azzi responds, throwing her hands in the air. “You have Drew, you have Alora!” A tear escapes, against her will, and she wipes it furiously away. “You have me, Paige,” she says, more quietly now. “I love you so fucking much. So you don’t get to take this shit out on me and say mean things to hurt my feelings. That’s not—it’s not fair.”

As soon as she sees the tears welling in Azzi’s eyes, Paige softens, her shoulders slumping, eyes turning on her with guilt rather than venom. “Az, don’t cry.”

For some reason, this makes Azzi more mad, and she turns away to face the door, always having hated crying in front of others. “Well if you say mean shit to me, I’m gonna cry, Paige,” she mumbles, though there’s not much fire to her weak, shaky tone.

“Hey, no, you’re right,” Paige reaches for Azzi’s shoulder, trying to turn her around, but the tears have started now and they’re not going to stop anytime soon so Azzi stays turned firmly away. “Azzi, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Paige cuts herself off on a sigh. Her hand falls off Azzi’s shoulder, and for a second Azzi thinks she’s going to walk away, but then a pair of arms wrap tenderly around her waist and Paige’s chin is wresting on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I was wrong for that, I shouldnt’ve said any of that shit.” When Azzi doesn’t respond, instead burying her face in her hands to try and hide what she’s sure is an ugly cry, Paige squeezes her tighter. “Azzi, please don’t cry, I’m really sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, for real. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just so scared about my parents and I took it out on you, I fucked up.”

Azzi nods into her hands, taking a deep breath to try and stop the embarrassing flow of emotion. “I know, Paige,” she tries, but it comes out sort of as a whimper and this only makes Paige circle around to stand in front of her, full-on hugging her now, burying her face in her neck and rubbing her back soothingly.

They’re silent for another moment before Paige says, “I’m serious, Az. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Azzi knows this, fundamentally, but there’s still a part of her that sort of cracked at hearing her best friend tell her that she was annoying, that her efforts to help always fall flat. “You shouldn’t have said it, then,” she stutters, letting Paige hold her close even as her face doesn’t come out of its hiding spot.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. You’re the only person who can ever make me feel better and I—fuck. Azzi, I’m sorry, I can’t believe—I never wanna hurt you.” Paige lifts her head out of her neck to nuzzle into Azzi’s hair, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind her ear. “Never wanna make you cry.” She plants another kiss there, and Azzi’s breath hitches. From the crying or from something else, she doesn’t know.

Sighing shakily, Azzi finally pulls her head out of her hands to look up at Paige, placing her hands at her chest almost as if she’s about to push her away. She’s sure her mascara is ruined by now but she can’t bring herself to care too much. “It really hurt when you shoved me outside, too.”

A pained expression flits over Paige’s face, and she nods, looking almost sick. “Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry, Azzi. I’m so sorry. Is your arm okay? Does it still hurt?”

Azzi can’t take the guilty look on Paige’s face and shakes her head no. It doesn’t seem to relieve much of anything.

Breathing deeply, Paige closes her eyes and then leans her forehead against Azzi’s, bringing her hands up from her waist to stroke over her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers, and Azzi’s knows that the nickname wasn’t a slip-up this time, wasn’t just a habit from their pretending. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry.”

And with that, Azzi isn’t mad anymore. Her feelings are still hurt and the things Paige said are still going to replay in her head for quite some time, but at least for now, Azzi just can’t be mad. Because Paige is going through something she could never imagine going through.

“I’m sorry, too,” Azzi breathes, and Paige rears back, but before she can protest, Azzi says, “about your parents. About this whole…situation.” She looks down at her hands on Paige’s chest, and, deciding she won’t be needing to push her away anymore, she slides them up to her shoulders. “It’s shitty and you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position.” She shrugs, swallowing back the last couple tears that threaten to fall, trying to regain at least some of her composure. “I’m going to be here for you, okay? I always am.”

Paige nods. “I know you will.”

“And that means,” Azzi goes on, “you can’t do this again. You can’t take it out on me. You can’t push me away. Because that makes it really fucking hard for me to help you, and I want to help you.”

Paige nods again, more solemnly this time, moving her hands back to circle her waist. “Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m so sorry for—“

Azzi holds a hand up to Paige’s lips, effectively shutting her up. “Okay, stop. I accept your apology, I promise. Just, show me you’re sorry and don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige says. “‘Course.”

“Good.” Breathing mostly even now, Azzi pulls Paige in for another hug.

With a heavy sigh, Paige hugs her back. “We’re in it together, hm? From now on, together.”

Azzi rests her cheek on Paige’s shoulder, the weight of her arms around her, the feeling of her skin and bones, so familiar. “Yeah. Together.”

Paige pulls back just enough to look at her, and when Azzi reciprocates, she’s uneasy to find that Paige is giving her that same new look. The perplexed, maybe enthralled?, almost worried look that has taken over her face more often than can be explained ever since the first time after their kiss. Azzi really wants to work out what it means.

But, as always, Paige corrects herself and it’s gone as fast as it arrived. “We’re good?”

Azzi nods, smiling softly despite herself. “Yeah, P. We’re good.”

—————————————

Paige has been downstairs with her parents for nearly an hour.

From what Azzi can hear from her spot at the top of the stairs, it doesn’t sound to be going too well. The three of them keep going from yelling to whisper-yelling to yelling again, and Azzi swears Amy has cried like five times at this point.

When Azzi hears Dean say, “We just don’t allow sinners in this house, Paige,” and Paige snap back, “Do not use God against me right now!” Azzi figures it might be time to intervene.

Trying to come up with something quickly, she pulls out her phone and dials Paige’s number. She hears Paige’s phone ring downstairs, and the three of them go quiet before Paige says, “Just—one second,” and then there’s a click on the other line and she’s answering. “Um, hi?”

“Pretend I’m your dad,” Azzi says, hoping she’s not on speaker.

“What?”

“Just pretend I’m your dad, Paige. Seriously.”

“Uh, okay.” The line gets a little muffled and Paige says, “It’s dad.” Azzi can hear both Amy and Dean let out audible groans downstairs.

“Okay, now tell them that I—your dad—am offering to fly you home.”

“I…wha—“ Azzi can tell Paige wants to argue but can’t with her parents right in front of her, so instead she sighs and the line goes muffled again. “He’s, um, he’s offering to fly me home.”

Azzi only has a second to hope and pray that Amy shares Paige’s competitive nature before Amy is saying, “What? You told him about this?”

“No,” Paige answers, “he just knows how you’re like now. And he wants Azzi and I to have a good summer, not a shitty one with shitty people.”

“If you want to go back to your dad’s, go,” Dean says, and Azzi’s heart sinks. Maybe this won’t work.

But then, bless her evil, horrible soul, Amy is stepping in. “No. Absolutely not. I will never hear the end of it if we send you to your father after inviting you over. We just…” Amy sighs, and Azzi thinks she can hear her start crying again. “We want what’s best for you, Paige.”

It’s silent for a moment. And then, “Let me be happy, Mom. Let me see my siblings. Let me and my girlfriend have a good trip with y’all.”

Dean interjects. “We really don’t believe in this kind of stuff.”

“I don’t care,” Paige replies viciously. “I love Azzi. It doesn’t matter that she’s a fuckin’ girl. I…” Paige pauses, quite abruptly, and Azzi wonders if something happened. But then she hears a heavy inhalation and a quiet, “I love her, Mom.”

Azzi knows it’s for the act, but she can’t help the way her stomach somersaults, hearing the words she’s always wished Paige would say.

“And it doesn’t matter what you think of it,” Paige continues. “I’m happy. My faith is strong. And what goes on between me and God isn’t your fucking business.”

“Language,” Amy says immediately. But then it’s silent for another weighted moment and Azzi can imagine Amy and Dean sharing that knowing, judgmental look of theirs. Her heart races while she waits for a consensus, and she’s sure it’s 100 times worse for Paige. But after a few moments, Amy says, “Tell your father that you’re staying here with us. Your siblings will be home tomorrow morning. The four of us adults have a reservation at a restaurant tonight, and we’re all going to go.”

“Mom—“

“We will try,” Amy sighs. “Azzi’s a nice girl. We will—we’ll try.” There’s something tired in her voice when she says, “Right, Dean?”

No answer. But Azzi can imagine him nodding gruffly, and a moment later, with no more words from any of them, Paige appears at the bottom of the stairs. She startles a little when she sees Azzi sitting there at the top.

“Hi,” Azzi says sheepishly, finally disconnecting their call. “I was eavesdropping.”

Paige stares at her, and then starts climbing the stairs, a small smile overtaking their face. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I told you I would,” Azzi replies, waiting for Paige at the top. “So. Dinner with your parents tonight.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Paige gets to the second-top step and stays there, so she’s just a little shorter than Azzi.

“Dinner as a fake lesbian couple with your homophobic parents,” Azzi clarifies, and Paige laughs nervously.

“Uh-huh,” she responds. “I think we needa nap before that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Azzi agrees, pulling Paige up to stand with her. “That is an amazing idea.”

——————————————

Azzi is rudely awoken to none other than an old Tyler, The Creator song blasting through the tinny speakers of Paige’s phone. Azzi groans, and she blindly reaches out for Paige to turn the damn thing off, but her hands only find cold bedsheets. Annoyed, Azzi cracks her eyes open and tries desperately to find Paige’s phone, realizing in the process that Paige’s side of the bed is cold. Strange, considering they still have two hours until dinner.

Finally, after probably thirty seconds of this stupid song playing over and over again, Azzi finds the phone tangled up in the bedsheets and slams the off button. It’s sort of pointless, though, because now she’s very much awake and will not be going back to bed.

She sits up in Paige’s bed, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. The sun is shining through the curtains, reflecting off the mirror above the vanity and showcasing the off-white walls, the pink door to the adjoining bathroom—which Azzi now realizes is in use, the sound of the shower muffled through the door. She hadn’t noticed before because Paige isn’t awfully singing to some Mariah Carey song. Other than the water, it’s dead quiet in there. She must be nervous.

Fiddling with the pink sheets, Azzi feels nervous, too. Usually, merely being in Paige’s space comforts her, but this room—it doesn’t feel like Paige. It doesn’t smell like her, and it’s too pink. There’s no purple at all, actually. And the vanity—Paige has never known how to do much else other than mascara. In high school, she needed Azzi to tell her what concealer was for, and to teach her how to curl her lashes. She certainly wouldn’t have use for an entire vanity dedicated to makeup. The walls are also decorated with cringy, sort of Bible-thumping quotes and paintings of flowers. There’s not a single basketball poster.

No, this room isn’t Paige at all and Azzi feels an ache in her heart, thinking about how out-of-place she must have felt whenever she came to visit as a kid. How out-of-place she must feel now.

Without Paige to talk to, and without her room to comfort her, Azzi settles for laying on Paige’s side of the bed, burying her face in the blankets, and there she is—vanilla, like her hair products, and lavender, like the lotion she wears and the linen spray she uses, because it calms her down.

Azzi thinks she just might fall back asleep, enveloped in Paige’s scent, but then the door to the bathroom opens and steam billows out just before Paige does, wrapped in a towel, hair wet down her shoulders. Azzi only has a second to ogle the water drops adorning Paige’s collarbones before she’s spotted, and Paige gives her a curious look. “You still sleep? I left my phone here so the alarm would wake you up.”

“Yeah, no, it did,” Azzi says, sitting up quickly, before she looks like a weirdo snuggling up in Paige’s spot. “Just tryin’ to hype myself up for dinner.”

Paige gives her a commiserating look. “Me too. I’m shitting my pants, for real.”

“That why you couldn’t sleep?” Azzi asks, stretching out her back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Paige hums, bending down to rifle around in her suitcase. “I’on even know what to wear. Apparently it’s some fancy restaurant but I’m not wearing a fucking dress.”

Azzi laughs at that, lifting her hands when Paige shoots a glare over her shoulder. “I’m serious, dawg! And it’s not like I brought a suit or nothing.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Azzi says, standing up. “Just wear jeans and tuck a t-shirt or something. You’ll look cute no matter what.”

Paige straights up and gives her a cocky grin. “You think all that?”

“Chill, P,” Azzi rolls her eyes, shoving Paige’s shoulder a little.

“What were you doing on my side of the bed, anyway?” Paige asks, and Azzi can’t help the way she freezes. She’d thought Paige hadn’t noticed.

Trying to cover her reaction, she shrugs casually. “I didn’t know you owned the right side of the bed.”

“Nah, we’ve always had our sides,” Paige shakes her head, taking a step closer. “Why was you all cuddled up in mine?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Azzi says, trying for sarcastic but she can’t even really make eye contact, “maybe I rolled over or something.”

“Please. You don’t move in your sleep.”

“Maybe I do. You don’t know.”

“I think I’ve slept with you more often than I’ve slept alone,” Paige scoffs, taking a step even closer so that they’re practically chest-to-chest. “I know damn well.”

“Okay, seriously,” Azzi says, taking a small step back and stumbling when her thighs hit the bed, “go get dressed, you weirdo.”

“Mm,” Paige says, pretending to think about it. But before Azzi can move away, she grabs her waist and they both fall onto the bed while Paige starts to tickle her like crazy.

“Paige!” Azzi screams, laughing so hard she almost can’t breathe. “Get—off, oh my God!”

Paige is laughing right along with her, and it’s a miracle her towel hasn’t dropped yet. “Tell me the truth!”

“What the…” Azzi giggles and squeals when Paige goes for her armpit, “fuck!”

“I won’t stop ‘till you admit it!”

“Okay, fuck, okay!” Azzi pushes Paige off her, and Paige lets up just enough for her to gasp and say, “It smelled like you, okay? The sheets, they…” Paige has stopped completely now, staring at her with a shit-eating grin on her stupid face, “they smell like you.”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, “and you missed me so much while I was in the shower that you needed to smell my sheets?” She jabs her one more time in the ribs, making Azzi shriek, before rolling off her. “You lil creep.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Azzi insists, even though that’s exactly what it was like. “Now, seriously, go get dressed. You got me all wet.”

What Azzi means by that, of course, is that Paige’s damp towel and sopping hair had transferred to Azzi’s own clothes and hair. But Paige can’t be normal about anything, so she looks over and grins slyly.

“Don’t,” Azzi sighs.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Paige says, sitting up in bed and pulling Azzi up with her. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed. I know I make a lotta girls wet.”

“Stop being weird,” Azzi says, as Paige bends down once again to pull an outfit from her suitcase.

She begins walking back to the bathroom. “I’m not the one who gets turned on by tickling,” Paige calls over her shoulder. Just before she closes the bathroom door behind her, she says, “Don’t worry, we can take care of you after dinner, mama,” and winks at her.

Azzi’s shoe hits the door just as it clicks shut.

—————————————

They drive to the restaurant in silence.

It’s similar to their car ride from the airport, though it is a little less tense than before. Paige isn’t fidgeting too much beside her and her parents aren’t giving each other looks the entire time. That’s gotta be a good sign.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Amy and Dean start chatting idly, Paige and Azzi trailing behind when they walk inside the fancy building and give the hostess their reservation.

It’s only when they’re finally seated that they are addressed.

“So, girls,” Amy says, her voice all forced cheerfulness, “what looks good?”

“I dunno,” Paige mumbles, and Azzi kicks her under the table before saying, “Have you guys ever been here before?”

Amy looks a little startled at Azzi’s voice, but she recovers quickly, looking over at Dean with a forced smile. “Oh, yeah, we come here sometimes.”

Azzi smiles politely. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Um,” Amy says, and then she sort of jerks and Dean winces, and Azzi’s sure Amy has also just kicked him under the table.

Apparently well-trained, he speaks immediately. “We love the spinach ricotta.”

Azzi hums, then nudges Paige. “That sounds good, right?”

“Uh…” Paige looks like she wants to be difficult, but then she sees the warning stare Azzi is giving her and straightens up a little, “yeah, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wanna share?”

Paige sighs, but luckily it’s barely audible. “Yeah, sure. Let’s share.”

Azzi leaves herself out of the conversation after that, letting Paige answer her parents’ conversation starters. When the waitress comes to take their orders, Paige gets a glass of wine for the both of them. Neither of them really like wine, but it seems classy enough and it might take the edge off just enough that they can actually get through the night unscathed.

It’s not until their dinner arrives that Azzi is addressed again.

“So, Azzi,” Dean says, out of nowhere, “How’s the knee?”

Azzi’s hand goes subconsciously to her surgery scars. “Doing better. PT’s been going good.”

“Good, good.” He leans back in his seat, and Azzi senses trouble. Something about the way Paige protectively rests her arm across the back of Azzi’s seat makes her think she senses it, too.

“You get injured a lot, huh?” He asks.

Azzi sort of hates the way her face gets hot, hoping it doesn’t show up on her brown skin. “I’ve torn my ACL twice, yeah.”

“And your meniscus, right?” he prods.

Without really noticing it, Azzi looks over to Paige, and that’s apparently all Paige needs to jump in. “Hey, let’s not talk about it.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, scoffing. Amy is looking between the three of them nervously. “It’s hard not to talk about. Azzi, you don’t even play basketball at this point.”

“Um,” Azzi replies, her instincts telling her to get hot-headed but with the way Paige is buzzing beside her, she’s gonna need to keep her cool.

“What the hell?” Paige says, her hand going from the chair to Azzi’s shoulder. She looks at Amy. “Mom, you said this wouldn’t happen.”

“Your father is just asking a few questions—“

“He’s not my fucking dad!” Paige exclaims, and Azzi jerks as she’s pulled into Paige’s side. “I already have a dad! He raised me, he loves me, Mom, and he’d never say this shit about Azzi.” Angrily, Paige stands up, tossing a few bills onto the counter and helping Azzi to stand beside her.

“Sweetheart,” Amy says, reaching limply for her daughter while Dean sits beside her looking far too smug. “Paige, where are you going? We’re your ride.”

“We’ll Uber,” Paige responds, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist. “I’m not gonna make her sit through your bullshit because you don’t know how to act like a decent fucking human being.”

“He was just asking—,” Any starts, sounding exasperated, but Paige cuts her off.

“You know what he was doing.” She glares at Dean, who shakes his head, smirking. “We’ll go back to the house,” she sneers. “But if this doesn’t change by tomorrow we’re leaving.”

And with that, she takes Azzi hands and leads them both out into the night.

—————————————

Paige keeps it together until they get to the house.

As soon as they’re stepping through the door, she turns away from Azzi and leans down to untie her shoes. Azzi does the same, but she doesn’t miss the sniffling sounds coming from her best friend.

Paige refuses to look at her when they start heading upstairs, and she tries to make a beeline for the bathroom once they close her bedroom door shut behind them. But Azzi stops her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “P?”

Another sniffle. And then a quick wipe at her face before she’s turning around, trying to look nonchalant but her eyes are red and her lip is trembling. “Yeah?”

“Paige,” Azzi says softly, and Paige crumbles, hands coming up to her face as she starts crying.

Azzi steps forward to hug her, pulling her down to hide in her chest. “I’m sorry, P. I’m so sorry, this—this sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige replies, voice all small and muffled in a way that makes Azzi’s heart hurt. “I thought they were gonna try…I wouldn’t have taken you out with them if I knew…”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Azzi responds, running a hand through Paige’s hair. “I didn’t mind, really. I’ve heard worse.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Paige just cries harder. “Fuck, Az, you shouldn’t have to do this.” She lifts her head up to look at her, and Azzi absently wipes her face. “This sucks. It’s the first week of summer and I—I was shitty to you and now my parents, and I—“

“Paige,” Azzi says sternly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I couldn’t handle it. I can handle it. It’s you that I’m worried about.”

Paige nods, sniffling again. “You don’t gotta worry. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine, P,” Azzi says, and Paige winces, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I’m okay,” Paige insists. “Really. As long as we do this together, I’m okay.”

She straightens up like she’s steeling herself, and Azzi thinks maybe she should do the same.

This is only the first day of their two-week stay.

It’s going to be a long trip.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Workplace harassment, pregnancy complications, verbal abuse, grief, and loss. Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Workplace Dynamics, Gamer Culture, Mystery Identity, Mild Violence, Pregnancy Complications, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Depression.

A/N: Before you start reading— 1. Man, after finalizing this chapter, I was the Ben Affleck meme outside, chain-smoking my sanity away. 2. Minors, DNI. It’s not spicy, but seriously, don’t ruin your innocence here. 3. Our reader is tough as nails, but damn, even I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. 4. I’ve sprinkled some links, a playlist, and a meme to lighten the vibe, but customize the vibe however you need. 5. Fair warning: the ending’s gonna hurt. If you’re not in the headspace for that, skip the parts marked with { }. Take care of yourself, okay? Let’s get wrecked together.

Previous Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 6 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities

The gaming convention hall pulsed with energy—screens flashing with gameplay demos from various companies, creative souls showcasing their cosplays, excited chatter bouncing off the high ceilings, and the occasional triumphant shout from someone winning a round. You kept your barely see-through-only for you-hood low, blending seamlessly with the crowd as you moved toward your company’s booth. The email from your employee still sat in your inbox, her words playing on a loop in your mind:

“I wanted to bring to your attention a concerning issue that has been occurring within our team. Certain male employees have been engaging in inappropriate behavior towards their female colleagues, making comments that suggest women do not belong in the gaming industry.

Despite providing multiple rounds of workplace etiquette training, these individuals continue to make such remarks, often doing so after the training sessions have concluded. While we have attempted to address the situation discreetly, the behavior has persisted and is becoming increasingly problematic.

I felt it was important to make you aware of this issue, even if no immediate action is taken, as you are committed to fostering an inclusive and respectful work environment.”

You weren’t about to let it slide.

Your gaze landed on your company’s booth, where a small group had gathered. Two men—mid-forties, loud with unwarranted confidence—were smirking as they leaned toward a younger woman who stood stiffly, her arms crossed.

“Come on,” one of them said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You can’t even finish a round without dying. How are you going to tell us what to do?”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, his laugh grating. “We're not sexist or anything, but gaming’s just not your thing. Stick to HR or something.”

You gritted your teeth, the instinct to step in bubbling beneath the surface. But you held back, watching as the woman squared her shoulders and prepared to fire back. Before she could, you pulled out your phone. With a few quick taps, an email was swiftly dispatched to the CHRO, with the COO, CSO, CMO, and the event coordinator all included in the loop for informational purposes.

The response from the CHRO came immediately: "We’ll start the off-boarding right away."

Within minutes, the two men’s phones buzzed simultaneously. They frowned, pulling them out, only for their faces to pale.

“What the—”

“Fucking hell!”

They stared at their screens, then at each other, and finally back at the woman they’d been harassing. “It’s you—”

Before they could finish, your voice cut through, calm. “You have five minutes to vacate the premises, or security will escort you if needed.”

The woman blinked at you, her surprise quickly replaced by a smirk as the men stammered and shuffled off grumbling to gather their things. You turned away before she could say anything, your hood still obscuring your face.

Then a loud voice rang out. “No, no, NO! Game broken! Is not me! Me loyal fan!”

Heads turned, including yours, to a really tall man with bright white hair and pale skin standing at the demo station, gesturing wildly at the screen. His coat hung loosely around his shoulders, and he wore dark sunglasses indoors. With his striking appearance, he could easily model for Giorgio Armani.

“Mechanics! Broken! No strong! Me? Strongest!” he declared, his English so fractured and accented that it took you a moment to piece together what he was trying to say.

One of your employees—a nervous-looking junior—stammered, “Uh… sir, maybe you just need more practice?”

The man looked personally offended. “Me beat curse! Me GOAT!” He paused, frowned, and then switched to rapid Japanese, clearly too frustrated to stick with English.

The junior blinked, helplessly lost. “Uh… what?”

The woman who had been dealing with the earlier bullying snorted. “Looks like you’ve got competition, Steve,” she muttered, glaring at her now ex-coworker as they left before turning to the man. “Sir, maybe try again? Second round’s free.”

“Free?” His face lit up like a Christmas town. “Yay! Free! Strongest WIN!”

“Stop embarrassing yourself,” came a calm, deep voice from behind him.

You tilted your neck to see another man—a tall figure, though not quite as towering as his counterpart—impeccably dressed in black. Neatly styled blond hair framed his face. With his striking looks, he would make a perfect brand ambassador for Tom Ford or Bironi; he resembled a male Victoria's Secret model. Beneath his green-tinted glasses, his eyes flicked to the white-haired chaos generator with the resigned air of a pet parent.

The white-haired man turned to glare at him. “No embarrassing! Winning!”

“Winning,” the blond deadpanned, glancing at the screen where the white-haired one’s character had just been obliterated.

He pouted, muttering something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like an insult, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

The blond man sighed heavily and said something in Japanese. “Sore wa gēmudesu. Kojin-tekina fukushūde wa arimasen.” (“It’s a game. Not a personal vendetta.”)

The white-haired one said something that the blond pointedly ignored. “Sō, fukushūda! Noroi o uchiyabutta. Subete o uchiyabutta, daga kono bakageta... Mekanikku dake wa!” (“Yes, it is vendetta! I beat curses; I beat everything, but this stupid... mechanics!”)

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but find the men’s voices incredibly attractive, even though they were completely different from each other—or was it the fact that they were speaking Japanese? Anyone with half a brain cell knew how undeniably masculine the language sounded.

“Anata to issho ni kurubekide wa nakatta to wakatte imashita.” The blond said, his tone clipped as he hovered by a different station, playing an older game in your company’s lineup—one that hadn’t done well financially but had won multiple awards and had a loyal following. (“I knew I shouldn’t have come with you.”)

You weren’t usually one to ogle men, but damn, the blond one’s biceps looked very chewable. Underneath his overcoat, you could imagine them flexing as he moved his fingers on the keyboard.

You immediately cringed at your own thoughts and made a mental note to stop spending so much time with your unhinged employees.

The white-haired one ignored him. “More round!” he yelled at the junior, who sighed and let him.

The man launched into another round, biting his lower lip in concentration like a child. Was that lip gloss?!

He was really close to perfecting the strike when the in-game AI learned his moves and took him down. He looked like he was about to cry, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorable he was.

The blond’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing slightly in recognition—or perhaps suspicion. “You’re enjoying yourself?” he asked, his English perfect, despite the accent.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The white-haired one suddenly perked up, finally noticing you. His eyes widened, and he jabbed a finger in your direction. “You! Pretty hoodie lady! Play?”

Caught off guard, you blinked, face still obscured by the hood. “Play what?”

“Game!” He gestured wildly at the screen. “Strongest win! You lose!”

The blond groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gojo, stop harassing strangers.”

“Me no harass! Me... invite!” The Gojo declared, beaming at you.

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

The woman from earlier smirked, stepping up to the console. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“Think you better?” He grinned, clearly convinced he was about to crush you, then pointed at the blond. “Nanamin, see me!”

“Don’t call me that!” The blond spat at him, making you think—was ‘Nanamin’ a derogatory word in their language?

The blond furrowed his brow, his gaze flicking over you. Something about the way you carried yourself seemed… off. Not in a bad way, but something didn’t fit in his mind.

You slid into the seat across from Gojo, the monitors facing the opposite way. “Alright, fine. Let’s see what the ‘strongest’ has got.”

The first round was a blur of offensive movements and insults—Gojo threw out broken English mixed with Japanese, your focus entirely on the screen.

To your dismay, he was… good. Annoyingly good. You’d come up with the idea and then tested this game for over 5,000 hours. You were basically omniscient in it—knew every trick and exploit, but Gojo’s reflexes and instincts were ridiculous.

So you cheated.

Subtly, of course.

A quick input enabled God Mode, giving you just enough of an edge to win the round.

Within minutes, Gojo’s smug grin crumbled as you utterly demolished him in-game, your hands moving with muscle memory.

The blond, who had been watching silently, let out a low chuckle. “Looks like you’ve met your match, Gojo.”

Gojo froze, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the screen. “You cheat!”

You grinned, leaning back. “No, I’m just better,” you said smoothly, your voice calm. Inside, you panicked a little; he couldn’t have possibly known; your screen wasn’t facing him.

“Yes! CHEAT! Me see!” He tapped his temple. “Muttsu no me! Me see!” Then he made a gesture that encompassed the whole planet with his long, troll-like arms. (“Six eyes.”)

You smirked, but before you could respond, the blond interjected. “Gojo, you’re imagining things.”

“Sōzō janai yo! Kanojo wa hontōni zuru o shita nda! Anata mo mitadesho. Eigo de itte!” Gojo gestured wildly at Nanami, who barely glanced at him. (“I’m NOT imagining! She literally just cheated! You saw it too. Say it in English!”)

“You’re hallucinating,” the blond said flatly.

“I am NOT!”

“Yes, you are. You’re tired. No more video games; go sit down over there.” The blond had seen you cheat, but he wasn’t letting the opportunity to embarrass Gojo pass.

Gojo sputtered, clearly betrayed, while you fought to keep a straight face.

“Impossible!” Gojo huffed at you, but there was no malice in his tone, only a kind of begrudging admiration. “You… strong.”

You shrugged, pulling your hood up just enough to smile. “Told you.”

Gojo’s throat made a strangled sound that suspiciously resembled a mewl; he seemed like a nerd. “Me ahh Gojo Satoru. He Nanami Kento.” He pointed at the blond without looking away from you.

Nanami’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable.

“So, Gojo and Nanami are your names? I believe Japan has a different naming convention, right?” You asked, steering the conversation away to avoid revealing your own name. Surrounded by a crowd, you felt uneasy about receiving random CVs and taking selfies with men whose hands seemed to wander a bit too freely.

Nanami was caught off guard by your knowledge. “You are correct. No, those are our surnames. He doesn’t know much English.”

He continued eyeing you with a poker face. “I don’t suppose you’d tell us your name?”

You scrambled to respond, giving them your gamer tag, which sounded surprisingly like a real name.

Gojo laughed, while Nanami’s gaze remained fixed on you. “Pardon my English, but I meant your real name.” He looked a bit smug as if saying, I-didn’t-stutter.

Damn! They were too perceptive. “Maybe next time,” you said, already rising to your feet, turning on your heel, and slipping into the crowd before they could press further.

You could feel their eyes on you, with Nanami’s gaze lingering the longest, as if he were piecing together a puzzle.

Later, after you walked out of the convention hall and made your way toward the food stalls, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You’d come to check on your team and ended up with a story you’d never forget.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo was still at the booth, raving about the “mysterious hoodie lady” who was, in his words, “gaming goddess.” Nanami simply shook his head, filing away the memory of your smile for reasons he didn’t fully understand.

Nanami commented, “We never got her name.”

Gojo, beaming, muttered, “Me find her. Strongest reserves rematch.”

Nanami rubbed his temple. “It’s ‘deserves.’”

Gojo waved him off. “Ya ya that!”

//

Hours later, you stepped outside to go home.

The alley was dimly lit, the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp casting long shadows against the brick walls. You tugged your hood tighter, the weight of the day settling heavily on your shoulders as you made your way through. Just as you reached the halfway point, angry voices broke the quiet, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps closing in.

“You think you can fire us just like that?” One of the men sneered, his face twisted with rage as he stepped into view. His friend loomed beside him, cracking his knuckles with an air of smugness.

You stopped, turning slowly to face them. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your tone cold. “I don’t think,” you replied, as you shifted into a defensive stance. “I know.”

The first man lunged, and you dodged, pivoting on your heel to avoid his clumsy attack. Your brain kicked into overdrive, calculating angles and weaknesses as you landed a solid kick to his shin, your heels digging in. He stumbled, cursing, but his friend was already charging at you.

You ducked, your fists up, but you weren’t trained for this. They were bigger, stronger, and clearly fueled by rage. Damn it, you thought bitterly, wishing you’d waited for Megumi—or at least brought your security detail in regular clothes.

“HEY!”

The voice boomed down the alley, startling everyone. You froze mid-dodge, turning toward the source of the voice.

Gojo stood at the entrance, his white hair glowing faintly under the streetlamp. His grin feral, hands shoved casually into his pockets. “What this? Fight? Without me?” His English was awful, the words garbled but unmistakably confident.

Behind him, Nanami appeared with the air of someone ready to ruin someone’s day. His eyes locked on the men, his expression grim. “Let’s divide and conquer.”

What followed was a masterclass in contrasts, a scene you’d replay in your mind for days.

Gojo’s opponent barely had time to process the incoming whirlwind before Gojo sidestepped his first punch with an exaggerated lean, one hand cupping his chin as if bored. “Loser shit,” he said.

The man swung again, and Gojo ducked low, popping up behind him like a magician revealing his latest trick. “Try harder! Or you go home?” His English faltered, and he switched to Japanese mid-sentence, gesturing at the alley’s exit.

Frustrated, the man lunged, but Gojo pivoted effortlessly, his movements mocking. “Ah-ah!” he teased, flicking the man’s forehead with enough force to send him faltering back. He could have actually flicked him through the wall, but he was trying to impress you, not terrify you. Then, with a theatrical spin, he delivered a sharp kick to the back of the man’s knees, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Strongest wins!” Gojo declared triumphantly as the man groaned in pain.

Meanwhile, Nanami was a study in calm brutality. His opponent came at him swinging, fists wild and uncoordinated. Nanami stepped to the side, his movements smooth, allowing the man’s momentum to carry him forward.

The attacker stumbled, and Nanami seized the opportunity. A precise jab to the spine sent the man gasping, doubling over in pain. Without missing a beat, Nanami delivered a swift knee to the stomach, his face utterly impassive as his opponent crumpled to the ground.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, adjusting his collar with indifference.

Within moments, both men were on the ground, groaning and defeated as the security—who’d arrived mid-fight—dragged them away.

Gojo glanced over at Nanami. “Why so serious, Nanamin?!”

Nanami shot him a flat look. That was the only phrase Gojo knew properly.

Gojo turned to you, his grin impossibly wide. “Hoodie lady! You okay?”

You adjusted your hood, making sure your face stayed hidden, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Nanami stepped closer, his gaze lingering on you with quiet intensity. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his tone edged with concern.

“I can handle myself,” you replied, though your voice softened.

“Clearly,” Nanami said, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a notification from your ride. “Well, thanks again for saving me.”

You turned to leave, but Gojo moved faster than you could anticipate, stepping into your space with a speed that made your heart skip. He leaned in, his face far too close as he tilted his head, his eyes still obscured by the ridiculous sunglasses. “Name,” he demanded, his tone expectant.

“Gojo,” Nanami barked, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking him back. “Control yourself.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, still obscured by your barely see-through hood.

Well, they did save you, and no one was around right now, but they could be stalkers. So you only told them your nickname, essentially half your first name.

Gojo repeated it, his accent thick as he rolled the syllables around in his mouth like a taste he wanted to savor. Nanami echoed it under his breath, committing it to memory with far more subtlety. You had never loved your name more.

Gojo clapped his hands together, his grin as bright as the streetlamp above. “Okaaay, now us food! You come us!”

You blinked at him, bewildered.

Nanami immediately choked, “My apologies, my colleague means, would you like to join us for dinner?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Maybe next time. My grumpy ride is here.”

Before they could argue, you slipped past them as the soft hum of a sleek black Maserati cut through the alley’s quiet. The car glided to a stop, the sharp lines of its body catching the faint light from the streetlamp. The door opened smoothly, revealing a young Japanese man with sea urchin spiky black hair and a scowl sharp enough to rival Nanami’s deadliest glare.

He stepped out, his tailored suit pristine despite the late hour. His deep blue eyes swept over the scene, narrowing slightly as they landed on Gojo and Nanami. There was no mistaking the barely contained irritation in his expression as he glared daggers at the two men.

You smiled faintly as you approached and side-hugged him; his gaze softened, though the crease in his brow remained.

“You’re late,” he muttered, holding the door open for you. His English and accent perfectly matched yours, so Gojo deduced he definitely hadn’t lived in Japan much.

“You’re crabby,” you replied, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I wouldn’t be if you didn’t insist on wandering into alleys like this,” he said, his tone exasperated but tinged with familiarity. He cast one last glance at Gojo and Nanami, his lips curling slightly in what could only be described as a warning.

“Wait... you sent the security?” You asked, tone surprised.

“Yes.” He clipped, tone not revealing much. You’d later learn that the men who’d tried to hit you disappeared under mysterious circumstances after tonight. When you asked Megumi, he’d just glare at you and mutter about not having time to look into freeloaders.

Gojo tilted his head, his six eyes narrowing as he watched the interaction with growing curiosity. Nanami too had his gaze locked on the Maserati as the young man slipped back into the driver’s seat. The way his hand lingered on the steering wheel, his face scanning you for injuries. His head tilted slightly toward you as you spoke, suggesting something closer than casual acquaintance.

Nanami thought of looking you or the young man up on LinkedIn only to realize he never actually saw your face or knew the man’s name.

As the car pulled away, the faint glow of the interior lights illuminated your face behind the dark-tinted windows for just a moment. Gojo’s grin widened as he caught a glimpse of your smile, and Nanami’s eyes narrowed as he committed the fleeting image to memory for some reason he still didn’t understand.

Gojo’s eyes remained fixed on you as the guy driving whisked you away, scolding you for not waiting for him.

Nanami was also watching your retreating car in the distance. His thoughts lingered on the brief glimpse of your smile—the only part of you they’d truly seen. “Boyfriend?” He asked.

Gojo smirked, “You are awfully curious today, Nanamin.” Switching back to Japanese.

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m actually not sure. But the boy is a Zen'in; interestingly enough, the one’s father I killed before Suguru ran away.”

Gojo’s smile widened as you removed the hood from your face a few meters away. He had never been more grateful for his six eyes.

Good. He had a face now.

He clapped Nanami on the back. “Hoodie lady is full of surprises.”

Nanami’s expression remained unreadable. “You don’t even know her full name.”

Gojo’s grin only widened. “I’ll find her.”

Little did you know you had just met your future husbands.

//

After ensuring a safe distance between you and the men he’d encountered, your best friend turned to you, his expression serious. “Stay away from those two; they are sorcerers.”

"But aren't you?"

He immediately cut you off, "I only share the bloodline nothing else. You know what sorcerers did to my father. Besides, I think it was one of them."

You understood the weight of Megumi’s words, but you also knew why his father had been killed. It wasn’t because sorcerers were inherently dangerous, but because he had been too much of a thrill-seeker. “You do realize I’m not your child, right? I’m older than you.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad, Grandma.”

“Heyy!”

He chuckled to himself, but the laughter quickly faded as he asked, “What did they want with you anyway?” He was trying hard not to let you know he was probing.

“Nothing. They just wanted to know my name, and I kept dodging it with pseudonyms. Then they asked me to dinner, and I told them next time. But you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t think I’d ever see them again.” You said this absentmindedly, focused on ordering takeout on your phone before you arrived home.

“Good. Keep it that way. Don’t entertain them again.”

“Italian?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation.

“Get that Spinach and Broccoli Alfredo from that small place. Put it on my card.” He liked the dish, but it wasn’t his go-to for special occasions; it was yours.

“Aww, what’s the occasion?”

“You almost getting beaten up.”

You scowled at him.

“Relax. I’m just making sure you’re okay, or my father will resurrect himself and beat my ass.” He laughed, but there was an edge to his humor.

You thought of the men for a few days, their faces lingering in your mind, but you quickly moved on with your hectic life. You were determined not to let Megumi down. He didn’t have many friends besides you that he’d hang out with, let alone have around with his mom, and with his dad gone, he’d never recover from the betrayal if something happened to you.

But when had you ever listened to Megumi?

Today, you wished you had.

--

After they’d left you alone, the days bled together in a haze of exhaustion and dread. You busied yourself with the mundane tasks of preparing for the twins, folding impossibly tiny clothes, and arranging bottles on the counter like talismans against the pain threatening to consume you. Sukuna had been true to his word, filling the gaps with his presence and resources, but even his towering strength couldn’t shield you from the memories.

Each kick, each flutter, was a visceral reminder of the life growing inside you—a life you were determined to protect. Yet, every movement felt like a betrayal, a reminder of the faces you couldn’t erase. Gojo’s sharp grin, dulled now by sorrow. Nanami’s stoicism, cracking under the weight of his regret. They haunted you, their voices whispering in the silence of your nights, their hands ghosting over your skin in dreams that turned to nightmares.

One evening, Sukuna returned, his silhouette framed by the doorway. He carried bags of groceries, the muscles in his arms flexing as he set them down with more care than you thought him capable of. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something foreign: concern.

“You’re wearing yourself thin,” he said, his voice rough but quiet. His crimson eyes swept over you, lingering on the trembling in your hands as you folded a onesie.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though the lie sat heavy in your chest.

“Princess,” he said again, softer now, and the nickname cracked something inside you. “You’re not fine.”

Your hands froze mid-fold, the fabric slipping from your fingers. The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in. “I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Sukuna crossed the room in three strides, his arms encircling you. His touch was firm, grounding, and you let yourself lean into him. “You’re doing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.”

But the words couldn’t reach the hollow ache inside you.

//

The next day, the soft knock at the door was more polite than usual, almost hesitant. Sukuna didn’t wait for you to answer—he never did; he never even knocked—but this time, he lingered in the doorway, his hulking frame lit by the warm glow of the sunlight filtering in through the window. His expression was unreadable, though the faintest flicker of something nervous passed through his crimson eyes.

In his hands, he held a large box, haphazardly wrapped in crinkled newspaper and secured with what looked like electrical tape.

“What is that?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.

He grunted, stepping inside and setting the box down on the coffee table with a thud. “It’s for them,” he said, jerking his chin toward your stomach.

You blinked, thrown off by the unexpected gesture. “You got them… a gift?”

He shot you a glare, defensive already. “Don’t make it weird. It’s not a big deal.”

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you shuffled over to the box, careful to lower yourself onto the couch. Sukuna watched, his arms crossed over his chest, as you peeled back the layers of tape and newspaper.

Inside was chaos.

A mishmash of items tumbled out—two tiny leather jackets, complete with spikes on the shoulders; a set of Blobfish plushies; and what could only be described as baby-sized combat boots, polished to a mirror shine.

Your jaw dropped. “Sukuna… what the hell is this?”

He shrugged, his smirk returning, though it was softer than usual. “Gear. For when they’re old enough to not embarrass me.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, loud and uncontrollable. It startled even you, breaking through the thick fog of grief and exhaustion that had clung to you for days. “Spiked leather jackets? Combat boots? What are they, tiny bikers?”

“They’re going to be strong,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he dropped onto the armchair across from you. “Might as well dress the part.”

You shook your head, still laughing as you held up one of the jackets. It was absurdly small, the spikes dulled for safety. “This is so extra.”

“You’re welcome,” he shot back, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his satisfaction at your reaction.

You set the jacket down, your laughter fading into a softer smile. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Sukuna leaned back, his gaze locking onto yours with a rare intensity. “I know,” he said simply.

For a moment, the room was quiet, the air between you charged with something unspoken. He broke the silence first, waving a hand toward the mess of items on the table. “I’m not saying they’ll ever use this crap. Just… figured it might make you laugh.”

Your chest tightened, the ache of loss mingling with something warmer, something unfamiliar. “It did,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

“Good.” He stood abruptly, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “I’ll pick up something more normal next time. Maybe. Only if you drink enough water.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Please don’t. This is perfect.”

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he swaggered toward the door. Just before he left, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder, and said, “I’m not going anywhere, Princess.”

In a moment that could only be described as peak Sukuna, he turned to make his grand exit, only for his nose to collide with the door frame with a resounding thud.

“Stupid... who put this here?” He grumbled, rubbing his nose furiously as if it were the door’s fault for existing. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the room like a cackling hyena.

“Maybe it’s a sign you should start ducking!” You teased, and he shot you a look that was half annoyed, half amused, like a cat that had just been splashed with water, but it was warm.

“I’ll just buy a bigger door!” He retorted, throwing his hands up in exaggerated exasperation.

With that, he turned to leave again, but not before bumping his head against the door frame once more, muttering, “This door is clearly out to get me.” You couldn’t help but laugh even harder.

And then he was gone, leaving you surrounded by the absurdity he’d brought with him. You looked down at the tiny jackets and boots, your hand resting on your stomach as the twins stirred softly. Maybe your laughing did calm them.

//

Same night, your bedroom was cold, the soft glow of a nightlight casting shadows that seemed to shift with your every movement. You slept in the center of the room, one hand resting on your swollen belly. The twins kicked softly, their presence grounding and tormenting you in equal measure.

The guilt was a living thing, coiled tight around your chest. Sukuna had done everything—more than you could have asked for—but the lie you’d spun had fangs. Each day, it bit deeper, carving wounds you couldn’t heal.

You woke screaming, clutching your stomach as panic clawed at your throat. Sukuna was there in an instant, his hands steady on your shoulders, his voice sharp and commanding. “What is it?”

“They’re going to take them,” your voice raw and broken. “They’ll find a way.”

“No one’s taking anything,” his crimson eyes blazing with an intensity that should have comforted you. But the storm inside you raged on.

“You don’t know them,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They’ll stop at nothing.”

Sukuna cupped your face, his touch surprisingly gentle in his large hands. “They won’t get near you. Not while I’m here.”

But his words were like whispers against a hurricane. You turned away, your gaze falling to the crib, its bars a reminder of the prison you’d built around your heart.

“I’ll protect you,” you murmured to the twins, your hands trembling as you traced the curve of your stomach. “Even if it kills me.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and oppressive.

“I won’t let you die.” Sukuna whispered. You turned to look at him only to be kissed by him on your temple. It wasn’t anything passionate; it was as if he was sealing a promise.

//

The next morning, you shuffled into the living room, your back aching from another restless night. The twins had been unusually active, their cursed energy—or at least what you deduced was cursed energy—pressing against your insides like waves crashing against fragile glass. You’d woken up drenched in sweat, the faint outline of one of their hands or feet briefly visible under your skin before retreating into the shadows of your body. It was horrifying and beautiful, and you hated that you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Sukuna was already in the living room, sitting on the floor, a cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced up as you entered, his crimson eyes scanning you like he could read every thought you were trying to suppress.

“You look worse than usual,” he said, his voice cutting but not cruel.

“Thanks,” you muttered, dropping onto the couch with a wince.

He didn’t respond right away, just set his cup down, straightened and stretched, his maroon hoodie riding up, revealing markings on his stomach. He watched you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Despite being on the floor, he was somehow on eye level with you.

After a moment, he stood and disappeared into the kitchen. You didn’t have the energy to ask what he was doing.

When he returned, he was holding a glass of water and a small bowl filled with neatly peeled and cut fruit. He handed them to you without a word, his hand lingering for a moment as you took the bowl.

“Eat,” he said simply, sitting back down on the floor in front of you.

You stared at the fruit. “You didn’t have to—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Just eat.”

You did, the sweet and sourness of the fruits grounding you. Sukuna watched, his gaze flicking between your face and your stomach.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice softer. “You hate looking at yourself, don’t you?”

Your breath caught; you definitely had a type. Type that kept seeing through your lies!

You didn’t answer, but the way you looked away was answer enough.

Sukuna shifted closer, resting his forearms on his knees. “Can I?”

You frowned, unsure. “Why?”

“Just trust me, Princess,” he said, his smirk faint but not unkind.

Reluctantly, you let him. His hands moved to your baby balloon, his touch firm but careful, soothing you as he pressed his palms against the curve.

“Feel that?” he murmured as one of the twins shifted beneath his hand, the movement almost shy.

You nodded, your throat tight.

“They’re strong,” he said, his voice steady. “They know you’re protecting them.”

Another flutter beneath your skin, this one softer, more deliberate. Sukuna’s hands didn’t move, his warmth radiating through you like a shield against the chill that had settled in your bones.

“You’re not broken,” he said after a moment, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “And you’re not alone in this.”

“You sure are comfortable touching them now.” You teased.

He snorted. “And here I thought I was helping you feel better.”

You laughed and closed your eyes as the twins settled, their energy calming under the weight of his words. The war inside you felt a little less unbearable.

//

A few days later, the apartment was warm, sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds and landing in soft streaks across the living room floor. You sat on the couch, one hand absently resting on your stomach while the other scrolled through your phone. You weren’t looking at anything in particular, just trying to distract yourself from the relentless ache in your lower back and the twins’ ongoing UFC match in your uterus.

Sukuna walked in, carrying a bag of groceries like it was filled with feathers as usual. His broad shoulders filled the doorway as he kicked it shut behind him. He looked at you, then at the untouched snack bowl on the coffee table, then back at you.

“You didn’t eat the strawberries I cut,” he said flatly, setting the bag down.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you replied without looking up.

“You’re always hungry,” he shot back, folding his arms.

You finally glanced up at him, raising a brow. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

He snorted, dropping onto the armchair across from you. “Yeah, into a cranky gargoyle. What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your tone too breezy.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “Bullshit.”

You sighed, setting your phone down. “I’m fine, Sukuna. Can’t a woman just sit in peace without being interrogated?”

“Not when that woman’s got two cursed powerhouses doing cartwheels inside her,” he replied, his smirk faint but pointed.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the couch. “I’m just tired, okay?”

He stared at you for a long moment, his crimson eyes flicking to your stomach, then back to your face.

“You’re not tired,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “You feel weird. About your body.”

Your head snapped up, your mouth opening to protest, but he cut you off with a raised hand.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re confident, sure. You’re also human. You’re carrying their demon spawns, and it’s messing with your head. I’d feel weird too.”

You blinked, thrown off by the bluntness of his words. “That’s… not exactly how I’d put it.”

“Whatever,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re not as slick as you think you are, Princess.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. “And what, you’re here to be my body image coach now?”

“Very perceptive of you,” he said, standing abruptly. He grabbed the bag of groceries and pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream and a loaf of bread. Even your cravings weren’t original from your husbands.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching in bemusement as he started slathering jam on a slice of bread.

“Making you a snack,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Pickle and peanut butter sandwich. Ice cream chaser. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“Yeah, well, so’s the idea of that white-haired one being someone’s dad, but here we are,” he quipped, tossing the sandwich onto a plate and handing it to you.

You stared at the monstrosity, then at him. “This is your solution to my body issues? Weird snacks?”

“No,” he said, sitting back down and gesturing at you with a flourish. “My solution is this: you’re hot, you’re badass, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll break their spine. But you’re also you, which means you’re allowed to feel weird about turning into a walking incubator for two special-grade cursed-energy gremlins. Doesn’t mean you’re less of anything.”

You blinked. “That’s… oddly sweet.”

“I aim to please,” he grumbled, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. “Now eat the sandwich before I change my mind.”

You laughed, taking a tentative bite of the pickle-peanut butter monstrosity. It was terrible, but for some reason, it made you feel a little better.

//

The next day, the air was crisp, the kind of weather that made the leaves crunch underfoot and the sunlight feel softer. Sukuna strolled beside you, a reusable shopping bag slung over his shoulder like a fashion statement, his other hand steadying you as you waddled along the cobblestone path of the farmer’s market, your face obscured by a large mask. The twins had been kicking non-stop since breakfast, and your back felt like it was holding the weight of the world.

“I don’t know why you dragged me here,” you muttered, squinting at a stall of overpriced honey jars.

“Because you’ve been sulking for days,” Sukuna replied, smirking. “And I’m tired of watching you fold tiny clothes and cry about it.”

Before you could retort, he veered off toward a stall selling baby onesies, grabbing one with a print of a cartoon goat that read Mommy’s Little Terror. He held it up, raising a brow. “This fits their vibe.”

You snorted despite yourself. “They’re not even born yet, and you’re assigning them a vibe?”

“Yeah,” he said, tossing it into the bag. “And this.” He grabbed another onesie, this one pink and emblazoned with Future World Domination Leader.

You laughed, leaning on his arm for support as the twins shifted again. Sukuna noticed immediately, crouching slightly to meet your eyes. “Tired?”

“A little,” you admitted, though your body screamed a lot.

Without a word, he scooped you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. “What are you—put me down!”

“Shut up, Princess,” he said, grinning as heads turned to stare at the giant man carrying a visibly and heavily—maybe too heavily—pregnant woman like she weighed nothing. “You’ll thank me later.”

An older woman at a nearby stall clasped her hands together, her face lighting up. “Oh, isn’t he just wonderful? So attentive!”

Sukuna didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he said, flashing her a cocky grin. “My wife’s a champ, though. Carrying our twins and still managing to look this bewitching.”

You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder. “Stoppp.”

He ignored you, turning his attention to the woman. “I’m so proud of her. She’s going to be an amazing birthgiver.”

The woman beamed, clearly swooning. “You’re both so lucky!”

“Yeah,” Sukuna said, his voice softening just enough for only you to hear. “I am.”

//

Later that week, Sukuna insisted on taking you grocery shopping. You protested, but he ignored you as usual, guiding you through the aisles with a hand on your lower back.

“Pickles?” he asked, holding up a jar with a raised brow.

You nodded, reaching for it, but he pulled it back. “What’s the magic word?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “Please.”

He handed it over with a smug grin. “See? Was that so hard?”

At the checkout, the cashier—a young woman with doe eyes—couldn’t stop glancing at Sukuna, her cheeks pink as she scanned the items.

“These pickles,” she started, clearly searching for a conversation starter. “A craving?”

Sukuna nodded solemnly. “Yeah. She’s eating for three, and I’m eating for stress.”

You choked on a laugh, swatting his arm. “Don’t listen to him.”

The cashier giggled nervously, her eyes lingering on Sukuna a moment too long. He didn’t even notice, too busy helping you into your coat and carrying all the bags in one hand like they weighed air.

Outside, you leaned against him, your feet aching. “You didn’t have to do all of that.”

He smirked, draping an arm around your shoulders. “Sure I did. It’s my job to keep you entertained.”

//

A couple of days later, at the park, Sukuna insisted on renting a swan paddle boat “for the twins.” The boat was comically small for his frame, his knees practically up to his chest as he paddled with exaggerated effort and heavy breaths.

“Why are we doing this?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Because I like suffering,” he said, glaring at the water like it had personally offended him.

He was doing it for you, to make you laugh as much as possible.

Then when you finally broke into giggles, he grinned, satisfied.

//

That night, when you struggled to sleep, Sukuna sat by your bed, massaging pain-relieving oils into your swollen ankles with surprising care. His hands were rough but gentle, his expression focused.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice thick with exhaustion.

He glanced up, his crimson eyes softer than you’d ever seen. “I know,” he said simply, his hands never faltering.

You fell asleep to the sound of his low, rumbling voice, humming an off-key lullaby he’d probably made up on the spot. His humming seemed to soothe the twins into no-cartwheeling sleep, which helped you relax for the night.

Sukuna never thought he could be perfect, but in those moments, he was everything you needed.

//

The next day, the yoga studio smelled faintly of lavender and freshly cleaned mats. Sukuna walked in beside you, his presence as imposing as ever. His crimson eyes swept over the room, narrowing slightly at the women who turned to gawk. He helped you settle onto your mat with the kind of careful attention that seemed absurd coming from someone like him, crouching to adjust the pillow beneath your knees before straightening to his full, towering height.

The murmurs started immediately. Low at first, barely audible, but growing louder with every second. You could feel the weight of their stares pressing against your skin, even through the mask you wore to keep a low profile.

Sukuna noticed too. His gaze darkened, his smirk vanishing as his eyes darted across the room. “What’s their problem?” he muttered under his breath.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your breathing as the instructor began leading the class through stretches. But the whispers didn’t stop.

“She’s the one,” someone hissed, loud enough to reach your ears.

“Carrying twins,” another added, voice dripping with disdain.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms. Sukuna’s head snapped toward the source of the voices, his expression hardening.

And then, of course, Karen appeared.

She strode across the room, her leggings pulled so high they might as well have been a second ribcage. Her smirk was cruel as she stopped in front of you.

The room went quiet. She loomed over you—as you were sitting on the floor—her arms crossed, her expression smug. “What’s it like being the talk of the internet? The woman who couldn’t keep her men in line?”

You felt Sukuna tense beside you, his hand twitching at his side. You placed a hand on his arm, silently telling him to hold back. “I’m here to practice yoga, not entertain you.”

Karen’s smirk widened, her gaze flicking over you like you were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Practice yoga? That’s rich. You mean parading around with your ‘fake husband’ after your other two clowns beat people up? Gave people permanent injuries?”

Then she turned to Sukuna and continued, “Oh, I knew for a fact you were a chum who got stuck with her. I was right, and you lied.”

You kept your grip on Sukuna’s arm firm. You spoke calmly but firm. “Watch your mouth! First of all, don’t bring Sukuna into this. Second, I was the one holding them back. I didn’t incite it. I kept my employees alive that day.”

Karen’s gaze swept over you, landing on your stomach, clearly not ready to back off. “Honestly, it’s impressive,” she continued, her tone dripping with mockery. “First, you marry two men, and then you end up with him?”

Sukuna’s growl was low and guttural, his towering frame eclipsing hers. “Watch it.”

“Karen,” you yelled, “you don’t know anything about my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve survived.”

“Survived?” Karen scoffed. “You mean you survived your ‘unnatural ways’ coming out in front of the entire world? Or is it surviving the fact that no one takes you seriously anymore?”

“Sukuna,” you said, your voice lowering. “Let’s just go.”

Your stomach was churning, the weight of her words sinking in like lead. Sukuna’s hand rested lightly on you, grounding you, but even his presence couldn’t shield you from the growing stares around the room.

Karen stepped closer, looming over you, invading your personal space. It felt as though she might resort to physical violence with you at any moment. Her voice dropped, but the venom in her tone remained unmistakable. “People are calling you a sex addict, you know. Can’t say I blame them. Married to two men, pregnant with God knows who’s kids, and now cozying up to him?” She sneered. “You’re not just a scandal—you’re a disgrace. You can’t live without dick can you! What now? You’ll add him to your harem too, you whore! If I were in your place, I would have killed myself!”

The words hit like daggers, each one twisting deeper. Your breath caught, but before you could respond, Sukuna moved.

It happened in an instant.

You gasped, “Ryo!”

The slap cracked through the studio like a thunderclap, silencing the room. Karen stumbled, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Sukuna loomed over her, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallowed her whole. His voice was low, a growl that rumbled through the silence. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure you never speak again.”

Karen’s confidence crumbled instantly, her wide-eyed shock betraying the venom she’d spewed moments ago. She glanced around the room, searching for someone—anyone—to come to her defense, but the silence was deafening. The other mothers avoided her gaze, their expressions a mix of discomfort and quiet satisfaction.

Her husband wasn’t there, of course. He’d finally had enough of her tirades, her endless need to dominate every room she walked into. The divorce papers had already been filed, and his absence spoke louder than any words ever could. Karen, with her toxic cocktail of insecurity and unchecked cruelty, had been left with nothing but her bitterness.

She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t pregnant and had no intention of ever being so. For years, she’d come to these classes not to bond or prepare for motherhood but to belittle and bully anyone she deemed weaker. She was a relic of high school, clinging to the power she once wielded over others, desperate to make someone else feel smaller to distract from her own failures.

Today, you had been her target. Her divorce had clearly left her hellbent on tearing someone else down, and she might’ve succeeded—she might’ve even turned to violence—if Sukuna hadn’t intervened. You were glad Sukuna didn’t see gender while serving people their karma.

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to stand—or try to. A sharp cramp shot through your side, stealing your breath. You stumbled, clutching your stomach as the twins shifted violently.

Sukuna caught you before you could fall, his hands steadying you as he glared at Karen.

His growl cut through the silence. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice cold and final.

He didn’t move at first, his glare fixed on Karen like a wolf deciding whether the hunt was worth it, like debating whether she deserved another hit.

Finally, he relented, his muscles relaxing as he focused on you. “I’ll get you a private instructor,” he added, his tone softening as he looked at you.

The twins stirred. Pain shot through your abdomen, and you gasped, clutching at Sukuna’s shirt.

“Hang on,” he muttered, his voice softening as he carried you out of the studio.

Behind you, Karen stood frozen, her face pale and her cheek still burning red. No one moved to comfort her. No one even looked at her. The only sound in the room was the quiet creak of the door as it closed behind you.

//

Once in the car, you buried your face in his chest, your breathing erratic. He held you close, his large hand stroking your hair awkwardly but gently.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said, his voice firm but uncharacteristically tender. “Only you know the truth. Only you know what you went through and how you survived.”

//

The ride home was quiet. Sukuna carried you inside, settling you on the couch with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache.

But the silence stretched on, and the weight of Karen’s words pressed down on you like a vice. The twins shifted again, their energy erratic, feeding off your turmoil.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sukuna crouched in front of you, his large hands resting on your knees. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t apologize for insecure humans.”

You nodded, but the hollow ache in your chest didn’t ease.

As the hours passed, you found yourself staring out the window, the city lights blurring as tears filled your eyes.

Sukuna stayed close, his presence steady but silent. When the tears finally came, hot and unrelenting, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as you cried.

And though he didn’t say it, his arms were a fortress around you as the world outside kept spinning, cruel and unforgiving. He silently vowed that no one would ever hurt you again.

//

Days after that, the silence that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. You sat curled up on the couch, an old photo clutched tightly in your hands. It was worn at the edges, the glossy finish dulled from countless times you’d held it. In it, Gojo was grinning, his arm slung lazily over Nanami’s shoulders. You were in the middle, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now, your face lit with a happiness that felt like it belonged to someone else. The pain it brought was sharp, raw, an open wound that refused to heal no matter how much time passed.

Maybe you didn’t love them anymore—not in the way you once had. That love had been replaced by something darker, heavier. But the ache of what they’d done to you, the way they’d left you to drown in your own loneliness while they found comfort in each other… it consumed you.

You didn’t hear Sukuna until he was standing in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” he asked, his voice softer than usual but still carrying that edge of exasperation.

You startled, quickly tucking the photo under your thigh. “I’m not doing anything.”

His crimson eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. You’re terrible at it.”

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I just… I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have left.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but they were out before you could stop them. Sukuna’s expression shifted to something unreadable.

“You’re joking,” he said, his voice flat.

“I’m not,” you whispered, your hands trembling in your lap. “I mean, they didn’t care about me, not really, but… I still left, and so much happened. People got hurt.”

“You kept the people alive!” Sukuna said, his tone sharper now. He leaned closer, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “You walked away because they didn’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, the tears falling faster now. “What if I made a mistake? What if I should’ve tried harder? Maybe none of this would have happened.”

“Stop,” Sukuna snapped, his voice cutting through your spiral. He grabbed your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him. “Do you really think that despite one of them having the gift of six eyes, if he still couldn’t see the life growing inside you, they wouldn’t have taken you for granted through the pregnancy as well?! They’re the ones who fucked up. Not you. They had you—you—and they chose to ignore you. That’s on them, not you.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, but the doubt still lingered. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a soft gesture. “No ‘but.’ You didn’t leave because you stopped loving them. You left because they stopped showing you they loved you.”

His words cracked something in you, like an old vase you never saw but always sensed the presence of in your heart’s home.

You let out a shaky breath, the photo slipping from your lap and landing face-up on the couch. Sukuna glanced at it, his jaw tightening for a moment before he reached for it. He studied it silently, his thumb brushing over your smiling face.

“They didn’t deserve this version of you,” he said, his voice low. “And they sure as hell don’t deserve the you now.”

The warmth in his words, the unguarded softness, made your heart ache in a different way. He handed the photo back to you, his hand lingering over yours for a moment.

“I’m not saying it’ll stop hurting,” he admitted, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “But don’t waste your time wondering if you should’ve stayed. You didn’t leave for no reason. Remember the past version of yourself in that exact moment when everything was crumbling around you. What you felt. Don’t put yourself through that.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest easing just slightly. Sukuna stood, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said, his smirk returning faintly. “You’ve been crying for hours. Let me make you something to eat before you wither away. Besides, you deserve better. Better than them. Better than what they gave you.”

Then smugly added, “Someone as amazing as me.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, taking his hand.

//

The first signs came like whispers in the dark—a sharp, fleeting twinge low in your abdomen, a dull ache spreading like ripples in water. You brushed it off as stress, convincing yourself it was nothing.

But Sukuna noticed. He always noticed.

His crimson eyes tracked your every move, narrowing at the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your hand lingering on your belly a beat too long.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you lied, forcing a smile.

His gaze hardened, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “You’re a terrible liar, Princess.”

That evening, as you struggled to stand after dinner, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Sukuna was at your side in an instant, his large hand steadying you.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “We’re going to the hospital.”

You tried to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced you.

// Music

{The hospital was cold, sterile as usual. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows on the linoleum floors. The smell of antiseptic clung to everything, making your stomach churn.

You sat on the examination table, the thin paper gown sticking uncomfortably to your skin. The room felt too bright, too exposed. Sukuna sat beside you, his broad frame dwarfing the small plastic chair. His expression was unreadable, but his hand rested on his knee, the tension in his fingers betraying his calm façade. The fake husband playing the role perfectly.

The doctor entered, her face carefully neutral, but you caught the hesitation in her movements.

“Let’s take a look,” she said, her tone professional but soft.

The ultrasound gel was cold against your skin, and the room silent except for the faint hum of the machine. You stared at the monitor, waiting for the familiar sound of their heartbeats.

But the silence stretched on.

The doctor’s brow furrowed, her hand pausing over the probe.

“What is it?” Sukuna’s voice was tense.

The doctor hesitated, her hand hovering over the ultrasound machine as though the pause could soften the blow. Her eyes flicked to you, then back to the screen, her expression unreadable.

“I’m… not detecting a heartbeat.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

“No,” the denial spilling out before you could think. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “No, that’s not right. They were moving. Just yesterday. I felt them. I was craving pickles, and I had really bad back pain too; they were moving so much.”

The doctor’s face was heavy with sympathy as she set the probe down. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, the room tilting around you. Your hand flew to your stomach, pressing against the curve as if your touch could summon them back, as if you could will them to respond. “They can’t be gone,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

The doctor took a breath, her voice steady but clinical, as if detachment could lessen the cruelty of what she had to say. “It’s an extraordinarily rare case—heteropaternal superfecundation combined with double fertilization. Their development was… incompatible with life.”

The medical jargon felt cruel, meaningless. Just noise.

Sukuna’s hand found yours, his grip firm, grounding, but it only highlighted how far away you felt. It made it real. His jaw was clenched, his crimson eyes darker than you’d ever seen, but he said nothing. He couldn’t.

Your head spun, the walls closing in, the fluorescent lights glaring like they were trying to expose every raw nerve. The doctor’s voice faded, a dull hum drowned out by the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“They were mine,” you whispered.

Sukuna leaned closer, his hand steady against your back.

The doctor excused herself quietly, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that followed pressed against your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift.

You sat frozen, your hand still pressed to your stomach, waiting for something—anything. A kick, a flutter, some proof that they were still there.

But there was nothing.

You curled into yourself, clutching your stomach as though you could shield what was already gone.

“They were mine,” you repeated, the words a broken mantra. “They were mine.”

Sukuna’s grip was almost bruising. His other arm wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest.

He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just held you, his breath steady against your hair as your world fell apart.

After months of crying, your tears had finally run out. You couldn’t will them now, not that you wanted to.

You were done.

The dissociation came slowly, creeping in like a shadow. You faded into hollow silence, your body still in his arms. You stared at the floor, your eyes unfocused, your mind retreating into a void where the suffering couldn’t reach you.

Sukuna’s voice broke through the fog, low and firm. “Stay with me, Princess.”

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

The hollowness swallowed you whole, leaving nothing but the ghost of what could have been.

But Sukuna stayed, his presence a steady anchor in the storm, an anchor you couldn’t see.

//

The procedure to remove them was a nightmare. The machines beeped; the cold metal of the instruments glinted, their sharp edges catching your eye and filling your chest with dread.

Sukuna stood by your side. His hand wrapped around yours like a hazy lifeline, anchoring you to a reality you didn’t care about.

His crimson eyes never left your face, his expression unreadable but tense, his jaw set as though he could will the universe to reverse itself by sheer force.

The procedure began, the doctor’s voice a muted hum in the background. Pressure built in your abdomen, the sensation alien and invasive, like something being torn away from the core of your existence. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you.

But you didn’t scream no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bring yourself to care whether you made it or if the universe would be kind enough to end it all through a freak incident of medical malpractice.

Sukuna didn’t flinch, didn’t move, his grip tightening as if to remind you he was there. The machines continued their cold, unfeeling symphony, and the minutes stretched into an eternity.

//

When it was over, there was only silence. The absence of their presence, a void that swallowed everything else.

The doctor murmured something to Sukuna, her words slipping past you like water over stone. You sat up shakily, the hospital gown sticking to your damp skin, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. But mind wasn’t there.

“I want to see them,” you whispered. “Please.”

Sukuna was in front of you in an instant, his broad chest blocking your view as he pulled you into his arms. His grip was firm but careful, cradling you as though you might shatter as the doctors moved discreetly behind him.

“No,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “You don’t want to see them, Princess. Trust me.”

You clutched at his shirt with trembling hands. “They were mine,” you choked out, your words muffled against him.

“They still are,” he murmured, his tone softer than you’d ever heard. His hand stroked your back in slow, grounding motions, his presence steady even as his own turmoil blared beneath.

The sight of them would haunt him forever.

He’d seen them as the doctors worked quickly, their small, fragile forms laid out in a shallow steel tray. The boy’s limbs were long, spindly, his jawline so sharp it was almost serrated. His translucent skin revealed a web of delicate veins, branching like cracks in glass. The girl’s features were softer, her tiny hands fused into curling nubs, her face serene despite the unnatural bulge beneath her closed eyelids. Their hair split down the middle—one half blond, the other stark white—a cruel mirror of their fathers.

They were chimeric, a grotesque fusion of too much DNA, as the doctors explained to him later, alone. “Incompatible with life,” they had said clinically, as though that phrase could encompass the enormity of the loss.

They told him there was no recorded case of such a thing ever happening.

Sukuna stayed silent through it all, his hand flexing at his side as if he wanted to destroy the room, the machines, the universe itself. But when he returned to you, he was calm again, his rage buried beneath layers of quiet resolve.

The hospital was a blur after that, like you were seeing through water. Sukuna dealt with the hospital staff in his usual manner—efficient, cold, terrifying. He had the remains cremated, sparing you the finality of their lifeless forms. You barely noticed when he disappeared to speak with the staff, his voice low and clipped, or when he returned, his presence looming beside you like a shield you didn’t ask for.

When you asked about the remains, your voice hollow and detached, he didn’t sugarcoat it. “It’s already done,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for questions.

You nodded, not because you agreed, but because you didn’t care enough to argue.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his voice steady as he helped you to your feet.

You clung to him as he carried you out of the hospital, but your expressions remained unreadable. The hollow ache in your chest felt endless, but Sukuna didn’t let go, his presence a fragile shield against the unbearable weight of what you’d lost.

//

The days after were an endless cycle of nothingness. Sukuna filled the void with his relentless presence, taking over everything he already used to manage. He cooked meals you barely touched, cleaned the apartment with medical precision, scheduled your appointments, and arranged therapy without asking.

“You need this,” he said when you stared blankly at the brochure he placed in front of you. His tone firm, final.

You went because it was easier than refusing. The therapist spoke gently, her words carefully chosen, but they washed over you like white noise. You answered her questions in monotone, offering just enough to keep the sessions moving. He drove you to and back from your appointments and waited for you in between.

“It’ll take time,” she said once after your session, her voice warm with reassurance. Sukuna nodded. You didn’t respond.}

//

At home, you spent hours by the window, staring at the sea. The waves rolled in and out, unchanging, as if mocking the chaos that had become your life. Sukuna hovered in the background, his movements quiet. He never pushed, never demanded anything from you.

Sometimes he’d sit nearby, reading or scrolling through his phone, his presence grounding in its consistency. Other times, he’d leave you entirely alone, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as he gave you space you didn’t know how to fill.

When nightmares came, they weren’t violent anymore. They strangled you silently. You’d wake in a cold sweat, your chest heavy with an ache that felt like it would never leave. Sukuna was always there, sitting at the edge of your bed, his hand resting on your shoulder or his voice a low murmur in the dark. Had he stopped sleeping? You were too dissociated to argue.

“It’s okay,” he’d say, though you didn’t believe him.

One night, you woke to find him standing in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the faint light from the hall. He didn’t notice you watching as he muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous.

“If they ever come near you again, I’ll kill them.”

You didn’t ask who he meant. You didn’t want to know.

No matter what Sukuna did—his soft gestures, his quiet presence, his unwavering care—you remained numb.

He brought you flowers once, bright and vibrant, placing them on the table with a small, awkward shrug. You glanced at them briefly before returning to your spot by the window.

He cooked your favorite meal, setting the plate in front of you with a forced smirk. “Eat, Princess,” he said, but when you pushed the food around with your fork and left the table without a word, he didn’t stop you.

Even when he tried to make you laugh—muttering sarcastic comments about the people outside, rolling his eyes dramatically when the news played something ridiculous—it barely registered.

The world felt distant, like you were watching it through frosted glass.

Sukuna’s presence was the only constant, but even that felt like something happening to someone else.

And though you didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge the weight of his efforts, he stayed. Silent, steady, unyielding.

//

One night when the pain got too much, you walked to his room and cried in his chest. After months.

He held you the way he always did, but it was stronger this time, as if trying to anchor you in a storm that wouldn’t pass. He didn’t fill the void with empty reassurances, nor did he push you to speak.

The next day, things went back to you staring at nothing.

--

Japan

Gojo sat slouched, manspreading on the couch, his T-shirt messy like his hair, eyes uncovered, hands dangling between his knees, a photo clutched so tightly the edges were crumpled. The room was dim, lit only by the gray haze of a city that never quite slept. His six eyes scanned the image for the hundredth time, even though he knew every detail by heart—the grainy black-and-white outline of two unmistakable shapes, curled together like yin and yang. He’d gotten it from the hospital you visited before leaving.

He let out a hollow laugh, the sound breaking the oppressive silence. “Twins. Our twins.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

Nanami stood by the window, staring out at the endless city lights. His sweater covered with alcohol stains, his sleeves rolled up to reveal veins that looked ready to burst.

Gojo tilted his head back, his eyes burning as he stared at the ceiling. “Do you think she—” He stopped, his voice failing him. He tried again. “Do you think she hates us?”

Nanami’s face was as if it had been carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed the storm beneath. “She doesn’t hate us,” he spoke lowly. “She… doesn’t trust us. There’s a difference.” It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

Gojo’s laugh was sharper this time, almost cruel. “Trust? Trust died the night we left her alone in this goddamn drawing room. Remember that? Her silently crying, begging us to tell her we cared, and we…” His voice faltered, and he shook his head. “We crawled into bed together like cowards.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching, shattering the glass he’d forgotten he was holding. But before Gojo could look up, his own RCT healed him. He stared at the disappeared wound like he wanted it back. “I remember, but I don’t think that was the final straw. I think it was the same weekend.”

Gojo stayed silent for a long time at that and then asked, “do you think they’ll look like her?” His voice softened, and he stared down at the photo, his thumb brushing over the image. “Her smile…”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I hope they don’t look like us.”

Gojo’s head snapped up, his six eyes narrowing. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Nanami’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Because we ruin everything we touch.”

Gojo leaned back, letting the photo fall to the coffee table. His hands ran through his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “They’re better off without us.”

Nanami walked over and sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of them. “Everything hurts.”

Gojo’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before falling flat. “Hurt? Nanami, this… this is beyond hurt. This is…” He gestured vaguely, words failing him. “I’m empty. She’s gone, and I…”

Nanami reached for the photo, his fingers brushing against the image. “At least we have this,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “Something to know it was real.”

He paused for what felt like an eternity and then added, “She’ll protect them.”

Gojo’s six eyes dimmed, their usual brilliance dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah. She’ll protect them. From us.”

Nanami’s grip on the photo tightened. “From the world we brought her into.”

The two men sat in silence, the photo lying between them like a ghost of what could have been. The air was thick with grief, regret, and a despair so deep it felt like drowning. Neither spoke again that night.

A/N: Okay, y’all, save the rage essays for after the next chapter—then hit me with your 14-page death threats. This pain was necessary for the redemption arc, but I promise groveling starts in the new year. Pain first, comfort later—like a good skincare routine. Drop your theories, death threats (creative ones pls), or tell me if Gojo should be banned from gaming conventions forever. Your comments = my serotonin boost, so don’t hold back. Did this chapter ruin your day, your week, or your will to exist? Let me know. 😘"

Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy

If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[lucky1013]

Cancelling, Public Accusations, and Manipulation of Fans

Good Person/Bad Person Labels

Are you better off knowing if a celebrity has hurt someone? Done something objectionable? Do you write off an artist who is "problematic?" How bad does behaviour have to be to repulse you? 9/10? 6/10? 4/10? Do you sort celebrities into "good guy" and "bad guy" buckets?

Think of the people you know in real life. Are they sorted? Have any of them ever said something stupid or racist? Have any been hated by an ex? Have any hurt or mistreated someone? Have any gotten drunk and had sloppy one-night stands that everyone regrets? Have any of them been accused of anything? Have you ever done anything shameful, hurtful, regrettable? Now honestly -- do you label these people from your life as entirely good or bad?

I don't, and I bet you don't either. And there is a reason for that. These are people you know. We all have opinions of the people we know, but it's rarely yes or no, pure love or pure hate. It's a nuanced opinion because people are nuanced. And life and relationships are difficult. And we know that everyone grows and changes for better or worse. We accept flaws. In real life, we tolerate far more bad behavior than we admit we do or think we do. Come down from morality mountain and take an honest look.

My brother-in-law is both a verbally abusive jerk and a good husband, albeit never both at once. He's at times an awful father and at times a great father. He is a far better man than he was ten years ago. I loathe some things about him and ultimately accept and love him. And I support my sister like a warrior. I accept that humans are complicated. So does she.

So do you -- in real life.

There is a different standard for famous people. Why don't we accept that they have faults, mess up, are works in progress, and do both shitty and great things - just like our real life friends?

Accusation by Public Announcement

What does an accuser get from airing grievances publicly instead of privately?

Me Too was about men in positions of power using that power as a form of coercion over artists or underlings whose careers depended on them. The power imbalance and public stature of the accused person was a factor in their ability to coerce. I think most people would agree that part of the calculation in whether a public accusation was appropriate in these instances was the boss/power/public figure aspect of the abuse itself. Women did not accuse publicly because the men were famous -- they did it because these men used the power and celebrity status as an instrument of the abuse.

Shelby and Wilbur are a different situation. Her accusation is against an ex-boyfriend about private conduct and relationship dynamics and is wholly unrelated to their celebrity status. They are both semi-public figures, but that is not an instrument of abuse here. It just means she has an avenue for reaching fans and he has fans to lose.

Let's set aside the question of whether the term "abuse" is fair for Wilbur's conduct. It's an important question about which we viscerally disagree, but we don't need to litigate it. It’s not relevant to the point.

This should have been about HER and about HIM. They should have fought this out in real life in any manner that would meet Shelby's needs. With support from real friends. With private demands for apologies. With private debates about harms, intentions, consent, etc. It could have been civil or embattled - doesn’t matter - but it certainly did not need to be public.

If you had and experience like Shelby's, and you came to the same conclusions after your breakup, what would you do? Would you go to his employer and get him fired? Would you tell all of his friends and neighbors? Put signs in front of his house? Make sure the school, the town, any future customers and future employers had every detail? You wouldn't. You would think it was a bridge too far and worry there would be legal or civil reppurcussions. After all, you would think, since he hasn't been legally convicted of anything, doing something that messes with his livelihood and reputation is for sure not allowed.

Who is Manipulating Who?

When Wilbur poked his head up to say "I'm back" and said he did not want to speak further about the matter for now, Shelby said he was doubling down and manipulating you. Does she know what that means? He looked dreadful, asked for nothing, and stated he was not going to speak on it. That was the full extent of it. (Her petty response solidified my distrust of her ability to correctly characterize Wilbur’s actions. But that’s a tangent.)

From Webster's Dictionary: Manipulate: "to control or play upon by artful or insidious means especially to one's own advantage." Use: "to carry out a purpose or action by means of"

What did Shelby want in February 2024? She said she found her peace and wanted to end his. Did she end his peace? No, YOU DID. And then some. You did it for her, like an offering. His own fans disrupted his reputation, his friendships, his Minecraft legacy, and his festival summer. One of the most vibrant, effusive fan communities was annihilated because she didn't think he deserved to have it.

Do you feel used? Do you feel manipulated? Look at those definitions. She didn’t have to end his peace because you did it for her.

There are so many CCs (and MCYTs in partular) accused of something, often by a person who is at least marginally part of the community. They've dumped their messy, personal grievances with varying levels of merit on the public to adjudicate. THIS IS NOT YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. You are being inappropriately involved. You are being USED. How dare they place the burden of their problems upon the fans, and look to the fans to end someone's peace on their behalf.

Everyone has problems and personal life drama. Everyone has been mistreated, to varying degrees of course. Some of us have endured terrible things. The only difference here is that YOU are being made to address their problems. They are using you to achieve personal objectives.

You've likely heard the story floating around the internet about the 12-year-old Melanie Martinez fan who purportedly killed herself amidst blowback from the "support victims" shame police. The veracity of the story is unknown to me and totally irrelevant. I've chosen to regard it as a parable because to find out that it's true would make my heart explode. IT WAS A PERSONAL MATTER. That young fan did not need to bear the burden.

Some of you will say that fans "need to know the truth about who their beloved artist really is." Public accusations do not accomplish that. Truth and fact are a mess in these cases and "who someone really is" is a changing, subjective, complex thing.

Next time someone calls on the public to deplatform someone on their behalf-- DON'T ACCEPT THE JOB. Remember that believing and supporting women doesn't require participating in public shaming. They are manipulating the fanbase, even if not maliciously. They are capable of handling it in real life with support of family and friends, just as you would. Respectfully decline to participate. Don't let them disrupt your fandom; don't let them disrupt your peace.

____

[Fun fact - just found out that it's spelled "cancelling" in British English and "canceling" in American English. I'm going with the Brits on this one :)]

[la-pheacienne]

Alright I'm choosing violence yet again because that's what we do in this house.

You guys are seriously creepy about adultery. Like. Seriously. It's not even a joke. In the beginning I thought this bizarre attitude was limited to fandom discourse but I don't think that's the case anymore. I think you guys will eventually need to come to terms with the fact that :

1) Adultery is not criminal behavior, at least in the Western world, since... quite a while actually.

2) Married people can and do fall in love with other people and even occasionally fuck them and this is a very real part of human experience that you need to eventually face.

3) Women who cheat on their husbands are not actually whores.

4) Being "the other woman" (funny phrase) does not automatically give you the seal of ultimate shame, depravity and ruined vagina unlike what your grandma may have told you.

5) Nobody is actually going to give you a golden cookie if you're a faithful god-fearing woman in your own marriage.

6) The fidelity of a man is not and should not be a reward for being a "good"/"correct" woman and having a faithful husband is not the Ultimate Badge of a Woman's Worth and Value unlike popular belief.

7) Likewise, having a man cheat on you does not make you Unworthy, Pathetic and Forever Ruined, it just means they wanted to fuck someone else. A man is not and should not be responsible for your value or worth, not even your husband.

8) From the list of all the harmful things a man can inflict on a woman, cheating is actually the least harmful. It is somehow rebranded as the most harmful, for obvious reasons patriarchy, which leads us to the centuries old pervasive mentality of "he's x, y and z (enter abusive, controlling, boring, horrible in bed) but AT LEAST he LOVES ME he's fAiThFuL and has eyes onLY for ME isn't that rOMaNTIC??". No, it is not. A man can cheat on you after years of being a supportive partner, giving you the best sex of your life, being a great parent for your kids, in short, after years of making your life better in all the ways that matter. A man can be blindly faithful to you and also be a horrible lover and a boring, controlling or abusive partner. Fidelity is socially treated as the number 1 undisputed proof of a man's love for a woman and number 1 undisputed proof of his value as a partner and it absolutely should not be so. This is actually a dangerous mentality and you learned it from me today.

9) Marriage vows are not engraved on our skin, they are not the unbreakable vows of harry potter where if you break them you lose your life, they are not the 10th commandments, they are not the vows of the night's watch. Marriage vows are nothing more than an legal agreement between two people and the state, and agreements are sometimes breached. People's genitals are not automatically covered with sealed concrete when they sign the paper, as much as it would like it to be so. People may agree on fidelity for life but they do preserve their bodily and sexual autonomy and free will even after marriage and sometimes they do prioritize that over their agreement because humans are just like that. I get that this very simple fact sucks, I do. But life sometimes sucks, relationships are unpredictable, people change their minds and can't/don't always want to resist on their desires or needs, and things don't always go as planned because as a general rule, you can't control other people's choices. Only your own.

10) Cheating is a morally reprehensible act, but that doesn't necessarily mean that people who cheat are inherently the epitomy of moral depravity or that their faithful partner is the saint in the relationship. Maybe they are, maybe they're not. Maybe they are both problematic, maybe the cheater is the victim, maybe the faithful partner is actually the problem. It fucking depends. In the year of our lord 2024 you need to perhaps acknowledge that this obsession with fidelity in marriage as the Absolute Hallmark of a healthy relationship and the Ultimate Seal of moral purity is actually a by-product of harmful strict patriarchal/religious values, real life is less black and white and the world is not split between faithful partners with a halo over their head and filthy cheating partners that should be lynched. This is bordering on biological essentialism and let's just say that's not the vibe.

11) A big part of the disgust "cheaters" inspire to a certain category of people is simply thinly concealed sex-averse puritanism, rebranded as ethics. Not all of us fall for that.

12) Feeling hurt, betrayed, traumatized, furious or disgusted after being cheated on is a totally valid reaction. Feeling outraged or disgusted on behalf of other people being cheated on isn't a valid reaction. The scarlet letter was published almost two centuries ago. You are still wayy too comfortable talking about other people's sex lives and passing judgment on account of what they are doing with their own genitals. Likewise, you do not have a say on the cheatee's choice to stay in the marriage. Some people do stay in marriages where they have been cheated on, and no, they are not necessarily weak people with no backbone and/or victims and/or financially dependent on their partner and they don't necessarily need saving. A marriage is an agreement between two (2) people and they are free to agree on whatever the fuck they want. You don't know everything that's going on between them.

The sooner you accept the above facts the easier human relationships will be for you, and as a minor but useful side-effect, navigating certain fandom spaces may become less tedious for you and me both. it's a win-win situation.

[nesiacha]

Given that you are more knowledgeable than me in these matters, how problematic adopting a child during the Napoleonic Era was? And let's say, a child was born from a secret affair, what would have happened if it was discovered? What kind of issues the wife and the child would have encountered? Lastly, how hard would have been for the real biological father to adopt their child, after the death of the supposed father?

Feel free to contradict me if I say anything nonsensical; once again, I’m not infallible.

The short answer: I have no idea about adoption. During napoleonic era if the wife were caught in flagrante delicto with an adulterous child, the husband could, in addition to requesting a divorce, have the wife imprisoned, and it’s possible that the court would grant the husband’s request since adultery for a women is punishable by a prison sentence while the husband will only be entitled to a fine . (This is why I think that Jacques-Marie Botot, despite becoming bitter towards Sophie, the widow Momoro, according to some sources, because he fell from disgrace during napoleonic era, still had enough decency to let her go with her lover and not cause her trouble. The fact that she had a child by her lover and was not pursued by the police might be why Botot never mentioned in his records that he had divorced his wife, among other things but like I said before it was not the villain Sophie or the villain Jacques-Marie, I think the wrongs were shared). The child would have lost much of their inheritance.

Well, the third response is very complicated, as you’ll see in the long answer I’m about to give. But yes, the father can acknowledge his child, although there are several obstacles and issues with that, even though he will have certain prerogatives.

By the way, for some courts under Bonaparte, there was an estimation that children from adulterous relationships were considered "monstrosities in the social order" and a "real calamity for morals," according to the terms of the tribune Lahary. This shows how much this weighed on their shoulders.

Warning: I will discuss the rights of natural children during the Revolution before addressing Bonaparte

Napoleon once said, "Society has no interest in recognizing bastards," and he ordered this in the Civil Code. During the Revolution, some revolutionaries fought to ensure equality between illegitimate and legitimate children. Speaking of Prieur (since this is the origin of the question😊 due to my comment about his goddaughter/daughter in your excellent post ), an interesting point about the city of Dijon is that some of cahiers de doléances, such as those from the Third Estate of Dijon, expressed the desire to improve the conditions (of natural children) so that they would be useful to the state. Others, like those from certain communities of Aix, demanded that they be granted civil and political existence. These demands were realized early in the Revolution: the 1789 Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen abolished "bastardy," and the law of 12 Brumaire, Year II (1793), granted natural children the same inheritance rights as legitimate children.

On June 4, 1793, Cambacérès, on behalf of the Committee of Legislation, presented a draft decree aimed at granting rights to natural children. In his speech to the Convention, he emphasized the importance of restoring equality that had been destroyed by the old law, asserting that the Convention must "restore the rights to natural children that had been so unjustly taken from them." However, it should be noted that not all revolutionaries agreed on granting rights to natural children.

Cambacérès' draft decree was part of a political will to grant all citizens, including children, their civil rights, regardless of age, gender, or status. This marked a significant step forward, as it recognized rights for children, beings naturally dependent on adults, thus realizing the revolutionary principle that "all men are born free and equal in rights." This initiative fulfilled the promise of 1789.

The question of inheritance rights for natural children was first raised on September 20, 1792, by Léonard Robin, who proposed that they inherit from their parents, though not on equal footing with legitimate children. This debate, centered on inheritance, concerned not only the rights of natural children but also those of their mother and the restrictions imposed by the presumed father.

However, the initial decree by the Committee of Legislation did not go as far. It granted natural children inheritance rights from their father, but with restrictions: if legitimate children existed, they should not be disadvantaged. In 1793, a proposal was made to eliminate the term "bastard," a term seen as insulting, replacing it with "natural child."

Léonard Robin's proposal, on the other hand, went further by granting mothers the exclusive right to designate a father for their child, believing that women were the only ones who could judge paternity. This position sought to protect mothers from the abuses of men trying to claim the inheritance of a child born out of wedlock, particularly those trying to claim a significant inheritance.

However, in August 1793, Cambacérès' new draft rejected the possibility of paternity investigations. This draft prioritized the rights of the father, allowing him to choose whether or not to recognize his natural child, without the mother being able to force recognition. This was based on the idea that paternal recognition should be the free will of the man, not an obligation imposed by the law.

The reasons for this restriction were mainly economic: once natural children had the same rights as legitimate ones, recognition of paternity had significant consequences, especially regarding inheritance and family name. As a result, fathers now had the right to choose whether or not to recognize a child and include them in their family, while mothers remained solely responsible for the child.

Berlier, a member of the Committee of Legislation, justified this position by stating that the mother alone was responsible for the situation of her natural child, as she had not secured a "paternal status" beforehand, meaning a marriage contract. Although Berlier was sympathetic to the suffering of natural children and their mothers under the Ancien Régime, he believed that paternity recognition should remain a father's right to prevent abuses and fraud. He also highlighted the practical and economic consequences of recognition: once a natural child was recognized, they were entitled to a share of the inheritance, which represented a significant "cost" to the father. (This once again shows the limits of revolutionary ideas, and I say this without bashing).

As an example, historian Suzanne Desan, after studying the decisions of the Committee of Legislation and the Court of Cassation between 1794 and 1804, shows that the few natural children whose cases were examined by the authorities were systematically deprived of their rights. Provincial courts strictly applied the law of 12 Brumaire, making it very difficult to recognize paternity. For instance, a 40-year-old woman, Marie-Catherine Dampville, tried to prove her paternity with her deceased father by producing a baptismal certificate and witnesses, but these were deemed insufficient. The law now required more rigorous written proof, such as a marriage promise or demonstration of "continuous care," which she could not provide.

Now let’s return to the subject of Bonaparte, the Civil Code, and the rights of natural children.

Aside from the phrase he said about natural children (it is worth noting that he used the term "bastards," a word considered insulting by the revolutionaries who tried to erase it by using the term "natural children"), here is what Bonaparte said: "As soon as there is a possibility that the child might be the husband's, the legislator must turn a blind eye." But he also says, "There must be a fixed rule to remove all doubts," Napoleon Bonaparte continues. "It is said that this is against morality. No; because if the absolute principle were not adopted, the woman would say to her husband: 'Why do you want to limit my freedom? If you suspect my virtue, you can prove that the child is not yours.' This must not be tolerated. The husband must have absolute power and the right to tell his wife: 'Madam, you will not go out, you will not go to the theater, you will not see such and such a person; because the children you bear will be mine.'"

Now, the legal articles: "A child conceived during the marriage has the husband as its father. The law does not accept exceptions to this paternity, neither the wife’s adultery nor the husband's natural or accidental impotence." The Civil Code, through principles like the wife’s obedience and her obligation to follow her husband, as well as harsher penalties for female adultery, tends to limit women's rights. Paternity presumption and the prohibition of questioning paternity are in effect.

The evolution of paternal rights in France, particularly through the laws of Year II and the 1804 Civil Code, highlights that these laws, which were supposed to offer more rights to natural children, actually reinforced the rights of fathers to the detriment of unmarried mothers and their children. Historians have identified a conflict between equality among children, regardless of their origin, and the father's liberty, with the father generally holding dominion.

Despite these inequalities, the laws of Year II are sometimes considered a precursor to modern fatherhood, emphasizing paternal will rather than biological reality. The 1804 Civil Code, with its presumption of paternity, perpetuated this logic, allowing the father to assert his paternity regardless of biological truth. This legislation, while emphasizing the appearance of a legal union, also strengthened the surveillance of women by their husbands, particularly to prevent non-biological children from being attributed to a father.

Natural children, born out of wedlock, do not have the same inheritance rights as legitimate children and are excluded from their parents' inheritance unless they are legally recognized. The legislation emphasizes social stability and the preservation of public order through the family, which is seen as a foundational pillar of society. The Civil Code reinforces the authority of the father within the family, aiming to restore the order disturbed by the excesses of the Revolution.

In summary: The legitimization of natural children through the marriage of their parents is allowed, which enables them to acquire the same rights as legitimate children. However, this legitimization assumes that the parents intended to marry at the time of the child’s birth, which is seen as a means to preserve moral and social order. In contrast, children born of adultery or incest are excluded from any form of legitimization and cannot benefit from family-related rights, as their situation is judged to be too contrary to social order.

In short, the 1804 legislation, while granting some possibilities for reintegration for natural children, primarily seeks to maintain social stability and paternal authority, emphasizing the clear distinction between legitimate and natural children.

Although legitimate children, born within marriage, benefit from full inheritance rights, natural children cannot claim total equality. Their share of inheritance depends on several factors, including the presence of legitimate children or ascendants, and is generally less than that of legitimate children. The 1804 legislation provided specific rules for natural children: in the presence of legitimate children, their share of the inheritance is reduced to one-third of what they would have received if they were legitimate. If the parents have no legitimate descendants or ascendants, their share is larger, up to half of the estate. Some proposals from appellate courts, such as from the Tribunals of Grenoble or Brussels, suggested increasing this share in certain cases, especially if the natural child was the sole heir or if the parents had no legitimate children.

Overall, the 1804 Civil Code recognizes a right to inheritance for natural children, but this right is limited compared to that of legitimate children. This solution aimed to strike a balance between fairness for natural children and the preservation of social order, which favored legitimate families.

Some courts contested a provision of the 1804 Civil Code that limited the inheritance share of natural children, even when they had already received a significant portion of their parents' estate during their lifetime. The Lyon and Bourges Tribunals considered this restriction unjust, as it added an additional inequality to natural children, already deprived of the benefits of legitimacy. Moreover, the legislation prevented parents from making donations or wills in favor of their natural children without reducing their inheritance share, which was also deemed unfair. Some courts called for the advance payment of succession liquidation costs by the heir, so as not to penalize natural children, who were often in precarious situations.

Some lawmakers in 1804 addressed the issue of children born of adultery and incest. Although considered a "monstrosity" and a "calamity for morals" by some, lawmakers felt that these children should not be left in poverty. Figures like Chabot de l'Allier and Siméon insisted that, despite their disapproved birth, these children remained human and deserved pity and support. However, the framers of the 1804 Code did not recognize the rights of adulterine or incestuous children on par with legitimate natural children. They were granted "aliments" (support), but these were strictly regulated and proportional to the parents’ income and the number of legitimate children. Society was required to provide them with support to enable them to lead a useful life, but recognition of their right to a fair share of inheritance was excluded, except in cases of donations or wills that respected the hereditary reserve.

Portalis also stated about natural children, "They belong to no family, but to the State." He also said, "When children, whether natural or legitimate, reach adulthood, they become arbiters of their own destiny; their will suffices." Legislators acknowledged that both children born within marriage and natural children, as long as they had not reached adulthood, deserved protection, particularly in terms of marriage. Parental consent was deemed essential, not only for the public interest but also for the child's welfare, as marriage was seen as a fundamental institution for social and family order. However, natural children, being deprived of legitimate recognition, were considered differently. Some, like Defermon, believed that natural children should be free to dispose of their rights, particularly regarding marriage. However, others, such as Tronchet and Boulay, felt that these children, lacking stable family support, required special protection, especially in contractual matters and marriage. Thus, parental consent was required for minor natural children, and in the event of the parents’ death, a guardian had to be appointed, preventing marriage before the age of 21 without such authorization.

Recognition of paternity was still in place. The father who recognized his natural child had rights over the child's education and, in particular, the right of correction: "The examples of parents, their exhortations, are not always sufficient means to keep certain children, who may have developed vices or bad inclinations, in line with duty: public authority then joins the paternal magistracy, but with precautions compatible with the family’s interest." This is why natural children could not be excluded from measures aimed at overseeing their education and behavior. In particular, the father, whether legitimate or natural, had disciplinary power over his child, including in cases of delinquency. Thus, just as with legitimate children, natural children under the age of 16 could be arrested at the father’s request, by order of the district court president, and imprisoned for up to one month. For children aged 16 to adulthood, detention could be extended to six months, depending on the severity of the situation. This measure aimed to strengthen parental authority and maintain social order, giving fathers the power to control their children's behavior, even when those children were born out of wedlock.

However, don't forget one thing: if the father recognizes his adulterine child from a married couple, the child loses much of their inheritance. Furthermore, as we can see in the post, they are sometimes treated with various insults. So, it’s possible that some fathers may decide to care for them but not recognize them to avoid further problems.

Sources:

Mathilde Larrère

Josée Bloquet

The Civil Code

[vividachromatic]

Meant To Stay The Worst - Pt. 5

Alastor x reader

Marriage ♡

Tags: ongoing, marriage, confessions / proposals, manipulation and toxic relationships, canon typical violence and language

((<- Pt. 4 - Pt. 6 ->))

*

After being together for about 8 months in total, the two of you started seriously planning your wedding together.

While things weren't going well in the world right now, it only brought the two of you even closer.

Alastor and you had been planning your future home together for quite some time now. While the complicated things... like electricity or heating systems were left to Alastor and your father, you spent much more time with Alastor's mother and even his friend Mimzy.

Alastor's mother in particular was extremely happy for you and her son and always invited you to excitedly talk about Alastor's childhood and showed you a few photographs of him as a child. You could tell that she already loved you really much and saw you as part of the family. Which was further proven with how she insisted you call her 'mother'.

What you appreciated the most though, was that you had much more time to spend on your art and thoughts, and for the first time in your life you weren't put down for it. In fact, Alastor genuinely made an effort to let you know how much he appreciated your mind, art and the way you think quite often.

He even talked about you and why he likes your art on his radio show.

You were plannig to have a small radio station for Alastor on your future property, too.

While he was obviously not perfect: he definitely had some fucked-up morals at the very least; you were almost completely sure of his loyalty towards you at this point, despite your trust issues.

He never gave you any reason to think he'd even look at another woman or man in a weird way. In fact, he even went out of his way to express his extreme dislike towards cheating and betrayal.

(He once recommended a book to you where the husband cheats on his wife and she murders him, cooks him and eats him in response-)

While you never planned to; you were extremely sure that if you were ever to make the mistake of betraying Alastor in that way, you would definitely not survive it. Obviously this would be an extremely red flag in like... every situation.

But since you never did plan on betraying him and you were sure of his loyalty because of it, you digressed

The two of you had an unspoken understanding between each other: one that would be seen as problematic by almost anyone else.

You supported each other in everything.

------------------

"Y/N, my love..." You looked into Alastor's eyes, who recited his wedding vows to you.

Your heart was beating louder and faster than it ever has and you tried holding back tears to not look like a pussy or ruin your fucking make-up (it was very expensive).

And Alastor looked at you with pure love in his eyes. Which touched you to your core, since even when it was just the two of you he had a hard time letting his mask slip completely. But now it did.

"I love you. And I'm beyond grateful, to have you in my life and to have you want me in yours. So thank you, for giving your heart to me. I promise I will treat it like the most precious thing I have ever received. And I promise I will spend my entire life to protect you and make you the happiest woman in the world. I love you. So thank you for choosing me, being with me, and taking my last name."

You tried blinking away your tears and cleared your throat, so your voice wouldn't break.

"Alastor, I... I love you. More than I ever thought I was capable to love anyone-" You paused for a second, suddenly forgetting the lines you prepared and your heart started beating even faster - you thought you were actually going into cardiac arrest for a moment.

"I- I.... I'll-" you gritted your teeth and cleared your throat again.

Okay, get your fucking shit together now, Y/N.

"I will always stay with you. Through life and death. And I promise I will always be by your side. Through health and sickness; even if the whole world was against you." You managed to somewhat stutter out the rest of your speech.

And eventhough you fucked up, Alastor seemed to be geniunely touched by your words and gently moved his hand to hold your cheek.

The officiant probably told Alastor he can kiss you now, but you weren’t completely sure - it was like there was only static in your head, sending you on the verge of passing out.

You only regained the full awareness of your surroundings again, when you felt Alastor press his lips on to yours while the audience in your wedding cheered.

Even your family was there and you had to admit, that even when most of them were assholes and didn't care about you, they at least knew how to behave in a social setting.

Your offical wedding went better than you thought it would, your father led you to 'give you away' to Alastor and also held a speech later on.

(Your brother did too, but it was way more embarrassing since he insisted on bringing up embarrassing childhood memories and mentioning how he thought you'd die alone over and over again.)

When the official ceremony was over you held an after party with only your closest friends and Alastor's mother.

That part of the day was even more enjoyable than the first one. With a lot of music and dancing and only your closest friends giving you heartfelt words and gifts.

On the wedding night both of you treated each other patiently and lovingly.

...

During your marriage you tried the houswife / cooking and cleaning part as best as you could.

Though the cooking part went badly most of the time and Alastor ended up cooking dinner anyway...

(Though you did pride yourself on the fact that eventhough you couldn't cook very well, you could make good sandwiches. And Alastor was at least polite enough to pretend like that was at least somewhat comparable. )

The cleaning part went a little better. Although you did tend to hyperfixate on certain parts and neglect others from time to time...

All in all both of you had a very happy marriage. You loved each other. Even after the 'honeymoon phase'.

You always had enough money and supported each other's hobbies, while following your own.

Your own drawings and writings changed to be of or inspired by Alastor. Which was something he noticed (because he sniffed around your stuff), although he never mentioned it to you. And it did inflate his ego even more than it already was.

At the same time you knew, that his 'hunting trips' weren't for hunting animals, at least 9 out of 10 times.

But you were already sure of that before you even married him.

And since his radio studio was right next to your house right now, you could spend most of your time together.

You knew when he was going out to kill someone.

In fact you sometimes almost casually, although subtly, chatted about it with each other.

Talking about another bad person who would be better off dead. And the next day they were.

You liked this way more than you should. And Alastor obviously did too, since a lot of your most passionate nights ignited right after one of his 'hunting trips'.

You watched him clean off blood when he came back and helped him doing so more than once.

Alastor also made a great deal out of showing you actual self-defense and teaching you how to shoot, in case he wasn't there.

After a couple of years, you talked about expanding your family and even trying for a child.

Until one day the police knocked on your door.

____________________________________________________

Tag list:

@cryptidghostgirl @adeadreader @yourdoorisunlocked @spirit-of-the-hollow @droopingdatura @reikamasama @over-the-little-blue-house @wonderlandangelsposts @mysterypotatoink

(♡♡ thanks sm for your support! Tell me if you want to be added or removed)

A/N: Thank you for reading :D

Next chapter will be here soon and angsty.

Btw, I think this should be obvious, but I still wanna say that actually marrying someone in these circumstances would be quite stupid. This is like the perfect set up for an abusive relationship. But! This is fictional, so I'm writing this in a way it just works out for the two of them.

+ my girls, my boys, my nonbinary friends!! If you want me to actually write out the smut pls tell me if u actually want that. Bc I can, but I'm not sure if ppl actually want that. So comment pls (or write anonymously in my inbox) I'm just gonna do whatever I wanna do otherwise obviously, but I'd like to hear feedback anyways lol.

(On this note: thanks to 🍷 anon for your message :D I appreciate it. I'm just not answering publicly to avoid spoilers in case I'm using one of your suggestions(: )

Also this is obv to 90% an Oc/self-insert, so don't kill me if it's not 100% neutral, just change it in your head or don't read idk.

[askew-d]

Can I ask, who are your top favorite romantic couples (can be canon or non canon) of all time from any media? Why you love them? Thx :D

here i go with another grand list that i was very happy to write! i’m in love with these asks, really. i’ll mention all of them, but at first i was in doubt if i could include one that isn’t ‘canon’, but rather rpf. either way, i added bonus couples for good reasoning! let’s go.

1. wangxian (lan wangji x wei wuxian), from mo dao zu shi — they are THE moment, they are THE couple, they are THE goals. who ever could have imagined someone would come up and write a troublemaker who falls into demonic arts and gets reincarnated to fight together with a sucker-for-rules expressionless man and make it work? they fit into any au as well, this fandom rocks. my lovely cultivators!

2. kagehina (kageyama tobio x hinata shouyou), from haikyuu!! — i dont even play volleyball. i dont even like sports! why do i love this anime and this duo specifically so much? they are so passionate about their hobbies, the rivalry and frenemy relationship? the POTENTIAL. the STORY they have. the "someone better will come and find you" promise. sheer beauty. they are silly and fresh and cute and i dont think i'll ever get tired of it.

3. yizhan (wang yibo x xiao zhan), from the untamed cast rpf — i know all the problematics about writing real person fiction. i KNOW, okay?? but people, let me like them and support them in peace?? 😔 i have so much love for these men, and its overall hella fun following their life unfold, even if they are not working together anymore. nonetheless, they are my dose of serotonin when i need it.

4. daiharu (kambe daisuke x katou haru), from fugou keiji: balance unlimited — i will not scream for a seson 2 here. i will scream for more FICS of them here! there ain't enough! its not even about the 'sugar daddy' appeal, its more about the 'partners in (solving) crime' appeal. oh and also the 'i hate you you arrogant prick but i WILL do anything for you' part. everything and every detail of this show.... seriously though: gold.

5. hilson (gregory house x james wilson), from house m.d — oh, my sweet stupid and repressed doctors, i would do unspeakable things for you. wilson has been through every hard moment of house's life. you can name them, he's been there. through every ridiculous situation of his too. it is overwhelming, honestly. the ending couldn't have been more reasonable and fitting for them, in my opinion.

6. hannigram (hannibal lecter x will graham), from hannibal — this gif alone of them with scratches and smiling conspiratorily to each other sums up their entire dynamic. they're toxic and no one's doing it like them. like, yeah, no shit, who would even dare, right? murder husbands can do anything and eat the rude as much as they want, i will be sipping on my drink and watching intently. (man truly looked at this detective he framed for murder and said he would remember their moment together forever??? just dont throw him in jail then???)

7. shiguang (lu guang x cheng xiaoshi), from link click — these pretty boys traveling through time invented the concept of yearning, and i will not explain more to not give season 2 spoilers. i fell in love with them as soon as i saw the first shot of the anime. it doesnt help that they have the same dynamic as wangxian, too. cheng xiaoshi, my beloved, you would never do anything to harm anyone (not purposefully) and i (as well as lu guang) worship you 🙏

8. renga (hasegawa langa x kyan reki), from sk8: the infinity — let's be true tho, can they never do a sports anime without pulling up homosexuals?? not that im complaining at all. please continue, in fact. every couple in this story is valid (adam does not exist), and i love this spirited, young concept of redescovering the beauty of a hobbie. lovely, all of them, but most specially my langa and his admiration for reki. their dynamic has no complications, its just so sweet.

9. moshang (mobei jun x shang qinghua), from the scum villain self-saving system — i will not share a pic of moshang official art because i find shang qinghua appearence too much childlike and annoying, meanwhile i find him much more interesting in the book and fanarts. in any case, i love this couple more than the main couple simply because our airplane-bro can make everything so hilarious. there are fics of them out there which are peak entertainment (check this one!). mobei's tsundere attitude and shang qinghua's shamelessness are a great combo.

10. hualing (hua cheng x xie lian), from heaven official’s blessing — the longing is unbearable. hua cheng loves this man so much, for real. waiting 800 fucking years?? being his most devoted believer? can you believe the audacity?? my man, though he has low self-steem, does anything to protect his god. he doesnt care about any realm. he only cares for xie lian, his dear god. they are the cutest couple.

bonus: aziracrow, johnlock, tododeku, victuuri, blackbonnet, mafuyama, redblue (from this is how you lose the time war).

these are my favorite ships ever! they are what i scream about alternatively, and when i say so, i'm not joking. one week i'm freaking out over new link click content and in the other one i'm reviewing house m.d episodes. my life's a circle with my favorite ships in it and i ain't regretting anything.

thank you for asking, by the way! big hugs! 🤍

[mybrainsrottingwithmcd]

hi!! so i’m. really really new to the aphmau fandom, aka i was super into it when i was like 8 and now my autistic ass got back into and actually joined in fandom stuff

i don’t. entirely understand how to guide through the aphmau fandom on tumblr. and i have a few questions- if you wouldn’t find can you answer them for me since you seem to be super into this!

what is an MCD rewrite and where do i find them- i assumed it’s people rewriting minecraft diaries but what sparked this and why?

what’s with the hate for aaron and aarmau- i don’t. fully understand it

how did garroth/lawrence happen (i love the idea)

is there like. a masterlist of aphmau lore somewhere so i can make sure i didn’t miss anything in my rewatch (i definitely missed stuff in my rewatch)

Hello hello!! Welcome to the fandom (we’re so sorry ur here its a mess)

I’d be happy to answer ur questions :D

“what is an MCD rewrite and where do i find them- i assumed it's people rewriting minecraft diaries but what sparked this and why?”

Yeah you’re right a MCD rewrite is people rewriting MCD and adding their own ships or improvements or different plot points. It started because the original MCD is kinda written poorly. Some plot points go nowhere, some parts are problematic, some parts drag on, characters appear and disappear, characters stopped developing and most importantly MCD has no ending and was abruptly discontinued by Jess so she could focus on Mystreet and other projects. People just wanna improve and finish the thing that means so mich to them basically. You can find them on AO3 and a few on Wattpad (I recommend AO3 tho its easier to find rewrites ur interested in cuz the tag system)

“what's with the hate for aaron and aarmau- i don't. fully understand it”

(There arent enough words in this world to explain my hatred for aarmau and aaron BUT)

Many reasons heres the main few: when Aaron was introduced he was supposed to be a side character but then he became a love interest kinda outta nowhere (my theory as to why is because Jess’s husband Jason voices him) and when he did become a love interest other characters like Laurence and Garroth kinda stopped developing and became worse to justify why Aaron was a good choice for Aphmau. For me they never had any chemistry in MCD, when its revealed Aphmau is pregnant with Aaron’s kid my brain logged out because wtffff how did they find the time and also why Aaron ://. He wasn’t kinda boring, his angsty past could’ve been used more but wasn’t he was just a brooding masked figure who followed Aphmau around. Then Pheonix Drop High happened and made things really weird. So when Aaron was 18 going on 19 he started dating Aphmau who was 14. Very creepy much yuck, they didn’t communicate well and then his whole character became that he’s in love with Aphmau but “he’s just not good enough for her :((“ and “i shouldn’t be with her shes perfect” and personally i find romance dramas infuriating, especially that kind of drama. AND YES AS A 18YR OLD U SHOULDNT BE DATING A 14YR OLD WELL DONE AARON. Mystreet they were the annoying lovey dovey couple with relationship drama they just rubbed me the wrong way in that series, I stopped watching after Emerald Secret and only recently forced myself to finish Mystreet and yeah no idc about them or their relationship. In MCD season 3 when Shad was introduced as a full character his whole thing is he’s Aaron again but evil and Aphmau’s sad about it and uuuuugg i dont caaareee. And I personally thought Aphmau wasn’t gunna end with anyone in MCD because she went on multiple rants about how that isn’t what she’s looking for and she has to think about her people first and she prefers her own company and then BOOM gets pregnant of masky mcsad face. Ugh. Basically Aaron ruined everything.

(Aroacemau truther 4 life aarmau hater 4 life)

“how did garroth/lawrence happen (i love the idea)”

Garrence has been a ship since the characters were introduced and quite simply its because they have more chemistry together than with Aphmau. I’ve always been a lil uncomfortable with how Jess wrote Laurence and Aphmau’s interactions and Garroth and Aphmau’s interactions but Garroth and Laurence interactions were just more natural they had more banter they were sweet together. Then Jess did a bunch of queerbaiting with it and the ship got bigger, so many fanarts so many fanfics. Then it just never happened because Jess is a coward. Like it would’ve been so nice to see the hints and chemistry go somewhere but it didn’t. Everyone still holds hope tho. With rewrites Garrence is Canon :))

“is there like. a masterlist of aphmau lore somewhere so i can make sure i didn't miss anything in my rewatch (i definitely missed stuff in my rewatch)”

i have no idea on that one, i’ve rewatched MCD every other week for the past 8 years (autism go brrrrr) i’ve never had to look for a masterlist of lore BUT I’m sure someone has to have compiled one somewhere either on the fandom wiki or on Tumblr somewhere. :))

ANYWAYS YEAH WELCOME TO HELL HAVE FUN HERE

[mormonbooks]

The Bishop's Wife Review

4/5 Stars!

This book was nothing like how I expected it to be and everything I needed and wanted it to be. I expected the kind of novel you could recommend to your mom for a bit of light reading on a Sunday afternoon. The Bishop's Wife. She's a mormon woman who is doing her best to take care of her ward.

I was pleasantly surprised at the moderately progressive tone the book took within the first few chapters (asking questions about the sexism in the church, the fear of judgement 'imperfect' families face, etc) but I soon realized that it there was much more. This novel is a deep commentary on Mormonism, digging into the deep and unpleasant parts, and asking difficult questions that most members like to avoid. It does it all through the eyes of a faithful middle-aged woman, who knows what she believes and uses her faith to bring justice to her community, even when she has to struggle against the church institution and her own husband to do it.

In my opinion, it's a great work of mormon feminism, that allows our culture to shine through in all it's glory and with all it's flaws. I would highly recommend this book to anyone, genuinely. The mystery is engaging, the community is loveable, the plot twists are gut wrenching. Truly a work of art. I'm excited to read more of Harrison's work

Breakdown under the cut

1. Well written - 5 Stars

Yes. The prose is beautiful. The plot is engaging. The mystery is complex and the new information always threw me. It was gut wrenching at times. It was comforting at others.

2. Fun level - 5 stars

It's a slow-paced story, with many moments that skip weeks or months where not much happens. But I enjoy stories like that. It gave breaks between the page-turning mystery solving moments.

3. Complex faith - 5 Stars

This is probably my favorite part of this book. The villains and the heroes are all mormons, and they all approach their faith and their religion in different ways. Linda obviously has more progressive views, and is enraged by the misogyny of many of the men in this story. Those men are not shown to be anamolys per se but they're also not shown to be the norm. Many women in the story have opportunities to voice their questions and doubts but it never makes them any less mormon. People exist all over the scale of mormonism and it feels like the most honest portrayal of our culture that I've read so far.

4. Homophobia scale - 3.5 Stars

It's not a major plot point, but it's mentioned that Linda's son Samuel joined the GSA at his school and she is proud of him for that. She also suspects that her other son might be gay, and worries about how that will affect his relationship with his father. I imagine this will be explored further in the series. It's refreshing that Linda is pro-LGBT but it also seems to treat the church's heteronormative stance quite naively and I'd love to see Harrison really dig into that topic in the future.

5. Mormon weird - 4 stars

Realistic Fiction, but definitely uniquely mormon. The characters in this book could not be swapped out with "generic christians." some of the problematic and dangerous beliefs are uniquely mormon, but so are the beautiful and comforting ones. There is a lot of discussion of the plan of salvation, that I appreciated. I also liked Linda's realistic approach to faith, and her honest moments of doubting, or referring to things as "legends" and "myths." Things don't have to be doctrine to be important in our culture

6. Diversity of characters - 2 stars

I don't think race is ever touched on in the novel, and they all live in Utah and have typical european-american names, so it's easy to assume they are all white. And despite being essentially a work of mormon feminism, a very small percentage of the speaking cast are women.

7. Other problematic stuff - 4.5 stars

I deeply enjoyed the novel as a snapshot of a mormon town, however that does mean that, despite her progressiveness, Linda has a realistic understanding of gender, as a middle-aged mormon woman. She has some beliefs and attitudes toward men that I found frustrating, although understandable.

Conclusion:

I gave this book 5 stars on goodreads but that was before I did my breakdown. I wish it had been more diverse, but I think Harrison explores race in the church in future novels. We'll see.

I LOVE Linda Wallheim. I LOVE the way Harrison talks about Mormon communities and Mormon faith and Mormon culture. I love how much this book made me feel. This is decidedly GOOD mormon rep, with all the determined faith mixed with struggles against flawed systems and truly terrible people. like. I cannot express how much I hate the villains in this book.

I can't wait to see Linda's next adventure.

[lila-rae]

Do you think it’s problematic for an actress or an actor to make a sex scene and have your body seen everywhere and forever? And I know and I completely agree that an actor and his character are not at all the same person but for your bf/gf it’s not still weird and uncomfortable to see the person you like “fucking” in front of the camera? I really want to see your shot on this :)

No. It’s acting.

But let’s dig a little deeper.

1. Regardless of relationship status wether married, engaged, dating, sutustionshiping, your body is your own. No one has the right to your body but you and you have every right to decide who gets to view it and when. It’s all about consent and if they’re fine with it that’s all that matters.

2. A big part of consuming media like television, film, plays, etc… is something called suspension of disbelief. Meaning they want you to think things that aren’t real are. But they still aren’t real. There were really dinosaurs eating people in Jurassic World. Rachel McAdams didn’t actually get hit by a bus. And people having sex on screen aren’t actually having sex. So you’re not watching you SO fucking anyone on camera. You’re watching your partner at work in a simulated scene for the purpose of a story.

3. Sex scenes/anything remotely intimate are always heavily choreographed with an intimacy coordinator. There are so many barriers placed and modesty garments utilized so that the talent is comfortable. They not even getting close enough to where you’d be able to feel a real life erection .

4. It comes down to communication and trust. If you’re in a relationship hopefully you’re having open and honest communication and fully trust that your partner isn’t crossing any boundaries that have been decided on together. If you’re dating an actor you also need to have realistic boundaries. Saying “You can never kiss anyone for your job” isn’t realistic and if you feel that strongly you shouldn’t date an actor.

I’m not even an actor but I kissed a kid in my theater directing class for a scene in college and guess what my husband didn’t care because it was a school assignment. There comes a time where you just have to be secure in your relationship.

[blueiight]

🔥

Do you agree with the (parts of) fandom take that there was "mutual" toxicity btwn Loustat? I'm trying to think of what exactly Louis does that's so toxic that would make it remotely mutual

i think the urge to find “mutual” abuse shows a fundamental misunderstanding of what power dynamics even look like lol theyre just discomfitted theres near zero openings for them to make a black male character out to be be a big brute and self insert into the fictional man of no color. louis is a master of language, and he never actually says ‘i love u, lestat’. people fixate on it for the wrong reasons, or misinterpret ppl pointing the fact that louis never said those 3-4 words as some false attempt at looking for “mutual abuse”.

louis is not withholding, but trying to claim some semblance of power thru his mastery of language. like @lynnenne said:

Over the course of the season, we see that Lestat is hurt that Louis never says, "I love you." On the surface, this seems like a personal argument between them, but it's actually a symptom of a huge structural problem in their relationship. How can Louis ever make a credible declaration of love when the power gap between them is so huge? …Louis could tell Lestat he loves him morning, noon, and night, but it would be meaningless. And Louis knows this. The one time he tries to leave, Lestat beats him nearly to death. When Claudia tries to flee, Lestat tracks her down and drags her home. They're only as free as the colonizer allows them to be. Lestat believes that vampirism will set Louis free, but he won't even set Louis free. Expecting society at large to be cowed by Louis's vampirism is a delusion on his part.

telling lestat “ima boutta lose the last fucking thing i ever cared about”, “u gone always be alone” [an echo of what armand and nicki told lestat in the books..] & insinuating lestat somehow knew the race riot would occur somehow is incredibly cruel if not erring on delusion w the belief lestat could predict racism but do recall lestat was just as incredibly cruel himself. louis tells lestat in the beginning of episode 3 how theyd gore runaway slaves in jackson square, lestat is a crash test dummy in response to the city leaders cracking down on the azalea, treating this enterprise of pimping as a mere “hobby” of louis like a husband talking down on his wife’s “hobbies” as both lestat and louis can both hear how racist the city leaders are.. was lestat tryna take a seat back& let louis kill them himself? yea and also this passivity in the face of men far weaker than lestat was w/ zero of louis’s obligation to ‘save face’ is jarring. so much for “if disrespect was done to u i wouldve killed him myself” hann les? and in the race riot lestat’s even tryna seduce him& have the riot be their anniversary? in wider context , louis saying those words is a lashing out, a response to treatment already present... and theres no equivalent to what lestat does physically to louis in ep5 that we see so far, and i guess that unnerves ppl& makes them want to draw upon mutual abuse theories? which is crazy cuz im p sure them mens of no color yall watch be tearing eachother up& yall have no problem shipping them otherwise w/o mutual abuse theorizing but i digress. imo what louis placed on & has done to claudia is far worse than w/e hes done to lestat but we all know fanon is generally far more sympathetic to fictional men of no color than they are to a fictional black woman... if by toxicity , they mean that lestat along w/ turning louis out [cant find a better way to phrase this] also draws out louis’s vile attributes & fans the flames for louis’s capacity for cruelty [embrace the beautiful things u r & embrace what u r, ur a killer, louis.] that was already there n i wrote this entire think piece for nothing, then i agree. but mutual abuse theories is just😂😂 i just want ppl to embrace we r all here for the problematic yaoi n stop tryna play stan wars.

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

Currently Watching - June

Because I love a good little list - in alphabetical order! 😊

Regularly updated during the month, latest update 30.06.2023

Here you can find my weekly roundup that goes into a bit more detail about each episode.

And a little link to my favorite bl-tropes-collection 💙

This is guaranteed to contain spoilers!

1. Alice in Borderland Season 1 (1/8 on Netflix, no bl)

One day I was in the mood for some dystopian and uncomfortable watch and here we are. After that day I needed something cuddly and colorful, so I guess it will take me a while to finish it. But the first episode was really good.

2. Be My Favorite (6/12 on Youtube)

At first glance, Kawi is a loser. At second glance, a crazy loser. When he tries to travel back in time to change his life, it doesn't necessarily go in the direction he had in mind or Pisaeng, the later husband of Kawi's crush. But this series is so much more. Kawi is like our inner voice of insecurities and inadequacies. And it is like healing a little bit watching him gaining a little bit more self confidence and self love.

3. Dinosaur Love (1/10 on iQiyi)

This is a hellfire of a show. It is bad. But I had a blast. I can't tell you what it is about, because I have no clue! All I know is I love it. It is so bad, that it is good!

4. His Man Season 2 (5/14 on Gaga)

The korean dating show is back! I loved the first season and the second just started really good. I guess there will be some drama in those 14 episodes, but the first dates were so cute! I am looking forward to next week!

5. King the Land (3/16 on Netflix, no bl)

You know the feeling, you wake up in the morning and you're craving some good korean romance drama? That happend t me today and so I just thought give this a shot and it is good. Cheon Sa Rang works as a concierge at the King Of The Land Hotel and there she always has to wear a smile, fake or real doesn't matter. She meets the new boss in town Gu Won, who just can't stand fake smiles, but I guess her beautiful and real smile will make him fall head over heals.

6. La Pluie (9/12 on iQiyi)

Saengtai goes deaf whenever it rains. The only voice he can hear in his head is his soulmate's one. But he refuses to answer it, because Tai doesn't believe in things like love or soulmates. That is until he meets his soulmate for the first time and his soulmate is a such a cutie, that Saengtai cannot longer fight against his destiny. It is surprisingly good and funny and charming.

7. See you in my 19th life (3/12 on Netflix, no bl)

It was a suggestion, sounded interesting, so I watched it and I really enjoyed the first episode. Ban Ji Eum is able to remember her past lifes. Her 18th one ended way too soon and in her now 19th life she wants to meet the one person again, who brought her joy again after 100 years of being tired of reincarnating and remembering all the pasts lifes. A very interesting concept and I like how bold and confident Ban Ji Eum is.

8. Shigatsu no Tokyo wa... (3/8 on Gaga or Viki)

Kazuma and Ren were close friends during middle school and now meet again years later after their ways parted. We get some cute flashbacks and much cuter interactions in the here and now. I really enjoyed this first episode. It has potential, I like the hair tousle.

9. Sparks Camp (5/8 on Youtube)

Philippines's first gay dating reality show! And it's giving you everything you're looking for! Well at least a bunch of cute and cringy moments! And I am sold!

10. Step by Step (10/12 on Gaga)

Employee meets boss without knowing who he has met and crushes hard on him, just tells him what everyone thinks about the new boss and is just adorably clumsy infront of him. I adore the friend group! I hope we get to see them support Pat a lot. But there is more...An ex who is not quite out of the window yet, a toxic work enviorment, with some really sweet rays of hope in between, a second couple I lost my heart for (again the side dish...), which might be a little bit problematic, but who cares? Well, at least not me.

11. The Luminous Solution (5/6 on Gaga)

Every wish comes with a price...We meet Thana and Patis, a couple of over a decade. While Thana tries to holds closeness to his partner, Patis is working non stop at the hospital and doesn't see that his partner is suffering. And now Thana lost his job and his mother is in depth. One evening he enters a very special café, which only shows itsself to people who are in deep need for a wish. But can you pay the price? As a second couple we meet Mai and Ryou, who become enemies on the first day of school and who will have some obstacles to overcome to be together. And there is Ryous best friend, I guess he has a huge crush on Ryou. How they will end up in the café? I don't know, but I am intrigued.

12. Tie The Not (2/8 on Youtube)

And another Pinoy BL from Onix Films. It is a miniseries and it shows. The plot is a little bit rushed and not really round.

Finished in June

Series

Our Skyy 2 (16/16 on Youtube)

This one is telling what happens after the happily ever after of our favorites of the last two years. We have some supernatural stuff, some boring stuff, some cringe stuff and some fluff stuff. Over all I wasn't that excited. I really liked My School President and the last part of A Tale of thousand stars. Besindes that it was not that special to me. I give it a 6 out of 10 (mostly because all the PhuTian fluffiness we've got)

2. Bokura no Shokutaku (9/10 on Gaga)

This is a comfort watch. Hozumi Yutaka likes to cook and is good at it, but he can't eat infront of other people. Meeting Tane and his older brother Ueda Minoru his life seems to change and he may finally have found what his body and soul were longing for. It had some tense moments, but in the end it felt really comforting and calming. It wasn't that hectic or full of drama. It is a very good adaptation and I liked it very much. A good 9 out of 10 for me.

3. A Business Proposal (10/10 on Netflix - no bl)

Can a fake relationship with a lots of lies from all sides end up being true love? Yes it can I and I loved their journey. I loved to see how Kang Tae slowly fell for Shin Ha Ri and how he tried to get her to date him for real. This was just a cute watch and it made my sunday just very comfy and I had a lot of fun. Totally binge watch material. For me a 8,5 out of 10.

4. My Story (9/10 on Youtube)

Now I have a problem. I really liked the side dish couple, Zeke and Fifth, but the main story around Sky and Win was just a little bit boring, especially at the beginning. And I didn't like the whole drunk kissing and just forgetting everything the next morning. With only Zeke and Fifth this would be a better rating, but with everything else around I have to remove some points... I give it a 6,5 out of 10. Now I have a problem. I really liked the side dish couple, Zeke and Fifth, but the main story around Sky and Win was just a little bit boring, especially at the beginning. And I didn't like the whole drunk kissing and just forgetting everything the next morning. With only Zeke and Fifth this would be a better rating, but with everything else around I have to remove some points... I give it a 6,5 out of 10.

5. Hometown Cha Cha Cha (16/16 on Netflix)

This is such a wholesome and feel-good series. Even though it dealt with some really tough trauma and I was bawling my eyes out, I loved it and it felt overall good. Sometimes it was a little bit too sweet and especially the later episodes just didn't fit with the beginning of the series. I am very happy, I gave this one a try! Overall 8,5 out of 10 for me.

6. Love Tractor (6/8 on iQiyi)

City boy meets Farm boy who is a little innocent puppy and city boy can't stop falling in love with this pure soul. I read the manhwa and I loved it and this adaptation cut a LOT out, but it was so cute and good and lovable! The characters really fit the original source. Almost perfect. And we get a really good kiss! So extra points here. For me a 9,5 out of 10.

7. Zenra Meshi aka Naked Dining (12/12 on Gaga)

Not gonna lie, this one was exhausting for big parts. I guess it is about fate and two people meant to be together, and that would have been really nce and sweet, but there was so much bad drama. In my opinion the girl new that Souta had a Crush on Mahiro. Her trying to date him anyways and getting annoyed that he spends so much time with the other person was just...annyoing. And the communication and misunderstandings...It could have been something better in my opinion. And there was definitely too little naked dining. It is a 6,5 out of 10 for me.

Short Film

Movie

1. Restart After Come Back Home (on Gaga)

This one is about finding your place in life, accepting others and yourself for the way they are and about hope and forgiveness, family and love. It is a wholesome and beautiful movie. I must admit, first I didn't like both of our mains, but I guess that is part of the plan, because as they grow during the movie I became more and more fond of them. I give it a 9 out of 10.

Rewatched in June

1. History 2: Crossing The Line

It is always good to come back here. I like how both of the leads fall for eah other. To see the struggle Qiu Zi Xuan has with allowing himself to have feelings for Xia Yu Hao. And how sure Xia Yu Hao is about his own feelings. And it has volleyball. Not that I am a big fan, but I like sport bls.

2. Sweet Curse

A korean short film about a friend who is jealouse of the popular guy and summons a ghost to hunt said friend. But the friend falls in love with the ghost and the ghost with him and we get a weird and unconventional, but cute and steamy lovestory. Well, in Strongberry we trust.

Dropped/On-Hold in June

Looking forward to in June

Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai aka Let's Eat Together (In Japanese Cinema on June 2)

Ever After (Youtube on June 3)

Tin Tem Jai Special (Youtube on June 3)

Love Tractor (iQiyi on June 7)

Shigatsu no Tokyo wa... aka Tokyo in April (Viki and Gaga on June 16)

Tie The Not (Youtube June 24)

Dinosaur Love (iQiyi on June 25)

His Man Season 2 (Gaga on 23rd)

The Internship

[pompadorbz]

I RARELY see people tackle potential parents for Daiya and Mondo, so here they are!

I imagine Cassie met Hideo when she was in high school, but Hideo was a lot older than her. Regardless of that they hit it off fairly well, but things started to sour once Daiya was born. Hideo was a more distant father and refused to run his family's motor business beyond riding a motorcycle, so he refused to take any jobs while Cassie was left jumping from position to position. Despite that, I think Daiya still really looked up to Hideo as this cool mysterious figure. Whenever they'd talk it'd be about manly shit. And bikes. So it was all the more traumatizing when he fucked off a few months into Cassie's second pregnancy. Daiya was 7. I picked the name Hideo because its meanings both fit him, and are DEEPLY ironic (excellent, fine/outstanding, hero, manly, husband, and man). It was just too perfect.

Cassie's dad studied abroad in Canada for a while, and while he was there he met the woman who would be his wife. She didn't have much family left in Canada, so they moved back to Japan shortly after Cassie turned 3. I think their relationship was far more loving and they both gave Cassie their all, but they pressured her in her schoolwork and her relationships, and that began to dominate over their love for her. I think Hideo led them to disown her due to the path she went down after meeting him. She was starting to reach her boiling point with him, but after he left, she couldn’t take it anymore. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, and Cassie began to take it out onto Daiya shortly after Mondo was born in a combination of anger and stress. She was never violent with him and broke down crying more often than not, but she still heavily pressured Daiya into becoming a better man than Hideo was and getting frustrated whenever he or his interests were mentioned.

Daiya ran away when he was only around 12, and Mondo was 4. It was impulsive and remained incredibly complicated until he died. A lot of Hideo and Cassie's personality still stuck with Daiya despite everything, and some of their teachings were passed down to Mondo (Did I base most of Cassie and Hideo on that one line of dialogue in the Ch1 investigation? Yes). Mondo doesn't really know what either of them look like aside from fuzzy memories of Cassie, but I do think that they know who Mondo is all too well. Hideo mostly doesn't care, but I think that time spent alone made Cassie feel like she could've given them so much more. She wants to reconnect with Mondo, especially after Daiya's death, but she has no clue how to do that, so in the end she just never even tries.

Design wise I wanted to make it clear that Hideo is. Kinda a scumbag? I don't think Cassie ever finds this out, but he's absolutely cheated on her at least once. Very real chance that Daiya and Mondo have some siblings out there that they don't know about. I also wanted him to be a pretty big influence on Daiya's style of dress, hence the hair being similar to a pompadour.

Cassie was designed to have a lot of features that'd be considered charming. She's got the big ol' doe eyes with subtle heterochromia, she's got freckles, a cute little nose, a rounder facial shape, etc. and etc. Like if i designed how she looked in high school before she entered her deeply problematic relationship, she would have to look really sweet and cute.

I'm a big fan of the idea that the orange part of Mondo's hair is actually the natural part, and it grew back out after she dyed her hair to look more like Daiya's, so she started to use that part for the pompadour instead. She also got Hideo's eye colour and pupil shape, nearly his exact skin tone, his nose, and Cassie's slightly rounder face shape, albeit a bit taller.

Daiya got a very similar hair colour to Hideo, nearly his exact facial structure, a mixture of both Cassie and Hideo's skin tones, Cassie's freckles, her big ol doe eyes plus their hazel colour, and her nose.

[perecreate]

Inside Chernobyl’s Exclusion Zone: the City of Pripyat

One of the most disastrous human failures occurred on a day of 1986–a radiation explosion that was expected before its coming took place in Chernobyl, Ukraine (at the time part of the Soviet Union. Thousands of lives and numerous cities were significantly influenced due to Soviet Union authorities' problematic control of radioactive substances. People died, not knowing they have ingested contaminated air, those who lived suffered permanent damage for the rest of their lifetime. Directed by Volodrmyr Rybas, who is well known for the documentary film, Azure Dust guides its audience to the long desolated exclusion zone of Chernobyl, as it is no longer inhabited, frozen in its own time.

Pripyat, a city in Ukraine two kilometers away from the radiation explosion power plant, was the dream city where young Soviet Union people pursued to take residence in. Carnivals often took place and the neighborhood was friendly, crowded, and eventful. On April 26, 1986, as reactor 4 of the power plant safety drill was misconducted, an enormous amount of radioactive materials exploded into the air, carried by the wind, and into cities including Pripyat (the radioactive material later covered most of Europe as well). After 36 hours of the explosion, Pripyat residents were evacuated without a specific explanation from the Soviet Union Authorities; they were informed to leave the city for just three days to a week for the government to fix the situation. Most people packed little personal belongings, left their pets some food and water, thinking that they’ll be back to their home in a short amount of time. Many began to show fatal sick symptoms after a week, due to the radioactive waste they breathed in during those 36 hours, the living ones weren't in better condition, either. Aside from covering the fact of radioactive material leak, the Soviet Union Authority carried out forced abortion on pregnant women that came into contact with the toxic substances. One of the survivors from Pripyat, Maryna was interviewed in Azure Dust to talk about her experiences with the forced abortion. She replied that she received IV (intravenous injection) that she thought was used to reduce the radioactive waste existing in her belly, however made her five month old baby at the time reacting very strongly. Maryna was later informed that she will be aborting her child with no choice. She decided to leave the hospital immediately with her husband. The next day she found herself wanted by the Soviet Union Authorities. According to The Journal of Nuclear Medicine, “an estimated 100,000-200,000 wanted pregnancies were aborted in Western Europe.”

The Journal of Nuclear Medicine article: https://jnm.snmjournals.org/content/jnumed/28/6/933.full.pdf

The tragedies never happened enough, broken families, declining health, irresponsible measures taken by the Soviet Union government, those who lived the days in the nuclear wastes have either vanished, or have no choice but live under the shadow of the traumas and sickeness. Volodymyr Rybas’s Azure Dust depicts the horrifying history of Chernobyl, and the sorrows of victims. Pripyat now lives as a ghost city, the insides of buildings under the accumulated dust and deteriorating ceilings. It is an honor seeing Volodymyr Rybas and his team bringing us the sight of Pripyat today. And that, someday, cities like Pripyat would be able to restore the same joy it once owned forty years ago.

Feel free to check out my film review blog site: perecreate3.wordpress.com