#she should come back in redemption somehow

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"Every game is rigged. It's a waste of time unless you cheat."

Leverage S04E06 The Carnival Job.

[ruinofchimera]

Lily Evans was far from a white knight in shining armor in the confrontations between James & Co. and Severus. And if you want to talk about her toxic friendship with Snape, don’t try to erase her contribution to the equation.

Apparently, her close friend is lifted upside down by a spell that causes his robes to fall and expose his underwear. As he helplessly struggles, flailing to free himself, a crowd gathers to watch the spectacle. His wand is out of reach, and he is being mocked and threatened. Of course, as a true friend, she finds this picture amusing enough that she has to hold back her laughter. You know, absolutely reasonable behavior for someone who cares for you deeply. Moreover, imagine if Remus were in a similar situation—no doubt his friends' first reaction would be to laugh, or perhaps yell at his bullies to put him down. With his wand in hand, James Potter would stand by and wait for his friend to be released.

Definitely a turning point in Lily and Severus's friendship. Though Severus's behavior was heavily dictated by a strong sense of hurt after such a public humiliation and violation of his privacy, as you all say, these circumstances justify nothing when it comes to throwing those kinds of insults. Fine.

Oh, but what explains her response, then? Was she hurt too? Humiliated? If you’re saying that the mental state after such a traumatic experience as the one James inflicted upon Severus shouldn’t have affected his words, what justifies Lily’s behavior? What made such a saintly person as she join in the ridicule of her so-called friend in an instant? Not only did she join in by calling him the insulting nickname used by his abusers, but she also added another mockery of Severus to the rotten pile as if it weren’t enough already. And I want to remind you once again that Lily lost control of her emotions before she had even gone through half the humiliation that Snape had endured, for the record.

Thus, it appears that there is a precedent of hypocrisy here. Why do you make this situation appear as a one-sided insult (Severus is the big bad wolf and Lily is the victim) rather than a mutual emotional outburst? Why is Lily allowed to feel hurt but Snape isn’t, though Severus’s emotional damage is at least double? Fine. Let’s move on to the approach both of them took in their apologies.

So, apparently, Severus felt guilty after committing such an atrocity as calling Lily a Mudblood. He made a sincere attempt to apologize. Lily didn’t feel guilty for her contribution to his public humiliation; she was sure the only villain here was Severus.

Lily had every right imaginable to reject his attempts to make amends, but the thing is, Severus reconsidered his behavior—she never did. Moreover, she expressed absolute skepticism about his redemption. Should I even mention that she later started dating his bully? The one who never even tried to apologise for his assaults on Snape?

Somehow, she believed in James's redemption even without him admitting his wrongs. Let it be. That’s not the main point of discussion. What I really struggle to understand is how, given all these circumstances, Lily becomes a cheered, glorious friend, and Severus is commonly believed to be the villain in their dynamic.

Did I overlook something? Prove me wrong, if you please. Open my eyes to where exactly Lily is a saint or martyr. Where is she even a good friend in the first place? I’m all ears.

[jiminrings]

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

.

.

.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

[smoooothoperator]

What Was I Made For?

09: Begin Again

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Charles POV, start of the redemption arc!, flashbacks are in italics

a/n: I'm back!!! I have to say that the past weekend didn't go how it was planned, but at least I had so much fun...

if you want to play a game and ask things about Dafne

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“Dafne!”

I flinched when I heard her slamming the front door, making me swallow thickly while I looked at the clock hanging in the wall of the kitchen.

Two in the morning. 

It's two in the morning and she left to God knows where, with winter weather outside and with clothes that couldn't keep her warm.

“Fuck, fuck!” 

I ran upstairs to grab warm clothes for myself and then to her room to grab something warmer. Her cat was laying on her bed, completely unaware of what was happening. But as I walked in and opened the wardrobe to find a coat and a scarf, I felt the little head rubbing my leg.

“I'll bring her back” I mumble looking down at the cat, swallowing thickly when it looked at me with those big blue eyes.

I rushed downstairs, grabbing the keys of the house and searching the keys of my car in the pockets of my coat.

“Come on, think…” I spoke to myself, getting in the car and turning the engine on. “Think, think, think…”

I groan, driving through the road, away from the house, trying to remember somewhere she could go to be alone.

It was a hot summer. My brothers and I went to the Morelli’s grandmother villa in Tuscany while our parents had to stay at home for work. That year I lost the championship of karting because of her and somehow I felt frustrated. 

I needed to show her that I was better. I don't care if she won against me.

“Let's see who gets to the top first” I smirked looking at her pointing at the top of the tree. “The first that arrives is the winner”

“It's dangerous!” she gasped.

“So? Are you that scary?” I scoffed, looking at how she was looking between me and the tree. “Come on, are you a cry baby?”

“Shut up!” she groaned, stepping closer to the tree and starting to climb it.

 I watched her, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and something else I couldn't quite name. The tree was more challenging than it looked, with slippery bark and breakable branches.

About halfway up, she grabbed a thorny branch and cried out, losing her grip. I watched in horror as she fell to the ground, gasping when I saw her falling on her ankle.

She kneeled on the ground, pressing her hand against her mouth, trying to not let out sobs. I swallowed thickly, taking slow steps towards her, but before I could say her name, she stood up and pushed me to the ground, running away from me.

“Dafne, wait!” I called her, but she didn't stop.

I felt guilt twist in my stomach. I hadn't meant for her to get hurt. Panic set in as I realized I had lost sight of her. The woods were dense and disorienting, but somehow I knew where she would go. There was a little house by the river, a place we both knew well but never acknowledged to each other.

I made my way to the house and found her at the edge of the river, with her foot on the water. She had stopped crying, but the pain was evident on her face. She didn't see me watching her from behind a tree, and I took a moment to gather myself. Seeing her hurt made something tighten in my chest, a feeling I wasn't used to.

"Dafne," I said softly, hoping not to startle her. “I’m really sorry. Can I help?”

“Go away” she mumbled, not looking at me. “I don't want to see you”

I sighed and sat on the ground with my back against the tree, keeping an eye on her. What if her ankle gets more swollen? I should do something, right? It's my fault she got injured. What if it gets worse?

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over everything, I waited. Finally, she looked back at me, searching me with her eyes. Her face was a mixture of defiance and pain, but she didn’t look as angry as I had feared.

“I think it's broken” she mumbled, looking at her hand. “It's your fault”

“I know” I nodded, standing up and walking towards her, kneeling in front of her. “Let's go home”

I clenched my jaw, holding tight that memory and praying that she went there. I tried to remember the way towards that river, driving the car through the moody roads and looking around to try to catch a glance of her.

When I found the tree that was near the river I swallowed thickly, stopping the car and grabbing my phone to turn on the light, getting out of the car. If she's not there I don't know what I would do.

“Dafne?” I called her, trying to make my eyes get used to the dark, moving my phone around. 

I sighed in relief when I saw her figure sitting on the ground next to a tree, with the blanket she was wearing wrapped around her. But that didn't stop her from sniffling because of the cold night.

“Go away”

I smiled weakly, closing my eyes and shaking my head. It's happening exactly like the last time I saw her here.

“I won't” I sighed, going back to the car and grabbing her coat and scarf. “And get used to it”

“Why?” she mumbled. “Just, why? Why now? Why are you caring now?”

“I always cared, Dafne” I sighed, wrapping the scarf around her neck and putting the coat on her shoulders. “But I tried my best for you to not see it”

“Well, you were damn good at it” she sighed, looking away from me. 

“Can we please fix this?” I sighed sitting next to her. “Not only for us… But for our families and our baby”

“I never wanted this, Charles” she whispered. “It's so unfair. If only…”

“I was sick” I interrupted her.

“What?”

“The summer we met” I sighed. “The first time you told me you hated me… I was sick. I didn't throw up because you kissed me. I had a terrible stomach ache and it just happened…”

She sighed and rested her head on the trunk of the tree, taking a deep breath. Her hands were on her belly, protecting the little baby she's carrying. Our baby, my baby.

“But you just ran away…” I sighed. “You always run away when things get complicated”

“I guess it's easier than facing the problems” she sighed. 

“That's so cowardly coming from you” I said. 

She looked at me frowning, somehow moving away from me before I grabbed her arm. I shook my head and looked at her.

“This time I won't let you run away” I said. “Neither let you push me away, like you did with Sebastian”

“It was the best for him” she mumbled looking away, moving her arm away from my grasp. “I couldn't give him what he wanted”

“And what did he want? To settle down?” I frowned, clenching my jaw.

“Exactly” she laughed sadly. “When the doctor told us I was pregnant, he started talking about buying a house and taking care of this child. He thought it was his baby. Even if I was so happy with him, I couldn't lie to him, acting like it was his kid. It wouldn't be fair to him”

“He was the one that made me understand my feelings” I sighed, smiling weakly. “He was the one that made me realize that even if I'm twenty seven years old I still act like a kid around you, trying to get your attention”

She didn't say anything, just hugged herself tighter. I wish she would let me hold her. I wish we could fix our problems. I wish, I wish, I wish…

“One chance” she whispered. “I’ll give you only one chance. If you fuck up, I want you away from me and the baby. I don't care if it's yours, if you hurt me again I'll make sure you don't even know the name. I'm so tired of fighting”

My breath hitched in my throat, surprised by her decision. I simply nodded, sighing with relief.

“Let's go home” I whispered, getting up and offering her my hand to help her to get up. 

When I felt her hand on mine I took a deep breath, pulling her to me and following her movements with my eyes. She was still protecting her belly with a hand, like she wanted to keep it for her, to protect her secret.

“C-can I?” I whisper looking at her stomach.

She took a deep breath and a step back, shaking her head slowly.

“Not yet…” she mumbled. “I don't trust you, yet”

I nodded, hurt. But I understood. I have to fix more than I thought, but I won't give up.

The next morning I woke up with her sneezes and a cold nose poking my cheek. 

I sighed, opening my eyes slowly to find her cat's face right in front of mine. I moved slowly, looking at the cat. It started purring and meowing, somehow nervously.

“What happened?” I sighed, yawning.

I saw the white cat jump out of the bed and walk out of the room, then coming back looking at me. I sighed, grabbing a hoodie and putting it on while I followed the cat towards Dafne's room.

“What…?” I frowned.

I opened the door,.sighing when I saw her there sleeping. I bite my lip, looking at her. She really is wonderful, and somehow now, knowing that she's pregnant, looks even more beautiful than before.

I heard her groaning and sneezing again, making me frown and take a step closer to her bed. 

“Hey, are you okay?” I whisper, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Sshh…” she groaned.

I swallowed thickly, moving my hand to press it on her forehead and gasping when I felt it warm.

“You are burning up” I whispered, feeling immediately worried. 

She groaned, barely opening her eyes and not caring to move my had away from her forehead. 

“I'm fine” she mumbled, but I could tell she wasn't.

“Stay here, okay?” I sighed, getting up from the bed and rubbing her cat's head, smiling at it. “I'll take care of you”

She tried to wave me off, but I was determined. I stood up and headed to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in cold water. When I returned, I gently placed it on her forehead, removing the hair wet from the sweat. She flinched at the touch but didn’t push me away, sighing with relief the moment she felt the cold against her skin.

“I’ll make you some tea” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Just rest.”

She nodded slowly, coughing and sniffling softly. Her cat curled into her side, somehow trying to give her some warmth.

I went downstairs to the kitchen to make her something for breakfast. I know she likes having English tea around, since she's half English, so maybe I could find some of it in the cupboards.

“Bingo” I smiled, finding a few boxes of tea.

I sighed, grabbing the first one I found and boiled some water while I grabbed some crackers for her. I grabbed my phone, searched about the medicines she can take and searching them on the bathroom. 

“I’m back” I said softly, walking inside of her room and placing the plate and a mug on the nightstand.

“Did you make tea?” she whispered. “Thank you…”

“You have to stay hydrated” I sighed, looking at the screen of my phone. “And I have to change the cloth of your forehead a few more times. And forget about that blanket, you need to make the fever go down”

“Wow, what are you now, my doctor?” she mumbled, and somehow I felt relieved noticing that her humor was still there even if she was sick.

“I want you to be okay, as well” I sighed. “Did you go to the doctor to do check ups of the pregnancy?”

“No” she groaned.

I sighed and nodded, grabbing my phone. The internet said she should go soon to do the checkups and to see how the baby is growing.

“Do you want me to call? I can go to the village and see if I can find a doctor” I said but she interrupted me with a groan.

“Can you please shut up? Your voice is giving me a headache” she exclaimed.

I sighed and nodded, looking away, watching her cat laying next to her with the head on her belly. 

I wish she could let me touch her. But I have to accept that maybe that will never happen.

I stayed silent for a moment, letting her words sink in. I wanted to help, but I knew pushing her too much right now wouldn't do any good. I needed to show her that I could be there for her, even if it meant giving her space.

"Okay, I'll be quiet" I whispered, grabbing the washcloth from her forehead to wet it again in the bathroom. 

She sighed, closing her eyes as I placed the cool cloth back on her skin, flinching slightly. Her body relaxed quickly and her lips opened a little leaving a long relieved sigh.

"Try to drink some tea" I murmured softly, guiding the mug to her lips. She took a few sips, her expression softening slightly. "And eat some crackers. It'll help"

“You made my favorite” she gasped softly, looking at the mug, taking another sip of it and humming as she swallowed it.

“I guessed it right, then” I nodded, smiling. “I’ll go later to the village to buy some more”

“You can’t, those are only in the Twinings store in London” she sighed. “Believe me, I tried to find them everywhere I go”

“Noted” I nodded.

She nodded weakly, nibbling on a cracker before settling back into the pillows. I watched her, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. I wanted to take care of her, to make things right, but I knew it would take time.

As the morning wore on, I stayed by her side, changing the washcloth and making sure she drank enough fluids. I grabbed my laptop and earphones and watched something to distract myself while she slept. Her cat, sensing the tension, curled up beside her, offering its silent support.

"I never expected you to be here" she mumbled at one point, her voice barely above a whisper, making me stop the movie I was watching. "Not after everything”

"I never expected it either," I admitted, looking into her tired eyes. "At first I went to your parents’ house to see if you were there, but Erica told me you were here… I guess I didn’t expect you to be…”

“Pregnant?” she sighed.

“Y-yeah” I sighed. “But I’ll stay. I don’t care how many times you’ll try to push me away. I’ll stay”

She didn't respond, but she didn't push me away either. That was progress, I told myself. Small steps

Later in the afternoon, Dafne’s fever had come down slightly, but she still looked exhausted. I tried to keep the atmosphere light, occasionally cracking a joke or two, though they were met with weak smiles or groans. Her cat, a constant presence by her side, provided her comfort, and I found myself grateful for the animal.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked softly, placing a fresh washcloth on her forehead.

"No... just stay" she mumbled, her voice trailing off. “Until I sleep again”

My heart ached at her vulnerability. This was a side of her I never saw, and it made me realize just how much pain I gave her, how little I know her. I nodded, even though her eyes were closed, and settled on the empty side of her bed.

Time seemed to blur. I must have dozed off at some point because when I opened my eyes, the room was darker, the only light coming from the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Dafne was still asleep, her breathing more even now. Her cat was curled up next to her face, purring softly.

I stood up, stretching my back and neck, and quietly made my way to the kitchen. I needed to prepare something for her to eat when she woke up,  some soup would help her feel better. 

As I searched through the counter and fridge, I found some ingredients to make a simple chicken soup. The familiar actions of chopping vegetables and filling the pot with water gave me a strange sense of peace, a small sense of normalcy after today.

As the soup cooked, I found myself lost in thought. How had we gotten here? Dafne and I had always had a complicated relationship, full of competition and unspoken emotions, hate and rivalry. How could I let something like this happen? I went too far. But now I can’t back up, I have to be here for her and our baby.

I glanced at my phone, considering calling my mother and brothers to update them, but decided against it. This was something Dafne and I needed to figure out first. Besides, I didn’t want to overwhelm her with any more information or expectations than she was already dealing with.

When the soup was ready, I poured some into a bowl and carried it upstairs. Dafne was awake, sitting up in bed and looking a bit more alert.

"Hey," I said softly, entering the room. "I made you some soup"

"You cooked?" she asked surprised, looking at me.

“Don’t act so shocked, I can handle the basic meals” I chuckled softly. “Plus, this is the recipe your grandma taught all of us”

“Oh… Thank you, Charles” she smiled faintly. This is the first time I’d seen her smile at me.

I helped her sit up more comfortably, placing more pillows on her back, and handed her the bowl. She took a tentative sip, then another, her expression softening and humming softly with her eyes closed.

“Just like nonna’s” she whispered.

We sat in silence for a while, her eating slowly and me just being there, present in the moment. It was a small step, but it felt significant.

"Dafne," I began after a while. "I know things are complicated, and we've both made mistakes in the past. But I want to be here for you and the baby. I want to make things right. I want us to begin again"

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine for sincerity. I saw the doubt in her blue eyes, the internal battle she had in her mind. 

"I want to believe you, Charles. I really do. But it’s going to take time…” she mumbled, looking down at her growing belly. “You caused me so much pain, and a simple gesture like taking care of me while being sick won’t make me forget it…”

"I understand," I nodded, my voice steady "But I'm not going anywhere. I’ll prove to you that I can change, That… That I’m that kid you met in Greece, the one you kissed"

As she finished the soup and settled back into bed, I felt a tentative hope.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way through this together. It wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time in a long while, I felt like we had a chance.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05 @theseerbetweenus @vizzzashley @auawdo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @leptitlu @green-thots

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO 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: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Depression.

A/N: Before you start reading—Daddy Toji is here!!! Rejoice!!! Welcome to Lobotomy Kaisen: Existential Crisis Edition™! 🎭 This chapter has everything: unhinged family banter, unexpected sweetness, and emotional trauma disguised as plot development. Let’s get into it before Megumi sends the SWAT team after us! Also, I know I said this ending was supposed to be only 3 parts, but it spiraled into a huge monster, so it will be 3 more parts, but it's already written, so hopefully the updates will be consistent every 2 or 3 days. :)

Previous Chapter 6 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes

Gumi: Why did you invite them to your place?!

Gumi: I’m coming over, and if I find them there, I’ll kill them!

// Playlist

The sunlight was golden, warm, and gentle, streaming through the large windows of a house you didn’t recognize but somehow felt like home. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter as you walked outside the house.

“Alright, gremlins,” Gojo announced, spinning on his heel. “Today, Daddy is going to teach you how to fight. It’s all about flair and finesse.”

Nanami, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re not their only father, and they don’t need flair. They need discipline and control.”

Gojo turned, gasping like Nanami had just insulted his very existence. “Discipline? Control? What are we, accountants?”

“I wasn’t an accountant; I was an investment broker. There’s a difference; I wouldn’t expect your non-college graduate ass to understand,” Nanami deadpanned, adjusting his glasses.

“Exactly my point!” Gojo shot back, pointing a finger at him. “That’s why they need me. To balance out your boring lectures.”

“Balance?” Nanami arched an eyebrow. “You’ve never balanced anything in your life, including your own emotions.”

Their nine-year-old daughter, golden-haired and mischievous, stood between them, bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Daddy, can I use Ratio to mess with people? Like... cut the hair of the boy I like?”

Gojo’s grin widened, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Now that’s my girl. Even I didn’t think of that!”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. You cannot use cursed techniques for petty pranks. It will get you suspended or arrested.”

“But what if it’s a really good prank?” She countered, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

Gojo crouched down beside her, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t listen to him. Petty pranks are the best kind.”

“Absolutely not,” Nanami snapped, his tone sharper now. “You’re already too much like him.”

The girl beamed, taking it as a compliment. “Thanks, Dada!”

You, standing off to the side, covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You have given birth to female Gojo, Ken. She’s your little chaos gremlin. Just accept it.”

“She’s your chaos gremlin too,” he muttered, shooting you a look that said he blamed you for this. Gojo was very smug about the fact, not even attempting to hide it.

Meanwhile, their son stood off to the side, arms crossed and a perpetual frown etched onto his face. His white hair fell into his blue eyes, which were narrowed in quiet judgment.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, his voice carrying all the weight of some adult who thought he knew better than everyone else.

Nanami turned to him, his expression softening slightly. “What’s ridiculous?”

“All of it,” the boy replied, gesturing vaguely at his sister and Gojo, who were now snickering about the ethical implications of using ratio to cheat at board games. “They’re wasting time.”

Gojo overheard and gasped. “Wasting time? I’m teaching valuable life skills here!”

The boy didn’t even blink. “You’re teaching her how to be annoying.”

“Exactly!” Gojo said, throwing his arms wide. “And what’s more important than that?”

“Literally everything,” the boy replied flatly, his tone so deadpan that even Nanami’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Alright, enough talk,” Gojo declared, clapping his hands together. “Let’s spar. Chaos Gremlin versus Mr. Rainy Day.”

Their daughter lit up, bouncing on her toes. “Yes! I’m gonna crush you!”

The boy sighed, stepping into position. “You’re going to lose.”

“Over my dead body,” she shot back, her energy already crackling around her.

Nanami and Gojo stood on opposite sides of the field, both offering advice at the same time.

“Focus on control!” Nanami called out.

“Forget control! Style is everything!” Gojo yelled.

You stood between them, arms crossed. “How about we let them figure it out without shouting conflicting advice?”

Both men glared at each other but stayed quiet—for about five seconds.

The sparring began, their cursed techniques clashing in a brilliant display. The boy moved with focus, his infinity stretching around him. His sister, on the other hand, darted around unpredictably, her movements wild but effective, her ratio blades slicing through the air like a scalpel.

“Don’t just stand there, Emo Kid!” Gojo hollered. “Go for the win!”

“Precision,” Nanami muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on his son. “Wait for her to make a mistake.”

“She doesn’t make mistakes,” Gojo countered. “She’s perfect.”

“You’re impossible,” Nanami replied, his voice flat.

//

When the sparring ended, both kids were panting but grinning, their energy buzzing in the air around them.

“You did great,” you said, taking both their hands. “Both of you.”

“Better than great,” Gojo added, ruffling his son’s hair. “You’re unstoppable.”

Nanami knelt beside his daughter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve improved. But don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” she replied, grinning up at him.

Letting go of your hands, the children ran ahead, their laughter blending with the rustling leaves as they played with their blobfish plushies.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene as it settled into something softer, something whole.

You watched them with awe, your heart full to bursting. “They are beautiful.”

Gojo winked at you. “Of course they are. Look at their parents.”

Nanami glanced at you, his hazel eyes warm. “You’ve done well.”

The sun was now setting, casting the world in hues of orange and pink.

Gojo slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “See? Told you we’d make a great team.”

Nanami stood on your other side, his presence grounding. “You should sit,” he said softly, gesturing to a bench beneath a blooming cherry blossom tree.

You sat, watching the children play as the two men sat beside you, their presence comforting and familiar.

The boy turned, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. “Mama, are you happy?” he asked, his voice carrying an innocence that made your chest tighten.

Tears pricked your eyes as you nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m very happy.”

The world shifted abruptly. The warmth of the sun faded, replaced by the cold gray light of dawn filtering through your bedroom curtains.

You opened your eyes slowly, the weight of the dream pressing against your chest like a heavy stone.

Your cheeks were damp, but as you raised a trembling hand to touch them, you realized your eyes were dry. No tears fell. You were too numb for that now.

The laughter, the warmth, the love—it had all been a cruel illusion. The reality of your empty arms and silent home was suffocating.

Sukuna’s voice broke the silence from the doorway. “Another bad night?”

You didn’t answer, your gaze fixed on the sea outside the window. The waves rolled endlessly, a reflection of the ache in your chest.

“They’re still yours,” his words a faint echo of something he’d said before.

But they weren’t.

And they never would be.

---

// Playlist

Few years ago

The streets glistened with rain, neon signs shimmering in puddles as the faint hum of late-night activity drifted through the cool air. You walked at an easy pace, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. The buzz of alcohol warmed your veins. Tonight, the world seemed softer, its edges blurred, though your mind remained sharp, processing everything around you with clarity.

Gojo Satoru leaned lazily against the post, his white hair catching the glow like freshly fallen snow. Beside him, Nanami Kento stood with his frown deepened by the chill in the air.

“She’s late,” Gojo said in Japanese, glancing at his phone. His voice carried a teasing lilt, though his gaze lingered on the street, betraying his anticipation.

“She doesn’t strike me as someone who cancels plans without notice,” Nanami replied evenly, though his hands tightened slightly in his coat pockets.

Gojo smirked. “Oh? Nanamin’s been paying attention.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Before their banter could escalate, you turned the corner, your long coat swaying with your stride. Your hair, tousled by the breeze, framed a face softened by warmth and openness, an unusual sight for someone as composed as you.

Gojo’s eyes lit up as he nudged Nanami, practically bouncing on his feet. “Nanamin! It’s her! Pretty hoodie lady!” He exclaimed in English, pointing at you like a kid spotting their favorite toy in a store.

Nanami groaned audibly, pressing his palm to his face. “Could you not yell across the street like a lunatic?”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. He was already halfway to you, his enthusiasm cutting through the chill like a warm gust of wind.

“Hey! Pretty hoodie lady!” Gojo’s voice rang out.

“Gojo,” Nanami called after him as he followed. “Don’t run off—”

But you didn't hear and turned in the direction Nanami was coming from.

You suddenly collided with your nose smushing into something firm and expensive-smelling.

“Watch where you're going, you...”

“Careful there,” Nanami’s voice came, smooth and tinged with dry amusement.

Gojo skidded to a halt, his grin growing impossibly wider.

You took a step back, studying them with a raised brow. Recognition flickered as you met their gazes. “Oh, it’s you two.”

“You remember us!” Gojo exclaimed, his English broken but still managing to convey his excitement. However, it was better than the last time. Had he been practicing?! His voice carried a note of pride, as if he’d accomplished something monumental by being memorable.

“Oh, it’s mysterious hoodie lady,” Gojo added, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Nanami said, his tone measured, though his eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing and ensuring you were unharmed.

“Gentlemen,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Fancy bumping into me.” The alcohol humming through your veins lent a teasing edge to your voice. “But I’m not mad—unless you’re boring. Then we’ll have problems.”

Gojo tilted his head, squinting in confusion. “What she say?”

Nanami sighed, his patience thinning. “She’s challenging you not to be boring.”

“Ohhh!” Gojo’s grin widened, his excitement bubbling over. “I am never boring!”

Nanami questioned. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me,” you replied, your voice warm but measured. “Though, I didn’t expect to see you two again.”

Gojo grinned, his English fumbling but earnest. “We... walking! Saw you!”

Nanami raised an eyebrow, muttering under his breath, “Walking, my ass.”

You chuckled softly, your eyes briefly catching Nanami’s. Without the hood obstructing your vision, you saw warmth and intensity, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through winter’s chill. His gaze wrapped around you, offering solace in a chaotic world, igniting a warmth within you that spread like a soft glow. In that fleeting moment, it felt as if he had touched your soul, awakening a longing for something deeper, something beautifully profound.

Your gaze shifted to Gojo, his eyes peeking over dark sunglasses—a brilliant blue that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them. Time stood still, the world around you fading into a soft blur. You had never seen such eyes—vivid and alive, sparkling with mischief and depth, as if they could read the very essence of your soul. They were the kind of eyes poets raved about, capable of igniting a fire in your heart and weaving a spell

You quickly looked away from the radioactive orbs in the name of eyes he had; it seemed the alcohol was getting to you.

Nanami cleared his throat. “Can we walk you home? It’s late.” His tone even but laced with genuine concern

You nodded your head, your smile softening.

Unbeknownst to you, the men were nearly high-fiving behind you—at least they would have if Nanami weren’t busy trying to engrave your face into his memory. It had taken Gojo standing atop the tallest building to find you. They were supposed to leave the night they met you at the convention, but Yaga had yelled at them to come back every hour since. Yet, they still didn’t know your full name or anything else about you.

“He’s like a Samoyed in human form,” you mused aloud, tilting your head as you studied Gojo.

Gojo almost froze, blinking rapidly. “Samo... what?”

“A Samoyed,” you repeated, grinning. “You know, the big fluffy white dogs that are always happy and smiling?”

Gojo’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m fluffy?”

“Fluffy and cheerful,” you clarified.

Nanami snorted softly, but you turned to him before he could speak. “And you,” you said, gesturing toward him, “you’re... a grumpy Akita Inu. Specifically Hachikō.”

Gojo immediately burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “Grumpy Akita! Nanamin, that’s so you!”

Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowing as he shot Gojo a sharp look. “Stop laughing.”

“But she’s right!” Gojo wheezed, wiping at his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You’re dependable and serious, waiting around like some tragic hero.” He spoke half the words in Japanese.

Nanami ignored him, his attention shifting to you instead, expression unreadable. “Hachikō, the dog known for its loyalty?”

You nodded, your tone softening. “Yeah. Always dependable, always waiting, even when people don’t deserve it. That being said, I wouldn’t wish Hachikō’s fate on you.”

For a moment, his expression flickered—something thoughtful, maybe even vulnerable, passing through his eyes before he nodded. “I see.”

Gojo, however, was still basking in the revelation. “Fluffy and adorable. That’s me!” he declared.

“Adorable is debatable,” Nanami muttered under his breath, earning another laugh from you.

Before Gojo could respond, you added, “Speaking of dogs, have you heard of Etah ?”

Both men’s curiosity piqued.

“Etah was the first dog to reach the South Pole,” you began. “She led Roald Amundsen’s expedition in 1911, surviving the harshest conditions imaginable. A Samoyed, of course—happy, dependable, and heroic. Out of 52 dogs on the expedition, only 12 survived tragically.”

Nanami was live translating for you and Gojo.

Gojo’s grin faltered, replaced by an expression of awe. “Wait, a dog did that? Like, first to the South Pole?”

You nodded, your gaze steady on him. “Exactly. She led the way, braved the cold, and ensured the expedition’s success. And after all that, she lived out her life as a cherished companion to royalty.”

Nanami’s brows rose slightly, his stoicism softening as he murmured, “A testament to loyalty and resilience.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “She’s a symbol of courage and adaptability. Like Hachikō, but with a touch of adventure.”

Gojo leaned closer, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “So, you’re saying I’m like Etah? A heroic, adventurous dog with a happy ending?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Sure, if you can brave the cold and not get distracted by every snowflake.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “I think you’d get lost in the snow, Gojo.”

“Hey!” Gojo shot back, his grin unwavering. “That’s what I’d have you for, Nanamin. My loyal Akita, leading the way.”

Nanami sighed heavily, but the faint flush creeping up his neck didn’t escape your notice.

“Of course you’d need him,” you teased, your tone light but cutting. “Not every hero dog gets to live out their life with royalty.”

Gojo’s grin turned thoughtful, a rare flicker of sincerity breaking through his usual bravado as he spoke in half English, half Japanese. “Well, if you’re the royalty, I’m in.”

Nanami muttered something under his breath, his gaze flickering to you for a moment longer than necessary. For all the absurdity of Gojo’s antics, he wasn’t entirely immune to the pull of your presence.

“So, you both are sorcerers?” You asked, walking ahead. You were curious about their techniques. Otherwise, you would have ignored them as Megumi had advised.

Both men froze for a moment. Then Nanami cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. It seems your friend told you about us.”

“All good things, I hope!” Gojo chimed in.

You glanced at him, amused. “Something like that. If it’s okay, could you explain your techniques to me?” You asked, still looking ahead, your expression serene.

Gojo leaned toward Nanami. “What’s she saying now?”

“She wants us to explain our techniques,” Nanami replied in Japanese, his voice deadpan.

Gojo blinked, clearly delighted. “Oh! You want to know my power?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone calm but your eyes sharp.

Both men noted your reluctance to discuss the man with the sea urchin hair, but Nanami was feeling unusually chatty, so he began explaining while Gojo confused you the entire time and interrupted every few seconds with exaggerated gestures and broken English, insisting that his “Infinity is best!”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how Gojo’s childlike enthusiasm and Nanami’s quiet attentiveness complemented each other. There was something grounding about their presence, something that made the world feel a little less chaotic.

“I’m starting to see why you two balance each other out,” you said, your lips twitching with amusement.

Nanami’s gaze flicked to you, a faint softness in his eyes. “Balance isn’t the word I’d use.”

Gojo, oblivious to the subtleties, beamed. “She thinks we team!”

Both men were observing your wit.

“She’s interesting,” Nanami said lowly to Gojo in Japanese, his tone understated but firm.

Gojo grinned, his gaze lingering on the back of your head a few steps ahead. “Interesting doesn’t even cover it.”

//

They hadn't planned for this. The warm glow of overhead lights reflected off the rain-slick streets outside, adding a cozy intimacy to the atmosphere. You, Nanami, and Gojo were tucked into a booth near the window, the warmth seeping into your hands as you warmed them on the small portable heater near the table.

Nanami sat across from you while Gojo had wedged himself into the seat beside you, his energy a contrast to the café ’s tranquil ambiance.

“You seem... relaxed tonight,” Nanami observed, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. His gaze flicked briefly to your flushed cheeks before settling back on your eyes.

“I’m in a good mood,” you replied, the mischief in your tone evident as you leaned back against the booth. “A productive day, good company, and now, a surprise reunion.”

Gojo perked up, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned in closer. “You like surprises?”

“Depends on the surprise,” you replied, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “This one isn’t bad.”

Nanami cleared his throat, steering the conversation. “You mentioned good company earlier. Were you out with friends?”

“My CHRO,” you said casually, taking a sip of your drink.

Gojo frowned, his brows knitting together. “CH... R... O?”

Nanami sighed, his tone weary but patient. “Chief Human Resources Officer.”

“Oh!” Gojo’s face lit up like he’d just solved a riddle. “Office talk!”

You chuckled softly, your smile enigmatic. “Something like that. But enough about me. What about you two? What brings you out tonight?”

Gojo tilted his head toward Nanami, grinning. “Fate!”

Nanami groaned under his breath. “Don’t mind him. We were... exploring the city.”

Your raised eyebrow and faint smile told them you weren’t convinced, but you let it slide.

The server approached, her eyes lingering on Nanami and Gojo a moment too long as asking them, ignoring you. “What can I get you all tonight?”

You grinned, too tipsy to notice the slight snub. “Surprise me.”

Gojo continued looking at your smile subtly—which wasn’t very subtle to Nanami—his voice rude. “Same for me.” The server’s pettyness had not escaped his six eyes.

Nanami ordered black coffee, his tone clipped as usual. He wasn’t trying to be rude; people often misinterpreted his demeanor as arrogance or indifference. Well, the indifference part was true.

You stared at him in mock disbelief. “Black coffee? At this hour? You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t really mind; hell, you chugged black coffee by the gallon on work nights; you just wanted to see how he’d react to teasing.

Nanami arched an eyebrow, his lips curving ever so slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

Damn, he was smooth.

Your laugh rang out, light and melodic, catching Gojo’s attention. His grin softened as he glanced at Nanami, something unspoken passing between them.

//

After some time, the three of you stood near the counter. The waitress smiled and handed over the bill with a smile directed solely at Nanami and Gojo. You, however, were laser-focused on the receipt, your eyes narrowing as you reached into your coat pocket.

“I’ve got this,” you said firmly, already pulling out your wallet. It’s not like you didn’t let people pay for you. Paying for you was a privilege they hadn’t earned yet. Men had a way of starting to expect things after spending even a little money, and you had learned that the hard way.

“Absolutely not,” Nanami countered, already pulling out his own wallet. His tone was calm, but the sharpness in his eyes screamed ‘ chivalry or death .’

“Wait, wait, wait!” Gojo interjected, his sunglasses slipping as he reached into his coat. “I got this! Sugar mommy powers activated!”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown. “Gojo, you can’t be a sugar mommy. You’re a sugar baby at best.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “I’m offended! I’m both!”

Before you could respond, Nanami stepped between you two, his wallet already open. “Enough. This isn’t up for debate. I’ll handle it.”

You weren’t having it. “You think I can’t pay?” You challenged, stepping closer to Nanami like you were about to square up.

Nanami blinked, caught off guard. “This isn’t about capability. It’s about manners.”

“Oh, hell no , Nanami,” you snapped, whipping out your American Express Centurion Card like a weapon. The black card gleamed under the café lights as you waved it in his face. “You think I can’t pay? Watch me!”

Gojo, delighted, leaned toward Nanami and whispered in Japanese, “She’s challenging your honor, man.”

Nanami shot him a glare before turning back to you. “It’s courtesy.”

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips. “Then courteously let me pay.”

Gojo, now leaning dramatically over the counter, held up his own card—a flashy platinum piece that looked like it had seen better days. “Mine’s shinier!”

“Shut up, Gojo!” Both you and Nanami barked simultaneously.

Nanami placed his card on the counter, only for you to slap it away with a quick flick of your wrist. “Denied!”

Gojo cackled, tossing his card onto the counter like it was a poker chip. “Bet you can’t top this!”

You scoffed, “Oh, you wanna play? I brought backups.” Pulling your wallet open wider, revealing the JP Morgan Reserve Card, the Dubai First Royale MasterCard, and the Coutts World Silk Card nestled inside. 

Gojo’s jaw dropped, his English breaking. “You... you have... many shinies !”

Nanami’s eye twitched as he reached for his card again, but you weren’t having it. “Stay in your lane, Mr. Black Coffee!”

“Don’t push me,” Nanami warned.

“I’ll will,” you shot back, your grin unhinged.

Finally, Gojo stepped back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, you win,” he said, nodding toward your Centurion Card. “Black card... scary.”

You smirked, triumphant. “Damn right.”

Nanami glared at Gojo and asked him in Japanese, “Don’t you have that card too?”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and answered, “I do, but I forgot it in Japan.”

Nanami, however, was far from relenting. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, placing his Rakuten Bank Super Premium Card on top of yours with the quiet determination of a man who had never lost a battle of principles.

“Nanami,” you said, leaning closer, your tone deceptively sweet, eyelashes fluttering up at him, like you were asking for a puppy and not his honour, “are you really going to do this?”

“Yes,” he deadpaned.

“Fine.” You whispered in his ear, slightly closer, with your villainous energy directed at the wrong man. “But I will win.”

If Nanami was a weaker man, his resolve would have cracked.

Gojo, watching the scene unfold with stars in his eyes, clapped his hands together and yelled in Japanese. “This is the best date ever.”

Nanami was too busy not to get a hard on in public to glare at Gojo.

The poor cashier, overwhelmed, finally chose your card just to end the madness. You released Nanami with a victorious grin; your card already swiped.

“I told you,” you said smugly, slipping your wallet back into your coat pocket. Then took out your pen to sign.

Nanami sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry, Nanami. Next time, you can fight me for it. Winner pays.”

Gojo whispered loudly in Japanese. “She’s rich, Nanamin! Like, sugar mommy rich!” All his dreams of finding a fractos mother were coming true even though he was already rich.

Nanami groaned, his chivalry bruised but intact, ears red.

Gojo ignored him, turning to you with a wide grin. “You... pay for my snacks forever?”

You tilted your head, amused. “Why? Can’t you afford them?”

Nanami, sensing an opportunity, leaned toward Gojo and said in Japanese, “She asked if you’d like to pay her back by taking her trash out.”

Gojo’s grin faltered. “Trash?” he echoed, confused.

You chuckled, sensing the exchange but choosing not to pry. “Don’t worry, Gojo. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Gojo’s grin returned in full force. “I love you!”

Nanami was grateful Gojo didn’t know English for ‘I love you’ yet, or you’d get a restraining order.

As the transaction completed, the two men subtly—or not so subtly—took stock of your outfit to try and assess how rich you were in order to conclude what you did for a living.

“Shoes,” Nanami whispered to Gojo in Japanese.

“Designer,” Gojo answered after a glance.

“Coat?”

“Custom.” Gojo replied, then asked, “Watch?”

“Limited edition.”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled as you turned back. “You... very stylish!” he declared in his adorable English, giving you a thumbs-up.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Thank you, Gojo. You’re very observant.”

Nanami sighed. “You’re enabling him.”

“I think it’s endearing,” you replied with a soft laugh, your gaze briefly meeting Nanami’s. “Besides, you two are fun. And rare.”

Gojo turned to Nanami, grinning. “She said we’re rare! Like Pokémon!”

Nanami muttered something under his breath, but his ears were bright red now.

As the three of you stepped back into the rain-kissed streets, Gojo bounded ahead, clearly pleased with the outcome of the evening, while Nanami lingered at your side, his mind still piecing together the puzzle of who you really were.

“You’re quite mysterious,” Nanami remarked finally, his voice low enough that Gojo couldn’t hear.

You smiled knowingly. “And you’re quite perceptive.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as Gojo spun around, his arms outstretched. The conversation shifted as the three of you continued walking, your strides falling into an easy rhythm.

You briefly caught Nanami’s gaze before glancing up at the night sky. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it? You can even see a few stars despite the city lights.”

Nanami followed your gaze. “Surprising, given the light pollution.”

Gojo squinted at the sky, then at you. “They pretty like you.”

Nanami’s eyes widened.

You laughed; the sound light and melodic. “Not quite; you are the star.” You paused, thinking, then continued. “Like our sun—bright, strong, impossible to miss. You keep things alive, but you burn so intensely that it’s hard for people to get close enough to truly understand you.”

Gojo’s grin faltered, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “Sun... me?”

You nodded, turning to Nanami. “And you... you’re like a lighthouse. Constant, steady, always guiding. People only notice when they need you, but you’re always there, no matter what.”

Nanami stiffened, his stoicism betraying a hint of vulnerability. “You have a way with metaphors.”

You smiled, shrugging. “Maybe I’m drunk. Or maybe I’m just observant.”

Gojo perked up. “You ultraviolet rays.”

You looked at him, speechless.

Nanami smacked his head. “That’s rude.”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and explained in Japanese, “What? It provides vitamin D synthesis, photosynthesis, and regulation of biological rhythms. She is smart and strong. Tell her in English.”

Nanami sighed and translated as you blushed, glancing at Gojo, who looked particularly proud of himself.

But Nanami wouldn’t back down easily. “I think you are like the North Star; you provide direction and clarity to those around you. Constant in the night sky, you are reliable. Most people might not notice you for your worth, but your influence is profound, much like how your contributions, though sometimes invisible, are vital and impactful.”

You hid your face in your collar, turning away as you walked, your blush deepening.

“So,” you asked, breaking the awkward silence after a beat, “what’s your favorite food?”

“He likes sandwiches, and I love sweets!” Gojo exclaimed immediately, his enthusiasm palpable.

You grinned. “Me too. In reasonable quantities.”

Nanami exhaled faintly. "Oh, thank God.”

You ignored his quip, focusing back on Gojo. “Do you like dark chocolate?”

Gojo nodded fervently. “Yes! With... strawberries!” Nanami hummed in agreement as well.

“Good taste,” you said approvingly. “But since you like sweets, I think you’d enjoy something from my country. It’s warm, soft, and melts in your mouth. Perfect for a night like this.”

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “I want! You make?”

Nanami tensed at Gojo’s words. “Please forgive him; he’s too enthusiastic.”

You tilted your head, studying Gojo while waving away Nanami's concerns with your hand. “Maybe. But first, lower your Infinity.” Then turned to Nanami and added, “And your ratio thing.”

Nanami’s brows shot up. “That’s a strange request.”

Gojo hesitated, glancing between you and Nanami. “Why?”

You shrugged, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Because I asked nicely.”

Gojo huffed, muttering something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like “fine,” before lowering his Infinity.

Without warning, you lunged, fingers digging into his sides as you tickled him mercilessly. Halfway through, you felt his hard muscles—he looked built, like a well-defined wall.

“W-what?!” Gojo shrieked, laughter bubbling uncontrollably as he tried to fend you off. “Stop! Evil lady!”

You stepped back, smirking. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily. You trusted me so adorably—I couldn’t resist. Consider this a free lession.” You laughed, then your tone softened. “But really, I wanted to touch your hand. I wanted to know how your skin feels.”

Gojo blinked, his laughter fading as his cheeks flush. Nanami was trying to hide his face.

You extended your hand to both men. “Come on. If you’re interested, I’ll make you that sweet. It’s worth the walk.”

Nanami sighed. “Are you sure? We don’t want to impose; it’s pretty late.”

You smiled and nodded.

Both men immediately offered their hands to you.

These two would go to war for you—just for your smile, no hesitation.

//

By the time you reached your place, the warmth of the alcohol had faded, leaving you pleasantly sleepy.

“You two are coming in,” you declared, unlocking the door.

Nanami frowned. “That’s not necessary—”

“It’s cold,” you interrupted, pushing the door open. “And I’m making sweets. Come in or stay out, your choice.”

Gojo practically dragged Nanami inside, kicking off his shoes with a grin.

The warmth of your penthouse greeted you as you led them inside, shedding your coat. The men had noticed the extreme security while entering your building, and your place looked expensive, leading them to deduce you were more than averagely wealthy.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you said, heading toward the kitchen.

Gojo immediately flopped onto your couch, poking at the cushions, while Nanami stood awkwardly near the door, his posture still composed.

“Do you always invite strangers into your home?” Nanami asked, his tone laced with mild disapproval.

“Only the ones who lower their Infinity and that cutting thing for me,” you replied with a grin.

Nanami sighed but his lips twitched, hinting at a smile. “It’s called ratio blades.”

You nodded, washed your hands and began preparing the syrup and dough.

As you worked, Gojo wandered around your living room, poking at your figurines—most of them from your own company’s games—and photos. “Cats! So many cats!”

“I like cats,” you said simply, rolling the dough into perfect spheres.

Nanami joined Gojo, his gaze landing on a framed self-portrait you had taken a long time ago. “Did you take all these?”

You nodded. “Photography’s my thing. Cats are my favorite subjects.”

Their attention shifted to a large portrait of you and Megumi from an event. He stood stiffly looking at you while you smiled at the camera, his parents in the background. Gojo scowled at Toji’s face.

The smell of caramelized sugar filled the air as you carried a tray of warm, syrup-soaked sweets to the table, and Gojo immediately forgot about Toji.

"Careful, it’s hot,” you warned, placing the tray on the coffee table. The men took a seat on the couch opposite you.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled as he picked one up, blowing on it before taking his first bite. A soft hum of delight escaped him. “This is heaven. Marry me!” He exclaimed in Japanese.

Still Nanami choked, shooting Gojo a glare. He took his time with his dessert, his expression softening with each bite. “You weren’t exaggerating. This is excellent; he likes it too.”

You leaned back with one for yourself, watching them with a small smile as you chewed your own. “Glad you like it.”

The three of you sat in companionable silence, the warmth of the room and the dessert lulling you into a state of drowsy contentment.

Without much thought, you curled up on the couch across from them, yawning and closing your eyes, unintentionally dozing off with two strangers in your house.

“She’s like a cat,” Gojo murmured in Japanese, his voice softer than usual.

Nanami studied you. “A very drunk cat.”

“But she can hold her liquor.”

“Except for turning into a frat bro dying to fight people.” Nanami deadpaned, making Gojo chuckle.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the soft hum of the heater as you completely dozed off.

Gojo broke the silence first, still speaking softly in Japanese. “Hey, Nanamin. Think she likes us?”

Nanami glanced at him. “Us?”

Gojo shrugged, his grin a little softer. “You know. Like... us us.”

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“Neither did I,” Gojo admitted. “But... I don’t hate it.”

Nanami glanced at Gojo, then back at you. “Neither do I.”

“Let’s see where this goes,” Gojo said softly.

Nanami nodded, his usual frown easing.

Just then, your phone rang loudly, startling you awake. You apologized to the men, "Sorry, I dozed off. It’s been a long day.” They smiled, still shoving sweets into their mouths occasionally—well, mostly Gojo.

You fished your phone from your pocket, accidentally cutting the call. Rubbing your eyes, you opened it to find:

Gumi: I thought I told you to stay away from those two?!

Gumi: Why did you invite them to your place?!

Gumi: I’m coming over, and if I find them there, I’ll kill them!

Gumi: Why the fuck are you cutting my calls?!

Gumi: I swear I’m beheading them.

You immediately stood up, startled. “You need to go!”

The men looked at you, confused.

“I can’t explain! Just please go right now!” Panic surged through you, serious enough to pull you out of your drunken sleepy haze. They put the sweets down and got up to leave, but you yelled again, “Not from the front door!”

Nanami groaned as you practically pushed him and Gojo through the back door and slammed the door into their faces.

Just then they realized something.

They still didn't really know anything about you except that you were observant, made them sweets and would fight to pay for others.

//

The silence that followed after you slammed the back door was short-lived. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, as you tried to regain your composure. The faint sound of the heater humming did little to ease the tension building in the room.

A knock on the front door shattered the calm. It wasn’t a polite knock—it was authoritative, demanding.

You sighed, muttering under your breath, “God help me...”

You barely had time to brace yourself before the door swung open with a force that sent it rebounding slightly on its hinges.

Megumi stood in the doorway, his tailored suit pristine, but his face was anything but composed. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room like a predator assessing its territory, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore you heard his teeth grinding.

His gaze landed on you first, narrowing as he took in the faint flush on your cheeks and the slightly disheveled state of your hair. “You’ve been drinking,” he said flatly, the accusation sharp.

His gaze swept the room like a hawk, narrowing when he spotted the faint remnants of the sweets you’d shared with Gojo and Nanami.

You crossed your arms, meeting his glare with a raised eyebrow. “Good evening to you too, Megumi.”

“Don’t start,” he snapped, stepping into your living room. The air seemed to chill slightly as he moved closer, his presence both imposing and familiar.

The faint scent of alcohol clearly irritated him further. “You smell like a distillery. And there are cursed energy signatures everywhere. They were here, weren’t they?”

Your stomach twisted as his words hung in the air. He wasn’t asking; he was stating a fact.

“I drank earlier, but not with them. And yes, they were here,” you admitted, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “And they left.”

Megumi’s eyes darkened, his frame tense as he stalked further into the room. His presence felt heavier than usual, the weight of his restrained fury palpable. “I told you to stay away from them,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“You did,” you replied calmly, meeting his glare without flinching. “But I don’t recall signing a contract.”

His voice was quieter now but no less intense. “What were they doing here?”

“Eating sweets,” you replied simply as if his looming figure didn’t faze you.

Megumi’s jaw tightened. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. They’re big fans of dessert,” you said with a faint smirk, your nonchalance clearly irritating him further.

“Do you have any idea who they are?” He demanded, his voice rising slightly.

“Two sorcerers who are surprisingly bad at hiding their curiosity,” you replied, your tone calm.

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze swept the room. Without warning, he moved past you, scanning every corner with the precision of someone who missed nothing.

“Gumi,” you said, following him as he moved toward the kitchen. “They’re gone. I’m fine.”

He ignored you, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting to find Gojo or Nanami hiding behind the fridge.

When he turned back to you, his expression was a mix of frustration and something deeper—something protective. “You don’t understand what they’re capable of,” he said, his tone clipped. “You’re not a sorcerer. You can’t handle this.”

“I’m not helpless,” you countered, crossing your arms. “And I don’t need you babysitting me.”

His fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders taut with barely restrained anger. “You think this is about babysitting? You’re the only person I care about besides Mom,” he bit out, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you know how easy it would be for them to hurt you?”

“They’re not going to hurt me, Megumi,” you said, your voice softening.

He scoffed, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t know that. They’re sorcerers. They live in a world where people like you—people without cursed energy—are collateral damage.”

You stepped closer, your tone steady but firm. “And your father lived in a world where he killed innocent people, Megumi. Including that girl.”

The words hit like thunder, and for a moment, the room was silent. Megumi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and anger.

“That doesn’t mean that white-haired freak gets a free pass,” he said finally, his voice low.

“No, it doesn’t,” you agreed, your gaze unwavering. “But it also doesn’t mean you get to project your anger onto me.”

“They’re dangerous,” he hissed, taking another step forward. “Especially him.”

You tilted your head, your gaze steady. “Gojo? He seems harmless enough when he’s not shoving sweets into his mouth.”

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. “Harmless? He killed my father.”

You flinched at the reminder, guilt creeping into your chest.

Megumi’s hands flexed at his sides; he calmed down his breathing immediately, eyes softening. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm.

He stiffened at the contact, his gaze dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes. For a moment, his anger seemed to waver, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“I can’t protect you if you won’t listen to me,” he said, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“You’ve always protected me, Gumi,” you said softly. “But I need you to trust me too.”

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re overbearing,” you replied with a small smile.

After another tense moment, Megumi’s posture relaxed slightly. He looked around the room one last time, his eyes lingering on the remnants of the desserts you’d shared with Gojo and Nanami.

“They’re idiots,” he muttered.

You chuckled. “Agreed.”

“I’m increasing security around your building,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. “Fine. But only if I still get to pet your shikigamis.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his frustration. “Deal.”

“Next time, call me first.”

“Noted.”

"Come, mom asked you to stay over for the weekend; let’s go.” He said, extending his arm with a faint twitch of a smile on his lips.

“Oh great. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” You followed him.

Before closing the door, Megumi looked directly at a particular window in your penthouse.

//

As you both left, the tension in the room finally eased.

From the shadows outside, Gojo and Nanami peeked around the corner, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“He’s scary,” Gojo whispered in Japanese.

“He knew we were here; he could have fought.” Nanami thought out loud.

Gojo then added sagely. “But also... she’s kind of hot?”

Nanami sighed.

“Do you think she’s single?” Gojo mused as Nanami dragged him away.

---

Many Years Ago

It was a warm afternoon, the kind where the sunlight filtered through the trees and painted the grass in dappled patterns. You sat on a park bench, your knees pulled to your chest as you tried to block out the world. The faint sound of children laughing reached your ears, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another reality.

“Hey.”

The voice was small, hesitant. You looked up to see a little boy with dark, spiky hair and eyes that seemed far too knowing for someone his age.

“You’re sitting here alone,” he said matter-of-factly, his head tilting slightly. “Why?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I just... like the quiet.”

The boy frowned, his brows knitting together. “You’re sad.”

Before you could deny it, another voice interrupted. “Megumi, don’t bother strangers.”

You looked up to see a tall man approaching, his broad shoulders and confident stride impossible to miss. His piercing eyes softened slightly when they landed on you.

“Sorry about him,” the man said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “He’s too nosy for his own good.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly.

The man studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the bruises peeking out from beneath your sleeves. His expression darkened, but his tone remained calm. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re around,” you said quietly, looking away.

The boy—Megumi—plopped down on the bench beside you, completely unfazed. “You don’t like them, do you?”

“Megumi,” the man said warningly, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “He’s right. I don’t. They wanted a boy; I came out a girl.”

The man’s fists tightened hard enough that you heard a faint crack, then he crouched down, his gaze level with yours. “Listen, kid,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to stay in places that hurt you. You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

From that day on, Toji Fushiguro became a constant in your life. He didn’t say much, but he showed up when it mattered—bringing food, letting you crash on his couch when things got too rough at home, and always making sure you knew you had someone in your corner.

Megumi tagged along wherever you went and was always watching out for you in his quiet, observant way. His sharp wit and occasional bursts of kindness became a source of unexpected comfort.

You felt a sense of belonging, a family forged through shared struggles and unspoken bonds. But when you learned of Toji’s death, the loss hit you hard. It was a wound that ran deep, leaving a lasting impact on Megumi, who never truly recovered from it.

And when you cut contact with your family after a particularly horrible night at eighteen, Megumi’s mom helped you get on your feet, offering support until you could stand on your own.

For a while, it felt like you’d found a family.

---

// Playlist

Before you left to get married

This was supposed to be a moment of excitement—a new chapter—but instead, it was tainted by the look in Megumi’s eyes.

The terminal was too bright, too sterile. Every sound—footsteps, muffled announcements, the scrape of luggage wheels—echoed like a dull ache in your head. You stood by the departure gate, clutching your boarding pass, trying to steady your breathing. You had said goodbye to Megumi’s mom, but Megumi had disappeared since the day you told him you’d accepted the proposal to get married to your husbands. He didn’t pick up calls, didn’t respond to texts, and wasn’t at his office or at home. You wanted to say goodbye before you left, make amends so that he visited you for both your and his life's major occasions, or without reasons. You didn’t go out of your way to hurt him, but you hated yourself for it. He was right to have expected something of you when all those years ago his father had been nothing but kind towards you.

Then the storm came.

“Leaving just like that?”

The voice froze you in place, laced with a hurt you hadn’t anticipated. Turning slowly, you met Megumi’s gaze. His 20-something frame was taller, broader like his father, than the boy you’d met all those years ago—a sharp-edged man you’d always known he’d become. He looked disheveled, as if he had been drinking; his coat and tie were absent, his sleeves rolled up, and a few top buttons of his shirt were undone. But his eyes... his eyes still held the same piercing clarity, now clouded with betrayal.

You swallowed hard. “Megumi—”

“Don’t.” His voice cut through the distance between you, and you flinched. “Don’t start with excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses,” you said softly. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

"What do you have to do?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his spiky hair. “You’re leaving everything—everyone—for them. You’re marrying the man who killed my father. And the other one, who just stood by and let it all happen.”

The words hit harder than you’d expected, slicing through the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. “That’s not fair,” you tried, your voice trembling. “You know it’s not that simple.” You stepped towards him.

“Then what is it like?” he snapped, stepping away. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve chosen them over everything else. Over me. I thought you were better than this. I thought you cared about me.”

“You’re my best friend, Megumi. You always will be,” you insisted, your throat tightening. “I do care about you.”

“Do you? You are moving to a whole other country for them! Do you even know the language properly?” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you’d met in the park all those years ago.

Tears welled in your eyes. “I’m not leaving you, Megumi.”

“Yes, you are.” His tone was flat now, his expression hardening like a wall slamming shut. “You’ve already made your choice, and it’s not me.”

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely audible.

He scoffed, the hurt radiating off him in waves. “Doesn’t feel like it.” He sighed, looking away from you, and continued, “You’ve made your choice, and it’s not me. So, go ahead. Leave. But don’t expect me to be waiting when you come back. The next time I see you, it’ll be at your funeral.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Tears pricked your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” you said quietly. “But I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

He turned away sharply, his shoulders tense. “Don’t count on it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He strode away without a backward glance.

You stood there, the sounds of the terminal fading into a dull hum, your heart splintering under the weight of his parting words.

Nanami came to you and held you close while Gojo took care of the luggage.

---

Present day

The sea stretched endlessly before you, the waves lapping softly against the shore under the dim light of a waning moon. You sat on the edge of the wooden dock, legs dangling over the side, your hands resting limply in your lap. The salt in the air clung to your skin, but you barely noticed. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, stared at the horizon, seeing nothing but the fractured pieces of a life that had slipped through your fingers.

The memory of Megumi’s words cut through the silence, a cruel echo of a bond you thought unbreakable.

"The next time I see you, it’ll be at your funeral."

You swallowed hard, the phantom weight of those words pressing against your chest. You’d believed so fiercely that he’d understand one day at the time and shared history would bridge the chasm your choices had created.

But you were wrong. He was right.

Your fingers tightened into fists as the guilt churned inside you. He had tried to warn you and begged you to stay away from the men who had dismantled your life piece by piece. And yet, you had brushed him off, convinced of your own strength and autonomy. You had taken his trust, his family’s kindness, and burned it in the fires of your hubris.

When your HQ in Japan was nearly razed and your life reduced to ashes, it wasn’t the men who betrayed you that haunted your thoughts—it was Megumi. You had been too ashamed to call him yourself, delegating the task to an employee with shaking hands. Yet, despite everything, he had come through.

His company’s security solutions had locked down your global offices in a matter of hours, protecting millions of lives. He didn’t ask for thanks, didn’t even reach out to you directly. It was as though he’d swept in like a ghost, solving the problem before vanishing back into the shadows of your shared past.

And still, you couldn’t bring yourself to reach out. What could you say? That he’d been right all along? That you missed him? That the absence of his sarcastic remarks and overprotective nature felt like a gaping hole in your already fractured soul?

You wondered if he thought about you at all. Did he have friends now? Or had he become like you—an isolated workaholic, buried under the weight of responsibility and regret?

Behind you, Sukuna sat silently on the dock, leaning back on his palms. He hadn’t said much since dragging you here, content to let the waves and the stars speak for themselves. He was steady, an immovable force in your crumbling world.

Sukuna sighed, his fingers drumming against the wood. “Still thinking about them?”

Them. Your twins. The children you’d lost.

“They are still yours,” he had told you, the words a faint echo now, lost in the cavern of your grief. They didn’t heal you, but they lingered, a reminder that some part of you had existed in them, however fleetingly.

The nightmares came every night. You didn’t tell Sukuna, but you didn’t need to. He was always there when you woke up drenched in sweat. His strong arms would pull you close, his voice steady and grounding.

“They’re gone,” he would say, the words harsh but real. “They’re not coming back. I’ll kill them if they do.”

You never asked who he meant. You didn’t care.

The therapy sessions were supposed to help. Sukuna drove you to every appointment, his presence looming in the background like a silent guardian. He never asked you how they went, never pressed for details. He just waited, scrolling through his phone or staring out the window until you returned.

But the numbness refused to leave. It clung to you like a second skin. You hadn’t spoken to Sukuna in months, not really. Your words had dwindled into hollow gestures—a nod, a faint smile, a muttered “thanks.”

He never complained. He just stayed.

Now, sitting on the dock with the sea stretching endlessly before you, Sukuna shifted closer. His knee brushed yours, a subtle reminder of his presence.

“You ever gonna talk again?” He asked, his tone light but probing.

Your lips parted, but no words came. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to admit that you missed someone else’s presence just as much as his.

Megumi’s face flashed in your mind—his eyes, his cutting words, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who’s on your mind?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze for the first time in hours. “No one,” you lied, your voice hoarse from disuse.

He didn’t push, but the slight tightening of his jaw told you he didn’t believe you.

The stars above reflected faintly in the dark water, their light distant and cold. You wondered if Megumi ever looked at the stars and thought of you, or if you were as distant to him now as they were to the earth.

A/N: And that’s the emotional rollercoaster for today, folks! 🎢 How did you guys feel about Megumi and the airport scene. Drop your votes, share your feels, and get ready for the next chapter—it’s gonna be sending y'all to therapy.

Next Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides (Tumblr/Ao3)

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If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[thelunarfairy]

The Mythological Secrets Behind Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

It is not new that we see JSHK rooted in Shintuist culture, along with this culture, we have the classical Gods represented, in addition to, of course, some common items related to this.

But there are some points in particular that I wanted to delve into a little and the similarities represented. But, first of all, let's connect the reasoning to the main points before we get to the Gods.

The thread of the story

1 - Tsukasa's fate = sacrifice himself, he sacrifices himself and stays in the house (If he can see supernatural things, then he was close to death, as mentioned by Hanako, people can only see supernatural things if they have a sixth sense (like exorcists) or when death is close).

2 - Nene and Kou finds the red house and convinces him to come back.

3 - Tsukasa comes back.

4 - Temporal paradox.

5 - Creates an alternative timeline full of errors and chain consequences (causing deaths of people who shouldn't die).

6 - At ​​some point Amane decides to kill the family (theory) and sets the house on fire.

7 - It creates a "curse". (everyone who enters the house dies or disappears).

8 - Somehow Hanako becomes a supernatural being and loses control or does something really bad at some point, to the point where the Minamotos have to seal him and create the seven mysteries.

9 - Kako had to go back in time for some reason (to make Hanako forget some things).

10 - Hanako now plays a role, the leader, but at the same time he is the traitor (indicating that there are two Gods).

11 - He along with Tsukasa want to break the cycle of yorishiros and free themselves from this "prison" so that they can save themselves, Tsukasa wants to save Amane and Amane wants to save Tsukasa.

12 - So, Tsuchigomori is the guy who destroys the butterfly effect, but for some important reason, he will probably sacrifice himself for something in the end.

13 - And Nene, the "mermaid" girl who has a bond with Hanako. And let's remember that the entity is from the water, the tentacles and the people or their souls screaming on the other side of the window in the last chapter, you can see the air bubbles coming out of their mouths, which suggests that they are in the water.

14 - Entity from the well + tentacles + water = entity/God of the water that grants wishes. Like the classics, where you throw a coin in the well to make a wish.

15 - Hanako gets a mermaid scale and gives it to Nene to create a bond, so maybe the scale is directly linked to the entity. Even though we saw the mermaid, she is still a supernatural being.

16 - The mermaid giving up on Nene after the fish died was like a warning from the entity, since it was Tsukasa who killed it. We saw a giant fish in the window of the red house, so maybe the entity is the strongest supernatural being that can influence the lesser supernatural beings.

17 - So, all connected, Nene being able to remove the seals, being a kannagi, coming from a mysterious family, makes me wonder about her connection with the entity.

18 - The Minamotos know something, and they still "help" Hanako because it seems to be necessary. Teru was happy when the supernaturals disappeared, but he was the one who decided to bring them back, even though he didn't want to.

19 - So, there's a reason for him to keep Hanako, as if it was necessary for him to do something, but Teru tries to keep him under control.

20 - In the end, there are probably two Gods (theory): The God of the yorishiros and the God (entity) beneath the red house.

21 - Hanako should work for the God of the yorishiros to receive redemption, but he is the traitor, that is, he works for the God of the red house, because he intends to save Tsukasa. Therefore, the twins want to remove all the seals to "free" the entity and get a wish.

22 -What we are seeing now is all the yorishiros being removed while we follow the stories of their owners, for now, away from the main story of the twins.

The Gods who represent the twins

Now that you understand where we are in the story, let's move on to the mythological part of things and the connection between the twins and Gods that haven't been mentioned yet.

Amaterasu: She is the Shinto goddess of the sun. The name Amaterasu is derived from Amateru, which means "shining in the sky." Her full name is Amaterasu-o-mi-kami, which means "Glorious Goddess Who Shines in the Sky."

Amane: A name derived from Amaterasu, (not literally, but a name that would resemble the name Amaterasu to show a slight connection with the Sun Goddess) he is also depicted as the sun in some panels of the manga, as well as being the opposite of Tsukasa, the moon.

Tsukuyomi: Also known as Tsukuyomi-no-kami, he is the god of the moon in Shinto and Japanese mythology. The name Tsukuyomi is a combination of the Japanese words moon/month (tsuki) and "to read; to count" (yomu). Another interpretation of his name is the combination of "Moonlit Night". Tsukuyomi is the god of the moon in Japanese mythology, brother of Amaterasu and Susanoo.

Tsukasa: often represented in the manga in some panels as the moon itself, as he himself mentions being the opposite of Amane, who is represented as the sun. The name Tsukasa also refers to the name of the god of the moon, similarly to Amane's name.

The two are siblings in mythology as well.

The mythology

The creation myth of the Shinto tradition in Japan is wrapped up in a beautiful and tragic love story between the divine couple Izanagi and Izanami.

Heaven and Earth separated during this long creative process, so Izanagi and Izanami, representatives of what was then the newest divine generation, took on the task of generating life in the immense primordial liquid environment.

Izanagi and Izanami decided to improve their creation, molding the relief with mountains, spreading vegetation to cover the soil and creating rivers to promote fertility.

The rest of creation required carnal acts practiced between Izanagi and Izanami, which has a strong symbolism because it highlights the union between the masculine and feminine for the generation of life and procreation.

They generated divine children after the islands were conceived, each of them associated with important aspects associated with nature.

When Izanami gave birth to Kagutsuchi, the god of fire, she ended up burning to death during childbirth. The father was furious and murdered his son.

Izanagi tried to rescue his beloved from the underworld, the dark Yomi. The exits to Yomi are guarded by terrible creatures and are where the dead go to, apparently, rot for an indefinite period of time. Once fallen there, the soul can never return to the land of the living.

Upon arriving there, Izanami asked her husband not to look at her, to return to Earth and to wait while she tried to escape from Yomi.

The impatient Izanami does not obey and looks at his wife, unrecognizable and with a frightening cadaverous appearance, deteriorated and infested with agents of decomposition.

Now she was a form of decomposing flesh that gave birth to several demons, with worms and demonic creatures slithering over her body. She, realizing her husband's audacity, orders the demons to chase him.

Izanagi flees from the demons, and rolling a huge stone, traps them in Yomi. Izanagi, furious at Izanami's betrayal, uses the powers of the sun to destroy all the demons. Thus began the existence of death, caused by Izanami's pride.

After Izanagi left his wife Izanami, locked in the Shinto underworld of Yomi, he purified himself in a spring and accidentally gave birth to three children.

The sun goddess Amaterasu was born from Izanagi's left eye, the moon god Tsukuyomi was born from his father's right eye, and the god of the sea and storms Susanoo was born from Izanagi's nose.

Where are the similarities in JSHK?

Let's compare.

Mitology

Izanami: Izanami is related to death and she's trapped in the world of Yomi, the world of the dead, she hides her appearance because of her cadaverous form, like she did with her husband.

JSHK

Entity: In JSHK we also don't see the entity, which stays in the dark.

And we have the sacrifices, which are linked to the same reasoning, gradually losing their human form and becoming cadaverous beings.

In JSHK, the entity is said to be very strong, it is weak because it is sealed, "trapped", just like Izanami is trapped in the underworld and cannot return.

Second possibility about the entity

Mitology

Serpent Yamata no Orochi: was a colossal dragon with eight heads and eight tails. According to legend, Yamata no Orochi terrorized the Izumo region, demanding that a young girl be sacrificed to him every year.

In the story, a couple's daughters were sacrificed, leaving only the youngest one alive. The dragon was killed by Susanoo when he tried to save the young woman from being sacrificed. He fell in love with her and married her.

JSHK

The entity demands sacrifices with young women, usually from the same family, since Kannagis come from families that offer to give one of their daughters for sacrifice.

The representation of marriage and Sumire may be linked to the meaning of Sumire's desire to be saved, directly reflected in the mythology of the serpent.

When Suzanoo fell in love with the woman who was going to be sacrificed, he saved her and got married with her.

In Sumire's case, she was not saved and did not marry Hakubo, as she wished. A tragic version of the story.

Implying that the entity of Sumire's time was perhaps the serpent.

Let's continue with the comparisons.

Mitology

Izanagi: He was responsible for imprisoning Izanami in the world of the dead, and tried to keep her imprisoned.

JSHK

The God of Yorishiro: the one who values ​​maintaining seals and mysteries, apparently to keep "something" imprisoned, implying that it is in fact the entity of the red house that is officially sealed.

Let's continue with the comparisons.

Mitology

Susanoo: Susanoo is the god of the sea and storms, son of Izanagi and brother of Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun, and Tsukuyomi, the god of the moon.

JSHK

Yashiro: Often depicted as a mermaid and having a direct link to Hanako because of the scales, we can associate her with the myth of Susanoo.

We may still have doubts about Nene's association with him, but Suzanoo had a direct connection with Amaterasu (the sun goddess we are representing as Amane).

At a certain point, Suzanoo goes to Amaterasu's house to resolve a conflict between them.

To link this to JSHK, if you notice, when Hanako throws Nene in fish form into the sky (at the end of the anime) a small storm appears.

Some people theorized that it represented her crying, but at the end, the clouds appear next to the sun and the rain begins. Representing the "storm".

Furthermore, Susanoo is the God who saves the young woman from being sacrificed to the serpent. We see this represented in the moment when Nene is the only one who can "save" Sumire from being devoured by Hakubo, but in this case, she does not. Referring again to the tragic side of mythology and Sumire's story.

Let's continue with the comparisons.

Mitology

The red house and yomi

Yomi is the Japanese word for the world of the dead in Japanese mythology and Shintoism. Its exits are guarded by terrifying creatures and it is where the dead go to apparently rot for an indefinite period of time. Once fallen there and fed in the fire at the center of Yomi, the soul can never return to the land of the living.

Similar to the red house specifically over the abyss where the sacrifices that fell began to rot and could not return.

Water as a Symbol of Transition and Cleansing

Water plays an important role in the series, particularly through its association with Hanako’s past and its connection to bathrooms and wetlands – liminal places between the world of the living and the dead. In Shinto, water is a symbol of purification and renewal, something that is also explored in the story of Hanako, a spirit trapped by regrets who seeks redemption.

The aquatic environment can be interpreted as an allusion to Susanoo, a deity associated with the sea and storms.

Light and Darkness – Themes of Life and Death

Just as Amaterasu represents light and order, some elements of the series suggest a cycle between hope and despair, or redemption and regret. Hanako-kun is a spirit who carries both light (his moments of affection for Nene) and darkness (his tragic secrets and violent past). This duality may echo the myth of Amaterasu, where light and darkness must find balance.

The Seven Mysteries as Guardians and Forces of Chaos

Just as the kami (gods) of Japanese folklore have different personalities and roles, the Seven Mysteries in the series play specific roles that resemble the forces of nature. Some are benevolent and seek balance, while others represent chaos and danger. This multiplicity is characteristic of Japanese myths, where there is no clear division between good and evil.

Although Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun does not directly mention Amaterasu or Susanoo, the themes of water, purification, light, and darkness found in the series can be seen as a subtle reference to these gods and the natural forces they represent.

In addition, we must add urban legends.

Influences of Japanese Folklore on Hanako-kun

Seven Mysteries of School (七不思議, Nana Fushigi) One of the main inspirations for the series are the legends of the "Seven Mysteries of School," popular stories told among Japanese students about supernatural occurrences that happen in schools. Each mystery usually involves ghosts or strange events, and each school may have its own versions.

In the Hanako-kun universe, these Seven Mysteries are essential, as the spirits that govern each of them have influence over the spirit world and the school.

Spirit World and Boundaries Between Realities In Hanako-kun, there is a strong separation between the world of the living and the spirit world. Places in the school, such as bathrooms or forgotten rooms, function as portals that connect these two worlds. This idea reflects the traditional Japanese concept that certain places, such as temples, cemeteries, or ruins, are meeting points between the physical and spiritual worlds.

Supernatural Elements Inspired by Yōkai and Spirits

Many of the characters and creatures featured in the series are based on or inspired by yōkai (supernatural creatures) and onryō (vengeful spirits) from Japanese folklore. The series also introduces concepts of its own, such as:

Tsukumogami: Ancient objects that gain life and consciousness after 100 years. Some characters in the series resemble this idea, as spirits are tied to specific places or objects in the school.

Onryō: Hanako is a spirit with a tragic past, reflecting the idea of ​​vengeful ghosts or those trapped on Earth due to unresolved regrets.

Akuma and Mononoke: Some spirits are aggressive and need to be purified or controlled, as is the case with several antagonists in the series.

Spiritual Hierarchy and the Conflict Between Mysteries Within the story, the Seven Mysteries have a hierarchy and follow specific rules that govern the coexistence of humans and spirits. The main conflict of the series arises when the mysteries begin to rebel, seeking to change these rules and gain more power. This hierarchical structure is an original creation of the series, but it recalls the idea that kami and yōkai have their own laws and orders in Japanese folklore.

While Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun doesn't explicitly follow a specific Shinto or Buddhist mythology (so far), it does draw heavily from Japanese urban legends, the Seven Mysteries of School, and concepts from Japanese spiritual folklore such as yōkai, tsukumogami, and onryō.

The series creates its own mythology by combining these traditional elements with a unique narrative.

Which is particularly fascinating!!

It was a fun journey to find these new details to add to the events of the series. Of course, despite the associations and similarities, don't take anything in this post too seriously or canonical, it's just for fun.

There are probably many more details that still need to be discovered or included, (like the mythology about the Minamoto family, and even some common supernatural beings, like Tsuchigomori, who represents Tsuchigumo, but well, if I talk about all of them, this post will be huge).

For this post, that's enough.

If you've read this far, I hope you've had fun!

[lichenes]

Hi!! I want to request for Alcina x reader where R is like lost in the forest getting chased by Lycans and somehow she ends up in castle dimitrescu. It's your decision how their first meeting would go^°^

-🥀

Unfortunately not my greatest work... tried my best tho ;_; Hope you like it lovely <3 And thank you for the ask 🥀!! CW: Alcina beginning to be possesive, reader being chased wc: 376

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Your lungs were burning. Your legs were close to giving out. Tears were streaming down your face, but you had to keep running. You could feel the lycan's breath on your neck. His demonic wheezing creeping closer and closer to you showed you how utterly helpless you were against the creature. 

You prayed whatever god was listening would show their mercy. Your redemption was to come soon enough. 

You smiled widely when you saw the castle on the horizon. Not believing your own luck you ran up to the door and with your last breath cried out for help, banging weakly on the castle doors. 

You must've passed out because the next time you opened your eyes your surroundings weren't ones of rotting houses and  lurking at every corner but distinguished and more… elegant. Definitely way less deadly than a rabid animal. Whatever happened next couldn't be worse than what you'd have experienced outside… right?

Up until now you could hear faint conversations of what you assumed to be maids of the castle, possibly the owners, it was hard for you to tell. You stood up, walking closer to the door to gather some information. The steps that followed the end of the conversation startled you enough to quickly sit back down. 

When the door opened your eyes fell upon who you would come to know as Lady Dimitrescu. She was wearing a white, not too ornate, dress with a gorgeous black rose pinned to her chest. She had to bend down to cross the threshold which made a small bell of excitement start ringing in your head. 

“Hello pet…” She said keeping a healthy distance. “I'm glad you've stumbled onto my doorstep.” She got closer to you. “Alone and…” Alcina put her hand on your cheek. “Scared…” 

You weren't sure if you wanted to lean into her palm or recoil. The goosebumps on your flesh weren't making you any less sure about which option you should choose, so you remained still. “What's your name.?” 

Your voice got stuck in your throat but you managed to squeak out your name. She tested how it felt on her tongue and after saying it she knew, you'd be stuck with her, regardless if you wanted it or not.

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masterlist

[galactic-rhea]

I love your empress padme au, they should be evil and unhinged. I'm misly curious as to what the kiddos are up to, (and some of the other characters, I imagen they're mostly side eyeing anidalla like "wtf is happining over there???") Anyways I kind of love the consept of "evil chaos family fun"

Neither of them are stay at home parents but the imagen of vaderkin in a frilly apron trying SO hard to cook for his family has popped into my head and will not leave

Vader should get a cloak wich has "property of Padme" embrodered on the back

dfkjgnkjngfdjk thank you, Padmé would ask him to cook with an appron and nothing else

About the question, well! Just yesterday someone asked in the comments about the twins too! And well, you see, I'm undecided! This will get long!

See, when I originally envisioned the empress Padmé AU, what I had on mind is that Padmé spent about 5-6-7 years with the rebels, and that's why we have Vader as...as we known him, you know, almost-classic Vader. Unknown to the rebeels that Padmé's goal was sliiiiiightly different as theirs. She would have the twins (or at least, known where they're being hidden, and visint them and everything) and her goal would be to reunite her family, she's a bit obssesed with having her family fully and complete.

But! The idea that, for example, after having the twins she was unconscious for several days or something, and it was decided that hidding the twins was the better choice and told her they died it's so very tasty and angsty! Vader and Padmé would be EVEN MORE codependant and messed up out of the grief (also THE GUILT Vader feels about thinking he caused their kids death as he sees Padmé so distraguth?!!!! He wants to constantly kill himself, he probably wants Padmé to kill him, tasty angst) If she believes her twins to be dead, then she believes she only has her husband, and she's very overprotective of him (and possesive, a lot).

And then you would have the plot following slightly similar to the movies, but now the twins have to redeem BOTH of their parents who are kinda enabling each other so hjhbdgdfsf

(Either Leia wasn't given to Bail and Breha because...come on, or I'll have to invent a super duper and convenient explanation)

Also @squad-724 suggested the idea of Padmé and Vader somehow sort of bringing Ahsoka (inquisitor ahsoka, wahoo!) into this and now I won't stop thinking about it (unconsciously) having Ahsoka as their stand-in-daugther because they lost their twins. Messed up, messed up and all these conflicting feelings guys!!!!

BUT! On the other hand, Imperial twins raised by both EVIL PARENTS is super fun, like, this poor galaxy can't catch a breath. Because my Vader raises the twins AU have them being double agents with Vader trying hard to cover them up so the emperor won't kill them. But here it probably makes them less likely to turn against their parents! However, 5-6 years being raised among rebels, and then being raised in the imperial palace and becoming prince and princess and at the very least knowing your mom kinda betrayed the rebels is probably enough to give you suspicion and "huh,,,this is kinda bad? Maybe"

For Padmé and Vader though, I think it would bring a very devoted and angry protectiveness for both Padmé and Vader; they aren't that invested in the empire and power tbh, they just want to have their Little House On The Prairie fantasy with a family fully complete and safe, at all costs. It would make them even more of a team and less weaknesses. Though, I once kinda as a joke just imagined Padmé getting tired of all of it and going "ah whatevery, let the galaxy burn by itself while we ran a way somewhere" and that's it because seriously Padmé wanted to actually give up on all the work, no big redemption or big epic dramatic moment, the imperial family just disappeared one night and no one knows what happened (surely they were murdered?) when they're just chilling in some super random and secret corner of the galaxy doing, idk, the most boring thing ever, farming. Luke and Leia get bored and become spice smugglers . The end.

For the last question, though, I think half of the people think Padmé is a victim of this terrible situation somehow (oh noooo, she was kidnapped by that monster, who knows what she's enduring, or she's being mind-controlled :( ), that she's some sort of puppet empress while Vader actually makes all the choices because,,,come on, that was the emperor's second hand right there. The other half of the people remember Padmé was a bit of a political apprentice for Palpatine, and they're also both from Naboo, and it was also thanks to her Palpatine became the Chancellor, maybe she did want power from the start, maybe Naboo is fucked up, never let politicans from Naboo have power again.

And then there's the third secret thing, which is only a very limited number of people like Obi-Wan and Bail (and Padmé and Vader's palace staff lol), that are fully side-eyeing her.

There's also the problem that since she actually worked with the rebels, she,,,knows a lot, she probably knows almost all the names of the rebels' leaders, she probably knows there's a underground society helping jedi run and to which planets. She knows so much, and yet she doesn't actively chase them (or more like, she doesn't actively send Vader to chase them), and if she does send her husband, which is rarely since she wants him to stay where she can see him (remember when I said obssesive and possesive and overprotective?), she's probably doesn't tell him that much info because it's entertaining, giant galactic chess game, lmao.

Also, her empire isn't half as awful as Palpatine's, like, it's still very bad but it's leagues better and she does probably finally forces the good charity projects she never could as a senator, and well, complacency it's extremelly dangerous for freedom. So there's that.

[11queensupreme11]

Queen, I was fucking busy, like really busy, but then I saw THAT comment and I decided that life is too short to don't do risky things

(God, if my boss sees me on tumblr? Why would she know how Tumblr looks?...)

“Sorry Hades!” He cackled joyfully. “Shoulda been a better husband if you didn’t want me snatching up your cute little bride! She’s all mine now!”

Of course, she is daddy, you are so hot, I can't wait for your smut

(Still rotting for Poseidon taking her virginity, just cause he's a slut and I love him for that. Also, her panic about enjoying having sex with her dad would be hilarious)

(Look what you have made, now I'm fully on your side about Percy's fall down, let's push this girl from the precipice, she looks cute crying)

That fight... *sighs* those beautiful men, Poseidon looked GORGEOUS dying in the anime, so I love that for him

Fuck Zeus for stopping it when my babies were having fun, why NOW he has common sense? go and have an orgy, I was laughing

Kebechet peered down. “Daddy! Are you okay?” She called out. Anubis weakly managed a thumbs up. His whole body was completely toast. “Just… fine…” He wheezed.

I love him, your honor.

You know what? I'm starting to like Apollo.

He's honestly just a himbo that by luck has power enough to kill thousands.

His fanart about their future children is cute, and if he was training in Midgard explains a lot about him and his personality.

He was practically raised by mortals, learning with them but always trying to become a god. And with Zeus as his dad... well, I love my whores, even if they probably need a redemption arch where they learn to love and have healthy relationships without sex aside from their sibling.

Also, it feels like he, Anubis, Beel, and Loki are the ones who really LOVE her, she doesn't fake with them (I was rooting for Loki since that bathroom scene for that reason, cause it seemed like the only one who let herself have fun being a gremlin and matched her energy with his own gremlin behavior).

No saying I don't stand for Posy (lol) and even (?) Hades, just saying, that they really need to see her in her own space without them forcing her to be all UwU.

Hopefully, if she ends with one of them (or all of them, I'm totally wishing that end) she'd be able to balance her own personality with her UwU

Oh, Apollo... I can't see the future but somehow I'm looking at the beginning of your yandere arch. Yes, my lord, the only real way of saving her is letting her go but how could you send her away knowing she wouldn't return? Send her to the arms of another man? A simple mortal?

I was wondering how they would see her in her original world, but I bet Apollo is more than we see, and isn't afraid of using everyone in the way of getting her back.

I see the strongest alliance coming, full from simps thirsting after the same pussy

(Oh, that kiss underwater... I just know you're making them worse)

You know what else would be funny? Another god watching with them, and falls in love with Nico and gets the simps to help him, and kidnaps both of them.

Hades has a single son, I can see him going "Well if I marry my other version's son to my own son, that would just eliminate a problem and Percy would have a reason more to stay with me 😊😊"

Just imagine Queen, TWO pretty people to make suffer, Percy teaching him the UwU way, Nico having to live with that version of his dad that not only want to fuck Percy but also is rotting for him getting fucked for what is practically his brother.

Am I convincing you? I think I'm always bribing you with Nico's suffering in a chance to make him stay alive and with Percy, so I can see him more and cause I've some slutty outfits for him.

Imagining my emo boy with that dark prince vibe, everyone who meets him knows that he's not happy but no one sees a problem cause he should be glad that he's alive 🥴

You know Percy has this ethereal vibe, a spoiled princess so imagine them together.

Percy smiling with his UwU facade, looking beautiful and glowing with innocence. Nico looks dark at her side, without a smile on his face even when Percy tries to animate him.

Fully giving black cat and golden retriever energy.

(Percy: I'm going to help you to escape, just that my dad doesn't let me out of his sight enough to contact with the valkyries Nico: You're calling this Poseiond your dad, have you forgotten our world already?

The potential to angst is just *chef kiss*)

AND, cause I'm not gatekeeping anything, look at my favorite ones!

Look at those, absolutely gorgeous, amazing use of my free will searching these pictures.

Also, my boy isn't a tank as the rest of the RoR's men, so he probably would look delicate to them.

He would hate it.

I feel like I'm selling somethig, hope you buy it.

Bye queen, hope you enjoy your new game and don't forget about me and Nico 😘

"poseidon looked GORGEOUS dying in the anime" ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT

also omfgggggg you're killing me 😂😂😂😂

ARE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO SELL NICO'S TWINK ASS TO ME IN HOPES FOR HIS SURVIVAL???? SLUTTING OUT YOUR BOY????????? PLEASE THE PIC REFERENCES 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[yannisdesk]

Just saw someone say that making Caitlyn feel all-consuming misery over her actions is "misery p0rn" but her not being held accountable for her actions at the hands of any sort of justice due to how Piltover is structured is realistic.

Okay.

The last part is true. I don't expect Caitlyn to be thrown to whatever the Runeterra version of the ICC is (there is none) by the new council she just reinstated that only has its power back because she surrendered her power. I personally have never argued that. I don't even want Caitlyn to serve time in prison or die in battle. By being held accountable I mean held by the people she's personally hurt, such as Vi. Face some tangible consequences from the people of Zaun, who she gassed and oppressed for nearly an entire year. Idk, something.

Maddie doesn't count. Caitlyn never did anything wrong to Maddie to deserve that specific betrayal; it was made kind of obvious that she'd been under Ambessa's yoke from the beginning. Also, that was not "holding her accountable" - that was a spy doing what a spy does, or a jilted lover getting petty revenge if you want to interpret it that way. For all we know, Caitlyn could've rejected Ambessa's offer to becoming the leader of Piltover, and Maddie would've either been placed as a plant to whoever ended up taking that position, or still sent by Ambessa to somehow undermine whatever plans Caitlyn would've ended up having at that point.

But her feeling all-consuming guilt is unrealistic "misery p0rn"? Frankly, that's a load of bullshit. People who commit atrocities like that should feel bad about doing those things. When you become the head of a military dictatorship, co-sign locking up masses of civilians on trumped up charges, and engage in chemical warfare, the realization of what you've done should shock you to your core. You should feel like shit. Coping with what you've done should be difficult. That's a part of growing as a person and anyone that has ever had to face the fact that they've done something to seriously hurt another person, me included, recognizes this. The argument that she should get to walk away self-righteously patting herself on the back because she freed Jinx and sacrificed her eye is absurd, and not even something Caitlyn as a character would agree with.

Am I personally saying there's no way for Caitlyn to move forward? No, I was fully expecting to her to come out of her dictator era, and to have some sort of well-done redemption arc that would make sense and add depth to her as character. But much like Vi, her character just wasn't given that space because it was a lot of moving from one plot point to the other without being given time to breathe.

This isn't even about disliking or liking Caitlyn as a character, I personally have always been fond of her and even identified with her to an extent; it's really about not agreeing with how her arc was handled and the greater implications of it.

Sidebar: And let's keep this a buck-fifty - y'all only make this argument because you like Caitlyn or identify with her in some way. Other characters simply do not get that same grace. A lot of you who make this argument are the same ones that pop blood vessels over Ambessa to the point where people can't even express interest in Ambessa as a character without you jumping down their throats.

[balanceoflightanddark]

Why a Redemption Arc for Azula is Important for Me

I've said it before and I'll say it again in the future. When it comes to the discussion for Azula and redemption, I am firmly in the pro-camp. Now people like myself have made countless arguments in the past for why Azula should be redeemed: she's not irredeemable, it would fit perfectly within the narrative themes of ATLA, and it would be a powerful and impactful story for many of us.

(spoilered for personal issues)

The last one I feel is especially important. Now I can't speak for others, but I can speak for myself. I've...come out as autistic in the past. I've had a habit of considering myself to be a perfectionist, often to my own detriment. For a long time, I had a serious time coming out with my problems cause I was paranoid the whole world was out to get me. And...I've had breakdowns and self-identified as a monster.

Sound familiar?

I'm in a better place now mentally, but I'm just using my own past as an example of what I'm talking about. Azula's story hits on a lot of these themes, and a whole lot more that I probably haven't covered. You could even say I see a lot of myself in her and whatnot.

But what I think would most be impactful would be...well, you see her chained to a grate and balling her eyes out to a bloodred sky. It's images like that that scar you no matter how old you get. So many people believe that once you hit the bottom like that, you can't come back. You're condemned and the whole world treats you like the monster you are. I've been there. More times than I can count. And I like to believe a lot of people have been in that place too.

What a redemption arc for Azula would say is...you can move past that.

You can heal. Be better. Change. That no matter what trauma the world throws at you, you can be all the more stronger. Cause yeah, the world CAN be pretty dark sometimes. But that doesn't mean you can't get back up.

And I want to believe that her final scenes wasn't there just for the sake of tragedy. I mean, she is a tragic villain. Obviously. But maybe, somehow, this indoctrinated child soldier can be better than what the world gave her. I have to believe in that. Otherwise, all that pain would've been for nothing.

But that's just me rambling. Let me know what you think down below.

[klausysworld]

Any chance of something With Klaus and reader, where reader is worried about how much time Klaus and Cami spend together, but Klaus plus everyone tells her not to worry. It their anniversary and reader is all ready for the night out that Klaus has planned but Klaus doesn’t show and comes home to find reader asleep on their bed still dressed in her gorgeous dress it then he remembers their anniversary.

You were with Cami

Pt 2

For weeks i had listened to the entire Mikaelson family had been persuading me that Klaus was loyal and would never do anything to harm me.

See he’d been spending the majority of his time with his new friend Camille, i’ve met her a few times and she’s so unbelievably nice. Like she’s polite, smiles, gives her perfect opinions and makes everything laugh. And just to top it off she likes me, decided we should be friends too. We even went out for lunch. She’s lovely. I would want her too. And i hate her for that.

It’s wrong to be mad at her but she must know that she’s some what harming mine and Klaus’s relationship. You can’t be giggling at every little thing he says with your hand on his bicep without knowing that you’re flirting.

One time she kissed his cheek right in front of me, she gave me such a kind smile i would have looked like a dick if i didn’t return it. When i brought it up to Klaus he told me i was being dramatic and needed to ‘calm down’

Somehow i’m not allowed to talk to a single being of the male community but if i get upset over him dancing with a gorgeous blond then i’m being jealous and pathetic. I thought at least Elijah would back me up being the ‘feminist’ he says he is but noooo “Niklaus loves you y/n, you’re imagining things. You’re hid redemption and you can’t be thinking silly things, it will ruin your relationship”

Well bet they weren’t prepared for me storming through the compound in a very expensive body con dress. One i had spent hours choosing so that my own boyfriend or whatever he was meant to be would notice me

See he had asked me to meet him at this restaurant and let me just say it was nice restaurant with a lot of snobs sat in it. Lets imagine the immense embarrassment i felt when i sat waiting at a table for over 4 hours. Thankfully the waiter was sympathetic and felt bad so he gave me some free drinks. I actually ended up having a pretty good chat with him, his fiancé had left him a week before their wedding, i think we both cried a little too much and the people in there did not like us.

Once the place closed i came back to the compound and the second i stepped foot inside it seemed to hit me again. He left me alone, no text, no call, no excuses. I was holding together until the other Mikaelsons came into view and Rebekah just had to mention him

“where’s Nik? i thought you two would’ve been back ages ago”

and i burst into tears. I saw the panic in all their faces as they quickly went to comfort me. Rebekah wrapped her arm around me and Kol took my hand but i shoved both of them off

“no! none of you get to pretend you care anymore, you all knew didn’t you? you knew he was with her, knew he wouldn’t come to be with me because why would he anymore!? And i swear if anyone of you says that i make him a better person i think i might just scream, i am not his redemption and i don’t mean anything to him anymore, your entire family is one big lie, you’re all liars and i hate all of you, i’m staying the night and that’s only because i have drank way too much to be driving but i don’t want any of you saying goodbye because i will be gone by the time you wake up and yes Elijah i know you get up fucking early” half of my words were definitely slurred but i think the message was clear regardless as i made my way upstairs and collapsed on Klaus and i’s bed. The bed that i thought we would both come back to, instead i was cold, alone and drunk.

———————————————————————

(third person)

Klaus had just got home to three nervous siblings. Elijah was pacing the length of the living area while Kol chugged his scotch and Rebekah chewed at her once perfectly manicured nails. Klaus narrowed his eyes as they all froze upon his arrival

“who did something stupid?” he asked with a sigh and Kol hesitantly raised his hand

“don’t dagger me but um i think you did…”

“what?”

“i’d check upstairs if i were you”

and so he did

Klaus turned the light on only to find his love curled up in a beautiful tight dress and a tear stained face. It took him a minute before he finally realised what had happened

“no no no no” he whispered as he lifted her passed out body, the smell of alcohol was strong as he held her in his arms

“oh my love, please forgive me” he uttered as he peppered her face with kisses

“i’m so sorry” he told her despite her unconscious state.

“you look so gorgeous sweetheart, you look like an angel” he whispered rocking her gently

“i’m going to make this all up to you when you wake up, i promise you y/n, i love you so so much” he carefully removed her dress and slipped one of his shirts onto her, he wiped her once flawless makeup off of her face

“i’m so sorry” he repeated continuously while getting her ready, slipping her heels from her feet and taking out her elegantly styled hair before brushing it through and plaiting it for her. He didn’t bother changing his clothes as he got into bed and held her as close to him as he could

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t with you”

“you were with Cami” she tiredly uttered, still pretty much unconscious though that didn’t stop the flow of tears in her sleep. His heart hurt as he heard her broken voice

“i’ll never speak to her again, i’ll never see her again” he promised both her and himself

“i love you” he muttered kissing her lips softly

[boundless11]

just to add your post(s) about sam's reactions to and treatment of tory and how the writers are obviously trying to make her seem mature: it's working. she is very clearly behaving in a mature manner and she is being the bigger person, rather than being hurt about anything, and so we are expected to sit back and admire how much she's grown. but the writers have no choice but to make her act this way, because if she acted irrationally or was rightfully upset by honestly anything tory had done, she would be vilified by the fandom for being immature, entitled and annoying. the fandom just has an unjust hatred for her so unfortunately (partly due to the show's creators digging their own hole thru their own writing), that seems like the only option for her. she's not allowed to emote or be anything but perfect, especially in the face of tory's objectively tragic circumstances, so reacting like a normal teenager/human might is no longer feasible if they want fans to root for sam in any capacity. just frustrates me how this fandom treats female characters, especially sam

Sam has always been mature—it’s been part of her character arc since the beginning. She’s caring, empathetic and has consistently learned from her mistakes. The narrative in earlier seasons established this, but some fans—particularly Tory, Hawk and even some Miguel fans—seem to overlook it entirely. It’s frustrating because they refuse to acknowledge the harm characters like Tory and Hawk have caused and instead, they unfairly criticise Sam for standing up for herself or deciding enough is enough.

Let’s not forget: Sam was physically cut by Tory, yet we’re supposed to feel sorry for Tory because of her difficult home life? A rough home life doesn’t give anyone the right to hurt others. Somehow, Tory comes along and suddenly the narrative flips, with Sam painted as the bad guy. It’s infuriating how any time Sam shows emotion, fights back, or expresses frustration, she’s labeled as “spoiled” or “uncaring.” God forbid she calls out Tory’s behaviour—because if she does, the haters descend in full force.

And the fandom’s unjust hatred for Sam? That’s absolutely on the writers and creators. They’ve put Sam in an impossible position. If she reacts like a normal teenager or dares to be upset by anything Tory has done, she’s vilified as immature or annoying. To make matters worse, the creators leaned into this dynamic by casting Peyton List, knowing her huge social media following would attract more viewers. Instead of seeing balanced conversations, it’s become a popularity contest and fans weaponise their bias against Sam and even Mary Mouser, with disgusting comments about how Sam “isn’t hot enough” or is “too spoiled.”

As for Tory’s redemption arc—it feels completely forced. Just because she has a tough home life doesn’t mean she deserves to win every fight or the tournament. These moments should be about skill, growth and fair competition, not just rewarding a character because of their circumstances. The constant coddling of Tory’s character undermines the stakes of the story and unfairly diminishes Sam’s journey and it’s incredibly frustrating to see.

[felicjana050896]

Hell's Great Dad Song: Charlastor's Analysis (Part 2)

Here's part 1:

Coming back after a break, first for a good mood, the second best character after Alastor in HH (in my opinion):

Lucifer!!!

Cap crushing ;)

And fixing :D

Aside from another big lie and blatantly showing that Alastor is saying this because of Lucifer (his gaze on Lucifer instead of focusing on Charlie if he was actually directing it at her), we don't see Charlie's face here, which if anything is done on purpose because in at this point, Charlie probably wanted to vomit from disgust because of these words :D

Of course, another lie, because Alastor doesn't want to be her assistant, he doesn't want to be at her service, he wants her to be at his service.

In this last shot, let's take a look at the hotel presented by Alastor:

And let's compare it with a photo of the actual hotel:

In the original hotel, on the top of the roof on the left and right we have some kind of horns, similar in shape to Charlie's horns (and Lucifer's horns), because she is the owner of the hotel, in Alastor's vision, these horns turn into deer horns, of course, which shows his desire for power not so much over the hotel , but over Charlie.

Sir Pent's ship, if in the series we also see this ship with an open mouth:

In Alastor's version, he has his tongue stuck out :D

Moreover, it is interesting that we have two pairs of three arrows on the hotel, one pointing to the hotel entrance (Charlie) and the other to the radio tower (Alastor).

Here again a lie, Alastor is a predator and one who in my opinion prefers to spend a little more and try harder to get something he wants, straight paths bore him, I think that even though it is a lie (on Alastor's part), it can be the implication that Charlie may ultimately be more of a challenge than he assumes.

True, we know that Alastor loves his mother very much, but what about his father..., I once read a theory that his father could be a bad person, that he could abuse his family and who knows..., maybe it's true.

Again true, but... Alastor didn't include himself or Niffty in the sketches behind him, this could mean that he doesn't see himself and Niffty as part of this 'family', but it could also mean (due to him being at the front sketches, not next to her) that he sees himself as someone more important to Charlie, he is right in the center, in front of her and he is and should be the most important to her, it can also mean both of these things.

Also, first we have Sir Pent, the first dead and the first to go to heaven, this could be the order of death and ascent, if Angel dies next (and I think there is a high probability of that, because first: Angel is really trying to be better and actually he wants this redemption; secondly, we saw his sister, Molly in heaven:

she even stands out specially from the other characters in the frame, so we will definitely have her in s2. Plus Viv said that the second season will focus more on Vees, which means something could happen to Val, he is the one who is most likely to go to the fire in my opinion (sorry, but I don't believe in Val's redemption, in my opinion he has to die), because of the harassment Angel, he even lick Charlie..., I have a feeling that Val will die in s2, and Angel will then be free and will be redeemed.

Then we have Husker, I see Huskerdust's realationship, I also see that Husker's death after Angel makes sense, the only question is what about his contract with Alastor..., I don't see that having a contract, having sold a soul, someone can ascend to heaven, first the contract needs to get rid of, Alastor is the main character along with Charlie so he won't die halfway through the story, so somehow Husker will have to regain his freedom from Alastor, the question is how?

And the last Vaggie, if this is indeed a foreshadowing of their death and ascent, then Vaggie will return to heaven too..., I recently wrote a post about Alastor trying to steal Charlie:

so the last death and rise of Vaggie would make sense if Alastor wins (because somehow I don't think Charlie will leave hell, and I don't believe in long-distance relationships :P ). You can also see it here:

On one side we have Vaggie, on the other side we have Alastor and Niffty, Charlie is facing Alastor and Niffty, and Lucifer (the angel) is facing Vaggie.

Or here:

First we focus on Vaggie, but soon the frame enters:

Alastor(!!!) and Vaggie is already further, behind him, the frame stops focusing on her. Alastor enters Charlie's space and the relationship between Charlie and Vaggie, followed closely by, of course:

Niffty, which, as I also said in my previous post (which I linked above), is important, just like KeeKee.

Coming to the end of the song, Alastor and his ego... whatever he gets involved in (even if he's not the first) he has to finish ;)

And finally, beautiful photos of Angel straight from his door :D

Thank you for reading and have a nice day, evening or night :)

[ruinofchimera]

It’s more convenient for me to analyze these arguments in depth in a separate post, so here we are. 1.

This is almost exactly what I’m suggesting, but you’ve managed to twist it. I wonder what exactly was so funny about Severus being attacked, humiliated, and threatened. In addition to this whole very “comical” situation, he was her friend. Let’s not forget this little detail. If this reaction seems absolutely reasonable to you, well, I wouldn’t envy your friends. I would never forgive such a reaction to my public humiliation, but maybe we have different standards for what should be called friendship.

In fact, she did join the mockery. Doesn't the use of a derogatory nickname, in addition to the mockery of his clothes, illustrate this enough? No, of course not, because she was just acting on emotion.

2.

Yes, I’m implying that Lily should have handled this situation with complete grace. Why shouldn’t she have, if she is the saintly and morally pure person you make her out to be? Why wouldn’t anyone expect her to be completely calm and polite in this situation? You expect exactly the same from a guy who was bullied and threatened in front of everyone. What are these double standards? Let’s make up our minds whether people still have the right to let loose emotions when they are being mentally destroyed, or whether there is no such right.

You state that Severus' words are not just a random insult, but a full attack on her identity and a bold sign that Severus associates himself with blood purists. You believe that this outburst of anger defines Severus. It doesn’t matter that he’s mentally broken at the moment. No. He had to behave with grace. He had to remain calm and polite. However, how he acted instead is seen as nothing more than malicious intent and a calculated situation (lmao, him being a mudblood too—and yes, anyone except pure-bloods is considered a mudblood by blood purists—definitely only confirms that his insult was well-considered and all). But does Lily play by some other rules? Doesn’t the same logic apply to her? Interesting. And I ask you to stop underestimating the power of bullying and abuse. That’s hardly on the same level, huh? If you're going to go into the emotional damage that Snape caused Lily with his insult, I can do the same. Severus’s mental state, already fragile from years of bullying and struggles with identity, was crushed even further by the realization that his only friend used the same cruel nickname his bullies had used to degrade him for years. Oh, and somehow she even managed to come up with a brand-new mockery to double the pile of bullying. She witnessed his public humiliation but joined the abusers at the first opportunity. And, of course, Severus’s trauma doesn’t mean anything. Only Lily’s trauma counts, given your constant highlighting of her hurt. 3.

No, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think she’s a hypocrite for rejecting Severus’s apology after everything. I implied that she was a hypocrite because she forgave James, who never even apologized for his behavior. And this whole idea that she started dating him only after he changed and became valiant is not supported by anything at all. Sirius and Remus pointed out that James continued his bullying—just not on dates with her, but behind her back. Anyway, I don't really care about Lily's love choices. She has the freedom to believe in James' redemption, just as she has the freedom to reject Severus' apology. And she was not obliged to stick around. I've written this I don't know how many times, and I have little faith that this will be the last time because you people are still ignoring it. I wasn’t talking about their reunion; I was talking about a sense of remorse. Whether Lily forgave Snape or not, he felt guilty about his behavior and apologized. Lily never did. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong, and this is a significant difference between them. They both followed their emotions and hurt each other, but only one of them repented. Such things, whether you like it or not, say a lot. 4.

I hate to judge something by how it’s talked about. Show, don't tell, you know? The characterization of anything will vary greatly depending on the narrator and their biases. We explore the story through Harry’s eyes and hear the perspective of his father’s friends. If we were to study the story through Draco’s eyes and hear his father’s perspective on the events, I’m sure many things wouldn’t match. And this is the natural state of affairs. So forgive me if I don’t remember a single scene where Lily behaved like a good friend, and therefore I’m skeptical when someone proclaims her to be one. The fact that she justified her friendship with Severus to others can have a very double meaning. The fact that she defended him is also very questionable if she did so in the manner shown in the only scene of her "heroism." For me, this is all unconvincing, especially when, in contrast, we have the precedent of Sirius and James' friendship, which in some ways mirrors the situation of Lily and Severus, except for the differences that actually define the concept of friendship. Both Sirius and Severus grew up in abusive families, both had dark tendencies that were just expressed in different ways. But Potter stayed loyal to Black after the Prank, even though James was forced to sort out the situation by himself. Apparently, for James, the bond with Sirius was more important than punishing him for his recklessness, and this bond wasn’t broken. When Sirius finally decided to run away from home, he ended up with the Potters because he knew that James was fully aware of his family’s atrocities and, more importantly, ready to shield him from it. I could go into this for a very long time, but my main point is that I have no doubt James was a good friend. And I don’t even need to hear Sirius praise him for this. Show, don’t tell—this is exactly the case. Everything that has been shown of Severus and Lily’s friendship seems disturbing, and not just because of Severus' actions. That was the point of my previous post. 5.

Well, I started my original post with the phrase, "If you want to talk about her toxic friendship with Snape, don’t try to erase her contribution to the equation." Toxic friendship (mind that I didn’t say that only Lily was a toxic friend) and contribution to the equation (not her fault for ruining their friendship) are the key words. Lily Evans was the focus of my thoughts, but not the scapegoat. Don’t confuse these things. I didn’t delve deeply into Severus' contribution (though I haven’t ignored it in my post) because I’m not new to the fandom. In the more than 12 years I’ve been here, I’m well aware that the incident with the slur has been covered as much as possible.

Moreover, it is actively used as a way to shut down any discussion about Snape, conveniently omitting that Lily was, in fact, an active participant in this unhealthy dynamic, not a victim. And yeah, she wasn’t a good friend.

Although it depends on everyone’s understanding of friendship, I admit that some may consider her approach to friendship to be worthy. But again, you need to make up your mind: if Lily has the right not to be held accountable for her emotional outburst, then Severus does too. If the circumstances don’t mitigate words spoken in a state of distress, then Lily is responsible for her sudden bullying. Otherwise, it’s hypocrisy. I’m not going to be convinced that Lily was a suffering friend, if only because I’m fortunate enough to know what real friendship and support look like. Their friendship was toxic, but not solely at Severus' hands. He misstepped, and so did she. He apologized, she did not. That’s pretty much the whole story.

[inuhalfdemon]

Lucifer and Alastor x Reader

Prompt via ask from @nyx91

Reader w/ health issue involving heart

________________________________________________

"She should get up and walk. Some fresh air might do her good." Lucifer suggests.

"Walking is what made her get so dizzy that she collapsed, you ass." Alastor tells him; he is carefully laying you down on the couch in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.

"I just thought it might help!" Lucifer is defensive. "I don't know... I've never been sick! Lilith's never been sick...Hell, Charlie was never sick!"

"Tough love is hardly the balm she needs..." Alastor is knelt by the couch beside you, he brushes the bangs from your eyes, tucking the hair back. "And, she's not sick... she has a heart condition. She just had an attack. She told us about it when she first arrived; you don't recall?"

"I don't know...I thought it was something that was supposed to make finding redemption harder for her...like, she couldn't feel love or...her heart was two sizes too small, or-"

"You thought she was The Grinch?" Alastor hissed at him, adjusting the pillows underneath your head now. Alastor notices you are clenching your hands; that you are pale and have a slick sheen of sweat across your face and forehead.

"Make yourself useful and come over here. Fresh air isn't a bad idea; fan her with your wings." Alastor tells Lucifer.

Lucifer quickly brings his wings out, stepping back, he creates a wafting wind that is cool against your heated skin and somehow eases the tightness in your chest.

"Is she running a fever!? We could shock her system...dunk her in ice water. Or do we need leeches?" Lucifer wondered, still waving his wings.

"Luci, if I'm ever ailing and there's only you to take care of me...stay the fuck away from me." Alastor growled.

"She's in pain."

Alastor thinks of something, and he asks you, "Do you take medication, dear? Would it help now?" You nod, but the thought of having to make it up the stairs to your hotel room is too overwhelming. Alastor nods back, understanding the worried look in your eyes. "I can fetch it for you. If you don't mind, of course." You tell him in what room, where it is and he stands up.

"Don't try to help while I'm gone. Just keep doing that." Alastor directed him, quickly disappearing into shadow.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, still moving his wings and folding his arms.

He's grumbling but you manage to catch, "....bossy motherfucker..."

Alastor is back right away; finding just what you needed. He manifests a glass of water for you, conjuring it smoothly with a snap of his fingers and a puff of green. He hands everything to you. 

"I'm really not good with this sort of...stuff." Lucifer confesses, feeling awkward with not having helped much.

"Why would you be?" Alastor asked him and you think the next thing he says will be coated in snark but, "You've never had ailments...neither did Lilith. Charlie is Hellborn. You've never had to really think about it... I, myself, was often sick as a child. I know what something like this feels like..."

After awhile, you start to feel a little bit better. Your chest isn't as tight and the pain is subsiding. You're no longer pale or sweating so you tell Lucifer that he's ok to stop fanning you now.

"Are you hungry? Or do you need anything else?" Alastor asks you, noting that you are improving. You tell them no... you're still dizzy, disoriented and feeling nauseous...but, you'd appreciate their company.

Lucifer smiles, folding his wings away he comes to sit beside the couch next to Alastor. "That I can do. You know, I've got loads of stories... there's one where I went down to Georgia, and I was looking for a soul to steal..."

Alastor rolls his eyes.

You know this one, of course, but Lucifer is happy to tell it and you're glad for the distraction...and the companionship.