#prodigal son season finale

[shepherdfeathers]

Oh????

VISION??!!?!?!

[limeskye]

i want to and absolutely will make more will trent gifs. Just don't know quite when.

If you are not watching this show, stop what you're doing and put it in front of your eyeballs.

[best-series-forever]

[something-of-a-hermit]

Why is O Superman (Laurie Anderson) so incredibly comforting but also I’m sobbing my eyes out at 12am over the line “and when force is gone, there’s always Mom (hi, mom!)”?

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[clarasghosts]

culturally, we may never again experience the high of the prodigal son s1 finale when, after a season of focusing on malcolm, it was ainsley who snapped and murdered a man, proving herself to be the true prodigal son.

[vettelsvee]

THE "JOURNALIST" | Max Verstappen

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

max verstappen x journalist student!reader

summary: y/n is "scared" to interview max, and max is sick of journalists, especially newbies. however the sex appeal between them is more than obvious.

word count: 992

warnings: none of it really! just sexual tension between y/n and max. use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

You were in the broadcast booth ready to report the results of the latest Formula 1 qualifying session. With your notebook and microphone in hand, you were poised to inform the audience about the exciting session results.

"Welcome back to our live broadcast from Silverstone!" you exclaimed cheerfully as you looked into the camera. "I think we should start discussing the results of the qualifying session for tomorrow's Sunday race as soon as possible."

With great enthusiasm and ensuring you had your notes in hand to avoid any mistakes, you began to list the names of the drivers and their positions on the starting grid:

"In first position, with an impressive fast lap, we have Lewis Hamilton, who has once again demonstrated his incredible skills on the track. In second place we have Max Verstappen, who is hot on the heels of the British in the championship standings. And in third position, but no less important, we have Charles Leclerc, whose improvement this season has been phenomenal, something he is quite proud of, as his partner exclusively shared with us."

You continued to read out the names of the drivers and their respective positions. However, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Max Verstappen, the Dutch driver who she found quite attractive and, at the same time, respected due to his evident disdain towards the media.

"And in the last position, we have our dear Checo Pérez, who is having a fantastic season with Red Bull Racing but, due to an engine failure, was eliminated in Q3. It will undoubtedly be very exciting to see how these men fight for the podium in tomorrow's race!"

You continued to describe the results and the performance the drivers had shown in the qualifying session, highlighting their achievements and the challenges they would face the following day.

When it came time to talk about Max Verstappen, your voice tone changed slightly:

"As for Verstappen, the prodigal son of this new era in the world of motorsport, he has once again demonstrated his incredible talent," you said with as much seriousness as she could muster, "although it was not enough to surpass Hamilton this time."

You tried to stay focused on your speech despite the glances Verstappen was casting from the paddock while responding to other journalists. Without a doubt, Verstappen commanded a lot of respect from you: the fact that he disregarded the work of his future colleagues in the profession caused your considerable disdain, and at times, he could be quite disrespectful. You didn't want to imagine how he would treat you, being just a newbie.

Although it must be noted that you found yourself quite attracted to him.

After finally finishing the live broadcast and interviewing several drivers, with whom she had felt quite comfortable despite her nerves, it was your turn to face Max Verstappen.

"Hello, Max," you greeted the Dutchman. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on your second position in the qualifying."

"It's not the one my team and I were looking for."

You tried to ignore his response, moving on to a different but related question:

"Even though your result isn't what you desired, how do you feel about being in that position?" despite your fear, you dared to continue with the question, "Do you think you'll be able to beat Lewis?"

"I'm here to win," Max replied flippantly, "not to settle for second place."

"I understand, Max," you said, changing the subject, "with the aim of overtaking Hamilton, could you tell us what strategies both you and Red Bull Racing have in mind?"

You didn't need to see the poker face Max had directed at you to know you had overstepped by asking about strategies.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Without even looking at you or saying goodbye, he turned around seemingly intending to leave the scene.

But Max Verstappen wasn't one to let anyone get the better of him, not even a mere student who didn't know how she was going to earn her degree because, without a doubt, she didn't know how to do her job properly.

"And what about you," he addressed you directly, shocking you in that moment. "What strategy would you propose to me to win the race?"

You had endured situations of underestimation in other newsrooms where you had interned, with quite nasty comments that had made you feel pretty bad. However, the sarcasm from the blue-eyed driver only drew her more to him.

"Maybe he's an asshole," you thought to yourself, "but he's a pretty hot asshole."

"Well…" you began. "Maybe instead of doing good broadcasts or getting top marks, I'll fuck one of you and, besides, gain fame."

Verstappen let out a sardonic laugh as he approached you. There was no doubt that he had not only surprised, but also pleased by what you had said.

"Really?" Max answered, a little excited, "Who would you take right now?"

"You seem like a complete asshole," you told him, "but I have to admit that I find it extremely difficult to ignore you."

"Why's that? Do you like what you see?"

The tension between both of you was more than evident.

You knew you couldn't continue this conversation, at least not in front of journalists, team bosses, and other people.

"If you want to set aside our personal relationship," the driver whispered to you as he lightly brushed your arm, "and get to know me better, prepare a good strategy for tonight."

"Verstappen," you replied, looking him directly in the eyes. "If you win tomorrow's race, don't hesitate to invite me to the private party you're going to throw, and I'll give you a night to make you feel special."

"Alright, Miss I-don't-know-your-name. A victory for one night."

If Max felt motivated to come in first tomorrow to beat Hamilton, now he felt even more so knowing he could have a girl begging for him.

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[m0chisenpai]

platonic!Lo’ak talking to the reader about everything, like all of his adventures to his feelings towards a member of the clan. Bonus, Lo’ak and the reader snuggling in bed and telling each other about their day

all is calm

˚｡⋆ avatar!reader x platonic!lo'ak

in which lo'ak is never too hold to spend time with his mother.

author note: I can't explain it, but when I think of reader and lo'aks relationship, it makes me think of disney classic mothers with their children.

The setting sun beams down on you, a light chill from the waters and evening air sets in. Cooling your body from the days woek. You rose early with t'shahik. Learning the way of healing, of listening to the Great Mother.

When you were free from your studies, you returned to your mauri. Where your children awaited. Your daughter and Tuk enjoyed the waters while the boys went out further. Hunting, and bonidng with some of the villages boys.

It was you alone, waiting for Jake and Neytiri to return from a hunting party. Their second since your refugee time began. So you began the process of skinning the fish and boning it with careful fingers.

"Mother!" you could not fight the upturn of your lips as you cast a quick look over your shoulder. He quickly drops his hunting gear to bring his hand to hos forehead, "I see you."

"Ma Lo'ak! The prodigal hunter returns,"I see you as well."

"Netayem is helping the girls hunt," he crouches to sit beside you. You nod, carefully working the thin bones out the fish as to not snap or leave any behind.

"And did you and your brother catch anything today?"

"Yes! But it was big! It was at least double dads size. And It took three of us to take this thing down!" He spoke animatedly, using his hands to scale this creature. You couldn't fight the grin on your face as he wnt into more detail.

Before, he would spit out his distaste for this watery hela d he once called it. But now these days, since peace as finally been bestowed uppn you all with the death of that monster. There is a fondness and love in hs eyes. He misses the forest less, you can tell.

"Now tell me you were with...ah what is the boys name."

"Aonung! You should have seen him! We had a running bet to see who could dive the farthest. I was clearly the winner but then he goes on to say 'well then lets see who can stay underneath the longest!"

You huff out in lafter, wrapping the fresh food salted and seasoned tightly in leaves. Setting the bundles now one by one, Lo'ak helps you not missing a detail in this contest.

"Mother, you need to rest," Lo'ak grumbles watchng as you stand, pressing your hands to your back and stretching.

"How can I? I need to feed you my greedy little monster" you hiss playfully, setting the basket near the fire.

"You really need to, dads gonna start freaking out when you start showing more," his eyes glance down at your stomach. Your second born, you often forget they are even in there, but Lo'ak has his fathers eyes. "And plus Tsireya tells me you are learning from the healers."

"Lo'ak stubborn son of Toruk Makto listens to his father? I truly have lived long enough to see it all" you wistfully look up into the sky, laughter bubbles up in you at the sour look that descends on your sons face.

"I will rest as soon as I get a fire starting." But Lo'ak beats yo too it. Working with skillful hands a small ember begins to build which you fan till it is bright and warming you both.

You will admit, the cool waters sooth the ache in your feet, and Lo'ak sits close beside you. "Enough about me. Tell me about the hunt. How do you plan to capture the beast the next time your party sets out?"

Lo'ak explains it in great detail. When the chill of the evenings settles, he scoots over to you. Curling into your side, more tales of the day fill the space. But when Jake and Neytiri return with the girls curled in their arms, they find you and Lo'ak nestled together in your hammock.

[exeggcute]

interesting links roundup #8

>>> permalink <<<

reading

Abbey’s Road: Ecoterror in fiction and film

Against the dark forest

As if Times Weren’t Unsettling Enough, Saturn Is Losing Its Rings

The California Job-Killer That Wasn’t

Could Unionizing Protect Contestants From The Reality Of Reality TV?

The Depths of Wikipedians

Did a Best-Selling Romantasy Novelist Steal Another Writer’s Story?

Do You Even Maxx, Bro?

The Final Boss of Our Medical Misery

The first thing the baby did wrong... (short fiction by Donald Barthelme)

How the Far Right Reports on the Border

In search of the mysterious "Lucky Luciano," who "had to do it to em"

Inside the Federal Bureau Of Way Too Many Guns

Labor’s Prodigal Son Returns

The Long-Lost Tarzan Atari Game, Preserved

Los Angeles Fire Season Is Beginning Again. And It Will Never End. [2019]

The New Business of Breakups

A Panphonic Poem for Mission: Impossible 3

Phase behavior of Cacio and Pepe sauce

Planet Puppet

Software Bugs That Cause Real-World Harm

The Theory That Volcanoes Killed the Dinosaurs Is Officially Extinct

The TikTok electorate

Was This Half-Billion-Year-Old Wrinkled Sack With No Anus, Previously Believed To Be Our Earliest Ancestor, Actually A Baby Penis Worm?

2024 Shkreli Awards

tools/reference

The Creator's Guide to Comics Devices

Granny Knot Info

Mixbox Painter

Real-time ISS stats

Scale Sequencer

other

DOOM: The Gallery Experience

IMG_0001

Leaving and Waving

Panic World: Did Tumblr turn kids trans? (With Vera Drew)

Science 4 for Christian Schools

[ackerfics]

my love is mine all mine ch 2 | toji fushiguro x female reader

part one of to the girls who are failed by the narrative series.

series summary:

'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapter title: in our circle of green

warnings: objectifying women, misogynistic beliefs, pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death

Toji already figured that the Zen’in clan was cruel the moment he could understand words.

Some say that the birth of his older brother marked the downfall of a clan so revered they were supposed to be placed on a pedestal alongside two families in the jujutsu society. Born with a cursed energy that didn’t make the shadows dance, Jinichi is the first ink blot on a pristine scroll of names. Their father, ever the people pleaser and the self-proclaimed heir of the clan, tried to appeal to the elders and the head who are all a bunch of stoic people whom Toji didn’t have the mood to list because they are so withered and grey they are almost unforgettable. Zen’in Ichiro begged them to give him another chance to prove that the Zen’in clan still had the potential to carry on the technique that spoke of them being shadow puppeteers.

And then came him.

While his brother earned cursed energy, Toji did not.

His life ended the moment it started.

He is used as an excuse for blows and barbed words. The scars littering his back and upper arms are just some of the few inflicted on him, the others healing with time. When they saw that his resolve wouldn’t easily break, all of the bruises and wounds went to his parents.

The family finally drove his father insane; and with his father spiralling, the suffering of his mother begins.

Then, came the blaming.

His mother, a woman so kind that she even smiles after receiving the end of his father’s verbal daggers, became a target for the elders. With the veins on her hand visible to the naked eye from how pale she is and the purple bags under her eyes from lack of rest, the wife of the assumed clan heir loved her second son despite being the one thing the Zen’in loathed. Dry hands cupped his chubby cheeks often, her chapped lips murmuring sweet nothings to his ears. She told him she prayed to the gods to make him just the way she was—normal and untainted by the world they were living in. They were words that would remain meaningless to him for they rang with false promises. He never understood her spending more time with him when he was younger. Until he saw her getting dragged by the hair after refusing to lay with him for another child that would become another failure. For the months that his mother endured, just this one rippling event made her take her last breath.

The reason for the death of his mother was him—the boon of the Zen’in clan.

All unlucky things revolved around him.

At least that’s what he was told when they pushed him into a room full of cursed spirits to test his strength.

There is a certain air of unparalleled dignity when covered by the rooftops of the Joushou clan compound, the potent air of purity ringing through the pillars holding it together. Compared to the Zen’in clan residence, those who bear the Joushou family name all lived in a small village in Kyoto, a space barricaded by so many barriers that Toji felt like it’s too much for a clan that isn’t within the triad of the Jujutsu society.

They are going to attend a funeral, his grandfather said. There was no mistaking that when the old man announced that everyone should be on their best behaviour, he was directing the words to both sons of his failed firstborn, specifically him, the boy they threw into a room of cursed spirits and the one they left scars on. When the creaking old man finally retreated to his chambers after the announcement was made, Toji could finally roll his eyes at the absurdity of the situation, the action never unnoticed by his older brother, judging by the low snicker Jinichi made.

Now, they are hiking toward the main house, a parade of black under the canopy of green and slivers of light. The chosen members of the Zen’in clan who were honoured (he wants to barf because it was exactly what the ancient old man said) to attend this funeral walked for about an hour; the compound of this family of purity or whatever they are called is that expansive. Toji swallows the complaint rising in his throat the more he feels his feet straining against the straps of his geta, choosing to keep quiet instead. He doesn’t begin to comprehend the complex layout of this clan compound. Why can’t it be a single house like theirs? With all the talk his uncles make about their family, one would think that the Zen’in clan is the epitome of perfection in the jujutsu society. It’s both bewildering and funny that they don’t hold a candle to the opulence boasted by the Joushou clan.

“Hey,” an annoying voice buzzes in his ear like a fly.

Toji stops giving the gravel his attention and places it on his ugly brother. “What?”

“You notice it?” Jinichi asks.

He keeps on looking at the dimwitted boy with hooded eyes. “What?” he repeats. Toji is not a repeater of his words but when it comes to Jinichi, he tends to do it a lot. His older brother has this habit of never fully explaining the context behind his words, one of the many reasons why Toji’s patience sometimes runs so thin it’s almost like a piece of thread now. 

Jinichi rolls his eyes. “The barriers; it’s the twelfth now. ” A second of haughtiness passes in his eyes and he jeers at Toji with an air of superiority over him. “Oh, I forgot — you can’t sense anything.”

“Get to the point,” he grits out.

With a concealed smile, his older brother basks in his simmering irritation while gesturing around the towering woods with his chin. “Do you remember the stories that circulate about Father and Uncle Naobito? How they nearly went ballistic because of a woman so beautiful she managed to ensnare the Gojo heir as well?” Jinichi huffs a laugh, his eyes boring through the backs of their grandfather’s eldest sons.  Toji’s eyebrows meet on his forehead at all the stalling. He is about to walk ahead when Jinichi continues talking, “That woman has a daughter and she’s about the same age as us. The barriers around this compound are all for her.”

That piece of information is anything but relevant to Toji. All he knows about the clan they are attending a funeral for is that they are so revered because of their strength that they can walk through someone’s Domain Expansion unscathed. This is the first time he has heard a member of his family mention a woman in this kind of light, almost worshipping with no shred of degradation and discrimination. His brother was talking about this girl with a tone similar to that of his uncle when he found the perfect woman to ruin. Toji doesn’t hold back the sneer on his lips, the scar pulsing with a phantom pain that lays out the image of grotesque humanoid creatures crawling on blackened walls and ceilings. He looks away from his brother and fixes his eyes on the nearing building ahead of them. Too bad there are no pockets in his black kimono. He would have buried his hands hours before.

“What’s that supposed to mean, aniki ?”

Jinichi cracks a chilling smile. “That means she could be offered as a wife to me.”

Toji snaps his neck to give the older boy a look painted in incredulity.

“I am the clan heir’s heir; it is imperative that I have a wife as bewitching, alluring, and docile as a woman born from the bloodline of the Hanamo clan. She will bring a new age of Ten Shadow users to our family and the Zen’in name will be stronger than it was before. With twelve—oh, thirteen—barriers protecting her from the outside world,” Jinichi snickers under his breath, “she must be a treasure.”

“Like I care about her.”

“Of course, you don’t,” his older brother scoffs. “You will never deserve a girl with that kind of calibre—you and your title of the clan’s disappointment.”

A vein nearly pops in his forehead. There is enough of the badmouthing Toji gets from the adults in the clan, he doesn’t need any more of it from his older brother who is a kid himself. “Do not test me, aniki. ”

“What are you going to do about it—grovel?”

“I will tear you to shreds like I did to the room of curses they threw me in,” Toji blandly replies with wide eyes. He notices the slight flinch making Jinichi’s shoulders rise but that is not enough to brew satisfaction into his body, which is already catching up to the older boy even though he is two years Toji’s senior. “So, you can shove your fantasies of marrying a wife made for carrying children right up your hairy ass before I do it for you.”

It takes Jinichi a couple of moments to answer, cold sweat dripping over his brow. “You don’t scare me, you little shit. You are just a fucking bug to me—amounting to nothing. Know your place as the outcast before spewing bullshit like that.”

Toji’s voice is kept within his throat, only choosing to look at Jinichi for as long as it takes until his older brother has enough. Jinichi walks past him, remembering to knock his shoulder against Toji’s. The impact feels like a breeze that only brushes on a piece of fabric. Even the force his older brother has to exert will never make him falter, which is why he is the perfect piece to twist in the puzzle that is their clan. How Fate laughs at him, he thinks; the strength given to him by the deities walking on clouds is the reason why he carries blemishes on his skin like battle armour.

He nearly lets out a scoff. All this is because of a faceless girl so fragile that she should be protected by how many barriers the sorcerers of the Joushou clan can produce.

Yet this faceless girl is anything but ordinary, living up to the hearsays passing around the halls of their residence.

She is small and the kimono covering her figure is embroidered with outlines of red flowers. It is the first time Toji has seen something so bright even with her hair covering the side of her face—practically blinding that he looks at the flower arrangements around the small coffin over her shoulder instead of her miserable face. 

For someone who should be mourning for their little sibling, the girl never gives a glance at the displayed body in the middle of the room. Instead, she is tugging on the sleeves of her mother’s kimono, calling for her attention, which in turn attracts all those who are present. Toji can hear the murmurs of the adults around him — curious, unwarranted things that should not be said regarding children. There are whispers of her blooming beauty (how she will grow up to become the next bride touched by the fingers of Izanami) and the suffocating yet pellucid air of her cursed technique (calling to the flowers near him); they are all comments made by men who are older than her father.

Then, she turns around to fix her eyes on him and suddenly, Toji finds himself at a standstill—eyes blank and breathing stagnant as the flowers in her irises bloom with curiosity. She blinks and Toji can see that they touch the skin underneath her eyes. 

It is only when she faces her father that Toji can breathe again.

He shakily lets out the sigh lodged in his throat.

A memory surfaces.

In the Zen’in residence on a certain day, there are dolls lined up in the main receiving area, all dressed in elaborate kimonos with the sound of their accessories twinkling from a single gust of wind from the open window. Toji remembers transfixing his attention on these dolls when he was four years old, his curiosity pulsing through his undeveloped mind to touch one of them. His fingers reach out and the tip of his toes carry him closer to the girl wearing a headdress that can tangle with a single nudge. The doll is almost calling to him—the crinkling eyes closing because of the smile on her face, the folds on her attire devoid of creases, and the platforms possessing patterns that match her partner. But Toji also remembers feeling a hand crack against his skin, pushing him from peeking through the edge of the display area and to the ground below him. He remembers the pain that erupted after his head roughly bumped on the hardwood floor. There was no time to whimper in pain because the hand gripped the tendrils of his hair in between their fingers. His eardrums nearly burst as he closed his eyes to accept whatever punishment the hand gave him.

The doll gives off the same feeling as the girl walking through the door. He is itching to reach out to make sure she is real but he knows once he does that, the hand will come back again.

“Man, she is perfect for me,” Jinichi muses beside him.

Toji never takes his eyes off the doorway where the main family of the Joushou clan disappears, answering, “Keep on dreaming.”

“You don’t think so?” Jinichi scoffs. “What? Are you planning on taking her? Don’t—you’ll only soil her holiness with your curse or the better lack of it rather. She will give birth to my heirs and the possible holder of the Ten Shadows cursed technique, mark my words.”

He makes no sign of using his voice. Toji flickers his eyes to the body of the little boy that will be burned later on in the ceremony. If the Hanamo clan can bring forth life with their wombs, why would the mother of that girl give birth to something dead? The doll-like girl then comes into mind—her fluttering eyelashes, the plushness on the apples of her cheeks, her eyes that seem to carry an entire flower field, and her air of only existing in dreams. Will she suffer through the weight of carrying death inside her? Will she assume that lifeless look her mother donned? 

“What will you do?”

“What?”

He keeps on talking to Jinichi, “What will you do if she becomes her mother?”

“You mean to test our bond as brothers?”

Stupid. “If it comes to a point that she is not who our world tells us she is—giving birth to dead babies. Will you still accept her? Be faithful and not take any mistress like our father did?”

“Father is a coward,” Jinichi answers. “The women who have the privilege of being offered to us are the cream of the crop as the elders have been saying. We are told that they are the perfect women to breed children into and I will do everything in my power to make sure they will bring life instead of death. The Joushou girl is not an exception.” Toji feels his skin crawl at Jinichi’s smile. “In fact, her womb is the best reason to try and try again, am I right? I bet her father will do that to her mother tonight. Have you seen the look on his face?”

All Toji can offer as a response is silence.

“It’s the look of someone with a goal in mind. Maybe the next time we visit the Joushou compound is for a festival, not a shitty funeral for a dead kid.”

It’s another funeral—this time, not for a dead kid, but for the esteemed Lady Joushou instead.

The previous one was not as suffocating as this one and Toji is not an idiot to detect the miasma of tension surrounding the entire compound. With the Lady gone, the clan is in chaos—if the rotting smell of flowers drifting in the air is any indication. He can hear the elders of both the Jujutsu society and this family urge the head to find potential women to replace the one they have lost. It’s not a surprise to him—older men telling leaders what to do with the future of their clan, having lived in the most grappling environment he knows in his life—but it repulses him that they are outwardly discussing it in the Lady’s funeral. 

The funeral rites have ended, the ashes are gathered, condolences are given, and Toji leaves it all behind to enter the withering gardens of the Joushou main residence. He may not have the capacity to feel cursed energy but he can tell that this decay is caused by the Lady’s death. With no one to educate him on the many clans in their society, Toji learned everything by himself. One particular scroll has been hidden away in the library of the Zen’in residence and they entail the history of the Heir Makers. It was only a year ago that he was curious enough to learn more about the doll’s familial lineage. Of course, the Joushou made a name for themselves with their impenetrable cursed technique but it is the Hanamo clan that made the doll’s birth possible. Just like their name, they have something to do with flowers and something about the manipulation of their souls—befriending them to follow their bidding.  All of these are overlooked by the fact that just like flowers, they represent the essence of life—fertile wombs and precious beauty above all. 

While he walks in this grey scenery, Toji is silent on his feet. Not a single sound emanates from his footsteps. The heavens are not that cruel—they still blessed him with an advantage against those who can sense cursed energy. There is no symphony of birdsong here, almost like they feel that their voices shouldn’t tarnish the melancholy dome around the compound. Toji blends in with the silence. His eyes roam around the dropping shrubs and the raining leaves, his hands nestling inside the sleeves of his black kimono.

A splash of green on the stiff grass catches his attention. He follows it. They form a line, stepping stones even, toward her.

The doll is crying in the middle of a pond of grass, her back turned from him. Her hair is pinned close to her head, her black funeral garb once again embroidered with red outlines of flowers that seem to bring colour to this eternal void. Even without facing him, he can tell she is crying from the way her tiny shoulders shake. Of course, she won’t notice him, nobody can, so Toji takes this time to watch her silently and let her heart cry for her mother. The sight in front of him calls all of his attention for her tears bring a solitary flower to sprout from the ground. It’s oddly beautiful, he finds himself thinking. He expects her to grow more flowers from her grief. 

What he doesn’t expect is her looking over her shoulder to zone in on him, those flower fields for eyes arresting him in place and rendering him motionless.

The pounding of his heart echoes through the chambers of his heart, alerting the tingles in his stomach to flutter their wings. It’s different from the paced heartbeat he experiences whenever someone pushes him into the mud in the Zen’in estate. This particular reaction from just her making eye contact with him pushes the heat to climb to his face, dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It���s the first time he feels embarrassed about being noticed. 

She is as pretty as her cursed technique.

“Who are you?” her voice carries through the dead garden.

Toji nearly jumps in place but he covers it with a cough from behind the sleeve of his kimono.

She cuts him off from answering. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Her eyes cut through the open shoji doors behind him. 

“And you’re supposed to be out there,” Toji nonchalantly remarks with a thumb pointing behind him.

The doll blinks, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings on her skin. She looks away from him and blue washes over her tiny figure. “I don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to be there either, which is why I’m here.”

Annoyance flickers on her face as she juts her bottom lip in a pout. Toji blankly stares at the unwarranted gesture—cute. She really is like a doll; so fragile, dainty, and tiny that nobody has the right to touch her, including him. The distance between them will remain as is; something he will never lessen through weathering seasons. This girl’s existence is everything he is not and she is worth more than him, way more than his family can offer. She breathes life in her tears—who knows what she will bring with her touch. “The elders won’t like it if you’re here,” she finally fills in the silence. 

“I don’t care what the elders have to say. I stopped caring a long time ago.”

She thoughtfully brings her attention back to him. “I remember you.”

Toji can’t help but wear shock on his face.

“You’re the boy who looked friendly two years ago. You were at my,” she chokes up, “brother’s funeral two years ago.”

So he did leave a lasting impression on her. For whatever reason, Toji doesn’t know.

“I think you’re the only one who looked friendly, that’s why I remember you.”

Him—friendly? He is described as looking like a demon spawn by many. Not to mention that he inherited his family’s signature harsh look, narrow eyes, and face always set in a scowl without trying. People will say otherwise if they heard what came out of this princess’s mouth. 

“Hey, princess, I’m anything but friendly.”

“The flowers aren’t afraid of you, including this one,” she nods at the flower swaying in the wind, the only witness to their exchange and the first one to many to come. There’s no smile on her face but her tone suggests something that douses Toji in a foreign feeling. Nobody has given him this kind of attention before and it’s getting hard not to look away from her. “You’re not like the rest of your family.”

Toji scoffs. “Of course, I’m not—”

“I can tell you have more heart than them.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

“If other people from your family found me here, this conversation wouldn’t be the same as the one we’re having now. They will tell my father and he will scold me like he scolded Mother. Or worse, they’ll pick me as a bride.”

He remembers his older brother asking their father about his possible betrothal to the treasure of the Joushou clan but Jinichi was instantly shut down by a drunk remark, saying that he will never be good enough for something precious as the girl. Toji also remembers Jinichi letting out his frustrations and anger at him in the dead of the night when the servants were asleep and the night was cold, pushing him out of the residence and forcing him to lay on the garden’s pebbled path as if it’s his fault for ruining a potential alliance—Toji is bad luck as Jinichi stated.

After gaining sentience and understanding, Toji hates everything that his clan stands for. So, he should also be hating this girl. She is the pinnacle of jujutsu and every special case is something to be revered at. However, looking at her right now, how can someone suggest that they marry someone younger than the youngest member of the Zen’in clan?

“You’re too young to marry anyway,” Toji replies while scratching his head. “What good would marrying a kid give to the old geezers I know?” He then sighs, “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be playing with dolls at this age? Why are you already talking about marriage?”

She looks away. “Because my mother is dead.”

“Hah?” he exclaims. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Her eyes dim a little and Toji curses himself for not thinking before speaking. “Father needs good alliances for ruining the one he has with my mother’s family. I’ve heard him talk.”

“And he’s what? Selling you to my clan?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Well, that sucks.”

The doll nods.

Toji clicks his tongue. “If they keep on pestering you to be their wife, you might as well just run away.”

She tilts her head, making her look like an adorable stuffed toy hanging on stalls in festival games. “Mother told me that would be the worst thing to do. Father would be angry and I would be chased.”

Something becomes stuck at the back of his throat. How will those words influence you when your mother is dead, is the unsaid thought lingering in his mind. He chooses to let them bubble inside him. Instead, he says, “If I were you, I would have run away from the moment I heard my father arranging marriage proposals. It sounds like an escape that I would want from everything if I’m being honest. And now that I’m thinking about it, marrying into the Zen’in clan will mean that you will become either my aunt or my sister. I don’t know which of the two I prefer.”

“I don’t think I’d prefer any of that either.”

Toji watches as she fiddles with the petals of the carnation resting on her palm. Hesitation keeps making him twitch, from the tips of his fingers to the shuffling in his feet. The distance between them lessens as he follows the trail of green toward her. His hands are still hiding in his sleeves and he paints a picture of nonchalance on his face, one that doesn’t betray how his heart is racing at the thought of being in the same circle as her. The doll he was reaching for when he was young is finally within his reach. He plops on the spot next to her, far from her and the flower but not that much to warrant any awkward air around them.

“Toji.”

“Hmm?” The girl doesn’t even flinch in surprise at his proximity.

He fixes her a glance, almost grumbling, “That’s my name—Toji. Figured that if you want my help in running away, you should know it.”

She finally smiles, a tiny one but still noticeable within the monochromatic background they are surrounded by, and his hands become sweaty at the sight. The girl doesn’t even know the power she has while doing it. A piece of hair falls from her elaborate hairstyle, draping itself over her shoulder, with Toji’s hand itching to push it behind her ear. What is wrong with him? He feels his face heat up while looking away from her. Unwarranted thoughts circle the caverns of his head, all concerning the girl beside him. Regretting his decision to sit with her in the only vibrant area of the withered garden, Toji covers the bottom half of his face with one hand, finding the gentle swaying of the breeze among the grey leaves entertaining.

“[Name].”

“Huh?”

“Nice to meet you, Toji-san,” she once again offers a small smile that reaches her eyes. “I’m [Name]. Thank you for talking to me.”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s nothing—just thought that you could use some company because everyone seems to be fawning over your father.”

She doesn’t reply, simply looking down at her lap like she is taught. 

No words are exchanged between the two of them. The silence is not palpable to push them into creating meaningless chatter.

It’s just the two of them—a boy who has nothing to his name except for being part of a family he wants to escape from and a girl who starts feeling the strings dictating her every move.

As the funeral rites go on behind them and as the afternoon makes way for the sun to peek through the cloud formations, the colour spreads from where they are sitting, and in the space between them, Toji notices a small bush of hydrangeas* touching the tips of his wooden slippers.

taglist (send an ask or a reply if you want to be added !! )

@booblikerlhc @sugutoad @sakuralikestars @fandomfloozy @the2ndl @silent-sondering @idktbhloley @ruizrei @m0nsterzl0ve

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

11:53 ー GOJOU SATORU. even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, “you owe me”. look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.

“Satoru,” as if he can already sense your complaints, the white-haired tree hugs you tighter. Despite yourself, you can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your lips. “It’s too hot to be like this.”

“No it isn’t,” comes the expected reply. “This is, like, the perfect temperature for a Sunset Bird morning.”

It isn’t and you both know it. Still, the boy you’ve known since you were 8 continues to plasters himself to you like a koala. “Moms are gonna freak if they know you’re here.”

“Freakouts stopped when we were 13,” Satoru mumbles into your shoulder.

You finally accept your defeat with a sigh.

Freakouts did stop when you were 13 and sneaking into your room became habit for the boy next door.

Complete with the lack of shame Satoru’s always possessed, however, he had no qualms marching himself downstairs the following morning to get a glass of orange juice. To say your mothers had heart attacks that day is an understatement. Yet despite the scolding that followed, Satoru was unperturbed. As such, Pamela and Noelani [Last] are unperturbed when they wake to Satoru walking around like he’s lived in this house all his life. In some ways, he might as well have.

Your lips quirk into a smile despite the heat, “you’re so annoying.”

“Nah, you love me,” Satoru snorts and you can feel him grinning.

Luckily for Satoru, the sentiment is true.

You’ve always loved him even when he was at his most obnoxious. Even if initially your friendship only started due to close proximities. You were 8 and he was going to turn 8 later in December and his father, desperate to get his son with a terrible attitude some new friends, offered you $20 to be his friend.

It’s a funny tale to look back on.

Befriending the prodigal son of the Gojous took a fair bit of effort on your part, effort and forced proximity, but you’re happy that things ended up this way. The clingy koala laying in your bed is a far cry from the aloof brat you remember. No $20s were required ーpartially because you had run off screaming about stranger danger, partially because Satoru was Satoru and that was more than enough compensation for your time and effort.

Even if I could do without the additional sweat, though.

You wait a few more minutes before you finally force yourself into a seated position, Satoru complaining all the while. “Come on, we need to get up!”

Satoru whines even as his stomach growls, “can’t we just ask Liz to bring us up something?”

“Liz has already fled Casa de [Last], remember?” She’d left the afternoon before for her return flight back to New York. She'd left the coop first and even if it's sad to think about, Liz did have a life outside of Sunset Bird. A different life and different friends but there's comfort in knowing you're still Liz's baby sibling no matter what happens. “And I’m pretty sure moms aren’t cookin’ because it’s hotter than the devil’s asshole today. So come on,” you pat his cheek once, twice. “Get your ass on up, rich boy.”

“Oh,” Satoru opens his eyes with a pout, blue eyes squinting in his dismay. He’d have to leave the volcano nest you called a bed if he wanted to eat after all. “And the other rich kid in the room can’t call me a rich kid. Our parents are in the same country club.”

“I prefer the term,” you wave your hands gracefully. “Middle-class.” Your family is certainly comfortable but to compare their comfort to the riches of the Gojou family is ridiculous. You know Satoru’s poking is good-humored fun, however.

“Still in the country club though,” Satoru snorts with a lazy grin but he’s in an upright position.

Breakfast is typically a serious affair in your household regardless of the season.

Your mothers spared no expense at making spreads that accommodated everyone’s dietary needs and preferences. When Satoru became added to the mix due to your impromptu sleepovers, it was no different. Still, not even the power of your mothers can fully withstand the heat of mid-summer so it’s every man for himself this morning.

You find yourself not minding it much as you go to the bathroom, Satoru trailing not too far behind with a yawn.

It’s crazy how much ‘Satoru Gojou’ is in your house, you realize as you brush your teeth.

He’s everywhere.

His clothes litter the floor of your room, the kitchen cabinets contain his favorite plates and cups, he’s even in a few of the framed photos scattered across your house. First day school photos, the times you’ve gone trick-or-treating, but most importantly the summers. Because everything happens in summer in Sunset Bird.

It’s the season you met and it’s the season Satoru became yours. The summer he moved in, the summer you celebrated your birthday at the park. You’re pretty sure your moms even snapped a picture of the two of you with Liz before she took off on her flight because of course he tagged along to the airport.

You glance at Satoru as you both brush your teeth. He’s lazy but efficient at it, leaning against the wall as his mind drifts to who knows where. Even the toothbrush he is using to clean his already perfect teeth is one of many your mothers have bought him over the years. 

“Well, if he’s going to be here so often we might as well be prepared,” Ma shook her head with a laugh the first time they him bought one.

Mom placed her hands on her hips more bemused than dismayed, “it would certainly save the boy the trip to just brush ‘em at our place instead of heading all the way back home, wouldn’t it?”

As such, Satoru always had a toothbrush of his own to find in your family’s bathroom. Sky blue, like his eyes. Your mothers were cheesy like that and yet you can’t imagine his toothbrush being any other color. It’s the color you reach for whenever it’s time to buy a replacement and your parents have dragged you to help with the grocery shopping.

“He’s a jerk but his dad says he has no friends so I’ll play with him anyway,” you recall 8 year old you telling your moms the first night you met him. You wonder what little you would think about how things have turned out for you now. Would they be surprised? Pleased? You aren’t able to continue your guessing game when Satoru takes notice of your staring.

“What,” he grins, completely disregarding the foam on his cheeks and lips. He’s matured a fair amount since the summer you were 8 and 7 but there’s still some boy in him. You hope that childlike innocence he has never dies.

“Nothing,” you chuckle.

“It’s clearly something,” you can’t resist his impish grin even if you try to.

“I was just thinking how I hope we get to spend more summers together,” you finally relent with a sound of nostalgia mixed with knowing. It seems a little silly to hope for more summers when you’re quite sure those future summers are guaranteed. “But I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with you for the long haul. Not that I want it any other way.”

He might have been born in late fall but summer is the season that suits Satoru Gojou best, you think as you watch his face morph from surprise to a smile that matches the sun. Yeah, summer is perfect for us. Your smile is one that’s as soft as you feel for the boy you’ve grown up with. You love him more than you can express, that’s an unwavering truth. Even with that unwavering truth, unfortunately, you still hold up a hand the moment he leans forward with his lips puckered.

“Um,” white eyebrows suddenly quirk downwards as Satoru frowns in shocked displeasure. “Excuse me?”

“I am not kissing you with toothpaste foam all over our mouths,” you push your boyfriend’s face away with a snort. You laugh even harder at how Satoru’s face contorts dramatically into one of mock horror and betrayal.

“Why not it’s clean!”

You rinse and wipe your mouth with a snort, barely dodging his attempt to land one on you again. “Satoru, hurry up so we can go eat.”

Satoru crosses his arms, far too serious for the subject matter at hand, “I’m not eating without my good morning kiss.”

“The good morning kiss can be obtained once you wash your face off, you dork!”

Happy (early) birthday to my buddy @hash-slinging-slasher-trash! I recently got them into the Our Life franchise just in time for their birthday and I had to capitalize on that with a JJK x Our Life AU. Everyone's happy and the angstiest thing you have to deal with is a certain someone realizing they didn't get their good morning kiss. Godspeed to you, my friend. It took so much effort not to post this early lmao but here you go! Sorry readers if your birthday is not in the summer/spring, this is very much catered to my friend who is a June baby.

Is June 15 technically summer? No, but it's 5 days off from the equinox and in California, spring is just early summer so- anyways, your girl couldn't wait 3 more days apparently.

[dickgraysonsbitch]

prodigal son

in which you and bruce bond over the worst day of your life (gn!doctor!reader)

warnings: swearing, injured jay, angst, no use of y/n, allusion to a story in which the prodigal son comes home to the lights all on, symbolizing that he was never ousted from the family

When you got the call, it was safe to say that you were scared. Shit. Fucking. Scared. Nothing in all your years of medical training could have prepared you for the sight of Jason Todd, the undisputed love of your life, (and his second, as he would often quip), bleeding out onto the dust-covered ground of the Bowery.

The phone call came in the dead of night. You’d just come off of a 36 hour shift, and while you were getting ready to relax and melt into your bed, your phone rung.

Jason’s burner phone. The phone he specifically stated would be used in emergencies. The phone that alerted Bruce of his location, something Jason despised, and wouldn’t use unless—no. You couldn’t let yourself swirl into despair. Not before picking up the phone.

“Jay?” Your voice quivered, and there was a pause on the other end of the call, a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into an eternity. Finally, a voice crackled through the line, a raspy, desperate voice on the other end, one you'd know anywhere, no matter how distorted it sounded through the speaker.

His voice sounded nothing like the confident, cool, and collected man that you knew. He sounded tired, wounded, and hanging on to every last breath, something you’d heard all too well at the hospital. “Baby,” he choked out. “Baby, I need you.”

Those four words were enough to send your heart into a frenzy. You had heard them countless times, whispered in intimate moments, but never like this. This was different. This was a cry for help.

“Where are you?” You whispered, attempting to cling onto your last strand of placidity. “Please, hold on, just for a minute.”

His breathing became more labored, his words slower. “The alley behind the Italian restaurant. San… San Maroni’s. It was an ambush, baby, I…”

“I’m coming, ok? Hold on for me, please.” You were begging, begging to not lose your person, not again.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your medical bag, your hands trembling as you rushed to the address he'd given you. The drive through Gotham's dark streets was a blur, the city's underbelly a place you'd only ever visited on Jason's arm. Now, it was a nightmare, and you were alone.

You turned the corner, terrified. The stench of blood and the dim glow of a flickering streetlight illuminated what you would come to call the most horrific scene that you’d laid eyes upon. The person that laid there, to you, wasn’t the Red Hood, the most fearsome man in Gotham.

It was your Jason. The man who woke up with you at three in the night when you got home from work to help you make Kraft Mac and cheese. The man who held you in his arms when you sobbed after having to admit a child, just five years old, into the ICU for a cancerous tumor.

Your voice came out a strangled gasp. This wasn’t him. It’s couldn’t be him. How could the strongest man you know lay there, his body stained crimson? Sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving, a pool of his own blood spreading around him? Multiple gunshot wounds riddling his body?

Tears welled in your eyes as you knelt beside him, carefully assessing the damage. Jason's voice was hoarse as he whispered your name, his face pale, but still, a faint grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He was conscious, thankfully, though his injuries looked serious.

Your mind immediately remembered your chapter on Trauma Care in medical school. Stabs, slashes… gunshots. Bleeding was solved by aortic clamping, and tourniquets.

"Hi, baby. You really know how to make an entrance," you said, your voice trembling as you began to work on stabilizing him. Your fingers moved with the precision of a seasoned surgeon, your training kicking in even as your mind was a whirlwind of fear and emotion.

Jason chuckled weakly, wincing in pain. "Couldn't let you forget that you're dating a walking disaster, could I?"

A few moments passed, each second passing all too slow, yet all too fast. It was minutes, hours, an eternity of trying to save the man you loved more than yourself, seeing him like this, but each second ticking with the speed of a bullet train.

“I received your distress signal, Jason.” A man, 6 feet tall, perhaps more, emerging out of the shadows, a long, dark cape billowing behind him. “What do you—” the man stopped short, but you forced your eyes back on Jason, trying to carefully mend a wound on his forearm.

The man, (who, though you were still in your haze, you had identified as Bruce), was still gaping, and slowly knelt down next to you. That’s funny, you thought, trying not to distract yourself from removing bullets from your lover, Jason always said that if he ever died, Bruce would walk away.

“Is he… conscious?” This voice, this voice wasn’t Batman. This voice was Bruce Wayne, discovering that his child, whom he failed to save once, was on the brink of death once again. “Was he responsive?”

You nodded. “He was conscious when I found him. I gave him a relaxant from my bag, just to… numb the pain, even if it was just a bit.”

The man nodded solemnly, his hands find their way around Jason’s injured forearm. You thought you could perhaps see his eyes watering, or even perhaps a tear beneath his cowl.

Jason’s breath stirred, and his heart rate picked up, (at least according to the portable heart rate monitor you hooked him up to). His eyes fluttered open, and for a tenth of a second, perhaps less, the glowed a bright, neon green. Then his heart rate dropped, and picked up again, like a morbid roller coaster. “Dad?”

He groaned, and you moved to stabilize his pulse, while simultaneously attempting to make sure the stitches you’d meticulously placed wouldn’t detach from his torso.

Bruce nodded, holding Jason’s hand tighter. “I’m here, son,” he seemingly choked out, before turning to you once again. “Is he stable yet?”

You nodded. “He’s speaking, which is a good thing, but I think he’s in the stage of pain where he’s experiencing hallucinations. It would be better to bring him to a secondary location, preferably one with more medical equipment. I don’t know if you own a hospital or something, but—”

“Bring him to the cave.” He said, abruptly.

“What?” This was shocking. Jason had told you how secure the Batcave was, and how vigilantes or other superheroes were the only ones even brought into its vicinity.

“It’ll save him. State of the art medical equipment, and my butler is a former combat medic. And you’ll be able to get some rest as well.” He nodded, solemnly. “Since he’s in a stable position right now, he and you can get in the Batmobile.”

“How did you—”

The Batman looked at the ground solemnly, all while picking up Jason in his arms. “I’m not a detective for nothing. You’re clearly a doctor, or a nurse of some sort, one with a connection to Jay, which is the only reason he was allowing himself to be treated. Your eye bags indicate that you haven’t slept in at least thirty hours. You also know my identity, so there’s no harm in bringing you to the cave as well. Jason is also more likely to cooperate with Alfred with you there.”

Wow, he’s good. You nodded and swallowed in awe, but more in admiration of his unexpected understanding. It wasn’t something you anticipated, after Jason’s tales of his father’s stoicism, but you couldn't help but admire the mysterious caped crusader, who had just invited you into his world, albeit indirectly.

Just before he got into the Batmobile, he turned to you, a single tear streaking his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. And in that moment, you knew that Bruce Wayne did not hate his second son.

The lights would always be on, for Jason Todd, prodigal son.

[qpjianghu]

**UNDER THE SKIN 2 FINALE SPOILERS**

man... I have thoughts (and, certainly, feelings)

* *

* *

SERIOUSLY DON'T LOOK UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED

* * * * * SORRY I HAVE VACATION AND NOTHING ELSE TO DO WITH MY TIME

*

Okay!

To start at the very final scene, I can't believe the season actually ended on the cliffhanger of Du Cheng getting stabbed. I had seen that spoiler ahead of time, though I honestly wasn't even mad because it made the anticipation greater for me -- *extreme Gordon Ramsay voice* "finally, some good fucking whump." And when the credits started to roll on the finale, I was a bit disappointed, but figured the Du Cheng stabbing was just an elaborate deepfake. Because there's no way they would shoehorn that into the last 30 seconds of the season, with no confirmed season 3 at the ready... right?

Ugh. Minutes after finishing the finale, I honestly can't yet tell if I'm mad because I'm excited for more or just mad mad. Either way, it's definitely unsatisfying. Leaving viewers unsatisfied is certainly one way to ensure they all come back for another season, but that approach necessitates there actually BEING another season (prayer circle ACTIVATED), and it is still, IMO, a kinda cheap storytelling technique. ESPECIALLY when another season is far from certain (RIP to all my cliffhanger-ending shows that never continued... Prodigal Son, Flashforward, I will never sleep well at night again because of you...)

But okay, fine, cliffhanger mileage aside: The finale left me a bit cold in the same way that the season 1 finale did. In season 1, there was all this tender and intricate build-up to the resolution of Shen Yi and Du Cheng's longstanding trauma-feud and then one day Du Cheng just... forgives him? And then Shen Yi gives up his artistic destiny and becomes a police officer?? (That image of the two of them standing side by side in their uniforms always rubbed me the wrong way, and I think @lunarriviera put it best by saying it's giving extreme "take your kid to work day vibes," which is SO TRUE lol.)

Also: We never even find out who M was (do we? Did I just totally miss this?) -- which is a pretty bold narrative pivot if you underline and highlight the point you're trying to make (ie: life is messy, you can't solve every mystery, you have to learn to live in the liminal spaces of forgiveness and faith and lack of certainty, etc.). The fact that I'm not even sure if the main mystery / tension was resolved at the end of the season shows that, well, it could have been made clearer either way.

When I started season 2, I was ready to brush all of my previous reservations under the rug, because I'll tolerate almost anything just to watch two gay men solving crimes it seemed like the show was actually addressing my aforementioned quibbles. And not just addressing them: using them as narrative fuel for deep and complex character develoment, and to propel philosophical and emotional tension between our two leads. Season 2 wrestles with ideas about existential responsibility: is Shen Yi misusing his god-given gifts by working for the police? Does a person have a utilitarian responsibility to live their life a certain way? What does real criminal justice look like? And is murder actually okay if you're a lonely opera-loving middle-aged sweetie pie with doe eyes?? (I love you, Ge Yutian)

I mean, shit, this season did such a good job of convincing us that all humans deserve empathy and catharsis, and that maybe Shen Yi is onto something with his criminal psychology atlas thing, and the storylines this season were, brilliantly, devastatingly, not about the crimes or even the criminals but about the humanity of it all.

Which brings me to Fang Kaiyi.

The season very obviously set up Fang Kaiyi as a mirror for Shen Yi. Shen Yi even states this outright, both to Fang Kaiyi himself and to Du Cheng (which honestly felt a bit unneccessary, as it was giving intense Main Character Energy from Shen Yi, geez). Regardless, I actually loved the set-up and development of Fang Kaiyi and Shen Yi as foils. This is an excellent way for an episodic drama to use the B plot to shed light on the relationships and struggles of the main characters.

My problem with it is.... the resolution makes no sense! Not to be an antogonist simp on the main (because I'm really not), but: accessory to murder (which itself felt very cheesy and moustach-twirly, tbh) aside, what did Fang Kaiyi really do so wrong?* The season does such a fabulous job of building up the ethical murkiness of contemporary genetics research, positioning Fang Kaiyi at the center of a very relevant debate that, to most of us, truly does not have a clear-cut moral imperative or resolution. And this plotline so brilliantly intersected with Shen Yi's thirst for knowledge (pssst I love how he calls Fang Kaiyi's lab his "Eden") regarding the innermost workings of the human heart.

And the resolution of all this is: actually, it is all black and white. Fang Kaiyi, who pushed boundaries, is evil, insane, wrong. Shen Yi, who pulled back from the precipice, is good, steady, correct.

(For that matter, what was wrong with a young Shen Yi, that he talks about wanting to "save" Fang Kaiyi like Du Cheng "saved" him? This hearkens back to my s1 finale complaint about Shen Yi's arc resolving with "and now the wayward artist fulfills his destiny of becoming a police officer yayyyy", which I THOUGHT this season was addressing, but it turns out... not really.)

And the TLDR of it all is that Shen Yi betraying Fang Kaiyi was KINDA EXTREMELY SHITTY (Fang Kaiyi tearfully telling Shen Yi "I opened my heart to you and you betrayed me" ... he's right and he should say it!!) and also retroactively subverts all of the delicious tension of Shen Yi's character arc this season. So, was Shen Yi stringing Fang Kaiyi along the whole time, and was not once actually tempted to push past the boundaries of conventional ethics and societal norms? Please, he's an artist; he exists to tug at societal norms. Okay, so maybe he was tempted, but ultimately found his way back to Du Cheng the side of the light, to use the show's language. When and how exactly does this shift occur? It's just frustrating that this entire season teased the idea of Shen Yi hovering over a precipice and then... never actually pushed him over the precipice.

Meanwhile, Shen Yi starts ranting about how Fang Kaiyi is subverting the natural order of things and maybe there is a spiritual reason for the fetus dying (I swear I half-expected him to go on an anti-abortion rant or something). Cut to the Bejiang police crew triumphantly being like yay! we policed so well!! Anyway... it felt icky.

My other complaint with the resolution of this whole plotline is that Shen Yi's grand breakdown / revelation is shown in a flashback. A flashback! Why on earth does that not play out in real time? Was that not supposed to be the core part of what this entire season had been building up to? Also why wasn't his boyfriend Du Cheng there to comfort him??

(Btw: Gay as hell to sit teary-eyed in a room full of paintings of your archnemesis, bereft and aching...god, the fics write themselves...)

Alright, alright, enough of me complaining about subtle copaganda, I obviously knew what I was getting into here. It's just so weird to me that both seasons 1 and 2 set up these juicy questions and encourage us to dig deep into the murkiness of these gray areas only to just circle back around to... criminals bad! police good! law and order 4eva! natural order good! progress evil! Even Shen Yi and Du Cheng's extremely insanely unequivocally romantic reconciliation in the finale primarliy speaks to their recommitment to... catching criminals, I guess??

(Part of me wonders if the show is bending over backwards trying to figure out a way to keep Shen Yi and Du Cheng together without putting them in a romantic relationship, because IRL they can just.... have different jobs and still BE TOGETHER, jeepers, it's not that hard. Du Cheng is a police captain, Shen Yi runs an art therapy studio, and they're boyfriends. DONE.)

On a final note: this truly IS one of the gayest cdramas out there and I am here for ALL of the angst and pining <333

If anyone wants to chat, hmu, I'm vibrating at an intensity heretofore unknown to humankind and would love to DISCUSS. In the meantime I'm gonna go touch some grass.

--

(Full disclosure: I understand that the narrative resolutions may be a result of censored ideas and ideals, so if that's the case, I'm really just venting my frustrations as a western viewer.)

*This is may be an area where I'm just confused about the plot -- everyone was all up in arms about Fang Kaiyi gene-editing the Zhou Shanshan / Cao Jian embryo, but wasn't that... the whole point?? And I'm definitely missing something about the sketchy involvement of the hospital... but all of this is still to say, it would have been more interesting if Fang Kaiyi weren't breaking any actual laws, just psuhing ethical boundaries.

[0ciestiel0]

I am officially obsessed with Brilliant Minds. Might be new favorite currently airing show. CANON GAY DOCTOR SHOW??? YESSS PLZZZ

It’s got the medical vibes of House: unique doctor, unique cases only unique doctor can solve, doctor has reluctant team, a few key coworkers/friends. Motorcycles, coma patients that unique doctor talks to.

It also has Prodigal Son vibes in its traumatic Dr. Wolf backstory and how they set up the flashbacks for Wolf and his father.

So if you liked either of those shows you’re in for a treat.

Also also also I’ve been saying since episode 2 that Wolf and Nichols are being written as the lead character doctor romance that is obligatory for doctor shows. The writing just really screams future love interests. I will take no other opinions at this time :p And I’m here for it. I love both Wolf and Nichols and I think they will make an interesting couple.

Now I’m not sure how slow burn the show will want to go as we just saw in episode 5 Nichols finally warming up to Wolf after his speech to the military peeps on Steve’s behalf, but the options I see are either a first date around the season 1 finale. Or slow burn it classic style and take a couple seasons with pining, jealousy arcs with dating other people, and lots of obvious feelings before getting together. I’m not sure which I wanna see more as I really want to see them as a couple but I also love a good classic good slow burn (think Booth and Bones) even if it’s often torture.

[glompcat]

In every generation, there is a chosen one — again.

Variety has learned from sources that a sequel series to the beloved show “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” is nearing a pilot order at Hulu.

Sources say that Sarah Michelle Gellar is in final talks to once again play the iconic title character in the untitled project, although it would focus on a new Slayer and Gellar would appear in a recurring role rather than leading the series.

Nora Zuckerman and Lila Zuckerman are attached to write, showrun, and executive produce. Chloé Zhao is attached to direct and executive produce under her Book of Shadows production banner. Gellar would also executive produce along with Gail Berman. Fran Kuzui and Kaz Kuzui will executive produce via Suite B, while Dolly Parton will executive produce via Sandollar. 20th Television and Searchlight Television will produce. Berman, the Kuzuis, and Parton were all executive producers on the original “Buffy” series.

Reps for Hulu and 20th TV declined to comment.

Noticeably absent from the show’s creative team is Joss Whedon, who created the original series and oversaw its seven-season run. As Variety reported in 2021, Whedon was accused of creating a toxic work environment on both “Buffy” and the spinoff series “Angel” by nearly a dozen people associated with the show.

“Buffy” and “Angel” actress Charisma Carpenter also spoke out against Whedon, with fellow cast members like Amber Benson and Michelle Trachtenberg backing up her allegations. Whedon responded to those and other allegations against him in January 2022, admitting that he had been “not mannerly” with Carpenter but otherwise saying “Most of my experiences with Charisma were delightful and charming.”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer” originated as a film starring Kristy Swanson in the title role. Whedon wrote the film with Fran Kuzui directing. It was released in 1992. Five years later, the series version starring Gellar debuted on The WB. It would air on The WB for its first five seasons before airing its final two seasons on UPN. The cast also included Nicholas Brendon, Alyson Hannigan, Carpenter, Anthony Stewart Head, David Boreanaz, Seth Green, and James Marsters among others. Boreanaz would then head up the spinoff series “Angel” at The WB for five seasons.

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer” has proven to be a massive cult hit and highly influential since its debut. The series is credited for helping to popularize ongoing story arcs in television while also building a show around a strong female lead. It is frequently cited as one of the best television shows of all time.

Whedon previously penned a series of comic books with Dark Horse that continued the story of the series, though no new “Buffy” project has ever made it to screen. Most recently, it was reported in 2018 that Monica Owusu-Breen was working on a reboot of the series with Whedon onboard as an executive producer. Ultimately, that version of the project never went forward.

Gellar can currently be seen in the prequel series “Dexter: Original Sin” on Paramount+ with Showtime. Though she is perhaps best known for her time on “Buffy,” Gellar’s other notable TV credits include Paramount+’s “Wolf Pack,” CBS’ ”The Crazy Ones”  opposite Robin Williams, and The CW’s “Ringer.” In film, she has starred in features like “Cruel Intentions,” “I Know What You Did Last Summer,” the two live-action “Scooby Doo” movies, and “The Grudge.”

The Zuckermans were the showrunners on the popular Peacock series “Poker Face” starring Natasha Lyonne during the show’s first season. Their past credits include “Prodigal Son” and “Fringe” at Fox, “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D” at ABC, “Suits” at USA Network, and “Haven” at Syfy. Variety exclusively reported they are also attached to a series adaptation of the novel “The Spy Coast” currently in the works at Amazon.

Zhao received four Oscar nominations for her 2020 film “Nomadland” starring Frances McDormand — best director, best editing, best adapted screenplay, and best picture. Zhao went on to win best director that year with “Nomadland” winning best picture. Zhao is also known for her films “The Rider” and “Songs My Brother Taught Me,” both of which she also wrote and directed. Zhao was also the director and co-writer of the Marvel film “Eternals.”

Gellar is repped by CAA, Linden Entertainment, and Yorn Levine Barnes. The Zuckermans are repped by UTA and Lichter Grossman. Zhao is repped by CAA, Ilene Feldman Management, and Lichter Grossman. Berman is repped by Ziffren Brittenham.

Should the sequel show proceed, it would be the latest series revival to find a home at Hulu. Most recently, Hulu gave a pilot order to a reboot of “Prison Break.” The streamer currently airs new episodes of the adult animated comedy “Futurama,” while a new installment of “King of the Hill” is currently in the works.