#so her absence was very notable

[witchblade]

i remember the will smith fish movie being turned into a homemade printed and stapled book of screenshots and christianfied but i dont remember how

[wonder-worker]

are there any books you'd recommend for Isabelle of Angouleme?

Hi! I’m really not an expert on Isabella of Angouleme so I'm probably not the best person to ask for recommendations for her. Here are some I've heard of, though I haven't read all of them:

"Isabella of Angouleme: John's Jezebel" by Nicholas Vincent (King John: New Interpretations). I haven't read it myself but I've heard good things!

“Maternal Abandonment and Surrogate Caregivers: Isabella of Angoulême and Her Children by King John” by Louise J. Wilkinson (Virtuous or Villainess? The Image of the Royal Mother from the Early Medieval to the Early Modern Era). It focuses more-so on Isabella's tenure as queen, the period shortly after John's death, and her decision to leave England. Despite what the title may imply, it's sympathetic to Isabella and analyzes her situation in detail.

“Co-Operation, Co-Rulership and Competition: Queenship in the Angevin Domains 1135-1230” by Gabrielle Storey, her PHD thesis which collectively focuses on Isabella of Angouleme along with Empress Matilda, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Berengaria of Navarre. You can read/download it here, it's an excellent piece for all four women.

Sally Spong has written/is writing:

Isabella of Angouleme: The Vanished Queen (Norman to Early Plantagenet Consorts). You can see her conclusion here. It's nuanced and sympathetic, though not without its issues and pre-conceived notions.

Isabella of Gloucester and Isabella of Angouleme: Female Lordship, Queenship, Power, and Authority 1189-1220 (PHD thesis University of East Anglia).

“Isabelle d’Angouleme, By the Grace of God, Queen” by William Chester Jordan. You can read it online here, though I will say that it's ... very very questionable, accepting the sensational claims of lot of unreliable sources (including the idea of John abducting Isabella in a fit of uncontrollable infatuation) entirely at face-value.

“The Marriage and Coronation of Isabelle of Angouleme” by H.G. Richardson, available here on JSTOR.

Isabella has also been the subject of two complete French biographies till date:

"Isabelle d’Angoulême, reine d’Angleterre" (Aquitaine: 1998) by Sophie Fougere.

"Isabelle d’Angoulême, comtesse-reine et son temps (1186-1246)" [Actes du colloque tenu à Lusignan, 8 au 10 novembre 1996] by Gabriel Biancotto, Robert Favreau and Piotr Skubiszewski.

There are also a few blog posts about her (here and here) which may help if you want a brief overview of her life, though they can get a little sensationalistic sometimes.

Hope this helps! If anyone knows any others, please feel free to add on!

[sp0o0kylights]

“Dustin isn’t coming.”

“What?” Eddie says, all frantic and jovial movements freezing instantly.

His eyes narrow on Lucas--the bearer of bad news. “Why?” 

“Family emergency.” 

Mike makes a face. “I saw his mom yesterday and she was fine, so is this a…?” 

He makes a gesture that is entirely incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t Sinclair and his terrifying girlfriend.

(At least, Eddie thinks Max is Lucas’s girlfriend this week. It got a little hard to keep up after the third break-up-make-up marathon, and he frankly, stopped bothering to try.

It helped that she barely spoke--The only time notable being when Eddie had mockingly asked Sinclair if he needed a cheerleader when she’d first sat in, upon which she’d asked Eddie if he needed new kneecaps with a look in her eye that said she was serious.)

Wheeler Jr.’s gesture however, made her put her book down.

“You think he’s having migraines again?” She not so much asked as demanded, which had Mike shrugging. 

“Dunno." Lucas says. "Dustin didn’t say.” 

“Gotta be, if he called Dustin.” Mike mutters, Lucas shuffling his papers about as he begins to set up for Hellfire. He was the last in the room, practically late, which Eddie had planned on harassing him for had he not announced Henderson’s absence. 

(Fucking freshmen. They just weren’t terrified of Eddie like they used to be.) 

 “Robin must be sick or something, otherwise he’d call her.”  Lucas finishes as he finally sits down. 

“Didn’t the Marching Band go on some trip?” Mike turns to address the rest of the table, and gets nods from Jeff and Gareth both. 

“Yeah they’re marching in some parade in Indianapolis.” Jeff confirms. 

“So his last resort was Dustin?” Max is getting that tone in her voice, the one that makes everyone at Hellfire very uncomfortable. “Typical.” 

She pushes away from the table, making a show of gathering up her things before rising easily to her feet.

Eddie trades looks with the elder Hellfire members as she makes her exit--the kind that says they’re all going to be talking about this later. 

They knew their freshmen had some weird obsession with the former King, of course, but Mayfield too?

What the hell was up with that guy?

At least Eddie thinks, right before things are once again shot to shit, they can go back to playing the game.

He can make it work this early into things, and if Henderson isn't’ a fan of what he’s about to do to the kid’s character in his absence, well. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be fucking absent then. 

“So what, Max, you're gonna go over there and make it worse?” Mike snorts. 

Fatal mistake.

Eddie almost strangles him for it, if only because it prolongs this entire unnecessary conversation. 

Max performs a military perfect heel turn, coming straight back for Wheeler Jr., which makes him right about fall out of his seat in panic. 

“What was that, Wheeler?” 

“I’m just saying--!” 

“We don’t know Steve’s having migraines.” Lucas reiterates, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s something else.” 

“Does Steve get migraines a lot?” Grant asks, because despite all appearances he’s a terrible gossip and gets sucked in far too easily.

Eddie throws a pencil at him for it. 

“Hel-looo, we have a game!?” He thunders, but unfortunately for him, precious Stevie-Weavies headache now has everyone’s attention. 

“Yeah, though he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t.” Lucas answers with a put upon sigh. 

“There’s a whole pattern--he ignores it until it gets super bad, then he has to call Robin or Dustin to come get him when he inevitably gets stranded at work or the like, grocery store.” 

“Well who else do you think he’d call?” Mike scoffs again. He does a lot of that, when discussing Harrington. “It’s not like his parents are--Ow, Max!” 

“Close your mouth before I close it for you.” She hisses and Mike, shockingly, does just that. 

To Eddie, she says; 

“Your ass isn’t any better, or did you forget I live across from you?” 

Eddie--who had an insult primed and ready--promptly shuts his mouth.

(Fucking! Asshole! Freshmen!) 

“Maybe I should go too.” Lucas says, hedging a look between his girlfriend and his DM. 

“No.” She snaps, pointing a finger at him.

 “If you go, then this idiot,” she flicks her finger to  Mike, “will go and then we really will make it worse. Stay here before your bichon frise has a fit about all his sheep abandoning him.”

Then she’s turning on her heel again, storming out. 

“What the hell’s a bichon frisé?” Gareth asks in the aftermath, frowning. 

“It’s a type of ahhhh--” Jeff clearly thinks better of the explanation, eyes sliding to Eddie.

Who’s scowling.

“I know what a bichon frisé is, Jeff.” He snaps. 

“I don’t.” Grant loudly complains. 

Jeff attempts to both calm Eddie and explain while Mike and Lucas spend far too many minutes looking after Max. 

“Enough!” Eddie howls, temper finally getting the best of him. “Are we playing or do you also need to go sit by the King’s bedside?”  

“Thank you,” Mike says, like he wasn’t a third of the entire problem. “Let’s play!”

They make it about ten entire minutes before getting knocked off track again. 

In fairness, not that Eddie would ever admit it--the second meltdown is his own fault.

xXx

Hellfire is Eddie’s domain. 

It’s one of the few places where he could relax without getting harassed or hounded, and having his freshmen--his!--abandon him for King Fucking Steve had set him off. 

So he’d made a few comments about it.

Maybe introduced an NPC who sounded suspiciously similar to Harrington, only to instantly kill him off. 

Made another couple of nasty comments. 

Who cares? It worked him through his snit rather nicely, and his boys all knew to leave him be.

Except, apparently, for Lucas. 

“Dude, would you lay off?”  The kid finally snaps, pencil slamming down on the table. 

Which is the most backbone-like thing anyone has ever heard Sinclair say, and he gets far more whistles for it than he should.

Eddie pins him in place with a glare. 

“What was that Sinclair?” He snarls, voice as menacing as he can make it.

(It’s pretty terrifying, he’s practiced quite a bit with it.) 

Sinclair flinches, but doesn’t back down. 

“I said lay off. Steve has migraines because of--” He stops, before seeming to come to a decision. “Because of me. He took a hit for me, and I owe him a life debt for it.” 

To Eddie, he says; “You get what those are, right?” 

Mike rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t just for you--”

“That time with Billy was!” Lucas is quick to snarl. “But you know what Mike, you’re right. It wasn’t just for me. He T-boned a car for all of us!” 

Sinclaire is on his feet now, which is the unfortunate moment that Eddie realizes he has once again lost control of the room. 

A situation he firmly blames on Steve Harrington, because he’s petty. 

“Or did you forget that part? That’s you, me, Will, Nancy and Jonathan right there! Nevermind the tunnel. Or the junkyard! 

“We had the junkyard handled--”

Lucas scoffs. 

“We absolutely did not.” 

“I don’t get why you’re all making such a big deal out of this. He’s the fighter. That’s what he does. That’s why we brought him to the tunnel.”

“You recall what happened at Starcourt, right?” Lucas challenges, furious. “You did see him after, right?” 

This, finally, seems to shut Mike up. 

“Shouldn’t you be mad at him for that?” He says after a moment, and the rest of Hellfire has completely put aside all actual gaming to watch this play out with a morbid sort of fascination. 

Eddie allows it, only because he’s trying to breathe the way Wayne taught him to before he loses it entirely and throws both of the idiot kids out of the drama room. 

“He pulled your sister into it.”

“Have you met Erica!? You can’t pull her into shit!” Lucas spits furiously. “That wasn’t D&D, Mike. It was the Upsi--real life.” 

Lucas is quick to correct himself, even in the heat of the moment--as all the kids are, like the entire school hasn’t clocked that they have some weird ass secret they’re terrible at hiding.

“And if we’re playing those games, then who pulled him into the tunnels? Who made him come to the junkyard?”

“Dustin.” Mike says snidely. 

“You don’t get to blame Dustin when Steve was the only person around.” 

“There were people around! They just weren’t people who--weren’t--who couldn’t--”

“Finish that sentence.” Lucas demands 

“Be trusted.” Mike spits out, like it hurts him. 

“Exactly.” 

“El went through way more than Steve ever has! El--”

“El was using her po--doing mage things! And also, she shouldn’t have had to go through all this shit either! We can’t rely on her to save the day every single time, Mike--and look at how hurt she gets!”

“She--”

“She hides it from you, you know. How bad she hurts. Cause she wants to put your feelings first.” 

“I--”

“Will does too.”  Is Lucas’s parting shot. His backpack is in his hands in a blink, papers and character figure shoved wildly into it, before he’s storming out the door in a poor mimicry of Mayfield.

“Harrington T-Boned a car?” Grant says, in the resounding silence. 

“That BMW of his hasn’t had a scratch on it--” Jeff says, with an inquisitive tilt to his head. 

“He didn’t use the Beamer.” Mike interrupts, angry and sulking. “Are we playing or not?”

“I’m gonna say not, given we are down two players.’ Eddie tells him through clenched teeth. 

“I’m going to be so mad if Steve doesn��t have a migraine.” Mike grumbles, as he begins packing up his stuff. 

The rest of Hellfire follow his lead, after one look at Eddie’s face convince the lot of them that it’s best to flee now, before Eddie unleashes all his pent up rage. 

“Not as mad as I’ll be, Wheeler.” Eddie promises darkly.

And it is a promise--because now, he’s going to follow all his stupid (sans Mike, who isn’t in his good graces either but at least stayed) freshmen--and go visit one fallen King.

If Harrington doesn’t have a headache now, he will when Eddie’s done with him.

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Pretty Lady

Summary - Escaping the clamour of a celebration, she unexpectedly encounters young Rickon, who instantly takes a liking to her. Their surprising bond captures Cregan's attention, setting the stage for a night of subtle revelations and newfound connections.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2352

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Cregan Stark, known for his modesty, seldom hosted grand celebrations. However, his name day was a notable exception, a rare moment where he allowed himself to revel in extravagance.

The occasion was so grand that even I, sister to one of Cregan's closest companions found myself swept up in the festivity.

My brother's persuasion had been all it took for me to accept the invitation. The feast was nothing short of magnificent, music filled the air, the wine flowed freely, and dancing was unceasing. 

However, a noticeable absence marred the evening, there were very few female guests present. Given that Cregan was a young lord without a lady of the house, it was no surprise that the guest list had been crafted with little regard for balancing the genders.

"Do not look so glum," my brother's voice jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see him swaying slightly, clearly tipsy.

"You're drunk," I remarked, raising an eyebrow as I observed his slightly unfocused gaze. He just shrugged, unfazed.

"I'm heading out for a bit. This hall is stifling," I said, making to leave. He rolled his eyes but reminded me to stay close.

Grateful for a break from the oppressive heat, I wandered into the cooler corridors, enjoying the solitude. The calm was abruptly shattered by a soft, plaintive cry. Pausing, I glanced back toward the din of the celebration, but the sound came again. 

Curious, I followed the cries and pushed open a heavy door leading into a nursery.

Inside, the scene was heart-wrenching. A small boy sat amidst scattered toys, tears streaking his cheeks.

"What's the matter, little one?" I asked softly, moving towards him with careful steps to avoid startling him. His tearful eyes met mine, and he reached out his arms in a silent plea. I gently picked him up, settling him on my hip as his sobs began to subside.

"What's your name, sweetling?" I inquired, tenderly wiping away his remaining tears.

"Rickon," he murmured, and I felt a jolt of recognition. This was the young son of Cregan.

"Well, little lord, why are you crying?" I asked, glancing down at the toy clutched in his tiny hands, which was broken in two.

"That's an easy fix," I said, setting him gently on the floor and joining him. I took the broken toy, skillfully reassembling it. Rickon's face lit up with joy as he clapped his hands.

"Thank you," he mumbled, throwing himself into my arms. 

I caught him with a laugh, settling him comfortably in my lap as he resumed playing. I ran my fingers through his soft hair, humming a soothing tune.

"Isn't it bedtime, darling?" I asked gently, but Rickon shook his head vigorously, despite his drooping eyelids.

Rickon's curiosity soon got the better of him. He studied my face closely, his small fingers reaching up to poke my cheek. "Pretty," he declared, his eyes twinkling with innocent admiration.

I couldn't help but laugh, a warm, genuine sound that seemed to brighten the dimly lit room. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" I said, giving his nose a playful tickle.

Before Rickon could respond, the door creaked open, and I turned to see who had entered. Startled, I instinctively tightened my hold on Rickon. To my surprise, it was Cregan himself.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes taking in the unexpected scene. For a moment, his stern expression softened as he observed me with his young son. There was a flicker of amusement in his gaze, mingled with a hint of curiosity.

"It seems my name day celebration has been graced by an unexpected guest," he said, his tone laced with gentle teasing, aware of the effort it took my brother to persuade me to attend.

I rose to my feet, Rickon still nestled comfortably in my arms. "He was upset, and I was just trying to help," I explained, feeling a bit self-conscious under Cregan's scrutiny.

Cregan smiled a rare and genuine expression that lit up his face. "I'm glad you did. Rickon's usually very shy around strangers, so your kindness has meant a lot."

Rickon's eyes were bright as he looked up at his father. "Lady pretty fixed my toy," he said proudly, hugging me tighter.

I couldn't help but laugh softly at Rickon's endearing declaration. As Cregan approached, he extended his arms, signalling his intent to take Rickon. However, the young boy buried his face deeper into my shoulder, clinging to me stubbornly.

"Rickon, come on," Cregan coaxed gently, trying to pry the boy away. "The pretty lady has other things to do."

At Cregan's words, Rickon's lower lip began to tremble, and soon, he was crying again, his small form shaking with the effort. I looked up at Cregan, feeling a bit flustered by our close proximity and the casual tone he had used.

"It's alright," I said softly, trying to soothe Rickon as I rocked him gently. "I don't mind staying with him a little longer. It's no trouble at all."

Cregan hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern. "I don't want to keep you from the celebration. I can call a nursemaid to come in if you'd prefer."

I shook my head, a small smile on my lips. 

"It's quite alright. I needed a break from the festivities anyway. It's how I ended up in the company of this little lord," I said, giving Rickon's nose a gentle boop, which made him giggle softly. His eyelids fluttered as he nestled against me, his small body gradually relaxing into sleep.

As I began to rock Rickon in my arms, his soft snores soon filled the room. Once I was certain he was settled comfortably in his crib, I quietly stepped back, careful not to disturb him.

Outside the nursery, Cregan joined me in the corridor. "Was something not to your liking at the feast?" he asked softly, his tone genuine but laced with curiosity.

I shook my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. "No, it was a grand affair. I didn't mean to offend you. It just seemed that the celebration was more suited for the men."

Cregan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. As we walked side by side, the soft click of our footsteps was the only sound in the quiet hallway. 

The dim light from the sconces flickered, casting a warm glow on our faces.

"It's true," Cregan admitted with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "I've always found it difficult to strike the right balance with such events."

I glanced at him, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "Well, it seems we've both found a little respite tonight, haven't we?"

Cregan's lips curled into a small, appreciative smile that seemed to soften his usually stern features. "Indeed. And I must say, your company has made the evening far more pleasant than I anticipated."

Our eyes met, and I could see the genuine warmth in his gaze. There was a flicker of something more in his expression, something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Is that so?" I teased gently, unable to resist the flirtatious tone. "I hope you're not just flattering me to ease my boredom."

Cregan chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. "I assure you, I'm not one to offer flattery lightly. Your presence has been a welcome and unexpected delight."

I felt my cheeks warm at his compliment, and I met his gaze with a mix of shyness and curiosity. "I'm glad to hear that."

We continued down the corridor, the conversation flowing easily between us. 

The earlier tension had melted away, replaced by a relaxed and genuine connection. I couldn't help but feel that the moments we shared were more than mere chance they felt like a subtle, unspoken bond forming.

When we reached the threshold of the grand hall, the sounds of revelry grew louder. My brother, clearly inebriated, suddenly appeared, lurching toward me with a broad grin plastered across his face. His arm clumsily draped over my shoulders, and his drink sloshed perilously close to spilling.

"Hello, my favourite people," he slurred, his gaze bouncing between me and Cregan. I stifled a laugh, struggling to stay upright as he leaned heavily on me.

"You are beyond saving," I said, trying to steady my brother, but he was dead weight against me. Cregan, with a practised ease, stepped forward and effortlessly took hold of my brother, guiding him away from me with a steady grip.

"I'll take him to his chambers," Cregan offered, his tone calm and assured. I exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful for his assistance.

"I suppose I'll retire for the night as well then," I said, glancing at Cregan with a warm smile. "I'll see you in the morning, Lord Stark."

Cregan's nod was accompanied by a soft, genuine smile that made my heart flutter unexpectedly. "Goodnight. Rest well."

As I watched him lead my brother away, I couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of contentment. There was something comforting in Cregan's presence.

The quiet anticipation of seeing him again tomorrow left me with a sense of warmth that lingered long after I had settled into bed.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The next morning, I walked through the halls with a smile on my face, the echoes of yesterday's revelry still fresh in my mind. As I entered the dining hall, it was already bustling with the remnants of the previous night's festivities. 

The room was a lively mix of hungover lords and weary guests, their bleary eyes and rumpled attire a testament to the previous evening's excesses.

I made my way to where my brother sat, his head resting in his hands, mumbling incoherently to himself. Unable to stifle a laugh, I took a seat beside him, the warmth of the room contrasting sharply with his evident discomfort.

"Lord Stark," I greeted, and Cregan looked up with a warm, albeit slightly amused, smile.

"Good morrow," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He seemed more refreshed than the majority of the room.

Turning to my brother, I asked, "Brother, are you alright?" I leaned in, trying to gauge his condition. He waved a hand dismissively, barely acknowledging me as he tried to right himself.

I scrunched my nose and swatted his hand away, finally earning his full attention. He looked up, his face etched with a mix of embarrassment and regret. 

"Do not ever let me drink that much again," he chided, his voice a groggy whisper.

I bit my lip, struggling to keep from laughing outright. "You were practically drowning in your cups," I teased.

Cregan, who had been watching with a hint of amusement, chuckled and added, "Indeed, you seemed to have a rather intimate relationship with the wine flagon."

My brother shot him a curious glance before turning back to me. "And where were you, may I ask?" His voice was a bit sharper now, his interest piqued.

I popped a grape into my mouth, savouring its sweetness before responding. "I was in the company of a young lord who kept me excellent company," I said, the playful tone in my voice hinting at the pleasant encounter from the previous night.

My brother sat up, his curiosity clearly aroused. "What lord?" he asked, looking from Cregan to me and back again.

Before I could answer, the young lord in question made his entrance. Rickon stumbled into the dining hall, his small figure a beacon of cheerfulness amid the sombre morning crowd. 

"Pretty lady!" he called out, his voice ringing with enthusiasm. Without hesitation, he clambered up onto my chair and into my lap.

I laughed, my heart swelling at his exuberance. "Good morrow, young lord," I murmured, brushing his tousled hair from his eyes. He beamed up at me, clearly delighted to see me.

My brother, still nursing his hangover, looked up and watched the scene with a mix of surprise and curiosity. His expression shifted from confusion to a knowing grin as he took in the interaction between Rickon and me.

"Well, it seems you've made quite an impression," my brother remarked, his voice carrying a newfound warmth and friendliness.

I smiled warmly, holding Rickon closer as he settled comfortably against me. His small hands were already exploring the folds of my dress, his contentment evident.

"Indeed," Cregan chimed in, his tone carrying a subtle note of pride. "It appears that Rickon has taken quite a liking to your sister."

His words were accompanied by a smile that seemed to linger just a moment longer than necessary, a hint of admiration in his gaze. 

"He has great taste," Cregan added smoothly, the compliment carrying an underlying charm.

My brother's head snapped towards Cregan, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "That is my sister you are talking about," he said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

Cregan merely shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he observed Rickon's playful antics. "Indeed, it is. And I stand by my statement."

As he spoke, Cregan's gaze briefly met mine. There was a warmth in his eyes, a subtle compliment that made me blush slightly. I couldn't help but feel a flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the way he looked at me as if he found something endearing in our interaction.

Rickon, oblivious to the adult conversation, continued to fidget with the folds of my dress, his laughter filling the air. The light-heartedness of the moment seemed to draw Cregan and me closer.

"Well, I must say," Cregan continued, his voice taking on a more playful tone, "your sister has quite the talent for capturing the hearts of the youngest among us. It seems to be a rare gift."

My cheeks warmed further at his words, and I glanced away momentarily, trying to hide my blush. My brother, meanwhile, looked between us with a bemused expression, clearly enjoying the exchange.

"Careful, Cregan," my brother said with a teasing glint in his eye. "You're making it sound like you've got a soft spot for my sister."

Cregan's smile broadened a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

"Well, what if I do?" he replied, his tone light but unmistakably sincere. He met my gaze again, his eyes lingering with a direct and appreciative look that made my heart race.

The playful banter and warmth between us transformed the morning's earlier chaos into a more pleasant and intimate connection. 

As we continued chatting and laughing, it was clear that a new, more direct layer of camaraderie was forming between Cregan and me, adding a fresh dimension to our interactions.

A/n - Bit choppy but I've already tried to fix it three times and now I give up

[your-local-granny]

okay before i forget. i've been trying to put my finger on why people saying phoenix and maya are 'sibling-coded' pisses me off so much and I think a big part of it is how important mia is to both their introduction and also the foundation of their relationship and how calling phoenix and maya 'siblings/sibling-coded' waters down all of their relationships

phoenix wishing that maya was mia is a very big part of maya's arc as well as a big sticking point in phoenix and maya's relationship. phoenix spends the majority of turnabout sisters wishing that 'the chief' was there and when maya fails to channel her he shows outward disappointment. this is something that maya obviously picks up on and internalizes as we see throughout the rest of the games. most notably maya shows remarkably little self-preservation, throwing herself at von Karma's taser and in contempt of court to help edgeworth (and by extent, phoenix). she openly admits to feeling useless when she can't channel mia and phoenix never refutes this out loud until he of course presents the bullet to her showing that she wasn't useless. phoenix is notably bad at expressing his thoughts/ and feelings so its honestly debatable whether this gets through to maya but thats neither here nor there

on the other side of it, maya wishes that phoenix would be the caring adult figure that she was missing for most of her life (and especially after mia dies) and phoenix does not do a great job of being that figure. he likes her sure, and they're good friends, but he's definitely not nurturing or sensitive whenever maya is in distress. at the end of turnabout sisters when mia tells maya to "take care of phoenix" for her, maya starts calling him nick (because that's what mia said phoenix's friend calls him) and their dynamic for the most part is solidified. maya is not able to find mia in phoenix and accepts him as his own person and a part of her life as a friend.

phoenix has a more complicated journey with viewing maya as her own person partially because of the whole spirit-channeling thing, and partially because maya is younger than both the chief and himself. phoenix is constantly looking to a mentor for guidance and feels out of his depth for most of the cases in the trilogy. he frequently wishes that mia could be there, and is shown to value maya's ideas less, or at the least question them more at face-value. nevertheless, by the second game phoenix relies on maya greatly as shown with how he copes (or fails to cope) with her absence in rfta and 2-4, and 3-5. phoenix views her as both an integral part of his life and support structure, but also views her as someone he has to put on a brave face for, much like pearls. maya is phoenix's young friend that he leans on and wishes to protect.

maya's love for her sister is a core theme that spans the entire trilogy and culminates in maya almost dying in 3-5. phoenix's love for mia is a constant driving force that pushes him past what he believed himself capable of, and encourages him to trust those who become those closest to him. phoenix and maya's relationship is colored by their own relationships to mia, and how they view each others relationship with mia. they both represent a part of her that they never knew as well as a part of her they can keep loving in her place after she is gone, but most importantly, neither of them will ever be mia. no one else can be maya's big sister and no one else can be phoenix's mentor. they meet each other as two strangers set adrift by the same lost mooring, and though they'll never be secure in the way they were before meeting each other, they have a friend to help keep themselves afloat.

[folkdances]

let’s talk about franziska and grief in justice for all.

the narrative that the games, at first glance, appear to be pushing is that franziska is aware edgeworth has not committed suicide. she repeatedly affirms this, most notably in turnabout bigtop, when she tells phoenix that she believes her brother to be alive and hiding somewhere. however, one thing we need to keep in mind is that franziska and edgeworth were not shown to be close in the interim between jfa and the prequel cases in aai — in fact, it would go against both their characters and the writing of their relationship for them to have kept in much contact at all.

franziska is, if anything, rooted in the past. her hair is cut almost boyishly short and choppy. she carries around a whip because she is so used to being spoken over and ignored, having started her career so young. her youth underlies her every professional achievement; and if not her youth, then her lineage. her physical design is meant to reflect the uniform of a jockey, and taking her aristocratic surname into account, it makes sense: horseback riding, obsessive as it is, remains a pastime for the social class she inhabits. it’s only logical that, in the absence of a real connection with her brother, she would base her understanding of his character on the most recent version of him that she knows, being the vain and easily affronted rookie prosecutor wracked between ambition and guilt that she grew up with. she has no way to know how to fill in the gaps between a suicide note and the brother she knew, because to her, there is no gap to fill in; it seems a logical conclusion to her brother's story and life that he would rather run away than face his own failures. it is consistent with the younger version of edgeworth that we see in trials and tribulations. it is difficult to reconcile that individual with someone who might actually take his own life, at least outwardly speaking. franziska has no hands-on knowledge of her brother and his mental state beyond what she might have seen in the press or heard filtered down from her father. it’s only natural that she draws the conclusion that he simply turned tail and ran away in order to preserve his dignity. it is an obvious conclusion to make.

however, this interpretation completely overlooks the fact that franziska is not stupid. she is well aware that her brother had very recently been 'betrayed' by the man to whose standards he strived to rise to almost his entire life and is aware that the driving force behind this desperation to prove himself was his father's murder. manfred von karma was their father; there is a tendency in both the games and their surrounding fanbase to portray the senior von karma as being nothing more than a teacher and mentor, but if we examine the (limited) dialogue the three share in aai, edgeworth and franziska address von karma as one might a particularly volatile and austere parental figure, and he responds in kind. he employs and underlines a pattern of the same types of verbal abuse and neglect present in many fictional case studies of the paternal abuser; to edgeworth, he shows the former and to franziska, often the latter (what comes to mind is a piece of dialogue wherein franziska, aged 13, asks her father if he will attend her courtroom debut, to which he responds, "i'll consider it"). she frequently demonstrates her emotional intelligence, again, particularly as a child, such as a short exchange in which von karma berates edgeworth rather cruelly and is met with silence. rather than let the topic linger, franziska very deliberately changes the subject, asking von karma who he thinks is the culprit behind the current investigation. later, when edgeworth thanks her for it, she acts as if she does not know what he's talking about.

back in the 'present day', her insistence that she defeat phoenix wright in order to avenge her family name is also rendered moot; franziska places a lot of pride in her family name, but her defense of her father is lackluster at best. she, too, is left to grapple with the weight of his legacy and has (seemingly) decided that her father simply does not live up to expectations. he instilled in her such strong convictions regarding the meaning of the law and the von karma family name, and it only makes sense that, once he failed so utterly to exemplify them, she would instead shift her understanding of those convictions onto herself and the only other person she believes she can see those qualities in, being miles edgeworth.

the initial theory, that franziska believes edgeworth to be in hiding, while a version of the truth, would not appear to be the truth to someone who has repeatedly demonstrated the emotional intelligence and understanding of the subject necessary to read between the so-called lines; to me, it is obvious that franziska believed, at least in large part, that edgeworth really had killed himself, and her actions and dialogue in jfa shift subtly into a much more interesting light if one runs with this interpretation. she goes from presenting herself — something i'm going to touch on in a moment — as an almost cartoonishly dense and vain girl into someone desperate to deny the truth staring her right in the face; that she has been virtually abandoned by every figure she loved and trusted in her life, left to uphold a legacy with no room for error, bound to rules so straight-edge and self-imposed that no single person could ever walk only in their light. anyone would resort to staunch denial — and franziska, so attached to her past, does so with aplomb.

finally, i want to point out that it's very easy to take franziska at face value. as unfortunate as it is, she's only present in four games — aai, aai2, jfa, and t&t — and she usually isn't in the majority of cases in those games. there is a stark yet subtle difference in her comportment in the investigations games, though, which can be very clearly explained: in every game she speaks to the player character, and in jfa, the player character is phoenix wright, her self-ascribed enemy. it makes complete sense that she would present herself a certain way, speak in certain manners, and act rash and overconfident in front of him, because she hates him.

all this to say, franziska is a very potent case study of grief and how it can change people, especially when that grief gets caught up in a messy tangle of ambition and a legacy whose stipulations border almost on mania. also, i love her very dearly and thought this would be interesting to talk about. obviously, this is not the entirety of the situation, as i mostly focused on franziska's relationship to edgeworth, but i think this is long enough as is.

[weepingwillowwonder]

#10 Hazbin Hotel "Things I ✨️LOVE✨️ the idea of..." (because I can't share these things with people irl...)

[Minors DNI! 🔞] -> -> ->

Rosie x reader x Alastor

CW: Humiliation, Oral sex, Sex toys, Reader on display?, Teasing, Sub!Reader

Rosie and Alastor have tea time with Rosie's new "assistant"

---

“Oh Alastor, I’m so glad you were able to come by!” Rosie exclaims, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “It’s been much too long! Come in, come in!” She brings the guest into the secluded tea room, gesturing to him to take a seat across from her. Alastor nods in agreement with a pondering look on his face, his usual smile seeming genuine to be in the presence of a good friend. “I suppose it has been quite a while...” He trails off as you come into the room with a tray of refreshments. 

While his usual grin reflects no emotions, the slight narrowing of Alastors eyes is the only indication he shows of a reaction of your presence. “Ah, what a wonderful job, dear! Very nice, well done!” Rosie’s hands clasp together in her lap as you arrange the various delicacies and beverages on table for the two overlords. You give her a small smile at her praise and step away to put the remaining tray in the kitchen.

In your brief absence, Alasor wordlessly looks to Rosie with an eyebrow raised questionably. During their past gatherings it was rare to have another person involved, much less someone who didn’t really fit the description of someone who lived in Cannibal town. He had found it strange that he had never seen you before, even more so that Rosie had not mentioned you until now. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she looks back at him and offers him a sly look. When you come back to the table she introduces you both, “This is my… newest assistant.” She grins as she brings her teacup to her lips, amused by your flustered expression. “You know how being an overlord can be sometimes,” with her free hand she wiggles her fingers playfully. “ It's useful to have someone to help relieve that stress.” 

Alastor easily picks up the innuendo in her tone, although he’s not exactly sure what she means by ‘assistant.’ When your name rolls off his tongue, your breath catches. Of course you’d heard of the radio demon and his history prior to this interaction. Even before Rosie mentioned their close nature, you were well aware of the horror stories that gave him his notable reputation. 

“Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!” He offers you his hand, in which you return the gesture, timidly shaking it. Your eyes flicker to Rosie when you let go of his hand, watching as she discreetly pulls a tiny black controller from her pocket. She doesn’t acknowledge that you are watching her, immediately going into conversation to catch up with her friend. 

After waiting for sometime in anticipation, you finally relax. Bringing your glass of water to your lips, you follow along with the lighthearted discussion, occasionally nodding in agreement on a particular topic. A sudden humming between your legs makes you jerk slightly, spilling some of the contents from your cup into your lap. The gasp that escapes you from the stimulation, easily could have been disguised as surprise by the cold liquid seeping through your clothes. 

Rosie feigns her shock by your outburst and reaches over to pat your lap with a napkin. “Darling, you really ought to be more careful!” Her motions disguised as an attempt to clean you up, were teasingly stroking the tops of your thighs, dangerously close to the sensitive area between your legs. You hold your breath, hoping that you were hidden by the tablecloth from Alastor’s unwavering gaze. 

“So messy…” Rosie sighs disappointedly before leaning back in her seat. “You’ll have to excuse this behavior, Alastor.” She turns the vibrations up a notch, forcing you to press your legs together. “We’re working on our…edicate. Aren’t we dear?” Both sets of eyes are on you now and you nod, trying to keep your composure. “Yes ma’am...” you answer breathlessly.

Alastor’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he watches your trembling form. Maybe if you weren’t so obvious he could write off the faint buzzing sound as white noise from some nearby machinery. He rests his elbows on the table, fists tucked under his chin as he takes in your appearance. Your hands wring together, seeking some form of comfort in your embarrassment as you fail not to shift in your chair. Eyes glazed over and unfocused, you keep looking to Rosie for approval, small sounds escaping your lips when you don’t get it. His ears pick up on the quickening of your breath, your scent of arousal filling his nose as well.

So odd that Rosie would have her…acquaintance perform such lewd acts so openly in front of him. Surely she didn’t think he wouldn’t notice, right? For a moment things are quiet as you continue your attempts to gather yourself. The sticky wetness growing between your legs provides more and more of a struggle in your situation. Rosie raises the vibrations again, noting the slightest arch of your back in the chair and how your eyes slip close. When they open, your face falls as she slides the remote on the table in Alastor's direction. 

“What’s this?” He ponders, reaching over to inspect the gadget. He takes note of the current setting, looks to his companion as she answers. “That,” she lazily points to the controller, lifting her cup for a sip of tea. “Is what I use to keep my little assistant in line. Isn’t that right?” It takes you a moment to realize she’s talking to you, lost in the pleasurable feeling of the toy nestled inside you. When she calls your name again expectantly, you answer, “H-huh? Oh! Right, y-yes ma’am..!” 

Alastor takes a look at the controller again, half-listening to Rosie ramble on to another topic as if she didn’t just hand him some form of sex technology. If anything he was curious, not usually one to partake in actions of this nature. When he fiddles with one of the knobs, he’s pleasantly surprised at the needy sound that slips from your lips. He feels a slight stirring in his pants, not from the sexual nature of the situation, but from the control the tiny remote in his hand held over you. Before he realizes it, he finds himself speaking, “If I may ask, what exactly is this remote controlling?” 

The glint in Rosie’s eyes and the sharply growing grin on her face almost has Alastor second guessing his curiosity. She turns to you and motions to you to answer him. When his eyes fall on you, you shakily attempt to get up from your chair, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. “I um forgot, I t-think I need to..." you stutter, trying to make an escape. "Sit." Rosie commands, giving you a sharp glance and pointing back to your chair. The desperate noise that escapes you has the other two chuckling as you obediently plop back down in the chair. 

"Your pet listens well," Alastor comments, eyeing your trembling form. Rosie laughs and reaches over to rub a comforting hand on your knee. "Well it's taken some training that's for sure! Such a sweet little thing. Wouldn't know discipline if it hit 'em in the head…” Her nails slightly dig into the area where her hand is placed. “Now...be a dear and answer our guest, you don’t want to be a bad host do you?” 

You shake your head, keeping your head down as your fingers shakily move to unbutton your pants. They watch expectantly as you slowly undress your bottom half, the clothing piling on the floor in front of you. You lift your legs to rest your heels on the sides of the chair you're sitting on and spread yourself wide for them to see. 

The feeling of the cold air coming in contact with your arousal has you burning up, feeling the most exposed in this moment. You can feel your heartbeat between your legs as the vibrations continue from the toy inside of you. The heated gaze of the two overlords has you feeling well past overstimulated, almost as if they had been actively touching you. When your hand reaches down to skim the base of the toy, you let out a wonton moan as the slight bit of pressure. “It vibrates here..” You murmur. Alastor nods silently, absentmindedly pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch to relieve some of the growing sensation. The quiet sigh that leaves his lips doesn't go unnoticed by you or Rosie.

"Oh would you look at the time! I've got to run. I’ve got appointments starting in thirty…can’t be late on the job of course! Sweetie, why don't you help take care of our guest...." Rosie motions over to Alastor as she rises and starts to pick up the dishes on the table, walking into the next room. Immediately you slip off the chair to fall to your knees in front of him. 

The motion presses the toy further in, rubbing perfectly against that sweet bundle of nerves inside of you. Alastor's legs spread wide as he looks at you you with a knowing expression. You look down and bite your lip, rocking against your heels slightly before trying to pull yourself together enough to follow the instructions you were given. 

Knowing very well of his dislike for being touched, you opt to ask politely for his permission before continuing, “May I..?” He waits for a moment, glancing at the little black remote. “Well how can I say no when you ask so nicely? I mean I definitely could…” He brings a pondering hand to his chin, mockingly lost in thought. You can feel your heart beat loudly thumping in your ears as you pitifully beg him to let you help him. “P-please…”

Alastor’s hand slowly drops to his lap, now eyeing you with a predatory gaze. He silently unbuckles his belt, taking his time as he continues on to unbutton his pants. You watch earnestly as his fingers unzip his pants, then disappear under the waistband of his briefs. When he reveals himself, you can’t help licking your lips in anticipation. He slips his pants lower and motions a hand towards you, offering himself.

Being weary of your hand placement, you lean down quickly to take his hardening cock into your mouth. The sound that comes from Alastor startles you, accidentally forcing more of him down your throat. Choking on his cock briefly has you distracted from the task at hand, your eyes flickering to his heated gaze. The look he gives you has you baring down on the toy inside of you, eyes blinking close as you get lost in the pleasure.

At his deep growl, Rosie comes back into the room first gasping in surprise, then letting out a pleased giggle. "Oh my! That certainly isn't what I meant, but I suppose that works too!" Alastor's hand finds purchase in the back of your head, forcing you to take more of him. Your eyes glaze over as you fight your gag reflex, trying so hard to be good for your guest. 

Alastor's hips roll against your mouth, searching for more of your wet heat as he gets closer to completion. His erratic movements have you reaching up to find purchase in his thighs, only to stop right before contact at the sound of the distorted static in the radio demon's voice.  "Don't." Your hands immediately drop to your lap, fists balled up against your knees as he continues to use your mouth as he pleases. 

He doesn't warn you when he cums, but you see the way his sharp smile seems to slightly falter right before his release hits your tongue. Your eyes fall close as your mouth fills with his essence, throwing you into a rapid release as well. Your hips rock backwards as you struggle to swallow it all down. The weight of him against your tongue has you moaning around him, earning a soft chuckle from above you. When your eyes open, they fall on Alastor's, holding contact as he slides out of your mouth and turns off the contraption inside of you. Your tongue immediately flickers against your lips to chase any remnants of him and he gives you a pleased look. 

When you turn towards the table, you notice it's been completely cleared and Rosie makes her appearance again. "Alright, come along now, pull yourself together." She motions a finger to you to come to her as you struggle to quickly dress yourself, tripping over your feet. "Alastor, as always it's a pleasure to see you. I apologize our chat was cut short this time, do come by again soon so we can catch up!" When you look back at Alastor he's already made himself presentable and has a hand extended towards you. 

"Oh and do make sure to thank Alastor! After all he's been quite patient with you...” Rosie raises an eyebrow at you as you accept his assistance and rise to your feet. "T-thank you, sir." You breathed out, looking down to avoid the eyes watching you in the moment. He raises the back of your hand to his lips, the action surprising you enough to glance back up to him. "Of course, the pleasure is all mine."

[soon-palestine]

Palestinian Territory - The Israeli authorities continue to enforce their ongoing arbitrary blockade of the Gaza Strip, refusing to allow humanitarian aid and necessities that are essential for survival—such as cleaning and personal hygiene supplies—into the Strip. This comes amid the spread of infectious diseases and on top of the precarious living conditions faced by the approximately 2.3 million Palestinians in the enclave, constituting a perpetuation of Israel’s comprehensive crime of genocide, which began on 7 October 2023.

Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor emphasises that the consequences of Israel’s intentional worsening of the humanitarian situation in the Gaza Strip, by blocking people’s access to cleaning and personal hygiene products, medical equipment, and sterilisation supplies, are dire. Nothing justifies subjecting the population to conditions that can cause widespread death, including by causing the spread of serious skin diseases and and infections, including hepatitis.

Israel continues to systematically and arbitrarily deny hygiene supplies and equipment to all Gaza Strip residents, exacerbating the catastrophic health crisis that Israel has caused there. This crisis has been made worse by the population’s forced, widespread, and repeatedly occurring displacement, as well as the lack of personal hygiene supplies and disinfectants in shelters and camps housing hundreds of thousands of displaced people. Israel continues to prevent and obstruct the entry of the most basic supplies into the Strip, creating conditions that are ripe for the spread of infectious diseases, water pollution, and the absence of sanitation services, as Israeli army forces have destroyed these facilities.

Since the beginning of the genocide nearly, Israel has arbitrarily closed crossings into the Gaza Strip, blocking the entry of humanitarian supplies and the flow of food and water. These actions have resulted in a dangerous accumulation of crises that directly threaten the lives and health of the Gaza Strip’s residents, most notably due to their lack of access to food, clean water, medicines, medical supplies, sanitary tools, and cleaning supplies.

Aya Kamal Ashour Abed, a 20-year-old displaced mother of two at the Deir al-Balah Preparatory School for Girls in the central Gaza Strip, spoke with the Euro-Med Monitor team. “We are more than 30 people living in this classroom for about nine months,” she stated. “A few months ago, we numbered roughly 70, but after some of the displaced individuals relocated to tents outside the school, our numbers dropped somewhat.

“We only receive cleaning and personal hygiene supplies in small quantities every two or three months, despite the fact that our number is very high and we require them constantly,” Abed continued. “Sanitation supplies, like tissues, soap, and shampoo, are extremely expensive [or] even nonexistent in the markets.”

Added Abed, “A bar of soap, for instance, now costs 30 shekels (roughly nine USD) while a bottle of shampoo costs 90 shekels (roughly 25 USD). We do not have anything to eat, so how can we afford these amounts for basic hygiene?”

Abed, who was displaced from her home in the Jabalia refugee camp in the northern Gaza Strip following its bombing last October, said that her two sons had become afflicted with allergies and bacteria, for which she is unable to provide ointments because they are unavailable in UNRWA clinics. “I showed my son to the doctor, and he told me that his entire body is seriously infected with bacteria due to poor hygiene,” Abed told Euro-Med Monitor.

Obtaining sanitary pads—which are pricey and hard to find in local markets—is one of her biggest challenges. “Even though my children’s diapers are completely unusable, I have to cut them into tiny pieces and use them as sanitary pads,” Abed explained. “During my period, I also have to use a single pad for the entire day, which has led to numerous infections and rashes.”

Approximately 680,000 women and girls in the Gaza Strip are of reproductive age. These individuals lack access to menstrual pads and other essentials, and also face other challenges such as inadequate access to water, toilets, various hygiene products, and privacy. Additionally, they must use contaminated or unsterilised materials, which puts them at risk of developing infections that can lead to infertility and uterine cancer.

Since Israel has cut off electricity to the Gaza Strip, there is a growing risk to all residents caused by waste accumulation and sewage flooding of roads and markets due to the inability to drain it. Israel has destroyed most of the Strip’s vital infrastructure, including sewage networks, and forced over two million people—the majority of whom have been displaced more than once—into shelters and tents that lack the basic necessities of life, personal hygiene, and health care.

Forty-two-year-old Mohammed Saad Abu Haitham said that his family of eight, which resides in a tent in the Mawasi neighborhood of Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip, is severely impacted by the lack of cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, and bar soap. Due to its scarcity, soap is unusually expensive and therefore difficult to purchase.

“We do not have the money to buy enough meals for our children, so we cannot buy cleaning materials and soap in light of their high prices and the lack of availability,” Abu Haitham told the Euro-Med Monitor team. “My spouse and kids’ hair has been infected with lice, and we all have skin diseases as a result of not washing and not using enough soap and shampoo.”

Food dyes are used instead of traditional dyes for making liquid soap and sterilisation products, which have not entered the Gaza Strip in months due to the Israeli closure of the crossings and the imposition of an arbitrary siege. These alternative and primitive cleaning products are made locally, are unsafe, and are generally insufficient in both quality and quantity when sold in the markets of the central and southern Gaza Strip.

Tens of thousands of cases of skin diseases, including eczema, have been reported to medical facilities as having cropped up in shelters and camps for displaced people living in tents. This is particularly concerning for women, as eczema often appears on the hands of people working to clean food utensils using antiquated and dangerous materials. Meanwhile, reports from the United Nations indicate that skin rashes and skin infections, especially among children, are sharply increasing in the Strip.

The Israeli authorities have placed an arbitrary and oppressive siege on the Palestinian people there, squeezing them into a tiny area with exceedingly limited resources; denying them access to food, clean water, and other necessities; and leaving them exposed to extreme heat.

The right to dignity is an internationally recognised human right that protects people from humiliation, among other forms of unethical treatment. It is meant to ensure fairness by providing the means for people to live in dignity, as well as other fundamental needs and rights, like the right to health and the right to water and sanitation. These rights are essential to maintaining human dignity and preserving the lives of the populace.

The only way to guarantee the rights of Gaza Strip residents is to put an end to Israel’s crime of genocide, lift the arbitrary siege on the Strip, and rescue what remains of the currently uninhabitable region. Delays will either cause the region to irreversibly deteriorate, or incur significant costs in terms of civilian lives and health.

The international community is required to guarantee the entry of humanitarian aid into the Gaza Strip, including the entry of non-food essentials needed to respond to the dire circumstances faced by the Strip’s entire population. Euro-Med Monitor stresses that swift and effective action must be taken to safely deliver aid to civilians across the entire Strip, including the northern section, which is particularly isolated right now. Additionally, the international community must prioritise providing adequate supplies of personal and family hygiene products, as well as products for menstruating individuals, plus sexual and reproductive health care services to prevent and mitigate further harm to women and children in particular, and the entire Palestinian population in general. These actions are mandated by international human rights law and relevant international obligations.

Pressure needs to be put on Israel, as the occupying force, to maintain sanitation facilities and services in the Gaza Strip, as well as to guarantee the safety of the technicians charged with repairing and renovating water lines and their various sources. The main water pipelines that enter the Strip need to be restored, particularly those that enter it from the north.

In addition to ensuring the entry of enough fuel to operate the Gaza Strip’s water and sanitation infrastructure, including desalination plants, water wells, and mobile toilets, it is crucial to exert pressure on Israel to permit the entry of materials required for repair work and rehabilitation of civilian infrastructure. These services are essential to the civilian population’s survival in the Strip, and will protect them from the threat of further health disasters.

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 7 * mv1

the news is out: three time world champion, max verstappen, and his girlfriend of 6 years have been broken up since the singapore weekend.

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: -

notes: wow i took thE longest break from this

(series masterlist)

(prev) // (next)

max isn’t typically the type to let panic settle in. at least, that’s what he likes to think. he likes to tell people he’s not bothered but outsiders are always quick to catch up with his suppressed emotions. 

alas, his worst fears have come true. news has broken that you’ve been broken up for almost 2 months. 

he has not been able to talk about it with daniel, so he can only imagine how things will break down in austin. 

he hopes that it’s not actually that big of a deal. plenty of other drivers have gotten themselves in messier breakups — the post doesn’t seem to touch on any speculations about how yours had come about. he can only bank on the hope that journalists are empathetic enough not to bring you up. 

but you’ve been very involved in his career and the cameras on the paddocks. they never missed the chance to have you speak into a mic or have a private conversation with you. 

pictures snapped of you together are never posted, but would be directly sent to either of you to truly encompass the privacy of your relationship. the respect shared between you and everyone on the paddocks was treasured, which is probably why your presence had been notable after you abruptly disappeared. 

he sinks into his couch, phone in hand as he stares at the pictures that sparked up speculations. it’s a low-quality picture of you leaving the red bull home, head down as your hair shied you away from the camera. the second picture is of him coming out of the building, hair dishevelled as he stood with his arms folded over his chest.

“what do i do?” max mumbles, his finger swiping over the screen again and again, staring at the two pictures. as if it would change the course of things if he did it enough. “do i talk to her?”

“i don’t know, man,” daniel sighs, his face in the far corner of max’s screen. “i mean, the best you can do is to wait it out, right?”

“rumours could spread,” charles mutters, looking away briefly with his eyes widened. “if i were you, i’d want to do some damage control. but that’s probably just me.”

max sits back, staring at the empty half of his hotel bed. your absence is always noted when he’s all alone and he's too awake for his own good, once having the luxury of your company and bright smile making him feel giddy.

the difference between this breakup and all of charles' is that there is no controversy in this one. as far as he's concerned, this is all speculation from photos that are now circulating the internet and your obvious absence on race weekends.

nobody can even really confirm if it's true unless you or max say something. for now, they're just rumours. right?

unless you've started speaking to people, and gossip platforms. but you wouldn't do any of that, or at least that's what he's telling himself. but from what he can dig out of the grave in his brain, there was nothing that happened between you that can be twisted.

but what does he know?

he can only keep praying to the fact that you'll keep it as private as you usually do.

his phone is buzzing endlessly, his other friends sending him texts as the news shocks them as much as the world. lando is asking him if he's holding up fine, martin is expressing how he feels for max, and his own mother asking him why he hadn't told her earlier.

only victoria's message will be getting an answer. after all, she's the first person that found out.

"should i talk to her?" max thinks out loud, maximising the facetime call to get a good look at his friends' reactions. "she never does well with things like this, what if people are bothering her?"

charles' picture is overtaken by alexandra's face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "you wanna talk to her?"

max shrugs. "i don't know. maybe?"

"would that be the best choice though?" daniel tilts his head. behind him, heidi is approaching cautiously with a small smile. "babe, what do you think?"

heidi shrugs as daniel's camera slowly turns to her. "my opinion is probably not - it's been two months. and judging by the comments that i read, i don't think there's much disrespect that has to be told off publicly."

alexandra nods as charles slowly comes back into the frame next to her. "it's up to you, max. as of right now, it doesn't seem that serious."

max sighs again, this time louder as he feels everything coming down on him. he drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. "i don't know, you guys," he sighs again loudly. "i just want to know if she's alright."

"maybe not now, mate," charles answers sympathetically, frowning at him through the camera.

"just wait it out. it could die down quicker than you think," daniel says hopefully.

max nods, now suddenly feeling disinterest in their conversation. he only craves to be by himself now. "alright, i'll catch you guys in a bit," his eyes turn to the cats sleeping peacefully on the cat tree, "i've got to feed the cats."

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever

[fuckyeahisawthat]

If you see Good Omens s2 as a bridge between the end of s1 and a s3 plot that, it seems, will revolve around [spoilers below]

Aziraphale and the second coming (in a parallel to s1 being about Crowley and the Antichrist) then a lot of things make sense, and actually I think this is one of the only routes they could have taken that would seem remotely plausible.

Because how the fuck do you get Aziraphale back in Heaven after the events of s1? Both you (a writer who wrote s1 as a self-contained adaptation of an existing work, having no idea if there would be future seasons) and you (Heaven within the world of the story).

In the book verse, I could see this playing out as a sort of “you thought you were happily retired and then they pulled you back in for one last job” situation, and I think that could have worked. Because book Heaven and Hell seem to end the story basically agreeing to forget Aziraphale and Crowley’s numbers out of sheer embarrassment, and that works in the world of the book because Heaven, in particular, seems to forget Aziraphale exists at least 80% of the time anyway. Book Heaven is mostly notable for its absence. We recognize their hypocrisy in claiming to be the good guys while mostly doing the exact same shit as Hell with better PR, but in the book Hell seems like the side that’s more dangerous and actively intrusive in Crowley’s life.

But TV Heaven and Hell are terrifyingly, oppressively present in Aziraphale and Crowley’s lives, and both of them very recently (in immortal being terms) tried to execute their respective agents for treason, and still don’t understand why they failed. This raises the stakes and the threat to their relationship enormously, which works great in a television drama where their relationship is much more of a focus than it is in the book. But it also makes it much more difficult to imagine either of them going back to their respective sides after the events of s1. They made that choice already.

So what do you (writer now trying to solve this problem for s2 and potentially s3) and you (Heaven, trying to come up with a way that Aziraphale would walk back into his former prison willingly) do?

You offer Aziraphale the one thing he can’t refuse, the thing he still doesn’t have, even now after Armageddidn’t and surviving the trials and 4 (?) years of living more or less openly with Crowley around. You offer him safety. Safety for himself and Crowley, together.

We know it’s a trap. We know what Heaven is offering is not safety, but control. But Aziraphale hasn’t gotten there yet. We understand why Crowley sees it as a rejection and an insult. But to Aziraphale it’s an offer better than he ever thought was possible to receive.

He thought, all of s1, that he would have to choose between following Heaven’s orders and saving the world and his relationship with Crowley. And he made his choice. Now someone is telling him he can have both? Love and acceptance from Heaven for him and Crowley, and the power to make things better? And when he realizes Crowley won’t come with him…well, maybe at least from Heaven he will still be able to protect him, even if he’s not by his side.

And you know what? I bet, in the short term, this is going to only make him double down on his “it was just a few bad angels” justification for the way Heaven behaved. Because this offer is coming from the literal voice of God. Maybe it even reinforces the idea that God didn’t want Armageddon to happen at all, that Aziraphale and Crowley and Adam and the Them actually were doing her will by stopping it. Because now Aziraphale is being invited back in, with more authority than he ever had before. And they invited Crowley (who he always believed was Good) back in too.

He doesn’t get it yet, that Crowley is right. That you can’t reform Heaven from the inside, because it is not and never was the good side. Because there is no good side.

Aziraphale hasn’t figured that out yet. But he will.

[neyafromfrance95]

we can't overstate finrod's importance in trop!galadriel's story. he is the one who shaped her wisdom and lightness, his loss has left a gaping hole in her heart. avenging *him* is her driving force. everyone goes "what about celeborn?" but the "third" *individual* between sauron and galadriel will always be finrod.

it is *very* interesting that it seems halbrand filled the hole left by finrod's absence in galadriel as he was both the first person who validated her and who calmed her down after finrod.

and sauron used that in a very weird way when he created an illusion of finrod for her. so desperate to have her affection that he was ready to literally replace finrod for her, lol.

finrod's presence in galadriel's story is echoed throughout s2 as well. in the beginning, we see galadriel visit his memorial and she is interrupted by a vision of sauron, him obsessively calling her. then in the end, it's finrod's "sometimes to find the light we must first touch the darkness" recited to her by sauron again.

and it's notable how gil-galad says galadriel's "soul is being pulled under by the shadow realm". a very similar wording to finrod's "ship being pulled under by the darkness".

finrod warned galadriel about the darkness trying to *master* the ship. it would make sense for galadriel to struggle with the darkness trying to master her (sauron's influence, remember him telling her about *mastering* one's opponent) while trying to keep her gaze fixed upon the light as finrod taught her. constantly being tempted by the darkness yet choosing good every time is what is going to make her the lady of the light.

notice how during their fights, finrod's dagger is always either brought up (the fireplace scene) or between the two (the finale raft scene).

and nenya was made from finrod's dagger and by sauron's design. symbolically, it's as if finrod and sauron's battle continues within galadriel.

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

How would you rank the characters living under Jack's reign in the bad future from who's having the "best" time vs who's having the worst? (excluding Jack himself obv he's having a good time lol)

6-Hannibal Roy Bean

Being stuck in this undersized, undignified cage and blown up to a size where you can't even move, and labeled as "The Musical Fruit" are all humiliating.

But Hannibal's been locked up for centuries before, so this is hardly going to break his spirit, especially Jack is mortal and getting very old, so it feels like the immortals in the dungeon have this mindset that they can sort of just wait it out.

Granted, Hannibal does look weirdly mishappen and... mushy? So I wonder what exactly Jack has done to his body to make him end up like this.

With how distended and full his lower body looks now, and with the suspicious absence of Hannibal's only companion, I sort of suspect that Jack somehow forcefed Ying-Ying to Hannibal...? But even if that's not the case, the absence of Ying-Ying is another form of torture for him, since that's the only other being who he truly likes.

5-Master Fung

Master Fung is as skilled and untouchable as ever. Moreso in fact, because he seems like he doesn't really get winded by battles anymore. His mind may have dulled somewhat, but his physical form and skill has sharpened with age during the time skip.

The gladiator shows they're forced to put on are miserable for everyone, but none of Jack's bots are able to even scratch Master Fung, and he beats them without a sweat.

He has an easier time against Jack's lion-bots than he did against the real jungle cats, who he also handily beat.

And Master Fung's confusion and memory problems seem to stave off despair, at least. Though he's still having an awful time here.

4-Wuya

Hers is mostly another humiliation thing, but unlike Hannibal's, Wuya's also has this visceral, creepy factor to it. Jack apparently forcibly changed her clothes and did up her hair in accordance to his own taste for cheerleaders, complete with pigtails and his initial.

In addition to that, she's also suspended over a pit of boiled lava. The rising heat from that is probably the physical torture, along with just how uncomfortable the chains are.

But the worst part for Wuya is probably that Jack has somehow stolen the powers that were sealed away from her and is in control of her stone golems now, to add insult to injury. That probably stings more than any aspect of this setup.

3-Le Mime

Also in this gladiatorial thing, but Le Mime's never really been shown to be able to fight and he can't even take a hit from his own scrawny arm. And since he's just cowering here, the lion bots apparently have some way of getting past his Miming, so he can't protect himself behind his invisible walls.

He's got nothing he can do but weather the humiliations and pain of these losing battles.

2- Chase Young

His torture devices is definitely the most intricate.

Water drop torture, stripped of his clothes (including his underwear because those boxers notably aren't Chase's), suspended in this metal contraption with a paintbrush spreading something over his abdomen.

Chase's is also the only torture device that is surrounded by bloodstains.

And he's in a dungeon with Wuya and Hannibal, the people who he'd least want to be trapped with. None of them are gagged, so they both could at least take as many pot-shots at Chase as they wanted to. Those two are better at getting under Chase skin than anyone else, and even though Chase probably shot insults back, it was 2-against-1 there.

And the first and only line we get from Chase implies that he's been on the edge of hope waiting to see Omi again after all this time with no word on his fate. Despite everything that's been happening, Omi's still been on his mind this whole time with no answers for 80 years.

So he had quite a bit of both physical and psychological torture to deal with.

1-The Monks

They have frequent gladiatorial matches and an awful living situation. Old age has definitely slowed them down, so their matches probably don't end without injury like Master Fung's do.

And they still never found out what happened to Omi and Dojo, after all this time. They're all mentally beating themselves up over that, and over the state of the world. They're crushed by this feeling that they've failed in their duty towards it, and they don't know if their friends are dead or alive.

And the end, minutes after they find their first spark of hope in decades, where they're all brutally murdered. They're extremely painful deaths, too. Clay is shot by lasers, Raimundo is crushed, Kimiko is pulled apart limb-from-limb.

Taking that into consideration definitely makes them number one on this list. Can't have a much worse time than that.

Honorable Mention: Omi

He was only there for a little bit, so I can't really rank him anywhere on the list. But watching all his friends be brutally murdered in front of him certainly left an impression.

And Omi's the only one who will have any impression of all this at all. Whether you think the space-time merging of the alternate timeline left ripples of memories in the others or not, this is just a bad future of the main timeline, so no one's actually experienced it. Omi's the only one who'll remember this nightmare. It's seared into his memory for good.

[stsgooo]

What Once Was.

✩࿐ summary: you had numerous problems, but resting at number one was geto suguru.

warning(s): lovers to enemies to lovers(?), self-indulgent on a nuclear level, reader is kinda obsessed with geto, unrequited requited love, cult leader geto things, semi-jealous fem!gojo, SMUT MDNI. wc; 13.8k

pairing(s): fem!geto/fem!reader, (slight, slight, slight) fem!gojo/fem!reader.

a/n: hello hello everyone!! first of all, i'd like to apologize for my month long absence from writing. i got covid and then i lost, like, all motivation for writing. but im back now so yipppeee! secondly, happy new year!! (23 days later) happy for this to be my first fic of 2024. anyway, i always see wacuoms art on here and twitter and fem!geto makes my brain go brrr SO i drummed up this silly thing based on that specific art piece. you should definitely check out their art bc it’s so beautiful and just AH!!

m.list ao3

ADMITTEDLY, YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HER HAD NEVER BEEN… RIGHT, TO SAY THE LEAST.

Even in highschool, you’d clung to her like she was a life raft in the middle of the ocean, the only thing keeping you from floating away, the only thing keeping you from drowning. Neither of you had really acknowledged it back then. Much too focused on fighting curses and just fooling around to truly place any type of label on things. It was peaceful then. Both of you are untouched by the horrors that would come.

Then she had rushed off with Gojo on that Star Plasma Vessel mission, beaming and promising she’d be back before you knew it. Only to return with a bloodied chest and sunken eyes as she proclaimed the girl was dead.

Then she hadn’t returned from that mission. She killed 112 people, vanishing into thin air. Leaving Gojo (and you) to clean up the pieces of her sudden and brutal departure.

Back then, you’d only held contempt for her.

From the moment Yaga had pulled you aside during training with a fourth year, looking you in the eyes, and uttered read this, you felt rage. You felt a never ending, unsettled rage that sparked deep within your gut and dared to set aflame those around you.

Five days after departure. 112 dead. Village left in ruins. Home empty, but residuals indicate murder.

Geto Suguru. Sentenced to death.

Finality of her fate for the rest of time was printed on a piece of paper and passed around jujutsu society like wildfire. Always to be a defector. Always to be a murderer. Long forgotten was the girl who used to curl up against you, uttering her worries into your back. The girl who would shyly offer her help whenever you were particularly stumped. Gone was the girl who had offered something different and true to you. Now, a murderer.

A murderer. The girl who had always said death needed to be justified, that things needed reason, was the very same that killed 112 people and promised to kill more. A murderer.

You never quite got used to people associating everything horrible with her. The updates you’d hear as your school life came to an end. Whispers of her wrong doings just never matched with the face and person you had known.

It messed you up for a long time. Her betrayal. Your relationships slowly dwindled away as you fell reclusive. Faces that you used to greet daily, grew further away. Your graduation was met with little fanfare. In fact, you’d only received a voicemail from Shoko informing you that it was over and done while you were on a mission. You drowned all the negativity and the hatred down with work. Quickly assuming your role as a “powerful sorcerer”. A joke, in your books. You’d never been as powerful as the others. Never as useful.

Her defection made you feel selfish.

There was an extreme amount of anger and frustration that you took out on others when it was all pinned on her. Burned some bridges between you and few. Most notably, you and Gojo. Both of you had been pent up with the rage of the betrayal and things had been said. It was almost easy to leave her one and only. To take a job at Kyoto and completely leave Tokyo behind like a nasty stain on your favorite sweater.

What was once home and family, was nothing more than a horrible reminder of what once was.

Time moved on. Life took you different places and you met new people. You matured more and you worked towards trying to appear more stable.

But she always lingered in the back of your mind.

Gojo, when the both of you were still on speaking terms, had brazenly described her as a breath of fresh air. The last bit of blue spring. A beautiful luminous skyline that kept you captivated. Words all so flippant and nonchalant as if it were fact that couldn’t be contested or questioned.

You agreed.

But, at the same time, you’d seen her in a different light.

She’d always been the setting sun. Something that would go away, no matter how much you begged for its light to hold out a little longer. Something that would display the most beautiful things, showcase art that no other could obtain, then so ruthlessly take it away. No matter how much you reached out for it, it’d never been within your grasp. When you thought of sunsets, you thought of her.

When you saw certain hair ties displayed in shops, you thought of her.

When you lay alone in the middle of the bed, you thought of her— butting her way in, her long legs tangling with your own as she claimed you hogged all of it to keep her close.

When you saw, you thought of her. You saw a lot. You thought a lot.

Shamefully, you thought of her a lot, even after eight years.

At 24, you’re supposed to be better.

Everyone seemed to figure it all out. How to avoid the topic of her. How to move on so quickly. How to avoid talking about the sorcerer from their class, their school, their group that snapped and went on a spree. How to avoid giving updates when the higher-ups are a little desperate for someone to go out and find her, to finally put a stop to her.

Everyone but you.

Your avoidance, your loophole from thinking about her, was to simply diminish her to her. Nothing else. Nothing less, nothing more. Just her. No name. No face. Nothing.

She’d left you. She never said goodbye to you. She told Shoko and Gojo goodbye. Went out and found them. But not you. She didn’t want to see you. She didn’t feel the same as you did. All of the things you reminded yourself to keep you sane, from thinking about her with rose tinted glasses.

It was easier that way. You’d been doing good at it too. No longer your friend. No longer the girl you might’ve felt more for. No longer the strongest. No longer a sorcerer. Just her.

Well, until you received this mission.

The higher-ups had called you to Tokyo and you instantly knew it wouldn’t be anything good. Finding yourself in the middle of a dimly lit room, they offered not any ‘hi’s, ‘hello’s, or ‘good morning’s. They’d opened with, Gojo Satoru is no longer in the country and we have something of great importance to be dealt with.

Promising. Not at all threatening, right?

No way.

If they couldn’t even have Gojo Satoru present in the country for this, it was definitely something they didn’t want her finding out about. Something that she’d definitely hunt you down and kill you over if it was something insanely extreme.

Despite your inner reassurances, you knew it was something you wouldn’t like either.

Still, you couldn’t outright say no. You weren’t as strong, you weren’t as brilliant, or as cunning, or important as Gojo. You were just… you. A girl from a far off village who was lucky to be born like this, to be found when she had. To see what you could see. You’d always been plain.

You were in no place to decline.

What exactly do you want done? You had asked with trepidation, sensing something heavy in the air.

What they said next hadn’t ever crossed your mind.

One of Geto Suguru’s members has been seen scoping out the area where a Special Grade curse has been reported. We’re under the impression that she’ll be going to the area within the next two days to claim it. We’d like for you to take this chance and execute her.

The moment the name left the old man’s mouth, three years of your youth burst through your mind like a raid. Blissful times. Happier times. Before everything. When she used to tuck your hair behind your ear. When her eyes would be bright and jovial as you explained something childish to her. When she would utter your name against your skin and press the most delicate of kisses against you. When Suguru—

Your world crumbled the instant the name filled your mind.

You’d broken your streak. Of not saying her name.

It’s probably why you didn’t hesitate to agree. As her name repeated in your mind— Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. All the wonderful and beautiful things that accompanied a name as sweet as hers. Ignoring the fact that you, when the moment came and the day called for it, would never be able to harm her. Much less execute her. You agreed.

They appeared relieved. As they thanked you for your time, for your cooperation. They promised you that you would be doing the world a service.

You were not so convinced as you bowed, then took your leave. Instead, you couldn’t help the burst of unnerving giddiness that waved over you.

It wasn’t long after you got home that you received an email including files upon files of information you’d have to stuff in your mind before going to the location. Long droning essays on the curse residing in the area, the area itself, and the type of person that had been nervously traipsing around a specific building taking notes. It didn’t really interest you, nor did you really take any of it seriously. A single photo of the person staking out the area appeared to be a young man, red cheeks, and wide eyes. He looked no older than 20.

It was well into the night, your fourth cup of some bottle of alcohol that's been sitting on your shelf for years, when you opened a file and saw her.

The first thing that caught your eye was the photo at the top. The picture was shitty. Grainy and taken from a distance, as if the photographer was in the midst of a large crowd, barely tall enough to get something decent. But it was enough to make your body lock up and your eyes to take in every detail of her endlessly.

She was older, much like you, her hair much longer, now adorned in a half bun with a single bang sculpting the right side of her face— much like how it would rest in your teen years. It appeared that she still had her gauges in, possibly a larger size than the last you saw of her. New piercings appeared to adorn her face, just above her eyebrow and on her bottom lip, a single ring on the right. She was just so… her. If it weren’t for the large robes that seemed to swallow her whole, making her appear small and approachable, you would’ve convinced yourself it was still your Suguru.

You read over the information gathered about her carefully. With much more attention than you had given to the special grade and skittish curse user before her. The file was filled to the brim with things she’d been up to for the past eight years—there were gaps here and there about what she’d been doing exactly, but you got the jist that none of it was necessarily good.

Almost immediately after her defection, she’d taken over the Star Religious Group. Something that brought you pause. You’d heard that name uttered here and there when you were younger. Especially from Suguru herself. As she got that hollow look in her eyes, staring distantly, she’d told you that the applause was neverending. When you asked who, she said them. The group. It made you wonder what could possibly possess her to take over the group and create it into— well, more of a cult. The information about it was far and few. Mostly detailed information about it was Suguru’s punishment for those she believed weren’t exactly useful, they most likely ended up dead and disfigured.

It appeared that most of her followers were either men hoping for some type of attention from her, women who were the same and willing to do more, or those who truly believed in whatever deranged thing she was passing around. There was a quite a list of men that had crossed some figurative line and detailed torture they endured because of their crimes in Suguru’s eyes— you didn’t let it sway you as you, wholeheartedly, believed they probably deserved it.

Another section detailed that she had a subgroup called “The Family”.

You were ashamed to acknowledge the heavy feeling in your chest. As you read about the members that were known— a man from Africa, a woman from Hokkaido, a blonde man of unknown origins— two girls. It seemed that this was something that caught the attention of not only you, but the higher-ups too. There wasn’t much information, but they seemed desperate to find some weakness with the woman. These two seemed to be it.

13 years-old, have not attended any schools, unknown birth origins, unknown curse technique. It seemed that Suguru had done good in keeping them secret, despite them being semi-known within the people that mattered.

Your heart beats erratically against your chest, your tongue darting out to moisten your lips. It’d been so long since you saw her. Not even a glimpse at a picture. You wished… Hell fucking no. You’re not doing this again. You’re not falling down this rabbit hole again.

Still, your heart ached. She had time for this family. She could tell Shoko and Gojo goodbye. But she never sought you—

You closed the tab instantly once the thought entered your mind. Downed the rest of your cup and pressed your fingers against your eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. All that time since you saw her. The amount of time since you stuffered all those pictures into the back of your attic, telling yourself you were done. The higher-ups ruin it for a botched execution.

It was in that moment, that you promised to exorcize the curse before she could ever get there.

An easy in and out. A fool proof plan that you drummed up drunk off your ass, and trying not to think about the teenaged you who would scoff at you now. You imagined her, happier and awestruck by a girl with a dazzling smile and heart of gold, standing over you and asking how you could possibly end up like this. When you and that girl of gold had promised an eternity of fighting curses together. She would be disappointed. As you were.

You decided, for the teenage versions of yourselves, you wouldn’t kill her. No, it couldn’t be you. Instead, you’d give her a sign. You’d kill that curse and it’d be a clear cut you’re being watched. She’d take the hint.

There had been a reason Suguru, red faced and teary eyed, had banned you from making plans in high school.

You arrived at the abandoned complex at 7PM.

After a long day of traveling, you were almost emotional to see it. But you knew what it meant as you stepped through the door. Another exhaustive fight that would leave you passed out on the train and the higher-ups giving you a lashing for failing so badly.

Your steps were light as you judged the area. It seemed abandoned and you didn’t see or feel any disturbances. Everything seemed in order. You whistled softly as you walked through the halls, searching each moldy and deteriorated room with the interest of a grandfather. It didn’t appear that there was any curse lingering. You were almost convinced you had the wrong address when you felt it.

It was something you didn’t acknowledge at first. Just as you approached the last step of the 12th floor. You felt this weight lift off your shoulders and you sighed contentedly. In an instant, everything felt okay. Like you weren’t about to have a quarter life crisis once this was done and over with. You pushed some of your hair back and just let your eyes droop as if a soothing lullaby was egging you into slumber. Bliss.

A beat.

Bliss, you realized with a shudder, was the last thing you should be feeling.

You felt a tug behind you. Last second, you whirled around to meet the eyes of the curse.

It was plump and red, an array of eyes staring at you alone. It almost resembled a strawberry as it floated feet in front of you. But its touch was not delicate or sweet, landing a hard ruthless blow in your gut that sent you flying back. Straight through an opposite wall and into one of the many abandoned apartments.

For a moment, all you could do was stare up at the ceiling with your ears ringing and head aching. You asked yourself, what the fuck am I doing? You should’ve told them to fuck off. Told them that you were not going to get yourself mixed up with whatever fucked ass shit Suguru was doing. You were done. You should’ve been more assertive.

But you were a coward.

You cursed to yourself as you dragged a languid hand up to your face. Pulling back to stare at the blood coating your fingers with a heavy sigh. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, swaying in your spot as your head grew dizzy. It didn’t take you long for you to realize your RCT wasn’t working. In fact, you had little to no cursed energy at the moment. An odd sensation of emptiness filled you with anxiety and you were suddenly reminded of what you read right before you saw her picture last night.

Along with the feelings of bliss, this curse can drain cursed energy from the user. Proceed with caution.

Maybe their true plan was to kill you all along. Who would even care?

Shoko could be semi-shocked, maybe. You hadn’t talked to her in years and the shock would primarily be rooted in the ‘wow, I haven’t heard from her in years. That’s awfully sad.’ way. In the best case scenario, she could show off your liver to an awfully curious student who wanted to know what alcoholism does to the body.

Nanami, possibly the only person that you kept contact with (which was only texts on holidays and whenever you had a question about locations), would say it was a shame and move on as if it was a bad game of football he lost a bet on.

Utahime would only cry because death is sad. And she would prattle on about how she knew you and could have possibly done something, if only she had known the job they were sending you on. In true Utahime fashion.

And Gojo.

Well, Satoru would probably roll her eyes and say something along the lines of— Go figure she’d die because of her own ignorance. Then make a poorly timed joke about your demise that would only get protests out of some faux respect for you.

It wasn’t nice. Or entirely comforting. Nor did you bring tears to your eyes. It was just your reality. Something you had accepted the moment you’d walked away from those you’d known.

It was just reality.

The strawberry-like curse was about to break through, with you accepting your death wholeheartedly, the hole in the wall when a loud roar vibrated off the walls to the right of the corridor. Both you and the curse had no time to process anything when a flash of something pounced by. The strawberry-like curse was suddenly out of your view with a loud screech. You could hear it fight against something, making feeble noises as they seemed to struggle against one another, but you couldn’t see anything except for the sudden pink mist filling the air. A last ditch effort at defending itself. But the thing that attacked it didn’t seem to care as it continued to growl.

You dared to inch closer to the hole and peek out.

Over the strawberry-like curse, tearing it to shreds, was a cat-like curse. Big. Much bigger than the other curse and definitely bigger than you. Huge talons coated in purple goop, pointed black ears, pure white coat, with purple and black swirls all around its torso. It looked vicious and you were suddenly worried that this was the true curse Suguru was after. Much better than a horny strawberry curse. Much more powerful too.

“Shame, I really was going to use that.”

It’s been eight years, four months, 16 days, and 30 hours since you last heard her voice. The last you had heard of her was a week before Yaga told you of her defection. She’d shown up at your door, black hair loose from its usual prim and proper updo, she asked if she could come in. You accepted without hesitation. She laid with you silently before she asked a question you thought about often: Do you ever see yourself being something other than a sorcerer? Back then, you hadn’t thought about it before you told her no. You told her that you were happy to continue doing this— it was what you loved. She stared at you long and hard that night. Then uttered that you were right.

The next day, Haibara Yu was killed.

Bitterly, you realized it hadn’t changed at all. Still sweet, still thick like honey, a trap for you to stumble and get stuck in. To cherish until the moment you perished.

You felt sick to your stomach as you refused to look over at her. You hadn’t heard her approach. Didn’t even sense anything, but that definitely had to do with the curse’s mist. She managed to sneak inside and now she was only feet away from you. You could feel her gaze. You had always been able to tell when she was looking, when she was prying open your head and trying to take a peek. It always made you feel hot all over, a tightness in your abdomen and a burn against your cheeks.

Now, it makes you queasy. Makes you sweat and shiver, goosebumps littering your skin.

“You know, people usually say thank you after you save their life.” She continued on as if this wasn’t hard. As if it wasn’t you and it wasn’t her standing in this abandoned building while a curse— her curse— devoured another. “But I suppose you were never one for manners.”

Is your lack of manners all natural or do you have to work extra hard to be like this? Suguru used to tease you after you were particularly difficult on a mission. Bumping hips with you, hand brushing against yours, eyes half crescents as she smiled. Her. Her. Beautiful.

She had been everything.

She’d been the one you sought out when you were much too jumbled for anything or anyone else. Been the first you opened up to, spilling all your secrets and worries into her ear. Been the first to hear it all and to touch you delicately, to embrace you so tenderly that you believed you were everything horrible.

She had been love.

But that was before she became a mass murderer. Before she promised a world without non-sorcerers. Before she had left you in the dust without so much as a glance. Before everything. That was your reality now.

You clenched your jaw, head tilted down as you weighed your options.

The cat curse was in the way of the exit, still devouring the other in a ruthless onset of hunger. You wouldn’t be able to get through it without your cursed energy, which you could only just start to feel slowly returning. She was blocking the hallway that led to the fire escape. Probably a deliberate choice and she probably wanted to attack you with these lack of escape routes she’d given.

The only option was the window behind you.

To jump and free fall from the 12th floor, then book it, hoping to get away fast enough. Your only hope was that you landed and didn’t break anything.

Your foot shifted, getting prepared to book it, when she spoke again and, effectively, stopped you.

“I wasn’t going to come today, but one of my people said they saw you, and…. Well, I’ll admit, I was a tad curious.”

Your ears rang.

She had come… specifically for you? She wasn’t even going to get this shit, but you had been there, and she came?

A part of you dared to grow hopeful. A part of you that you’ve tried to push down and ignore for almost a decade. A part of you that was insane and thought insane things. Dreamt of things that could never be. It was the side that was absolutely obsessed with her. The side that just wanted to consume her whole and for you both to become one. One side that would something wish you were a curse that she could swallow and summon at will. Your mind was soaring with wild things. Crazy things.

You tried to focus on something else. Like the fact that she regarded this as a purely curious endeavor. Curiosity was an interesting choice of word. You could be curious about anything. Like the sun and the moon. Or a bug. This situation felt more like a bug. Like she was holding a magnifying glass and watching your movements, adding pressure to you, seeing what you could handle. Next, she’d hold out the glass to the sun and scorch you alive.

In your state, you’d probably thank her.

You could see her shift in the corner of your eye, she drew closer to you, and you could just barely make out the end of her robes.

“Are you not even going to look at me?” She dared to sound sad. To sound a little teasing.

You were convinced that if you looked at her, you’d be blinded. That you could never possibly look away again. That you’d plead and beg for things she’d never give you.

She sighed something heavy, “You’re angry.”

Angry? You wanted to say, instead clenching your hands at your sides, I’m downright murderous.

You’re angry you’re even here.

You’re angry that the higher-ups believed you could do this.

You’re angry that Gojo didn’t dare to even try.

You’re angry that you can pick out her soft fruity perfume as it fills the air.

You’re angry that your heart still beats wildly at her mere presence.

You’re so fucking angry that she can stand there and talk to you like it was nothing. That it hadn’t been eight years. That you hadn’t been forced to suffer alone without her.

Yeah, you’re angry.

Your eyes snapped away as the cat curse purred, making its way back down the hallway. You took a step back from the hole, fearful it’s pounce on you next. However, it kept walking, until it was by her side. You watched as it rubbed its face against her side, purring and mewling softly as she delicately ran her fingers through its fur. Her hands were bigger than you remember. Her long fingers carded through the fur gently, black painted nails a stark contrast to the white of the beast.

“I’m not going to fight you….” Yet, remained unspoken. It appeared to be completely up to you on whether or not you two would end up in a brawl. “I’m just here for a chat.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You spoke before you could think, before you could stop yourself.

She seemed to pause. Her hand froze momentarily in the fur, before it shakily began once more. “I knew you were angry.”

That only pissed you off more.

“Angry? Of course I’m angry! Here you are, after eight years, just popping in like it’s fucking nothing. Like this isn’t the cruelest thing you’ve ever done.” You retorted, your hands clenched tight at your sides as you deliberately stared at her tabi clad sandal covered feet. You couldn’t look her in the eye. You couldn’t see her face. It’d be over. You couldn’t.

She faltered once against, then seemed to take her chances, taking a step towards you. “I wanted to see you.”

Eight years too late. You thought.

You scoffed, jaw clenched, “Yeah, right, you didn’t want to see me eight years ago, why would you want to see me now?”

“Eight years ago—?”

“You went to everyone that mattered and said goodbye. You explained yourself to them and then you vanished. But there wasn’t a goddamn word for me?” You felt pent up anger and sadness from over the years conjured up once more. Nights you had spent curled up alone in bed after her defection, staring into the darkness, while the endless string of thoughts about your value and worth replayed in your head. It crushed you. The reality of it all. “Me? It told me exactly what I meant to you.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I cared about you much more than you ever cared about me. It was always you and Gojo, I just butt my way in.” You continued in an overflow of thoughts that you never dared to speak aloud. You figured, if this was the last time you saw each other, then you’d lay it all out. “I just wanted you to say something, but it made me open my eyes when you didn’t say a word. I learned my lesson.”

A beat.

“Really?” Her tone is flat, almost sarcastic as she regards you. “And what was that lesson?”

“Don’t assume your place in someone’s life.”

There was a prolonged silence between you both and you thought that she just might walk away. But you were pleasantly surprised when she chuckled. A deep and low sound that echoed off the walls and converged back on you. Goosebumps formed on your arms and there was a distinct shiver down your back.

“You don’t change, do you?” Her voice is thick with amusement and something oddly unidentifiable mixed in there.

You’re unable to answer. Had you really remained the same after all these years?

Suddenly, you’re broken from your thoughts as warm and soft hands slip to either side of your face, pulling your head upwards and you finally make eye contact with her for the first time.

The light brown warm and welcoming, an old home that called to you now as you stared at her with wide eyes. The bags that had tainted her under eye those years ago were non-existent now. Instead, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes adorned her features. You were half tempted to reach out and trace them, take them into your memory.

A sickness fills your gut as you take her in completely.

The blurry picture some informant took didn’t do her justice. It didn’t capture the warmth of her eyes, or the spread of her lips, the charming nature of it all. She looks better, healthier, than she had when you last saw her. Cheeks are full when they used to be sunken, fingers and arms no longer boney as they once were, she filled her clothes now, surely. Your eyes take in the new piercings that litter her face now. Two on her bottom lip, three on both of the upper lobes of her eyes. Her hair was longer and appeared to be silk like, still tied up in a half up bun, it was almost too familiar. The only thing that was different was the sharp smirk on her lips and her clothes.

Heavy robes, almost that of a monk, that seemed to swallow her large frame whole. The only place that seemed to be strained was her upper breasts, cleavage peeking from the fabric. Something that would surely bring shame to other monks, but pleasure to you.

Your little mass murdering ex.

“Ah,” Suguru breathed, eyes brightening considerably when you seemed to completely take her in, “Long time no see.”

You wanted to keel over right there. To fall to the ground and have your soul float upwards into oblivion. You might just die happy.

“....Suguru…” Your hand shakily wraps around her wrist, clutching onto her tightly.

Her eyes are almost manic, staring down at you as her fingers gently stroke against your cheek. “You think I didn’t see you because I didn’t care about you? You’re an idiot.” Her words are slow and deliberate, a tone that you would use on a petulant child. The tips of her nails dug into your cheeks as she squeezed them together, jerking your forward. You’re so close that you feel her hot breath fan across your skin. So close you could smell the faint scent of the mints she’d pop whenever she’d absorb a curse. It was dangerous to be so close, to be so vulnerable and under her touch. But you couldn’t pull away now, not waiting all this time just to see her. “I did everything I did because I do care about you.”

Your mind draws blank as your hold on her slackens, “You do…?” You whisper, words jumbled by the press of your cheeks.

Her eyes bounce from your own to your puckered lips, something dark residing deep within her soft hued irises. “You calling me a liar?” She loomed over you now, your back straining to keep her in your line of sight.

“I don’t know you anymore, Suguru— it’s been eight years. You’ve killed people, innocent people.” You attempt to keep your voice concise and level. To be the voice of reason in this mind numbing situation. But you can tell by her expression that you didn’t help.

She looks unimpressed, maybe even disgusted, by your words. “Innocent? They’re all as innocent as the serpent tempting Eve.” She drew you even closer, your breasts pressing against her own, the soft flesh smashed between the both of you. Her manic expression only grows more feral as she stares down at you. “They all have blood on their hands and they’re allowed to walk around without knowing what they’ve done. The amount of sorcerers that’ll die just for them to remain ignorant. Never having to know the kids, the people, that their emotions have killed. Those monkeys—”

In an instant, you were glaring up at her, “I didn’t come here to talk about your insane fucking ideals, Suguru! Now, either talk like a normal sane person, or this is done.”

She faltered.

She had the gall to look caught off guard, before masking her expression with a kind grin. She pulled away from you, her nails leaving deep red crescents in your skin. It almost burned, but your heart beating against your ears (and between your legs), distracted you from the gentle pain.

Suguru tucked her hands into her sleeves, her eyes closing as she bowed respectfully. “I apologize. I can get rather carried away with my thoughts.” The sudden shift in tone and the air was almost whiplash. It was crazy to see how easily she could go from crazed excited rage to this respectable monk offering her sincere apologies. It made your head spin. “I don’t mean to anger you.”

You eyed her for a long moment. Watched the way she kept her position. She didn’t falter or twitch. Just remained bowed.

“Why are we here?”

“I assumed you were sent here to execute me.”

With the nail hit on the head, you tensed.

This only dragged a scoff from her, a twinge of bitter amusement there. “Rather foolish on their part— thinking you of all people would kill me.”

It felt like a jab on your abilities. It was definitely a jab on your abilities.

“I could.” You childishly retort.

Suguru’s pierced brow raises, a twinkle in her eye that you could identify from your teenage years, “You could? Really?” She repeated, and it sounded terribly incredulous. “You’ve just had your cursed technique— which you could barely do anything with the last time we saw each other, by the way— leached away by a curse. You’re horribly banged up. I don’t think you could throw a straight punch even if you wanted.”

“I could kill you, if I really wanted— but I don’t do shit just because someone says so.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Suguru laughed.

She laughed and laughed. She laughed loudly. Hard enough that her head was thrown back, eyes closed. Her chest heaved as her arms wrapped around her midriff. The sound was wheezy and sharp, would’ve been mocking if it weren’t for the familiarity of it.

A sound that you hadn’t realized you missed until this very moment.

It was a heavy realization. Just how much you missed Suguru.

The tiniest of things that you had taken for granted as a child. Her laughs, her smiles, the little twitch in her hands whenever she wanted to do something, but hesitated. It made you think about all the things you had missed that year. The frowns and the distance in her eyes— the amount of times you had asked what’s wrong and let her slip by with a simple nothing too important. There were many things you should’ve done in order to hold onto and cherish those little things you once loved dearly.

You resisted the overwhelming urge to cry as you clenched your jaw, swallowing down any of the tears. You wouldn’t do this. Not here. Not in front of her.

“You really haven’t changed,” Suguru said breathlessly, calming down from her laughing fit to address you once again. “It warms my heart— to see you untouched by time.”

Untouched.

Untouched.

Untouched?

You were, arguably, one of the most touched people by the slut of time. You had suffered and agonized every day for years. To say you were unchanged, untouched, it was almost like her spitting in your face.

“Then you don’t know me.” You flatly reply.

Her amused expression falters. “Hm?”

“These have been the worst eight years of my life. The amount of shit I’ve been through to even be talking to you now— it’s been insufferable. I have changed. A lot. I have changed in ways that I didn’t even know were possible and it’s been the worst experience.” There was a spark of rage in you as you reached out and pushed her back. She didn’t move to stop you, but she didn’t even stumble at your ‘attack’. She just stared and stared. “Just because you couldn’t, what— stop being angry? News flash, Suguru, we’re all pissed off at the world, but we can’t do anything about it!”

“You could,” Suguru said quietly after a moment’s pause, “Any of us could do something about it. There’s just no opportunity from that place. They restrict you, put you in a box.”

If anyone hadn’t changed, it was Suguru. Who appeared and sounded like she was just as self assured as she was eight years ago.

Instead of arguing over something you know neither of you would budge on, you turned towards the stairs.

Your swift exit would be the best option. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be passed between the both of you that would change the fact that Suguru was sentenced to death— and you were left behind. The realization made you sigh softly through your nose, dragging your feet as you walked away. She made no move to stop you, not even asking what you were doing, it seemed you both agreed—

“I didn’t seek you out because I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

Her words made you pause once again.

You faltered in your step and your eyes were unwavering as they peeked at her from over your shoulder. Her head was held high, face unmoved, but her eyes… her eyes carried something heavier.

“Huh..?” You uttered.

Suguru took a deep breath, “I knew that if I told you goodbye, you would’ve done something stupid, like try to convince me to come back or say that it was a mistake. O-Or you would’ve thought that you could’ve done something to stop me.” I still thought that. I still believe that. I still imagine myself finding you and dragging your stubborn ass back. “I didn’t say goodbye because I thought…. Well, I thought it was a mercy.”

“A mercy?” You frown heavily at her, “A mercy from what?”

“From heartbreak.”

There was a moment of silence between you two that you dragged on for three minutes.

A mercy from heartbreak.

It almost made you laugh. How absurd the notion was— that her not speaking a word to you somehow spared you from any pain. That you wouldn’t feel the effects of her sudden disappearance just because she didn’t speak to you. It was an optimistic view on it. It was too hopeful. It was selfish.

So you just sharply laughed.

The sound was so sudden that you were almost tempted to jump. As Suguru does, blinking at you to stare at you with vague curiosity. You hadn't expected it yourself. It wasn’t a planned action, nor did you have any opportunity to stop yourself. It just happened. As abruptly and sudden as this situation.

Suguru’s thin brow raised, “What’s so funny?”

“You,” Was the immediate reply as you recovered, taking deep breaths, “Just…. A mercy. You’ve always been so interesting, Suguru. Your concept of sparing me from all those nasty feelings is so..”

“So what?” Suguru’s voice is flat as she regards you, seemingly unamused by this sudden shift in mood from you.

You shoot her a look, “Naive.”

“Naive?”

“Terribly. The fact that you genuinely believe I would’ve rather not heard from you at all to save myself the heartbreak is naive, Suguru.”

Her nose scrunched. “I was sparing you—“

You scoffed, “Sparing me? What am I, some-some damsel in need of saving?”

“A conversation wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“All I wanted was you to say goodbye.”

“You would’ve been devastated—“

“I was devastated when you didn’t even see me!” You reached out and slapped her shoulder. She remained unmoved. Not surprising given her wide stature and statue-like physique. “Do you know what it was like, waiting for you to stumble around and tell me anything? To hear from Gojo or Shoko that you saw them but I wasn’t even worth it? I waited weeks— months for anything. I would’ve taken a card saying anything. Hell, you could’ve been like, surprise! I killed those people. See you never xoxo! And I would’ve taken it. I would’ve sucked it up and swallowed my pride. But you didn’t say a word, Suguru. Not a single thing. That’s what devastated me.”

Suguru blinked slowly, staring at you from over nose as she seemed to blankly contemplate her next words. “A conversation wouldn’t have changed my decision.” She repeated, except it was more firm.

You take in a shaky breath, “I know that.”

“No, you don’t. I can see that you don’t.” Suddenly, Suguru’s hand raised, hesitating, before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I honestly didn’t haven’t anything right to say to you. Anything that came to mind, it just… it wasn’t right. I wanted it to be right with you.”

You tried to ignore the erratic beat of your heart and the heat rising to your cheeks as you stared up at her. “I would’ve taken anything.”

“You deserved more than some empty words I would’ve given. you then.”

A part of you truly did wonder what she could have told you then to comfort you. A part of you knew that you probably would’ve tried to convince her to come with you. To try and make amends with a system she despised. Or maybe it would’ve been carnage and your rage would’ve gotten in the way. Maybe it was best that you two hadn’t talked then.

Still, that teen in you had wished desperately for her one last time.

“My conversation with Satoru… she told me to stay away from you,” Suguru continued when you didn’t speak, “She said that one of us would probably do something incredibly dumb.”

Your eyebrows shot upwards, “Like what?”

Suguru rolled her shoulder, a distant look in her eyes, “I don’t know. Something dumb.”

“We were never the smartest together.”

“I suppose.”

The conversation waned and you suddenly noticed that Suguru’s curse was gone along with the strawberry. Probably both fell away into the recesses of whatever deep dark pit they were all nestled in. Waiting to be coaxed out, waiting to obey and impress their master by any means necessary.

It almost reminded you of high school.

Your desperate attempts at catching her eye. Gaining attention from the angelic girl that sat two seats over. Pathetic battles you placed yourself smack dab in the middle to show off and impress her with your silly fighting style. You were so painfully obvious and embarrassing back then. As if you were one of her curses, bound and promised to serve her. Fight for her, live for her, breathe for her. A loyal dog. Gojo had called you that once.

Shamefully, you acknowledged that same sense of loyalty lingered in the air now.

Why else would you drag yourself to this place? Killing a curse before she could get it just to send a message? Why would you want to warn the psycho killer that inhabited the body of your first…something eight years after she completely abandoned you?

Loyalty and need.

Suguru, larger than life, had you even after all these years.

Eight years wasn’t nearly enough time to lay her memory to rest.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Suguru spoke once the silence dragged on for almost too long. Her hands were tucked into her large sleeves, a peaceful expression on her face with something prowling in the darkness of her eyes. “You can return and tell them I caught you off guard while you were attacking the curse. That I got the upper hand. It’s the easiest way to explain why we’ll depart largely unscathed.”

You tried to ignore the way her eyes trailed up and down your body, taking in the wounds scattering your skin. Instead, paying more attention to her words. Which were more kind than you expected.

“I’m sure they’ll ask you questions. Just act dumb, you were always good at that when we were in trouble.” Then she turned towards the stairs.

She was walking away from you again.

Her back turned. Long black tresses swaying across her back. Shoulders tight and straight. Respectable.

She was walking away from you again.

Suguru! You had called out softly that day. Much younger and much dumber than you were now. Her back had faced you then. You thought nothing of it. Despite how much you longed to stare at her face, you hadn’t doubted you’d see it again. I didn’t even hear you leave. Will I see you later?

Suguru had released something soft then, peeking over her shoulder at you, Later.

She had walked away from you.

She never came back.

She was walking away from you.

There was no coming back.

You just needed a moment longer. Just a little more time to drag out the various things you’d imagined in the eight years she’d been absent. To satisfy some sick twisted part of you that longed, that yearned, that held onto her memories so dearly. The delusional part of you that believed things could be the same in some distant universe.

She was walking away.

She’s not going to come back. She wasn’t even giving the illusion that you both would see each other again.

She was walking away.

What are you going to do? You can’t let her go. Not after you’d gotten a taste of the girls you once were. Not that you’d felt her and—

She’s walking away!!!

“They know about those kids.”

You’re not entirely sure why you said that specifically. Probably something to do with the fact that was the original warning you wanted to convey with this whole thing. It just kinda came out. There was no putting it back in.

However, watching Suguru’s back stiffen, rigid and almost unnatural, as she paused in her steps, you realized you wanted to put it back in.

“Excuse me?” Her voice was different. Flat and unwelcoming, hard and unforgiving. She moved her head to regard you with the words you’d just spoken. They were darker than before. Guarded.

You keep your expression carefully open, trying to convey that you weren’t threatening her, “There’s moles in your congregation. They’re watching you and your family. They’re trying to find your weakness and they’ve started to set their eyes on those girls.” You pushed out in one breath.

Suguru pauses for a long moment, jaw tweaking and lips pressed thinly, “And I assume you saw what they had?” Her tone was still cold, still stiff.

You nod, “Yes. It’s very small, very limited. But they have some type of knowledge.”

Suguru faced away once again, her arms at her side and hands clenching. “Goddammit.” She hissed under her breath.

“I just wanted to give you that, uh, warning, so…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly swaying your arm. “Be careful.”

Suguru didn’t look amused or entirely receptive to your words. She suddenly turned around and glared at you. “How much do they know?” She sounded a bit frantic under the firmness of her tone.

“Just that they’re young. That you’ve had them around for a while. But they don’t know their technique or really anything about them.”

“It’s still too much. They know too much.”

“I’m sorry.” You uttered, as if you were the one that had caused all of this.

Suguru raised an eyebrow, “For what?”

There were a lot of things. Many things that you felt responsible for. Primarily—

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to stop it.”

Suguru’s complexion paled and she looked unbearably uncomfortable. “Stop what?”

“I never…There must’ve been something I could’ve done for you.”

Her expression grew firm and she released a heavy sigh. “I already told you, there isn’t anything that could’ve—”

“Deterred you from your path, I know. But—” Suguru let out an unbearable noise as if you were causing her great pain. Your own expression tightened up woefully. “But I still wished you were there. That-That you stayed and I could help.”

“You realize that I would’ve been miserable, right?”

“Was I really that bad at helping you?”

“No, I just…. No, you were the only thing keeping there until….”

Until it wasn’t enough. It lingered in the air and, for once, you realized that your apology was warranted. That your teenage self had tried to push down the despair with smiles and jokes. By lingering in her space, doing everything with her. Try to drag her from the recess of her mind.

It wasn’t helpful. Not when it really mattered. Not when it should’ve.

You weren’t there when she was hurt. You weren’t there when she was spiraling. And you were basically nonexistent.

“You and Satoru— you’ve always had your complexes. Whether you realize it or not.” Suguru continues on, eyes unwavering on your face. You’re suddenly hyper aware of the space and distance between you. Large and apparent. An obvious fissure separating you both from one another. “You wanted to save me. You still do. But you can’t.”

"Is it so bad that I just wanted you next to me?" You asked desperately, subconsciously inching forward.

"No, but it's bad that you still do." Suguru said honestly, a terrible thing flashing across her expression that was so vulnerable and so raw. It reminded you of days kinder and younger than you both now.

You scoff in reply, shaking your head and ignoring the flare of heat that covers your cheeks.

"You are loyal to a fault." She continues, eyeing you tenderly as she seemingly accepts her twisted perception in your life. "But it's misplaced. You have to accept that. I'm not coming back."

Your chest aches and your hands clench at your sides, nails creating crescents in your palms as you close your eyes. "Suguru—"

Suddenly, your hands are captured in a large embrace. Long fingers wrapped around your considerably smaller ones. Warm and tender, they had always been warmer than your hands. As if she were the sun and your the cold, desolate moon. Her fingers gently pried the unbearable grip you had on yourself and instead caressed her soft tips against the crescents marring the butt of your palms now.

You dared to drag your eyes upwards once again and meet her eyes. Her gaze is soft, unrelenting, and unbearably kind. Honey glazed eyes staring into your endless pits. Much too bright for the criminal. Something stares back at you. A pleading glint in there that you recognize from a days long passed. A call for the piece of you still holding on to a memory of her.

How am I, a lowly idiot, supposed to accept that you, an angelic figure, left me behind? When you look at me like that? You think, heart aching as you clasp onto her hands.

There's something twitching on your face and you're mortified to find it's a smile.

Suguru lets out a guttural sound, almost as if she'd been punched. "I can't do this." She utters between you both, but it's more directed to herself. Her eyes frantically skimming over your every feature. She seemingly absorbed something she found in your eyes. She spoke louder, "This is driving me crazy."

You blink lazily, "Huh?"

You have to tilt your head upwards to keep your gaze on her wavering face, crumbled and desperate. Her grip on your hands tightens as her tongue darts out to wet her plump lips. "I came here as a last send off to you."

Foolishly, you realize, you came for the same, "Me too."

"Would it be so wrong to..." You're suddenly jerked forward, pressed against her as the hunger in her eyes grows. One hand slides from your own and presses against your cheek, warm and welcoming. "Would it be bad for one last time?"

"No." Is your immediate answer.

"No, no, it wouldn't." She mutters, leaning forward, "I'm terribly greedy."

"You deserve to be."

Suguru lets out a breathless sound as both your lips meet.

It makes so much sense for Suguru to kiss the way she does— eager, but tender, excited. but careful. The soft press doesn't even attempt to hide how much she truly wanted this.

A feeling blossoms throughout your body as you capture her lips into your memory once again. Fuller and more experienced than those years ago, she moves gently as if to take this in carefully. Both of you slipping into one another as if two puzzle pieces newly found and a perfect match.

Suguru's kisses were much like her personality— rumbunctious, sweet, and calm. She kisses like she was breathing life into you. Like she was the representation of everything beautiful and good. All of it makes you snake your arms around her shoulders, around her neck, and pull her closer. Please, please, don't go away now. Don't leave me like this. You silently pleaded.

She obliged, her own hands snaking down your waist and resting over your tender flesh, fingers digging into your sides. Pressing you closer against her own body.

Suguru's lips are wet, and plump, and sweet, and you might just die right there. You were close enough that you could smell the sweet perfume clinging to her clothes much like you were.

Pressed against her, her fingers grabbing at you, lips warm and parting with wet clicks, heavy breaths in between. Her eyes watch you from heavy lids, a slight red hue brushed over her cheeks and bridge of her nose. It was like a desperate pull to continue, to not part until it was absolutely necessary.

There's something terribly serious and hungry in Suguru's gaze that makes your heart beat erratically and a ball in your gut tighten. Her lips twitched upwards. Then, she was pressing a wet kiss against your neck, pulling back only the slightest to speak,

"You're so beautiful." Another kiss, then nip.

You straighten, eyes falling closed as you release a small noise. A tingling wave of pleasure shot down your spine and into that needy place between your legs. An aching feeling filled with desperation making you reach out and twist your hands into her silk hair. Tugging as she needily licked and nipped at the pulse beating against her tongue.

You tried to remain calm. Tried focusing on the hot metal that was wrapped around her bottom lip. The way it had softly clicked against your teeth as she hungrily chased after your lips. Or the way they pressed against your skin now, smooth and a stark contrast to the mess that was Suguru's movements.

She trailed her lips from your collarbone, up, up, and up to your jaw where she nips it, running a soothing kiss against it once she was done. The noises that left you were embarrassing, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care much as she moved back to bring her lips against your own. Soft and tender. Speaking more than she could possibly convey with words.

Suddenly, you push forward, absorbing Suguru's shocked whimper with your erratic and feverish lips. The woman was clearly caught off guard by your sudden eagerness, but gave no complaint as you pushed her towards the floor. You possessively grab onto her thigh, the fabric of her robes pooling at the junction of her thigh and revealing the skin under it. Soft and warm, you squeeze and bring it to wrap around your waist as you lean over her. Her hands pressed against your cheeks and opened her mouth to allow you to desperately lap at the warmth. Frantic hands moving to gently open up her robes and expose her to you and you alone.

Your fingers reached between the heavy pooled fabric, basking in the way Suguru gasps against your lips at your touch. You lower and lower and—

The fabric is like silk.

Your eyes open, pulling away with a loud smack, you stare dumbfounded at the sight under you.

Suguru, whether specifically for this or just a daily occurrence (something that made you dizzy, wore a pink-ish purple set. Elaborate bra that was sheer, see through and proudly displaying her large breasts to you adorning two distinctly new piercings on each nipple. Lower, she wore stockings and a garter, wrapped around her middle thigh that was almost swallowed whole by the fat. The stockings made your brain fuzzy as you ran the tip of your finger against it. Electricity shooting all over your body as you dragged and dragged.

Her panties made your brain short circuit completely.

They were completely see through. They left nothing to the imagination as slick seemed to collect into the fabric, vaguely making out the way her clit jumped and pulsed with her pants. You resisted the urge to cry as you spotted the Christina piercing resting just above her hood. Glittering along with her cunt, it presented itself like a beautiful jewel for a king— or, more appropriately a queen.

Awestruck, you reached out and ran your finger over her lips, listening to her whimper and watching as she clenched around nothing.

“You’re more gorgeous than I remember.” You mutter, tilting your head as you stroke her once again.

Suguru lets out a breathless laugh, eyebrows furrowed, “You callin’ me ugly, princess?” She whispered, sounding equally as teasing as she was drunk on whatever chemicals were running through her body now.

You snap your eyes to her, tense as you pause in your menstruation, “No, you’ve always been beautiful to me, Suguru— I-I just… You’re so…” Gorgeous? Amazing? Breathtaking? Show-stopping? There were too many words you could use to describe her now. Too many things running through your tiny mind in that moment to truly grasp one.

Suguru’s lips were upturned, “So…?”

You were much too distracted to care about continuing your previous statement. “I want to… Fuck—“ You jerked forward, feeling lightheaded as you licked your lips. “I really, really want to touch you.”

“What are you waiting for?”

You didn’t wait for much more before you were kissing her swollen lips again. Your arm stretched to pushed past her panties and to greedily press against her.

Eagerness overtakes you as you run your pointer and middle finger through her lips, grazing her hole, then bringing the slick back to her clit to roll a lazy circle over it— Suguru gasps softly. Lips parted and face scrunched as you press. You watch in awe as she closes her eyes, tilting her head back as your movements grow precise and smooth.

You were convinced you were touching a piece of heaven. Her cunt was as soft and delicate as the rest of her. The wetness collected their almost made it silk-like. A gentle place that you tainted by brushing her hole and grinding the butt of your palm against her aching clit.

"God, just—" Suguru growled, jaw clenched as you tease her hole again with shaking fingers. "I swear, if you don't just put them in m— ngh!"

Your two fingers pushed in and Suguru grinds against your palm as she moans. A prominent blush now dusting her cheeks. Almost like she was embarrassed.

"You're so sensitive," you say, breathless, "are you embarrassed, Suguru?"

Suguru manages to conjure up an annoyed look, that make you grin in response. So you're a bit mean, that wasn't anything new. But it felt so refreshing in this setting. The fact that she was under you now and looking so... so her. It made you dizzy and reminiscent.

"You know you're unfairly gorgeous." You start to gently thrust your fingers, listening to the squelch and feeling her tighten around you with a pant. "Even your pussy is gorgeous."

Suguru lets out something akin to a laugh, but is quickly masked by the breathless sigh she releases. "Are you going to talk all night or fuck me?"

You try to keep your head on straight as you smirk down at her. "I just want to take my time."

Suguru huffs, but continues to roll her hips to meet with your hand. It's almost too much. The way she squeezes around you and sucks you closer. The way she whimpers and moans, yet tries to keep that serious mask over her face. It all drives you insane. You wanted nothing more than to watch her come undone under you.

Much to both of your disappointment, you pull away from her.

"Don't tease me— c'mon." Suguru paws at your shirt (now rumpled and unbuttoned), whiny and desperate as she stares up at you. "We've waited so long."

Your heart almost shatters, swallowing a thick lump that forms in your throat— you didn't want to think about any of that. Any of the bad things that happened between now and then.

With a hazy mind, you tug Suguru's panties off, throwing them in an unknown direction. Your hands rest against her open thighs, basking in the way she drips onto the robes below her, glittering under the soft light leaking from the window down the hall.

"Well," Suguru starts, a grin on her lips, "go on."

Like all those years ago, you don't hesitate to obey her command.

You lean down and place a kiss just above the hood of her clit. Closing your eyes as she lets out a gentle noise, her fingers finding home in your hair and clenching. Then, you lick a stripe from her hole up to her clit, wrapping your lips around the enlarged bud.

"Oh!" Her tone falters into what sounds like a mewl.

You suck and nip, coarse tongue swirling against the aching twitching bundle of nerves. Slipping two fingers into your hole, you try to focus on the way she writhes and presses your head closer.

A hoarse moan bounces off the wall as Suguru's wall clench more erratically against your fingers. Closer and closer. You curl them upwards—

"I've missed you. I've missed you so damn bad." The curse user babbles, drunk off the feeling coursing throughout her body from that spot of plushy flesh your petting. Chasing after the nearing edge that made her tingle and whimper. "Never want to leave you— never want to miss you again."

You draw in a breath as you reach down and start to finger yourself as you pick up the pace with Suguru.

You ignore the buildup in your eyes, the undeniable build up of pent up emotions almost taking over. You clench your eyes closed, trying to not think of it all. Of how badly you had missed her— missed this. Your mind repeating the lonely nights where you had only ever wanted her beside you. The days that you wished it was instead you running amuck, leaving death in your wake, and her in Tokyo. Enjoying a cushy job with people who actually love her.

Maybe that was more tolerable than the truth.

Your mind was filled with her. Your senses, all of it— Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. It wasn't possible to think or feel anything that wasn't her.

Please, please, please, Suguru pleads from her place. Sobbing as she tugs your hair, grinding against your mouth.

Her thighs are glistening with her own juices and your spit. Covering your own face and skin as well as you desperately swirl your tongue against her as if it was singlehandedly keeping you alive. You lick a firm stripe across Suguru one more, making her cry out and arch her back. You feel yourself grow closer as she babbles on about how good you are and how much she's missed you.

"You're all I think about," she gasps and cries, "all I ever needed."

As you clenched around yourself, you moan around her. Suguru sharply gasps, then, suddenly, her walls are pulsing around your fingers and her clit is spasming against your tongue. You watch from your place as her face scrunches up with pure bliss, lips parted to release the prettiest sounds you've ever heard, faint blush dusting across her entire body.

Your close behind with your own earth shattering, white noise inducing orgasm. Your grip on her unrelenting and surely to leave some type of mark to remind her of you later.

When you slowly come down, you realize that Suguru has pulled you down to lay on top of her robe with her. Staring at you hazily, swollen glistening lips, and that beautiful glow on her face.

"You're crying," Suguru whispers, reaching up to brush away the salty tears with the pads of her thumbs. "Was it too much?"

You're not entirely sure exactly what it was. An assortment of things. Things that made your chest ache and the love you felt almost unbearable. How were you meant to tell someone you had just ate out, that was laying next to you, wiping away your tears, that you missed them? You missed her, but she wasn't even really gone yet.

"I don't...I don't want to lose you again, Suguru." You admitted in a breathless whisper, eyes unwavering as you stared at her sad expression— both of you knowing what would happen. "Please."

"I can't come back." She stated, shaking her head. "Not after everything. No one would want me back."

"I want you back— we want you back."

"Not the people that matter."

You couldn't deny the horrible pang that spread throughout your chest and into your bottomless stomach. Not the people that mattered. Not you. Never you. You weren't enough—

"Hey," Suguru's hold on your face was firm and she brought you back from your mind. "Even if I wanted to come back, the higher-ups wouldn't ever joke about it. I'd be executed. Like you're supposed to be doing."

You sniffle, "Whatever, who cares what they think, anyway?"

There was a prolonged silence as you both just laid with one another. Staring at the crumbling ceiling above you with contemplative frustration. She was right, the higher-ups wouldn't even think about it before ordering her execution to proceed. Then you'd have the guilt of her death weighing you down.

Maybe she was better off far away from you. Far away from the world she hated so badly. Happier in her own world, with the family she created. Two little girls and three randoms that somehow found their way in her inner circle. You wished you couldn't be jealous. Detest them for so easily staying in her life. But you were selfish. You were mean.

There was a reason Suguru left you behind, this you were sure of.

"I would've told you that I loved you."

You're broken from your thoughts when Suguru speaks. You snap your attention to her and find that she's got her attention solely on the ceiling above. A distant look in her eyes and a careful blankness to it all that makes you pause.

"Huh?" You hum back.

She moves her head to look at you, honestly and tenderly. "If I saw you when I left, I would've told you that I loved you. That's why I couldn't keep you around. I couldn't confine you to a cage, constantly looking over your shoulder because of me."

You sniffle, nodding. Much like you not begging for her to come back with you, she wouldn't beg for you to leave with her. "I understand."

Suguru stares for a moment longer before she's suddenly shoving your shoulder, sitting up. "You're disgusting, by the way. Fucking me on the floor of a nasty abandoned apartment building like some feral animal." She looked irritated, but you could hear the teasing in her tone and the slight twitch of her lips.

You push yourself to sit up, watching as she grabs her panties from a nearby pile, disgust on her features. "You weren't exactly complaining, if I recall correctly." You conjure up the energy to tease back.

Suguru's face screws up, then she throws her panties at you, grumbling as you snort in return. "Eight years and you act like a hormonal teen at the sight of me."

"I have my weaknesses."

"I'm a weakness?"

Suguru was joking but your face set and you nodded. "My one and only."

Her expression faltered. Suddenly somber as she extended a hand to you, pulling you up easily. "Not good to reveal your hand to the enemy, L/n." She uttered.

You raise an eyebrow, pressed against her front. "You're the enemy?"

Suguru snorted softly, pressing a kiss against your cheek. "Always have been. Now, let me get dressed." She shooed you off her robes.

You watch her with dying words on your lips. Instead, you just chose to cherish the moment for as long as you can.

"I heard you've had an interesting few weeks."

It was barely a day after you got home and submitted your report that you were confronted in your office in Kyoto.

She appeared in a flash, as she always had. A blur of white and black, an overwhelming stench of some cologne that she was either gifted or pulled off a shelf. Expensive. As always.

You jump. Eyes wide as you're met with her for the first time in three years. It almost makes you dizzy. Almost makes you mournful for what once was.

It's been years since you last saw Gojo Satoru. She was different, but you could pick apart exactly was the same. Taller, an array of piercings on both ears, hair stuck up in a mess of white tendrils defying gravity as the bandages wrapped around her eyes. Yet she still had that arrogant posture. That hip pop that always accompanied her. Arrogant.

But there were pieces of things familiar. A part of her was still that 17-year-old, standing in the doorway of your dorm, begging for answers about her best friend's defection. You could tell she was still in there. Part of her reaching out, childishly crying, pleading for something long gone by. You always knew she lingered.

You drag your eyes from her towards the pile of documents waiting for your attention on the desk. Something that you were just about to get to until the woman rudely interrupted.

"It's rude to burst into someone's office without calling first." You respond flatly.

Gojo didn't crack a smile, only kept her stance in the middle of the room, "I assume you didn't kill her. Obviously, she would've fought back. You'd be dead." She rambled to herself.

You huff, rubbing your forehead as you fall back into your chair, "Thanks."

"I thought you would've called me if you were ever assigned something like that. But I suppose you've never been the smartest."

"Like I have your number saved anymore?"

"Again, not the smartest."

You clench your jaw, her arrogant tone grating against the wrong gears within you. Gojo had always been too blunt, too blasé for your taste. Even as teens she had watched you from an upturned nose, scornful eyes scrutinizing your every move. It took you a long time before you ever went around her, let along considered her a friend. Her attitude and general disregard for most people was offputting.

You suppose that's something that happens when everyone treats you like a God.

Gojo falls into the chair across from you, long lanky leg crossed over the other, elbow rested on the back. If it weren't for the painfully straight line of her lips, you would've assumed she was at ease. But you knew better.

"I don't understand why they picked you of all people for executing her." The snark in her voice wasn't welcomed.

You draw in a deep breath, you just needed a bit of patience, "I'm sure you would've jumped at the opportunity if you were here."

"Mm, not really." Gojo tilts her head back and you can tell she's scrutinizing you from over her nose. "But, by the sound of things, you were the one jumping at the chance."

You tense and your fingers drum away on your desk top. An assortment of thoughts flush through your mind. Primarily, the things that you and Suguru had done before parting ways.

Hey! Suguru had called as you walked down the stairs, fingers found home around your arm and, effectively, made you stop to turn back. If you're ever in a bind and need me— or you realize what I did— there will always be a home for you with me. With my family.

You had faltered, eyes wide, before clearing your throat and offering a nod. I'll be sure to remember that. You had turned away and took a few more steps before looking back up at her with a small smile. You're not my enemy, Suguru. That's something I always knew.

You didn't linger on the shock that had overtook her face. Instead, leaving while you still could.

"You said in your report that you didn't see her nor did you sense any signs that she had ever been there." Gojo continues on, oblivious to the inner battle you're facing.

You lean back in your chair, sighing in vague annoyance. "Yes, I did."

"You're a liar."

The lack of hesitation and bluntness of the statement catches you off guard. Your eyes widen and you stiffen, staring at her blank disposition with confusion. Gojo was so unlike herself in this moment. So serious. So final.

It brought you great unease.

Gojo leans forward in her seat, grabbing a mini calendar from your desk to fiddle with it. "Want to know how I know?" You can't see her eyes but you can tell she looks to you for a genuine answer. You only stare back silently in return. "Her residuals are everywhere in that place. They're all twisted with your residuals. Like you were mingling."

You frown, that could easily be explained away, "Well—"

"You're covered in her." And this time, you knew that she was staring right at you.

You stare back blankly this time. Unable to find something smart or notable that could possibly explain what her Six Eyes are seeing. It was pointless. A futile thing that would only make her more frustrated than she seemingly already was.

So, you offered her the only thing you were sure of, your silence.

Gojo clenches her jaw, hunching over in her seat. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"How long have you been seeing her? Was this just a perfect chance for you both to explain away any residuals?" She sounded heated, tense and unnatural.

You always wished she would be her annoying regular self.

"Gojo, I don't know who you think you are, but it's been three years—"

"You're the one who cut us all off!" Gojo stood, pointing a long and accusatory finger at you. You only recall the few times she's ever been truly angry. A ball of rage that's been contained for much too long. Snapping into two pieces that overflowed with a rage of someone much younger. "You're the one who-who pulled away and then got angry because I was around! Then you up and vanished without a word to anyone. Fucked off to Kyoto, like what the hell even is this shit?"

You watch as she gestures wildly around the office with disgust and a loud scoff. A bitter part of you was almost happy to see the anger rolling off of her in waves. Another part of you couldn't imagine Gojo Satoru being this upset over you of all people. This had to be something else. She was mad—

Geto Suguru.

"I called Nanami—"

Gojo whirled around on you, "Not me! You didn't call me! You just left without a word and then I had to hear from Nanami about it like it was nothing."

"I didn't think you'd even want to talk to me with how things were left, Gojo! Can you blame me for just wanting to get away from that place?"

"Yes, I can! I most definitely can!"

You scoff, shaking your head as a familiar anger washed over you. "God, you're such a child."

"And, what, you've been running around behind the higher-ups backs, seeing Suguru all these years? Is that why you ran off? Because you thought I'd see her all over you and tell on you like some kid? Is that it? Is that why you left?"

Her incessant questions were driving you crazy. Alongside the misplaced anger, you were bound to throw something back at her. It was deserved. It was warranted.

"Satoru, you are so insufferable! I rushed off because I hated that school. I hated that I had to walk around and see Suguru but not actually see her! Not to mention you were the world's biggest bitch for a year after that! You acted like I was the goddamn bane of your existence and you wouldn't leave me alone!" You stood and matched her level. There was surely someone that could hear you two duking it out now. Laying things out for one another and, hopefully, leave each other for more years to come. "And, no, I hadn't seen Suguru for eight years before she showed up at that goddamn apartment complex! I was living a peaceful and non-annoying life until three days ago!"

There was a pause between you both.

You taking deep breaths as Gojo stands in the middle of your office awkwardly, stiffly. She almost looked like one of the students after you tried to deal out a punishment for whatever foolish thing they've done. The thought alone made you take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.

You're not entirely sure what to say to her now. Without the awkward air only growing—

"You were my friend. And you left."

You were all too aware how young Gojo suddenly sounded. Tender and all too sad to be a 24 year old woman standing before you.

A friend?

"You had Shoko." You easily countered.

"I wanted you."

The revelation made you shut up. Standing awkwardly behind your desk and staring at her with a scrunched face. Wanted you? She wanted you? There's no way that she truly meant it. It was just nostalgia making her speak. Making her lose sight of what actually happened in those years.

"I-I wanted you like a friend, by the way. None of that— um, not like gay or anything!" She suddenly stuttered and sounded terribly like herself compared to herself. "I just... you were... my friend. And... I didn't— I don't have many of those."

Her words were stilted and awkward again. Something that made you tilt your head at her. She didn't look away from you as you processed the words. You were her friend. One of her only friends. Then you left. Right after she lost her one and only best friend.

Suguru's defection made you cruel and selfish.

You press your lips together, "Well, I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything."

"Right," Gojo nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "A little late."

Your chest tightened. "I suppose so."

She stands there for a beat longer before a grin broke across her lips. "Well, you could make it up to me." Her tone was much too light and eager to be genuine or true. But you weren't about to ruin it by asking.

You hesitate in asking, "What?"

"Come get crepes with me!" She said, not allowing you to answer as she grabbed your hand. "Shoko ditched me for Utahime."

"Oh, so I'm backup?"

"No— Well, a bit. But this will be a great bonding moment." She turned her head towards you, dimples prominent. "You in?"

You stared for a long moment. Wondering what could possibly run through Gojo Satoru's mind. How she could so quickly change her emotions. To be so vehemently angry one moment and happy the next. But that had always been her. A ball of rage that could fight back at any moment and then resolve it with her smile and pretty eyes—

"C'mon, just one crepe, some talking, then you can ditch me again." She said it teasingly, but you could tell there was a hint of sadness. Desperation.

You snort softly. "Okay, Satoru."

Her cheeks dusted pink and she pulled you out the room. "Missed you calling me that!"

"Satoru? It's your name."

"Yeah, but Gojo makes it sound like you hate me."

"Well..."

"Hey!"

You and Satoru do not mention Geto Suguru that entire night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that.

It was probably for the best.

[halfratsalready]

The "What if the Traveler is Jack's Dad?" Dilemma & The Power of Character Design in Just Dance’s Storytelling

Originally I had an entire post of all of my thoughts on the worry that the Night Swan event will confirm that Jack's father is the Traveler, but this part made up well over half of it, so I made it a post of its own. I might post the rest separately at some point (I don't even know if I actually think that Ubisoft will make it canon, but I did this anyway).

I went a little crazy on this one, but stick with me here. I am well aware that people don't have to look anything like their parents, but in the world of things like video games (and especially in a game that has to rely entirely on visuals in the absence of dialogue), it's not a bad idea to make related characters visually similar enough for the audience to put their relation together, and the Just Dance team has done an excellent job of this with Wanderlust, so I thought I'd do some analysis on it in relation to the "Jack is the Traveler's son" theory we're all so worried about. This is a very long post - you have been warned.

Disclaimer of sorts: I'm not a costume designer. I'm not a character designer. I'm a musical theater composer, though, who has worked closely with artists on costume design, and I like to think that I have a pretty decent handle on the basics of visual storytelling through character design, which is what this entire post is based off of.

(This post also contains a small spoiler for Sweet Dreams, though it seems that it won’t be a beta for much longer…)

One of the cool things about Wanderlust's appearance is the way that the designers managed to give him his own unique look while also paying homage to both of his parents. It's important to note here that both Si'ha Nova and the Traveler were already well established characters by the time of Wanderlust's first appearance in JD23, so it was important to give him those visual similarities to make his connection to them more apparent.

The most obvious visual similarity between Si'ha and Wanderlust is their blue skin, which makes it pretty clear upon first glance that they're related. A non-genetic but still obvious visual similarity between the two is the use of triangle motifs. Si'ha has one on her head and more on her earrings, for example, while Wanderlust has them on his crown, one on his glove, and one on his belt. I think that it's also worth noting that the golden accents on Wanderlust's sleeves are vaguely reminiscent of the ones on Si'ha's purple glove. They both also have purple, gold, and pink in their overall designs.

Wanderlust has fewer “genetic” visual similarities with his father than he does with his mother, but they're still there. The only "genetic" similarity that they really have is the blue hair (granted, Wanderlust's is only a streak of blue, but it's still there, and his eyebrows are blue, as well). They have a ton of other visual similarities in their designs, though. Just like Si'ha, the Traveler has several triangle motifs throughout his appearance. The one he wears on a chain around his neck is very similar to the one on Wanderlust's glove and belt. They both have their own unique triangle symbols, but they're quite similar. Also notable is Wanderlust's half-cape, which is dark with gold accents, much like the Traveler's cloak. Once again, those gold lines on the Traveler's cloak are similar to the ones on Wander's sleeve. Additionally, Wanderlust seems to have the same eye color as both of his parents.

Even when he's been transformed by Night Swan's spell, Night Wanderlust (or, as I like to call him, Swanderlust) has several visual similarities to both of his parents that he doesn't have in his "normal" form. Though not the same shape or color, he has a shape over one of his eyes like the Traveler does, and those shapes on the black part of his shirt are, to me, very reminiscent of the circles on Si'ha's blue glove. And that little triangle on his crown is remarkably similar to the one on Si'ha's head, black surrounded by gold (I also think the blue of the feathers on his cape are similar in color to the Traveler’s shirt).

I know that Sweet Dreams is a beta (though it might not be for much longer) and that it's very possible that if they do release it, they might change this shot, but for now, I want to use it. When I first saw this shot of Night Swan at the end of Sweet Dreams, I was really thrown off because something felt very wrong with it, and I realized that it's her eyes. They are such a bright green here. It felt like such an intentional choice, and it made me think of the fact that all of Jack's avatars (though you can see it most clearly in his legendary avatar) have green eyes. Does he have green eyes in the actual game? No. But I thought it was an interesting enough detail to include here. Personally, my headcanon is that Night Swan had green eyes before she became Night Swan, at which point they turned yellow, meaning that her eyes are naturally green and that she passed that trait on to her son.

Though they're rather lacking in "genetic" similarities, though, Night Swan and Jack have plenty of those visual similarities that Wanderlust has with his parents (I also think it's worth mentioning that, save for that one teaser in Season 1: Astral, Night Swan and Jack were introduced in the same game, meaning that the need to make Jack as visually similar to her isn't necessarily as important, because Night Swan isn't an established character like Si'ha and the Traveler were prior to Wanderlust's appearance). The pink feathers are an obvious visual similarity between the two. They also both wear gold earrings and have a golden chain (Night Swan on her coat and Jack hanging from his pocket), and Night Swan's golden claws are represented by the golden glove on Jack's hand.

I also want to throw out there that Wanderlust is the son of two "good" characters, and his visual similarities to them indicate that he has that same "goodness." Jack, on the other hand, is the son of a villain, and making him stand out from his mother visually is a good way to represent from the start that he's supposed to be a sympathetic character who isn't anything like his mother. Because it's a dancing game, we don't get any sort of dialogue from him that could indicate that he's not a villain, so we're left to rely on his expressions (which Mickael did a fucking phenomenal job on) and his overall design. Making him stand out from his mother visually is a good way to show us from the start that he's not inherently on his mother's side.

Assuming the Traveler is Jack's father, there is essentially no similarity between the two save for the inclusion of some gold accents. I would say they have the same eye color, but I feel like Jack's dark eyes are overridden by the green eyes in all three of his avatars. Granted, it makes sense for Jack's appearance to be influenced by his mother considering she's the one who raised him, but I think that, from a storytelling perspective, it would have been a smart move to include some semblance of a visual similarity between Jack and the Traveler if they had really intended from the start for the Traveler to be Jack's father. If they did intend on this being a plot point from the start, they intentionally kept it a secret by not including a single visual clue, which is, to me as a storyteller, a sort of annoying thing that makes it seem like they’re more focused on pulling the rug out from under the audience than they are on making sure that the plot twists make sense. But hey, that’s just me.

If you actually, read all of that, I love you and you are the best and thank you for actually taking the time to read my ridiculous rambles. I hope it was at least mildly interesting and made some decent points.

[fazedlight]

Lois (inspired by this fic by @luthordamnvers and @snowydragonscave)

Can I trust a Luthor?, Lois thought.

The fight had already begun, drawing the entire staff of The Daily Planet to the building’s windows. The battle between Superman and the mysterious figure might simply be another Tuesday in Metropolis…

Before the sky turned red.

Lois’s finger itched at the scrap of paper in her hands, a note attached to a flower delivery, written in a messy scrawl. “In the darkest hour, the answer is at the top of the Planet.”

Lois glanced to Perry White, to James, feeling the notable absence of Clark. Can I trust a Luthor?, she asked herself again, her sensibilities warring against Lena Luthor for being from the wrong family, for being too young, for… this is bullshit, Lois thought.

She turned on her heel, darting across the room without much notice, jerking open the stairwell door before bounding the three flights up to the roof of the Daily Planet. Yanking a bobby pin from her hair, she quickly unlocked the security door - a practiced habit, from her occasional secret smoke breaks - and made her way onto the roof.

She approached the giant sphere, THE DAILY PLANET boldly imprinted along its side, as her eyes scoured over the globe’s infrastructure. It didn’t take her long to notice the slightest edge of a box hidden at the very base - somewhere that someone would only look if they had need to.

She yanked at the box, throwing a quick look over her shoulder as the rapidly dimming skies contrasted with the blasts of green echoing along the clouds. Farmboy’s running out of time, she thought, ripping at the box until she came to folded metal.

That’s when she grinned. Daughter of an army general, Lois knew her way around a weapon. She was almost gleeful as she snapped together the clever telescoped rifle, the back of her mind admiring its sleek construction - despite the bulky payload - as she briefly fantasized about shooting Lex Luthor out of the sky. 

But as she turned, settling onto the building ledge to steady her weapon, her eye caught on the note attached to the scope. “Aim for the S”, it said.

Lois tilted her head curiously, feeling a wave of realization, hearing Lena’s words in her ear. “Lex is my brother and I love him, but I can't stand and do nothing.” 

Lois turned again to the sky, watching as Superman faltered, as the hero struggled to stay in the air, dodging more attacks as the sunlight shifted a darker red. It’s now or never, Lois said, knowing somewhere in her soul that Lena was out to do the right thing. She adjusted her aim, not lingering given Superman’s movements, carefully squeezing the trigger.

Light burst from the end of the gun, Lois’s eyes widening as the laser split across the sky, cutting through the atmosphere until it landed squarely on the kryptonian’s chest. Lois’s expression shifted to a smile as Superman’s entire frame changed, power roaming through his posture, like air filling his lungs. He surged forward again, throwing the mysterious figure across the sky like a ragdoll, continuing to chase after the attacker with new vigor. 

Lois turned up to the sky again, watching the eclipse continued on, hearing sonic boom after sonic boom as the battle raged in the distance. Until finally, light began streaming again, yellow sunlight brushing her face in welcomed relief. 

She smiled again, turning to pack the gun back into the box, intent to leave it where she had found it so that her Little Luthor benefactor could later retrieve it. Thanks, Lena, she thought. 

She heard a clamor behind her, the heavy steps of a familiar photojournalist running her way. James watched as Lois shoved a box beneath the Planet’s globe again, before she rose, dusting herself off, making her way back towards the roof door.

“What did you do?” James asked incredulously as she brushed past him.

It was a simple answer. “I shot Superman.”

[hb-writes]

Hide and Seek

Summary: 1923 in the Little Lady Blinderverse. When Clara hides herself away at a charity event, Isiah is tasked with finding her and bringing her back to the party.

Characters: Isiah Jesus & Clara Shelby (OC)

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—

Clara and her book were hiding, something she had taken to doing with a certain regularity at these charity events. The people who attended were always far too posh, and while Clara felt pretty in the clothes Grace picked out for her, she didn’t feel a bit like herself while wearing them. 

The clothes also made her feel like a little kid, all variations of something she would have loved to wear years ago. Back when she didn’t care about looking like a baby, or being treated like one, but Clara was halfway to an adult as far as she was concerned, and she didn’t need any childish frills to help her with looking young.

Clara managed that on her own because she had yet to experience the growth spurt that had Finn towering over her and she still had the very same face she’d had since she was practically a toddler, or at least that’s the way it seemed. Everyone was always commenting on how young she looked, surprised to learn she was an adolescent.

“Your brother is looking for you.” 

She glanced up at Isiah. Clara knew he was talking about Tommy. None of the others bothered, preoccupied with the food and the alcohol and the opulence, but because Grace was likely thinking about presentation, and whispering about Clara’s notable absence in Tommy’s ear, Clara assumed he’d sent Isiah to pull her out of hiding so she could mingle. 

Clara tired easily of such interactions, reminded by the guests of the posh girls who attended her school, and worse yet, Clara was sick of being told she looked like such a beautiful mix of her mother and her father. 

She hadn’t heard it yet tonight, but Clara assumed it was just a matter of time. 

She had Tommy’s eyes, but with Grace’s fair hair. Quick witted and sweet with a proper set of manners on her. That’s what some well-intentioned guest always pointed out. 

There was a tune when it hadn’t bothered Clara that people assumed Tommy was her father. A time when a part of her liked it, in a way, because he was the closest she had ever really had to one, but it only bothered her now. 

“Tell him to come find me himself, then.” 

Isiah snorted as he sat down beside her on the steps.

“Can’t imagine that will go over well.”

Clara shrugged, It had been a while since she had properly cared how things went over where Tommy was concerned, but Clara still held a modicum of concern because they were in a public place and she had no interest in being chastised with an audience. That would really get people thinking she was a child, Tommy and Grace’s at that. 

“I want to go home,” she finally offered, cooperative as Isiah pulled the book from her hands and started skimming through the pages.

“Just you and this book, eh?” 

Clara shrugged. “You could come if you want.” 

Isiah snorted again, not because he didn’t want it, but because it was an unlikely outcome.

“Or you could just leave me here and tell him you couldn’t find me.” 

“I tell him that and your brothers’ll have half of Birmingham out looking for you.”

And once they found her, Clara would have an earful off of him. 

“Come on, Clara,” Isiah said, squeezing her knee before he stood, stepping away. “It won’t be so bad.” 

“Isiah?

“What is it, love?”

“Can I have my book?” Clara said, holding her hand out for him to return it. 

“If I give you this book, you’ll never leave that step.” Isiah shook his head as he pocketed it within his jacket. “Come with me now and you can have it later.” 

Clara took Isiah’s outstretched hand, allowing him to help her up, the momentum of his tug pulling her into his chest. Clara stayed there a minute, letting Isiah hold her against him. 

“And you and Finn’ll come out to Warwickshire this weekend?” 

“Sure, love.” He shrugged. “Why not.” 

“Great,” Clara said as she extracted herself from Isiah's arms, the book safely in her grasp as she pulled away and returned to her spot on the stoop. "You can tell Tommy I'll be out once I finish this chapter."

Clara was unsurprised when Isiah chose not to go relay the message to her brother, but instead to sit back down beside her, allowing Clara to continue reading her book in peace as the posh party continued down the hall.

—

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