#weight watchers alternative

[ignorance-on-fire]

My moms famous shit yourself stew strikes again

[thoughtfulfiction]

People Watcher

Author’s Note: Poll winner, anon requested protective Joe!

Joe wasn’t one to hover. He never tried to control you or tell you what to do. That wasn’t his style. You were smart, independent and more than capable of navigating life’s challenges on your own. But that didn’t stop him from looking out for you in his own way, subtle, steady, always intentional.

Like on game days.

“You sure you’re good sitting in the suite?” Joe asked, tugging a hoodie over his head as he walked out of his office Wednesday evening after a long film session. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the question, one you knew well by now.

“You know I don’t mind,” you smiled, adjusting her earrings in the mirror. “Your mom’s fun. She gets loud when you’re winning and she’s always super proud of you. Both of your parents are.”

That earned you a quiet chuckle from Joe. “Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just…you know. It’s easier that way.”

He didn’t have to say what that way meant. You knew he wanted you away from the chaos of the stands, where emotions could run high and things could turn ugly fast. It wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself. Joe knew better than anyone that you could. But the idea of you being out there alone, surrounded by strangers who didn’t always know when to stop, didn’t sit right with him. In fact, it made his skin crawl a little bit.

“I know,” you said softly, stepping over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll even text you when I get there.”

Joe’s hand covered yours, holding it still for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Do that.”

He usually didn’t respond to pregame texts, locking himself away in the depths of his mind and replacing his usual nonchalant self with a stone cold killer, the mentality he had to maintain while on the field to perform at his best. And yet, it eased his mind getting that text from you when he checked his phone one last time beforehand. A reminder of what he was coming home to.

Joe never asked for much, he rarely actually said be careful or stay safe, but that simple request had always been his way of saying both.

It was like that all the time with him. Tiny acts of service that didn’t seem big until you put them all together. How he always asked you to text him when you got somewhere, even though he had your location. How he’d casually mention alternate routes home if traffic was bad or if he heard about an accident nearby. How he never asked you not to go out with your friends but would always remind you to call him if you needed anything, no matter what time it was.

He wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate in public. The man wasn’t one for big grand gestures, preferring to show his love in quieter ways. In the extra hoodie he always left in your car because he knew you got cold easily. In the way he’d ask if you had someone to walk with you to your car if you were staying at the office late.

It was thoughtful without being overbearing, protective without being possessive, just Joe, in that calm, steady way that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

“You know I’m okay, right?” you asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I know,” Joe said. His lips quirked slightly, just the faintest smile. “But humor me anyway.”

Funny thing is, the trip was supposed to be for the girls. Your best friend Rachel’s requests were concise and clear, a drunken weekend in miami that you’d either never remember OR you’d have memories that would last a lifetime. With those instructions you started figuring out an itinerary. You looked at places to stay, how long the trip would be and where exactly you’d be spending way too much money on green tea shots every night.

“We could do the Gale for a week?” You suggested one evening, your laptop open comparing prices and amenities for you, Rachel and a few other girls that had let you know they would be joining.

“I like that place,” she smiles, tossing a jalapeño chip in her mouth. “The beds are super nice and we could stay in those two bedroom suites.”

Joe pops into the conversation, grabbing his keys that were previously resting next to your computer. “Wait…you’re gonna be gone for days? I thought we all were gonna do something together, you know, to make sure Rachel doesn’t do anything illegal. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re above the law,” he gives her a pointed look, “this isn’t The Purge.”

“I mean…you can come if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “But I know Miami’s not really your thing.”

Joe, who was halfway through tying his sneakers, paused and gave you a look—one eyebrow raised just enough to tell you he wasn’t buying your nonchalant tone.

“You want me to come with you to Rachel’s birthday trip?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We wanna go for a few days. Just some beach time, clubs, you know… typical Miami stuff.” She shrugged. “We’d just all be one big group and we can all hang out. It’d be fun.”

“I would’ve asked earlier if I knew you were interested. Figured you’d probably rather stay home.” You added in.

Joe nodded slowly, like he was considering it. Truthfully, a loud week in Miami didn’t exactly sound like his idea of a good time. Crowded clubs, overpriced drinks, endless social energy? Not really his scene. But before he could answer, his best friend Zacciah’s voice chimed in from the living room.

“Wait, we’re talking Miami?” Zacciah grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “That sounds like a good time to me.”

“I’m in,” Trae added from the couch, like this was already a done deal.

Joe shot them both a flat look. “I didn’t say I was going.”

“Yeah, but you are,” Zacciah smirked. “Come on, man. It’ll be fun. Beach, clubs, a big group of us—it’s not just her friends.”

“Yeah,” Trae added with a grin. “We’ll make it a whole thing.”

Joe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I’m going, we’re doing it right.”

The next thing you knew, Joe had chartered a private flight and rented a sprawling beach house with enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own space.

“You know this was originally supposed to be a casually chaotic weekend with the girls, right? Now you’ve turned it into an episode of Selling Sunset.” You teased when he showed her the house listing.

He paused, furrowing his brows. “Isn’t that set in California?”

“Right, so you do pay attention when I watch?” You ask suspicious of him since he always said the show was stupid and that you were losing brain cells every episode.

“Anyway, you’ll still get your chaotic girl time,” Joe said with a shrug, moving on from the previous topic of discussion. That alone answered your question. “I just didn’t want you stuck in some overpriced shoebox with no A/C.”

You smiled, shaking your head. He wasn’t loud about it, no grand speeches about taking care of you, but this was Joe in his element. Quietly looking out for you in the most thoughtful ways.

And honestly? You weren’t mad about the upgrade.

As the group filtered into the spacious Miami beach house, everyone was buzzing with excitement. The huge windows opened up to an expansive view of the ocean, and the pool out back practically screamed “boujee vacation.” Rachel played soft music, curating her perfect birthday week playlist in the background as everyone started to claim rooms, tossing bags on beds and getting settled in.

Joe, ever the planner, wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. He’d seen this kind of trip before—a group of people letting loose, and inevitably, a few hangovers in the morning. He wasn’t about to be unprepared.

He was already on his phone, tapping away.

“Alright,” Joe called out to the group, his voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re doing a grocery run online. Everyone needs to add in whatever they want. Let me know if there’s anything specific you need.”

He wasn’t asking for suggestions, he was in charge of this, and everyone knew it. They scattered, pulling out their phones to check in. But Joe had already begun filling in his list.

“Got your Gatorade, your ibuprofen…” he muttered to himself, typing rapidly. “Liquid IVs. Don’t forget the snacks. Chips, candy, all that crap you’re going to want after a night out.”

He shot a glance over at you, raising an eyebrow as you rummaged through your suitcase. “I’m putting all of your favorites on the list. I know you’ll need ‘em. We just won’t mention the Gatorade purchase to my Body Armour people.”

You rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “You know me too well.”

Joe didn’t respond. He just kept typing, making sure he’d covered everything he was sent. He added a few extra things, more water, some fruit for the mornings, and whatever random drink Zacciah had requested. The usual crew was already bouncing ideas off each other, but Joe remained methodical.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, placing his phone on the counter. “List is done. Should be here in a couple hours.”

It was a small thing, but it wasn’t surprising. Joe took care of the details in ways people didn’t always notice. The Gatorade, the medicine, and the snacks weren’t just for the group; they were specifically for you. He knew what you liked, what you’d need after a long night of dancing and drinking. It wasn’t a huge deal, just another way he quietly looked out for you.

“Thanks,” you said, walking up to him. You brushed your hand against his arm. “You always think of everything.”

Joe just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone has to,” he said, his tone steady and matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’d rather be prepared than have to force Trae to run out and grab things in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” you replied, smiling up at him.

For Joe, it wasn’t about making a show of things. It was just how he was, always looking out, always a step ahead. The house was amazing, the trip was going to be fun, but as always, his focus was on making sure everything ran smoothly. Even down to the little things.

The club’s bass thrummed low and steady the next night, vibrating through the floor as Joe slid into a booth near the back. It was his kind of spot—dim lighting, tucked away from the chaos of the dance floor but still with a clear view of everything. The sunglasses he wore inside weren’t just for show; they made it easier to watch without being watched.

His arm draped loosely over the back of the seat, and when the server stopped by, Joe kept it simple.

“Gin and tonic,” he said, then glanced at you. “And whatever she’s having.”

“I’m doing shots with the girls,” you grinned, your hand resting on his thigh for a second. “Don’t wait up.”

Joe’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched as you weaved through the crowd toward the bar, easily finding your friends. The way you laughed, tossing your hair back as you all clinked your shot glasses together, made something warm settle in his chest. You were in your element—carefree, glowing and just having a good time.

You caught his eye from across the room, your smile lingering when you found him watching. Joe nodded with a side smirk as a silent ‘I see you’. Your grin widened before you turned back to your friends, vanishing into the crowd.

Joe leaned back, taking a slow sip of his drink. He trusted you with every fiber of his being and wasn’t worried in the slightest about your safety in public settings because he knew that you’d take care of yourself. That confidence that you could handle things on your own and your own self assurance was one of the things he loved most about you. But still, whenever you were out, Joe couldn’t help but keep an eye on things because he knew what could happen when guys didn’t take no for an answer.

His gaze followed you out to the dance floor, where you moved effortlessly with your friends. The lights flickered across your face, and Joe couldn’t help but smirk to himself. You looked good —too good—and judging by the attention you were getting, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

But what Joe cared about most was the way you kept sneaking glances back at him—not for reassurance or for permission, but just to check in. A quiet confirmation that he was still there, still watching out for you in that calm, steady way you appreciated.

He takes his glasses off while looking at you, just enough for you to notice and he puts them back on. You smiled softly, your expression saying ‘I know you’ve got me’.

And of course he did. He always did.

Joe’s fingers tap idly against the side of his glass, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. Outwardly, he’s the picture of calm —shoulders relaxed, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. But beneath that stillness, his patience is wearing thin.

The guy’s been circling for a while now—too long. Joe’s watched him linger near your group, pretending to bump into you once, then again. Each time, your smile tightens a little more, your body language shifting from relaxed to guarded. You’re handling it. Joe can see that. But the guy’s persistence is starting to cross a line.

Joe exhales slowly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. He leans over to Zacciah, voice low and steady.

“Hold this for me,” Joe says, sliding his glass toward him.

Zacciah barely reacts, just takes the drink with a small nod—like this isn’t the first time he’s seen Joe move like this. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

Joe rises from his seat, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand before weaving through the crowd. He doesn’t move quickly— no chest-puffing or bravado—just slow, purposeful strides. He’s not here to start a scene; he’s here to end one.

Your friends were still on the dance floor, their laughter and cheers echoing across the room.

“You look like you could use another one,” a voice said beside her.

You turned your head and found a guy standing there—possibly late twenties or early thirties, well-dressed, with a confident smile that leaned a little too far into cocky.

“I’m Xavier,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around tonight. Just had to say…” His eyes dragged down and back up again. “You look amazing.”

You gave a polite smile, shaking his hand briefly before tucking yours back around your clutch. “Thanks,” you said. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning closer like he already knew what your answer would be.

“Oh,” you said with an awkward laugh. “That’s sweet, but I’m actually here with my boyfriend, so I’m gonna pass.”

Xavier’s smile barely faltered. “Boyfriend?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the crowd. “Haven’t seen you with any guys tonight, just your friends.”

“He’s here,” you said, your voice still friendly but firmer this time. “I promise.”

Xavier chuckled under his breath like you’d made a joke. “C’mon,” he said with a grin, motioning toward the bartender. “One drink won’t hurt.”

“I’m good,” you repeated, shifting slightly to put a little more space between the two of you. “But thanks.”

The bartender set your drink down on the counter, and you grabbed it quickly, hoping the conversation was over. But Xavier stayed put, his smile lingering like he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he added with a lazy shrug, “if he’s letting you stand here alone, maybe he’s not paying enough attention.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass, frustration flaring in your chest. “Trust me,” you said, meeting his eyes directly, your patience thinning. “He’s paying plenty of attention.”

A shadow shifted behind Xavier, solid and unmistakable and suddenly the air felt heavier.

Joe was there now, standing just behind him. Close enough that Xavier could probably feel the shift in space before he even turned around.

Xavier paused, some instinct telling him something was off. Then he turned and stopped cold.

Joe didn’t say a word at first. He just stood there—calm, unmoving, looking profoundly unimpressed. His sunglasses were still on, but the message was crystal clear: You know exactly what you’re doing, and you need to stop.

“Whoa…” Xavier blurted, half-laughing. “No way, you’re Joe Burrow!” He grinned like he’d just bumped into his favorite celebrity at a steakhouse, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off Joe. “Man, I’m a huge fan! Bro, this is crazy! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Joe didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just turned to the bartender and said, “Two waters.” His voice was calm—too calm—and he stayed exactly where he was, comfortably crowding Xavier’s space.

“So… what were we talking about?” Xavier asked, turning back to you with a grin like he’d just won some imaginary game of charm.

You stifled a laugh. “Um—oh you were saying something about how my boyfriend isn’t paying enough attention?”

Xavier snapped his fingers, clearly feeling bold again. “Yeah! I don’t know where ol’ dude is or if he’s even real, but he’s messing up right now. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Or, you know… someone better to spend your time with?”

Joe’s eyebrows lifted behind his sunglasses, and his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Someone better, huh?” His voice was mild, almost amused. “Yeah…wonder where she could find that.”

It took a second for Xavier to connect the dots. His face dropped like a cartoon character realizing they’re halfway off a cliff.

“Oh…shit,” he muttered, suddenly a lot less confident. “Listen, man, I didn’t know she was with you. No hard feelings, right?”

Joe leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t matter who she’s with,” he said quietly, the steady calm in his tone somehow more unsettling than if he’d been angry. “If a woman says no, you leave her alone. Whether her boyfriend’s a pro athlete or not.”

Xavier’s smile flickered and died. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” he stammered, already backing away. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My bad, man.”

Joe watched him disappear into the crowd like he was making sure he wouldn’t change his mind. Only once Xavier was out of sight did he turn back to you, sunglasses sliding down just enough for you to see his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you sighed, tension draining from your shoulders. “He was just…persistent.”

Joe exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Persistent gets people embarrassed.”

You laughed quietly, leaning into his side. “You know, you’re kinda scary when you’re calm.”

Joe shrugged, completely unaffected. “It’s efficient.”

You smiled, slipping your arm around his waist. “And hot. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Always,” Joe said simply. Then he grabbed the two waters from the bar, handing one to you. “Now drink this,” he added, “I know you’re not ready to head out yet so I need you to hydrate.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” You respond, taking a sip and leaning into him.

The night out had been a blast—the club buzzing with energy, the lights flashing in time with the music. But as the group made their way back to the house, you felt the familiar weight of exhaustion and the ache in your head from the drinks. You weren’t too far gone, but you were definitely feeling the effects of a good time.

Joe had kept a watchful eye the entire night, noticing the subtle shift in your mood as the evening wound down. When you all got back to the house, it was clear you were ready to crash. Your energy was starting to dip, and he was already prepared.

“Hey, let’s get you upstairs,” Joe said gently, his hand finding your back as they walked toward the stairs. You slipped your arm around his waist, leaning into him just a bit more than usual.

“You’re carrying my shoes? How sweet.” You said, a sleepy grin tugging at your lips.

Joe smirked, his expression cool but with a hint of affection. “Wouldn’t want you to break your ankle on the stairs.”

“I think I can manage,” you teased, though you didn’t fight him when he practically carried you up the last few steps.

Once you reached the top, Joe pushed the door open to your shared room, making sure you were settled before heading to the bathroom.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Joe said, heading downstairs.

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for the journey of getting ready for bed. He returned shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, handing them to you with a quiet, “take these.”

You took the pills, downing the water quickly, before letting out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second. “I’m gonna need this for tomorrow…”

“You’re gonna need more than that,” Joe said, grabbing the Gatorade from the nightstand. “Drink some of this too.”

You shot him a half-smile, letting him help you sit up a little more as you sipped the Gatorade. “Thank you for always taking care of me. Not just tonight but…every night.”

“It’s my second job. And it arguably pays better” Joe said, his tone still calm, his voice laced with affection. It was just who he was, always looking out for you.

After you finished the drink, he handed you a soft towel. “Come on, let’s get that makeup off.”

You scooted over, pulling herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. Joe stood beside you, a steady presence as he gently started wiping off your mascara. His movements were slow and careful, making sure he wasn’t too rough, his focus entirely on you.

“Okay, now you’re all set,” he said softly, tossing the wipes in the trash before turning toward the closet. “Pajamas. You good with just something comfy?”

“No,” you said, grinning. “I’m on vacation, I need something cute. You’re picking.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at you, a little surprised, but he didn’t argue. He walked to the closet, searching for something cute, but simple enough that you’d be comfortable. He picked out a soft set of matching shorts and a loose, flowy top.

“Here,” he said, holding them up. “This good?”

You made a small sound of approval. “Perfect.”

Joe turned to let you change, standing by the door to give you space but still staying close, like he always did. When you were done, you crawled into bed, and he helped pull the covers up over you.

He stood next to the bed for a moment, just looking at you. There was something about you —about how you trusted him, how you let him take care of you. His heart softened, but he didn’t show it.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know that?” You said, your voice a little sleepy but filled with sincerity. “You’re gonna be a really good husband one day.”

Joe felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say at first, because in that moment, it hit him harder than ever: he could see it. The future. With you. The ring that sat waiting for him in his desk drawer in Cincinnati wasn’t just a thing he’d bought on a whim. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, and your words just made it that much more real.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion rolling around in his chest. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You smiled up at him sleepily. “You always are.”

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, thinking about how you’d touched parts of his heart and soul he didn’t even know existed. He didn’t need to say anything more. His actions spoke louder than anything he could put into words.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, your eyes fluttering closed.

And as he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the blankets, Joe’s thoughts drifted to the future. He didn’t know how he could possibly put how you make him feel into a few meaningful sentences. He didn’t know exactly what day he’d ask you, but he knew he would. And when the time came, he’d be ready.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread

warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T) they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.

“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.

Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek. 

He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles. "I'm sorry, my love."

“You’re going to make me late.”

It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.

Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.

“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.

She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.

The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.

“Divine Flame.”

The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips. "Gods Blade."

A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat. Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.

The sky?

What happened to the roof?

The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.

“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.” Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.

“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.

“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”

Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.

“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.

The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.

As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.

Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.

Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.

“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”

The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.

“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,

“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.

Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.

“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.

“You used — “

“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”

How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.

Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.

“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.

“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “

“Kiyotaka,” you huff.

“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”

It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.

With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.

You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.

‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.

Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!

They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.

It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).

You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.

“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.

“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “

“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.

“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”

The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.

Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.

“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.

“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.

“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”

“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.

It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.

“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."

The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.

"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.

Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.

"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.

"My dearest husband was injured in battle."

Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.

Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”

“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.

“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.

"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"

“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.

“Mr. Gojo is married!?”

Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.

“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”

“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.

“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”

Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.

“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”

They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.

The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.

“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”

“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”

Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.

“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.

Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”

Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.

“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.

“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.

‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.

“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”

Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.

To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.

“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.

“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.

Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.

“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.

For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.

It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.

“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames." Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.

“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.

Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in. "A good read?"

“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.” “What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.

As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now. “It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.

Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.

‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘ “It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink. "Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.

He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.

Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed. “Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!

To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.

“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”

Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.

Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.

Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.

After his death, nobody called you that anymore.

If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.

You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.

That was a dark summer.

“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.

This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.

An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.

What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.

He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.

A Grade 1 sorcerer.

It hardly required a duo.

‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.

A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.

“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”

You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.

(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.

But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.

He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.

“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.

You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.

“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.

He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.

He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.

“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.

As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.

“I apo — “

Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.

‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘

The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.

He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.

But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.

Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.

He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.

“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression. You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.

It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.

“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.

“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.

“Oi. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.

“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.

“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.

“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.

But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.

' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '

The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.

“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.

“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.

Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.

“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”

The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.

The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.

Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.

“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.

It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.

Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.

Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?

Was it your father?

He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.

In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.

“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.

“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”

“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.

Too great some would say.

Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.

The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.

But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.

It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.

Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain? Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?

If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?

Why would they dare take more from you?

From Satoru?

Had they not have their fill?

Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.

“...You would tell me if it was, right?”

Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.

What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;

' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'

“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”

“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.

You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.

Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.

You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.

“I can do it by myself.”

He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;

“I can do it by myself!”

The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.

His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.

Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.

Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.

He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.

Why the fuck is he crying?

But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.

He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.

He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.

He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.

Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.

His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.

‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.

“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.

He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.

Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.

“Why do you call me that?”

Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.

“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.

His eyes are still so dark.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.

He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.

“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.

“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.

“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”

You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”

You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.

“What did you call Suguru?”

You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.

If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.

“I called him my one and only.”

He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean. You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.

“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.

“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”

“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.

Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."

He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.

“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”

“Beloved, you’re not.”

You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.

“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”

Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.

That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.

“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”

“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.

“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."

He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.

So why the fuck was he crying?

“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”

These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.

“Stop, Satoru.”

“I knew too.”

“Please, stop!”

“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.

“My beloved — "

“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”

Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?

In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.

“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” "You keep saying that, Satoru!"

You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.

Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.

Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.

He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?

Why must he love this way? You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.

"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."

That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.

From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.

How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?

The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.

So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.

"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.

Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.

Just.

Just once.

' Come. '

His eyes are still so dark.

' Inhabit me. '

So are yours.

' Let me show you. '

They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.

' Bare your soul to me. '

His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.

' I have. Now fall with me. '

He kisses you.

It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.

' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '

You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.

Just once.

He needs to hold you like this just once.

To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —

"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.

His godhood is forgotten.

The strongest kneels.

The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.

"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.

His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.

"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.

It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.

This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.

"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."

Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.

He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.

As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.

Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.

There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.

He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.

Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.

He's not entirely at fault. You let him.

It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.

Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?

What were you worshipping?

The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.

"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.

"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...

"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.

Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.

He likes kissing you.

Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.

That endless void; it reflects only you.

"(Y/N)".

It's your name that leaves his lips.

"(Y/N)."

He's pleading for you.

"My beloved."

You're dear to him.

Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.

When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.

His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.

It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.

"I'm right here, beloved."

"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.

"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.

"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.

"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.

"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.

"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."

When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.

"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.

"Satoru."

With his name on your lips.

"Please."

Begging for his mercy.

"Satoru."

You ____ him.

The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.

It was baleful.

The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.

"Satoru, you've come home."

His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.

If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.

"Yes, I have."

Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.

It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.

It'd be his mother.

"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."

"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science." "It wasn't because of young Itadori."

"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."

She sniffles prudently.

"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."

"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."

She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.

"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.

"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "

"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"

"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"

Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"

"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."

The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.

"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"

"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"

"How are you doing, my love?"

Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.

“Is she going easier on you?”

“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”

The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.

“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.

“Losing someone?”

You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.

The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.

You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.

It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.

There is no honour in a child dying.

“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.

“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.

But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.

“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.

“I loved him, dad."

Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.

Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.

He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.

"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.

"I'm here, Megumi."

Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.

The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.

Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.

To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.

As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.

There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.

Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.

"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.

Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.

The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.

It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.

When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.

The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.

You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How could your father not feel the same for you?

"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.

"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"

"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.

There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.

"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"

You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.

"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!" The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.

This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."

Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?

He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.

She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.

He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.

What a foolish man.

"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."

He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.

Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.

The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.

It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.

He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.

The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.

"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice. "I asked you a question, boy!" The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.

"Here is my sacrifice!"

The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.

There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.

Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.

Had he always looked so weak?

His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.

"Savour every drop of it, father."

It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.

The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.

The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.

Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.

"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."

The title brings a smile to your face.

He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.

It serves him right. The bastard.

You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.

The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.

"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.

"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."

Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.

A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.

"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.

"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.

The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.

Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.

Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.

This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.

Suguru had that same look.

"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.

"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."

"They think you made us insane."

"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.

"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.

"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."

"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"

' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.

"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."

"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"

Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."

"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.

"Speak plainly."

"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.

"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."

Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.

"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"

The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.

Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.

The windchimes still.

The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.

"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."

"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."

She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.

"Do not do this to me, my beloved."

"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"

His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."

He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.

But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.

Suguru chuckles coyly.

"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."

"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.

"Fuck off."

"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.

"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."

The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.

"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.

The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.

"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.

"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.

Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.

There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.

"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”

The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.

“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”

Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.

He does.

He pouts as you walk out from the room.

Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.

“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.

“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”

“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.

Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “

Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.

“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.

Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.

“Mr (Y/N)!”

Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.

“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”

“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.

“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.

The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.

As you turn, it slips close.

Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.

“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.

Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.

His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.

Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.

People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.

How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?

You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.

Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.

“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”

There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.

After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.

“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.

Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”

“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.

“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.

Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.

Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.

Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.

“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.

“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.

The strongest.

Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.

“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”

“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.

“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.

“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.

Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.

Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.

The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.

None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.

So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.

The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.

“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.

“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.

Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.

“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.

“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”

“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”

What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.

“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”

You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.

The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.

He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.

“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”

Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.

“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."

You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.

"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.

"S'guru..."

"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"

Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.

"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"

When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.

How shameful.

You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.

Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.

"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.

"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.

Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.

As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.

"Ken, I - "

Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.

His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).

"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.

His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.

"(Y/N)..."

Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.

"(Y/N)".

"Kento."

Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.

There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.

"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."

"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.

"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."

He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.

"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"

Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.

How pervertedly kind.

The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.

"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."

The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.

A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.

"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."

A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.

"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"

Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?

"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.

"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."

"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."

"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."

He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.

"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.

The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).

But it was too convenient.

Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.

The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.

If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.

"I'm sure you do."

"The divorce barely made a dent?"

"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."

"And if he faces me?"

Satoru grits his teeth together.

"Run."

Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.

Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.

The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.

“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”

“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”

He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.

Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.

“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.

"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.

"Have you..."

The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.

"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.

The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.

"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.

"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.

"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.

"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."

Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.

He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.

"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."

"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."

She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.

"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.

"The rumours, of my clan."

Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.

Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.

"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."

Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.

"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."

"I messed up."

The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.

Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.

"Things are not looking good."

"Yo, Satoru."

The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.

"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."

' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.

You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.

He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.

"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone." "Sealed...?"

Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.

"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."

"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.

"NA-NA-MIN!"

His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.

"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."

"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.

"Let's be quick about it then."

This feeling...

"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"

"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."

"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.

"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.

"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."

"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.

"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."

You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.

"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.

Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.

But then.

"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.

"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.

Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.

' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.

"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.

Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.

Megumi —

You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.

Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —

Dagon is exorcised.

The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —

"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.

Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.

The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.

His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.

"Gojo (Y/N)."

"Divine Flame."

He lifts his hand just as you do.

"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.

"God's Bl — "

"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.

"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.

"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"

You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.

"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."

He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.

"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."

That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.

"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."

"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"

Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.

"Divine Flame — "

A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.

"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.

"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.

Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.

The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.

Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.

"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.

"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.

"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.

"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."

"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."

Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.

"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"

Reincarnation or divine coincidence.

Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.

"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."

Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.

He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.

With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.

"Na..."

The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...

Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.

"Nanamin..."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.

He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.

Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).

He should have introduced you to his family.

He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.

He should have given you everything you deserved.

Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.

He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).

What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?

Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness... "I'll leave the rest to you."

"My husband."

Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.

"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;

"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"

"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.

"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."

"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.

Or is that denial talking?

"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"

"Maybe he's already with Nanami."

"Shoko."

"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.

"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?

"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.

"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"

"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"

"I have every right to be."

"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.

"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.

"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."

"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.

"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"

"Yuji."

Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.

"You leave (Y/N) to me."

"Does this form please you more?"

Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.

Satoru's corpse.

It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.

"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.

"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."

The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.

"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."

Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.

Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —

They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.

Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.

The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.

This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.

Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —

Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.

What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.

What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?

Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.

Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.

Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.

"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck‘s ‘#GhostChallenge’

Title: Body Heat

Pairing: Ghost X Female Reader (callsign Cypher)

Warning: Canon typical violence, fluff, smut, 18+

Scenario: The heat goes out and it's freezing & Ghost or Reader wakes up in the other person's house/safehouse/etc. after being rescued

Word Count: 2.8k

Your leg felt like it was on fire but there was no time to worry about that right now. The zodiac that you were currently belly down in on the floor is flying up the river but it is rapidly taking on water. There was no way you were going to outrun the helo tailing you, the boat had taken too much damage.

"Ghost we have to bail," you yell out as the helicopter clears the trees from around the bend. "We're not getting to the evac in this."

"Watcher this is Ghost," you hear him come over the comms, "we're four kilometers out from the evacuation site. Boat is fucked, we need an alternate option."

"No alternate at this time," Laswell came back. "Find a place to lay low and-"

The rest is cut off as the helicopter launches a missile that hits the water a few feet behind the boat. It doesn't matter that it wasn't a direct hit, the effect is the same. The aftershock of the wave sends the boat flying up out of the water and you scramble for purchase to try and ride it out.

"Cypher!" Ghost yells out, though it's barely audible over the rushing wind and the gasp you let out as you hit the frozen water back first.

The water feels like a knife stab right to the gut as you sink below the surface. You can barely think as you kick out before flinching at the pain in your calf at the movement, it hurts even more than the knives of cold all over your skin. You stretch toward the surface, your hand hitting a chunk of ice from the flows that were moving rapidly with the current.

"Ghost!" You yell out as you finally break the surface, though it sounds more like a squeak and a splutter as you spit out water. It's too fucking cold to be in the water, you had minutes to get out before you froze to death.

Kicking your legs again you push toward the shore as the helicopter blows past. You turn your head to see if it's going to continue, satisfied with its destruction but it's circling back. Fuck. You swim faster, though it feels like you're trying to lift an extra hundred pounds of weight with each movement. The water is sweeping you rapidly up river but your feet finally hit bottom and you stumble onto the shore.

"This way," comes Ghost's voice as he stomps through the snow and grabs your arm. He's soaked as well and you can hear the tension in his voice as he drags you toward the trees, practically carrying you with your arm slung over his shoulder. The helicopter is coming back and you hear the staccato of bullets hitting the water.

"We're fucked," you mutter as Ghost clears the tree line. You throw out an arm to catch yourself on a trunk before he yanks you onward. "We have to get out of these clothes," your numb fingers on your left hand fumble for your vest but Ghost stops you.

"We have to get out of range," he orders, his eyes trailing back behind the way you came. The snow has messy trenches in it where you both had pushed through but they are tinged red. Your leg was openly bleeding and you'd be a bit more concerned if you could actually feel it. The numbness that you had been hoping for before finally settles in but now it was making it difficult to walk.

"And go where Ghost? We're in the middle of nowhere," you stumble but his hand digs hard into your side to hold you up. "Fuck it's cold," you mutter as you see your breath puff in front of you with each word. "Didn't ever picture human popsicle was the way I'd go," you say with a false laugh as bullets start to pepper the trees.

Ghost drags you deeper into the woods, trying his comms as you both stumble and slip over snow covered tree roots. His voice sounds like it's coming from far away after a bit and you only know he's there because you can feel him pressed against you. His own body shakes hard from the cold and you can feel each involuntary tremble as he continues to tout you along.

"Little more," he grouses and you blink slowly up at him realizing he's slapping your face to get you to look at him. How long have you been walking? How was he still walking? Maybe just a small break, both of you could use a rest, your knees buckle at the thought.

"Knock that shit off," Ghost snaps as he hauls you back on your feet again. "Cypher," he warns as you buckle again, your grip on his body slackening from lack of energy to hold on anymore. Your knees hit the snow and the last thing you see before toppling down further is Ghost scrambling to catch you.

Cold. That's all you can think as soon as consciousness hits you again. Then the pain follows a few moments later and you groan as you shift trying to figure out where you are. Something is holding you back from being able to move too much and you push against it weakly.

"About fucking time," a voice comes to you and you realize what you are pushing against is soft and while it isn't exactly warm, it's warmer than you are. "Going in my report you're sleeping on the job," Ghost says simply as you tilt your head back to look up. You hiss as your soaking wet hair hits your back before his hand comes up to lift it up and away before fixing the blanket wrapped around you to keep your hair off your skin.

"Where are we?" You ask as your body wracks with shivers again and you curl your arms tighter against your chest to try and hold in some heat. That's when it hits you that your hair has hit your bare skin and your hands are pressed between more of your own bare skin. And Ghost's. Was this one of those mortifying dreams when you realized halfway through you were naked?

"Old hunting cabin," Ghost answers as his arms tighten around you, his hands splaying on your back to rub some warmth back in. "You passed out on me, had to carry you the rest of the way," he explains as he looks down at you. His face is free of his balaclava, the eye black smeared and splotchy down his cheeks. Your eyes trail down to see he's also shirtless as he has you pressed tightly against him. "Been out for a good while now, didn't even flinch when I tied up your leg. Through and through shot," he tacks on in explanation.

You shift a bit on him, as if to lean down and look at the wound, when you realize you aren't only shirtless. The blanket scratches the skin on your hips and you can feel his curls against your own pubic bone. You're completely straddling him and tucked tightly to his body in every sense of the word.

"Body heat," Ghost says simply as if he is not fazed by the fact his sergeant is fully naked pressed against his own naked form.

"I hardly think," you splutter as you move to pull away. Just the few inches you create between your bodies sends a jolt of goosebumps down your body and you see the same reaction over his chest. You may be inside somewhere but it was still cold enough to see your breath. The scant body heat you were sharing was not going to linger if you were apart.

His hands slide down your back and grab your ass to tug you tight against him again. You huff at crass gesture before giving in and pressing tightly against him, your arms moving to wrap around him as well. He shifts so your fingers can fit between his back and the wall and you rub at his back a bit. His skin feels frozen and you can feel the muscle twitching in an attempt to generate some warmth.

"It was this or we both froze to death," he says. "Can't light a fire, the helicopter is still circling," and as if someone turned the volume back on in your ears you hear the whir of the blades overhead. "And while you were resigned to be a popsicle, I refuse to let that be the final entry on my service record."

"How long until extraction?" You ask quietly doing your best to not think about the fact Ghost's hands are still on your backside holding you tight to him. Or that you are nuzzling your face into his chest as your fingers dance over small ridges and valleys of scars on his back.

"Not sure," Ghost answers as he looks down at you. "Johnny is going to have a field day when he finds us," he smirks at the thought which only makes you groan a bit. "I mean you can put on the soaking uniform if you want," he inclines his head at the red tinted snow fatigues.

"No," you answer quickly. Even now, the places where your skin isn't touching Ghost's are frozen, you can only imagine trying to put those back on. You shift a bit on him trying to find more skin, more warmth, to burrow into. He flexes his grip on you for a second before sliding his hands slowly up your back to your shoulder blades. It's a soft gesture and you feel yourself arch to it despite yourself.

"Just for the warmth Sergeant," Ghost says after a second, obviously feeling the subtle shift of your body.

"Right, of course," you answer back. If you could see yourself you knew you'd be bright red. "Sorry, I didn't mean," you continue before Ghost adjusts himself and you realize he wasn't admonishing you. He was saying that however your bodies were acting it wasn't your fault. You were pressed in a compromising position because you needed the body heat and you couldn't help what was happening outside of that.

You swallow as you both sit in the silence, listening to the helicopter circle overhead. How many times have you thought about this? Perhaps not this exact scenario, but getting Ghost alone and his body pressed against yours. It was a thought that kept you company many nights, different situations that always ended up with you panting under him. He barely paid you any mind aside from the job so it was just a fantasy that occupied your lonely mind to pass the time.

Yet, you could feel him pressed up against your center. Feel how his hands shift to rub at your sides and the sweep of his thumbs graze over the sides of your breasts with each pass. You grip his back a bit harder as his hands move down to now run along your thighs, his fingers massaging some heat into them as he works his way from your knees up toward your hips.

"Lieutenant," you barely breathe into his neck and you feel him twitch against you. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold goes through you and you press your hips against his length and hear the small gasp of air that escapes his lips. His pulse is jumping in his neck and you dare to brush your lips over it and he grabs your hipbones hard in response. "Just body heat right?" You ask softly, your lips still whispering along his skin. "Just us trying to keep warm."

"Right," Ghost nearly growls as he flexes his hips up into you and you sigh against his neck. The blankets shift as he moves to grab your face to make you look at him. You stare at his hazel eyes, watching as he surveys your face as you slide your hands from behind his back to wrap around his neck. You are careful to keep pressed against him in all the movement, not wanting an ounce of heat to escape your small cocoon. "I don't want you to," he starts but cuts off as you grip the back of his head and pull him in for a kiss.

This may not be exactly how you wanted him, but you were going to take what you could get. He doesn't hold back from rolling your hips over him now, his hands helping move you knowing the injury to your calf. You whine into the kiss as he moves your effortlessly over him, the head of cock passing over your clit over and over working you into a frenzy.

Ghost dares to slip a hand between your thighs to your core and you gasp into his mouth. He finds the slickness there that he glides his fingers through as he ever so slowly pushes a finger in. You groan as he curls his finger and slowly pumps into you, letting you rock on him as he feverishly kisses you through the pants.

"Fucking warm down here," he taunts as he slips another finger in. "Are you going to share?" He continues as he lets you rut your hips over him, letting his palm give you that friction you were desperate for. "Or just going to let me freeze out here?" He chuckles as you let out a particularly needy whine as he scissors his fingers.

You push up on your knees, ignoring the burn in your leg as Ghost pulls his fingers away. It's a bit awkward as he lines himself at your center, careful to not let the blankets slip as you grab at his shoulders, but when you feel him notched you lean back. The slide in isn't painful, but it takes a moment for your body to get used to it.

Not that Ghost seems to mind you taking a moment to adjust. He tilts his head back at the sensation of you fully seated on him, his mouth slightly agape. You watch him for a second before grinding down on him, biting the inside of your cheek at the fullness.

"Warm enough?" You ask after a second and he lifts his head up to smirk at you.

"So fucking warm," he answers back.

You start slow as you ride him, wanting to savor how his eyes seem to devour you as you move. Commit to memory how those normally cold and calculating eyes seem at peace watching you. Ghost lets you take control at first as you use him for your pleasure and survival, seemingly enjoying being able to sit back while you put in the work. But as your movements become a little less coordinated and put a strain on your calf he takes over without you having to ask.

Pulling you tight against his chest, Ghost loops his arms around your back to grab at your shoulders as he shifts. You gasp at the first experimental thrust he makes, and he chuckles in response before he beings to fuck you in earnest. He gives you no warning as he thrusts up into you and you cry out loudly against his ear as he hits that spot inside of you over and over.

You can feel the slickness of sweat on your chests as Ghost grunts and groans into your ear. One of his hands slides back down to your ass to help lift you as the other on your shoulder slams you back down on top of him. The rhythm has created an obscene slapping noise but you both drown that out with your moans and gasps.

"Don't fucking stop," you say into his ear as you grab hard at the back of his head, your fingers scratching against the short hair on his scalp. You can feel he's close, feel him twitching inside of you, and how he's moving to pull out to finish. "Fuck, please," you say as you move your hips over him not caring about the strain on your injury.

He doesn't stop. He fills you up with a growl that seems to erupt from his chest and you let out a satisfied sigh as he continues to fuck you through it. The additional slickness, and feel of it between your legs, finally gets you over that edge and you come with him with a loud cry that you stifle by biting down into his shoulder. He moves your body over him until you finally come down, shaking from the high of your orgasm and not the cold.

"I told you body heat was the solution," he teases after a moment as you look at him. Both of your cheeks are flushed and you can almost feel the heat wavering off your bodies from under the blankets. You don't move from your position, keeping him buried inside of you as he holds you close.

Just for the warmth of course.

[strifetxt]

divergent evolution, a solving counting sheep fic

a.k.a. as a Christmas gift for the inimitable @theminecraftbee, I wrote an ordinary, more canon compliant Watcher Grian meeting Three! This was an idea I've wanted to write for over a year, and I'm delighted that it finally came to fruition :D

———

This is the last season he’s going to spend messing with extradimensional portals, Grian thinks. Grumbot was one thing, and the people from Empires were friends, but a complete stranger turning up out of the blue is something else entirely.

The interloper’s face is entirely obscured by a gaudy harlequin mask, decorated with bright patterns of red and gold. Strangely, the eyes of the mask are filled in with dark fabric, but Grian still gets the sense that he is being intently stared at as he nervously inputs the request for Grumbot to reverse the Rift and send the unwanted guest home.

Grumbot’s digital mustache wiggles, and a note is dispensed.

RIFT INSTABILITY DETECTED. TIME NEEDED TO REPAIR MALFUNCTION: UNKNOWN.

Great. Just what he needs.

“So, er.” Grian does his best to look apologetic. “It seems as though you may be stuck here for a little while until Grumbot gets the Rift sorted. In the meantime—” He gestures idly around the basement lab. “Hello, my name is Grian, and welcome to Hermitcraft?”

It is deeply uncomfortable, not being able to gauge any expression from his guest with the mask in the way. All he gets is a stiff nod and a simple statement of, “Yes. I am familiar.”

Grian raises his eyebrows. “You are? With me or with Hermitcraft?”

The guest takes a long pause, clearly considering the question, before landing on, “Both, though in different ways. I am also from Hermitcraft.”

“Oh, good, more alternate timelines.” Grian sighs and rubs his temples. The existential weirdness of Grumbot Prime’s universe was already bad enough. “Well, do me a favor and don’t tell me about alternate me’s inevitably ominous circumstances; I think I’d rather not know at this point.”

Three stares at him another long moment, then slowly nods. “Yes. Complying.”

———

“Well, this is the base,” Grian says. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Three stares down into the gaping hole beyond the birch floor of the entryway, then up into the cavernous space above, where the inner faces of the hollow rocks are dotted messily with torches to prevent mob spawns. “I see your habits regarding interiors appear to have remained consistent,” it notes.

Grian squawks, indignant. “I— okay, nice to know that I’m apparently the same everywhere, but also, hey!”

“It was not intended as judgment,” Three says judgmentally.

“Okay, listen,” Grian explains, doing his best to sound rational and not defensive, “the point of this build isn’t to be livable, it’s just to make a cool set piece! I don’t need a fancy interior when I’m happy keeping my storage and spawn outside.”

This logic does not seem to appease Three. “I do not see why you bother to build a base, if not to live in it.”

“Well, you know.” Grian waves a hand vaguely. “It’s just nice to have a big project going on in the background. Something to flex the building skills! Like I said, it’s mostly about making something that looks cool.”

“And if a day should come that you are no longer here?” Three asks. “If you were to somehow vanish from this world, and the only things left behind in your wake were empty set pieces, containing no traces of who you were, or how you lived. What then?”

And, well. Grian has no idea what to say to that.

He settles for changing the subject. “How about we find you somewhere else to stay?” he says weakly.

“That is probably for the best,” Three says.

Strange that even without visible eyes, the weight of its gaze still feels so heavy.

———

“Here we are,” Grian says as they touch down at their destination. “This is the Empires Christmas Village.”

Grian catches an odd motion ripple over Three’s skin, but it passes too quickly for him to make out any detail. “Are the players of Empires also on this server?” it asks.

“Well, not anymore. We had a crossover event where they came over to visit.” Grian gestures at the houses that ring the snowy basin. “They built this village while they were here, and I figured, hey, since it worked for the last otherworldly visitors...”

He leads them along the path around the Christmas tree, only for Three to come to a sudden stop. Grian follows its gaze to the scene on the hillside above, where various Hermits and Emperors mingle and play in the snow.

“It’s all posable armor stands,” he explains. “Do you have ZombieCleo on your Hermitcraft?”

“I know Cleo, yes,” Three says, “and I recognize their work.” It climbs up the hill towards the statues in the back corner of the scene, where it then crouches down to be level with their miniaturized faces.

Grian follows, bemused. He squints at the statues, trying to look at them with fresh eyes. Joe and Jimmy’s tiny heads are tilted towards each other in a facsimile of conversation, and they share cocoa and cookies with bright, relaxed smiles. It’s cute, Grian thinks, but he can’t see why anyone who already knows Cleo would be so fascinated. Maybe Three is just an armor stand fan?

“She’s very good at what she does,” Grian says, mostly to fill the silence. “It is a bit uncanny though, the way the heads still look exactly like the Players she got them from.”

Three does not look away from Jimmy’s face.

“Uncanny,” it murmurs. “Agreed.”

———

After the initial hiccup of getting it settled, Three proves to be a shockingly elusive guest. Grian does not encounter it again until several days later, when he happens upon it in his basement lab, writing a message for Grumbot Prime.

“Checking on the Rift?” he asks.

Three shakes its head, but otherwise continues to write. “Only initially,” it says. “Now Grumbot is telling me about himself.”

Grian blinks. “Have you not seen Grumbot before? I thought you said you knew me?” His eyes widen as a horrifying scenario dawns on him. “Wait. Do you not have a Mumbo?”

This makes Three fix him with a sharp look. “Of course I have a Mumbo,” it says.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Grian sighs. “But then, if Mumbo and I are both there, how is there not a Grumbot?”

Three’s head tilts curiously. “Is it a given that if you and Mumbo exist together, the two of you will create a child?”

“Well, obviously.”

“I see,” Three says. “Perhaps for the best, then, that you never met. You are a terribly neglectful parent.”

Grian sputters. “I— Look, Grumbot can take care of himself just fine! It’s just, when you make a lovable robot son with your best friend, and then later you get stuck with an alternate version of your robot son who doesn’t like you very much, it doesn’t make for the best conversation!”

Grian catches that strange ripple along Three’s skin again, only now he realizes it’s not skin at all; it’s feathers, bristling and flaring with some unknown agitation.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” it says flatly, and before Grian can respond, it equips its borrowed elytra and rockets off, leaving Grian to blankly stare after it.

“Hang on!” he shouts. “What do you mean, Mumbo and I never met?”

———

“Can I ask you a weird question?” Grian asks.

“Sure,” Mumbo sighs, resigned. “Not like this build was getting done anyway.”

“What would you be doing if we never met?”

Mumbo frowns, considering. “Huh. I guess I’d still be on Hermitcraft, but— gosh. I can’t imagine what it’d be like, not ever knowing you.”

“See, that’s what I thought!” Grian says.

“A lot more productive, I bet.”

Grian laughs. “You know you need me distracting you from time to time.”

“Unfortunately,” Mumbo sighs. “Go on then. Any other existential questions while you’re here?”

Grian fidgets, thinking back on Three’s ominous hints. “If I were to disappear one day,” he asks, awkward and tentative, “what would you remember me by?”

Mumbo raises his eyebrows. “Wow, really pulling out the big guns.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Probably all the trouble you’ve caused, if I’m honest.”

“Hey!” Grian elbows him in the ribs. “I’m being heartfelt and vulnerable here!”

“Ow— No, I’m serious!” Mumbo says. “I mean, when I think ‘Grian’, I remember things like— like chickens in my message system, or breaking Sahara with a potato. All the different tag shenanigans. Your ridiculous death games. The way you’ll have an idea, and then suddenly half the server is having a grand time covering Doc’s perimeter in dirt.” He nods. “Yeah, that’s what I’d remember. You, pulling people together.”

Grian’s chest blooms with warmth. It’s really miraculous, he thinks, the way Mumbo so often melts his doubts away. “Aww!” he croons, dramatically throwing his arms around Mumbo’s waist. “You do like me!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”

(As the conversation shifts to playful banter, Grian feels a prickle on the back of his neck fade, as if a pair of watching eyes chose that moment to look away.)

———

“Alright,” Grian says the next time he encounters Three, “I’ve decided I want to know. What happened to me in your universe?”

He knows enough now to spot the way Three’s feathers shift in response. “Are you certain?” it asks. “It is, as you’ve surmised, not pleasant.”

Grian shrugs. “Better to know than not? Especially if it’s something I can avoid.”

Three shakes its head. “I doubt it will be a concern for you,” it says. “Grumbot tells me you survived your time with the Watchers, and that they are no longer an active threat.”

This draws Grian up short. “How does Grumbot even know about— Right.” He sighs in annoyance. “Omniscient interdimensional hivemind. Just giving out my backstory to total strangers. Great.” He rubs his temples. Even now that he’s reached a sort of tentative peace with them, the Watchers still aren’t his favorite subject in the world. He much prefers to ignore them whenever possible.

“So,” he says, “I suppose that means in your universe they killed me instead of just, er.” He fidgets awkwardly with the hem of his sweater. “Taking me in and changing me, I guess? Is that it?”

Three visibly hesitates. “Yes,” it says slowly, “and no.” It squares its shoulders. “Perhaps it will be simpler to show you.”

And then it removes its mask.

Grian’s jaw slackens in shock. The hair is longer, the feathers that mimic skin are paler, and the eyes are squeezed firmly shut, but—

“You’re...me?” he stammers out. “I— How are you me?”

He sees Three’s mouth twist in a grimace before the mask is quickly replaced. “If I have learned anything from my time in this universe,” it says, “it is that I most definitively am not.”

Grian’s stomach feels cold. He swallows. “Explain.”

And Three does.

———

Grian feels himself trembling.

“After I left the Watchers,” he says, “I had to try very hard to remember that just because they changed me, it didn’t make me a different person. Even now, some days I forget.” He clenches his shaking hands into fists. “And you’re telling me there’s a world out there where I’m perfectly happy not being me at all?”

Three’s feathers flare. “I am not you,” it insists. “I had to try very hard to learn to become a person who was myself, and then had to try very hard again to remain that person, even when others wanted me to be you. Even now, when I sometimes suspect they would still prefer I was you.”

“Are you sure you’re not?” Grian asks, desperate. “I’m not in there at all?”

“I have been told we share similarities,” Three says, “but, meeting you, I have observed far more differences. You lack the commitment to complete projects—”

Grian sputters. “Hey!”

“—you avoid responsibility whenever possible—”

“Okay, that’s just—”

“—and, you have the ability to move people, in a way that I cannot fathom,” Three says. “I am glad that a world exists in which you are alive, and where your friends do not have to miss you. I understand more, now, why they would. But I am more certain than ever that I am not you, and that I do not want to be.”

Grian can almost envision his own face behind Three’s mask, and the resolute expression he would be wearing in its place.

He takes a shaky breath.

“It’s a bit unfair,” he says. “You spent this whole time learning things about me, while I know almost nothing about you.” He smiles tentatively. “Tell me about yourself?”

Three’s shoulders relax. “What would you like to know?”

———

The next day, the Rift reopens.

“Sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Grian jokes weakly. “You could build the interior to my base.”

Even with the mask, the look Three gives him feels scathing. “Far be it for me to diminish your lack of hard work,” it says.

“Ouch!” Grian laughs. “Probably for the best anyway. I, ah, imagine it’s probably been weird for you, being here, and you’ll want to be getting home.”

Three takes a moment to dutifully deposit all of its borrowed and scavenged items into an empty shulker box. Only when it’s done does it look up at Grian to respond.

“It was good,” it says, “to meet you. I had thought before, based on the way others remembered you, that I might have liked to be your friend. You are not quite what I expected, but I am glad, I think, to have had the chance to learn that.”

Grian’s smile wavers.

He considers being honest, considers saying, I can’t begrudge you who you’ve chosen to be, but all I can think about when I see you is the idea of being hollowed out so thoroughly that irrevocably that the only thing that’s left is a stranger walking around in my skin. You’re my worst case scenario, you’re everything I was scared I might become, and now I have to live with the knowledge that somewhere out there, in some other world, you’re real, and I don’t know what to do about that except add it to the list of things that keep me up at night.

Instead, he nods and says, “It was good to meet you too.”

If Three picks up on the lie, it says nothing; it merely inclines its head in a nod, steps through the Rift, and is gone.

[professional-spectator]

Okay, a disclaimer and heads-up: I don't own Hoyo, Genshin Impact, or any related properties. Also, please be aware that this story will explore serious and sensitive themes.

This work is inspired by SAGAU (Self-Aware Genshin Impact Alternative Universe), isekai tropes, various isekai settings, creation myths, and fanfiction in general. Consider this my standard warning.

Many thanks to @quietplace26 for allowing me to write a story inspired by their work, and to @arn9tails for creating the Genshin size difference AU. This story is part of the Inverse AU, meaning the people of Teyvat are one-third the size of Earthlings.

Terminology for reader

(MC) Main Character

(LC) Little Character

This might just be some crackpot fanfics, but Sumeru is always on my mind. I'm currently working on Kaveh and Cyno parts. I'm unsure whether I want this to develop into a full series or if I should just write a few short pieces.

Doll Size part Two:

(Reader/(MC) Main Character):

The challenge was undeniable: four Barbie-sized Genshin Impact characters now resided in the main character's (MC) humble two-bedroom apartment. It wasn't a deliberate choice, not at all. The truth was, her little sister, LC, bore the responsibility for this peculiar situation. Every time LC laid eyes on the miniature heroes, her innocent desire bubbled to the surface.

"I wanna play with your dolls, MC..." she'd plead, her voice filled with childlike wonder. LC, was too young to grasp the reality that these weren't mere dolls. They were, in fact, people—tiny people, yes, but people nonetheless—from another world entirely.

MC would always offer the same gentle correction. "I don't have any dolls..." she'd say, hoping one day the message would sink in.

Tighnari:

Tighnari was overwhelmed by a deep longing for Sumeru. While some might dismiss Teyvat as merely a figment of imagination in this world, he held an unshakable belief in its reality. His existence and purpose were intricately linked to that land, the world. This expansive new world felt vastly alien compared to his lush, familiar greenery home, was largely confined to the MC's quarters. Yet, the MC herself was proving to be a fascinating individual, showing politeness and a genuine desire to ensure their comfort, which he found commendable.

At the same time, Alhaitham was absorbed in an enormous book that was comically to large for him, while Kaveh and Cyno animatedly debated the MC's taste in interior design. Seizing the opportunity, Tighnari, now the size of a doll, quietly slipped out of the room. He spotted the MC in the kitchen while LC played on the small balcony—an area clearly designed for a child. The safety net, flourishing plants, and LC's cherished toys outside showcased the MC's thoughtful planning. Despite its charm, the space felt somewhat cramped to him. Granted the Forest Watcher was raised in the forest with wide open spaces and no borders. Climbing onto the kitchen counter to announce his presence, he observed the MC preparing a pre-packaged meal for LC—store-bought chicken nuggets.

"Perhaps a cooking lesson is needed," he thought to himself rather than voicing it to the MC. When Tighnari's sudden appearance startled the MC, he stood next to a nearby Stanley Cup, an unexpected figure in her home. An instinct surged within her, urging her to prevent Tighnari from becoming yet another plaything for LC.

"Excuse me?" MC stammered, momentarily taken aback by his presence. Tighnari's sharp gaze settled on the kitchen counter. Her mind was a bit frazzled by his comment about cooking lessons.

"I see you're preparing a meal. And I notice that you've opted for... pre-processed chicken." His seemingly disapproving look lingered on the bag of frozen nuggets.

"LC likes them; she’s a child. It’s common food for kids..." MC trailed off, feeling the weight of Tighnari's scrutiny. His eyes, shifting from brown to green, seemed to evaluate her choices.

"True, but do you believe such food is genuinely beneficial for LC's growth? Even though it’s labeled as ‘chicken,’ it resembles certain… compounds used in the Akademiya labs..." His Valuka Shuna heritage showed in his subtle vulpine features as he spoke. Though his tone was gentle, it carried the commanding presence of an experienced professor. Taking a moment, he recalibrated himself.

"I apologize; I momentarily lapsed into teaching mode. I find myself addressing you as if you were a novice Forest Ranger. Please forgive my rudeness." MC merely nodded, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious. The frozen nuggets now seemed like a reflection on her parenting skills. A palpable tension filled the air.

"I didn’t mean to offend..." Tiny Tighnari waved a dismissive hand from his perch on the counter, realizing he may have crossed a line in their unusual relationship. He suggested, "I could show you how to prepare a more nutritious meal for LC..."

Feeling both embarrassed and insulted, MC muttered, "Sure," looking away. Tighnari, either oblivious or indifferent to her feelings, appeared pleased with himself. Before she could react, he leaped onto her shoulders, eager to inspect the refrigerator's contents.

"Open the fridge," he instructed softly, "let’s see what we have..." Moments later, he sighed in disappointment. The fridge was filled with pre-made meals and takeout containers, devoid of fresh produce.

"It looks like I have my work cut out for me..." he concluded, indicating a challenging task ahead.

"It’s not that bad..." MC weakly defended her choices. Immovable, Tighnari declared, "There’s no fresh produce here. Tomorrow, we’re going to the market together."

"Wait, what!" MC exclaimed, taken aback.

"To a farmers' market? They can be quite expensive..."

Tighnari sighed, laden with botanical wisdom. "I’ll assist you," implying that their excursion would be lengthy and complex. On their next shopping trip, hiding Tighnari proved challenging as he was too large to fit in a pocket. Refusing to be stowed away in MC’s purse, she resorted to wearing an oversized hoodie, with the miniature forest ranger perched on her shoulder. As they walked, LC innocently questioned their choice of visiting the older market instead of the bunny-themed supermarket.

“Why aren’t we going to the bunny store? I like the bunny store,” she asked. Teasingly, MC replied, “Don’t you want fresh, healthy food?” hinting at the hidden forest ranger on her shoulder. Unbothered, LC continued playing with her doll, next asking about MC’s attire.

“Why are you wearing a hoodie? You’ll melt and smell, and then the zombies will come and eat you,” she joked. MC sighed at her sister’s vivid imagination.

“Zombies aren’t real, sweetie” she groaned. Tighnari chimed in, “That’s quite the scenario,” adding to the lightheartedness.

Amidst laughter and apprehension, MC found shopping with Tighnari—despite his small size—somewhat demanding. As she picked out vegetables, he sniffed and commented, “No, not that one... it smells like chemicals.”

“Hey…” MC felt Tighnari tugging on her ear.

“Ow,” she groaned as he pointed to the fruits and vegetables he preferred. Upon returning home, LC noticed something amiss and couldn't tell.

“What did you buy so much for?” LC asked, eyeing the bags filled with fresh meat, vegetables, and fruits.

“So we can eat healthier…” MC replied, not disclosing it was Tighnari's idea for better eating habits. Or the fact that a tiny fox-eared man bossed her around in doing so.

Cooking alongside Tighnari was a surprising escapade for MC. He had earned his reputation as the stern leader of the forest watchers for good reason. Despite his tiny frame, Tighnari stood proudly atop the countertop, locking eyes with MC.

“Remember to slice them thin, MC…” he commanded, punctuating his words with elaborate hand gestures as MC set about preparing their dish. The meal centered around mushrooms, and the masterful little guide directed her on how to sauté the delicate fungus.

“Not too high with the flames…” Tighnari cautioned, arms crossed, a smirk of satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth as he observed the process unfold.

As the meal reached its finishing point, MC carefully served the steaming dishes. In her cozy room, the tiny Teyvatians peered out, their eyes lighting up with delight at the sight of the food.

However, little LC scrutinized her plate with a fierce frown, having notably noticed the absence of her favorite chicken nuggets.

“What is this?” she protested, jabbing at the unfamiliar fare with her fork as if trying to identify an alien life form.

“It looks so weird,” she grumbled, jabbing a fork into one of the mushrooms and lifting it to her nose for a closer sniff. Meanwhile, undaunted by her sister's doubts, MC drove her fork into her own plate and took a generous bite.

“It’s delicious!” she exclaimed, pleasantly astonished; the flavor exceeded even her expectations. LC remained unconvinced, however, and reluctantly loaded a piece of the cooked mushroom into her mouth. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a quiet, soft murmur.

“I guess it’s better than chicken nuggets...”

Alhaitham:

Tighnari's enthusiasm for maintaining a healthy lifestyle had seamlessly integrated into the daily routines of the Sumeru group. This change was not drastic but rather an appreciated improvement that everyone accepted. The little Sumerians were not particularly fond of MC's cooking; however, they certainly enjoyed it more now that Tighnari was assisting in the kitchen.

Conversely, Alhaitham found himself growing increasingly irritated by MC's choice of reading material. The bookshelves were stocked with a variety of comics, overly sentimental romances, suggestive risqué stories, and a myriad of self-help books that failed to challenge his mind. While he appreciated the enhanced quality of their meals, the repetitiveness of her book collection and the ongoing distractions from the television were exasperating, leaving him yearning for more thought-provoking content.

Being restricted to a single part of the house felt stifling for him, an overwhelming wave of sensations that left Alhaitham on edge. At the same time, MC was resolutely searching for a way to bring them back to their original world, putting forth all her energy to achieve this. He watched as she furiously typed, hit, and smacked at the 'computer,' a gadget that appeared to confuse her. The scene was almost humorous; she struck the keys with a force that verged on hostility.

“Honestly, at this pace, you’re going to end up breaking it,” he quipped with dry humor.

Startled by his remark, MC nearly bumped into the screen if he was animated characters suddenly sprang to life, resulting in an unintentional jump scare. Fortunately for her, her younger sister, LC, was safe in her room, engrossed in her own game and completely oblivious to MC's predicament.

“If you can’t figure out how to fix it, I suggest you just leave it alone. You might only complicate things further. Clearly, you’re out of your depth…” he added, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he assessed her.

“Tomorrow, you're taking me to the library,” commanded the tiny Alhaitham, tilting his head while regarding her with wide, sincere eyes.

“But we have so many books right here…” MC quickly retorted, directing her gesture toward her collection, in the room.

“Your collection, yes, but a story about a vampire falling in love with a mermaid doesn’t really grab my attention... I want to go bright and early,” Alhaitham insisted, his small stature overshadowed by his undeniable charm.

“Whoa, I can’t just drop everything to take you whenever…” MC objected, trying to keep her tone civil. She had already promised LC a trip to the petting zoo for some sisterly bonding time.

“Of course you can,” he replied, his captivating green eyes fixed on hers.

“You halt my life and put everything on pause. I deserve that same level of consideration.” MC stood frozen, a mix of fear, guilt, and disbelief washing over her.

“I’m not angry; I’m sure you can understand that I don’t want to be confined to a room all day...” He made it clear there was no room for debate. “Library tomorrow...” Alhaitham said as he crossed his arms. MC nodded almost mechanically. He wasn’t angry, but the situation was becoming exhausting.

The next day, LC was upset about the changed plans. The child sulked, her doll held tightly in her arms as she looked up at MC.

"I thought we were going to the petting zoo..." MC couldn't tell LC about the tiny man tucked away in her tote bag, the reason behind the shift in their plans. Instead, she raised her voice slightly, trying to sound cheerful.

"Libraries are amazing and so cool!!" MC exclaimed, giggling and clapping her hands.

"But only old people and vampires go to the library..." LC complained, kicking her legs in the dirt next to the sidewalk pavement. "And they don’t have a zebra there..."

"I get it.... Just do this for me... please..." MC knelt down in front of little LC. "Okay...." LC gently patted MC's face.

MC nearly forgot about Alhaitham nestled inside her tote bag. Their first mission for the day was to secure a new library card. The town library, with its creaky shelves and flickering lights, felt like a relic from another time. Few folks wandered its dusty aisles anymore, overshadowed by the allure of smartphones and the myriad of apps that offered instant information at a tap. MC's patience began to wane as she engaged in conversation with the elderly woman behind the desk.

"Just a few moments, dearie? Oh, what were we doing again? Ah, yes—getting you a new library card..." MC managed a polite nod, but she could sense her little sister, LC, growing restless. The child tugged insistently at MC's hand.

"Why don’t you go play over there? It’s going to take a while," MC suggested. With a resigned sigh, MC turned her attention back to the desk, not realize that Alhaitham had slipped away.

Alhaitham glided through the vast space with ease, deftly weaving between the towering figures that populated this world. Around him, the few souls scattered throughout the library were fixated on the glowing screens of their devices, oblivious to his presence. He steered his course toward a collection of ancient books nestled in the shadows at the back, their covers worn and frayed with age.

Meanwhile, LC, stricken by boredom, noticed him—a diminutive figure evanescent further down the aisle. Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she took in the sight, momentarily believing she had stumbled upon a fairy.

MC, well aware of her sister's childish imagination, knew, after all, that the child was far too young to fully understand the truth. Unknown to LC, Alhaitham and the three other beings from another world had been transported to this place, each standing only a third of the height of an average human. To the curious child, Alhaitham seemed a fantastic creature, a whimsical spirit come to life amidst the dusty pages. Which is why MC didn't utter a word to her little sister.

MC let out a weary sigh as they glanced at the clock; thirty minutes had already slipped by in obtaining a new library card. With a frustrated mutter and a glare, she couldn't help but curse the Librarian under her breath. Both LC and tiny Alhaitham had vanished, disappeared leaving MC feeling even more exasperated.

Alhaitham had little regard for children; they were simply a part of the background in his life, neither bothering him nor drawing his attention. As he walked, he noticed LC trailing behind him, attempting to conceal herself behind a bookshelf. To her, he must have appeared like a diminutive magical being.

Observing her from the corner of his eye, he recalled what it must be like for the aranara when children spotted them, filled with wonder and curiosity. With a sigh, he resumed his stride, unfazed by the world around him.

After a moment of curiosity, LC finally blurted out, “Are you a fairy?” Alhaitham remained silent, his gaze fixed on a comically oversized book that seemed to dwarf him.

“Where are your wings? Do you eat milk and honey? Do you have magic? Do you have more friends? Can you read? Why are you looking at books without pictures?” The barrage of questions from the giant child flowed incessantly, but Alhaitham didn’t respond right away. After a brief pause, he finally answered, unfazed and in a calm manner.

“No, No wings, no, no, yes, yes, because they are interesting…” Each reply came in order, as if he were simply stating facts rather than engaging in a conversation.

“Do you need some help, Mr. Fairy?” LC inquired, pointing to the book perched high on the top shelf that had captured his attention. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before responding.

“Yes.” With that, he directed the towering child to gather books for him. After some time, LC noticed that he had become consumed in a hefty tome that was long and devoid of illustrations.

“Why are you reading that, Mr Fairy? It has no pictures!” LC exclaimed, her face a mix of horror and bewilderment. Tiny Alhaitham stifled a laugh and replied.

“Just because a book lacks beautiful illustrations doesn’t mean it’s boring or uninteresting. Kaveh might share your sentiment.” Perhaps out of his sense of curiosity or a desire to be kind, he began to share a captivating story from one of the many books that surrounded them. Meanwhile, MC dashed through the library, searching frantically for LC and Alhaitham. As LC’s overprotective older sister, she felt responsible for both of them and cursed Alhaitham’s name under her breath. The few patrons in the library cast her odd looks, wondering if she had lost her mind.

After a while, MC finally stumbled upon them. To her surprise, LC had fallen asleep, clutching a book in her tiny hands, while Alhaitham was preoccupied in his reading.

“You!!” MC growled, directing her frustration at the seemingly unaffected Alhaitham, who barely glanced her way. “Shh,” he replied, his voice calm. “You’re in a library, remember? And yes, I’m here; did you really think I’d spend the day tucked away in your tote bag?” Conflicted, MC shifted her gaze to LC, still peacefully asleep.

“What’s she doing here?” she inquired.

“You ought to give your sister a bit more credit. She may be young, but she understands far more than you realize,” he retorted, his tone slightly teasing. Then he abruptly launched into his demands.

“I need you to check out all these books.” “What?! More than forty books?” MC gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. In the end, she had no choice but to purchase an old wagon from the library, part of their outdated books-on-wheels program.

When LC finally stirred, she noticed the “fairy” had vanished. The two sisters made their way home, with Alhaitham cleverly hidden in MC’s tote bag. That night, as darkness enveloped the world outside, LC piped up, “Can you read me a story?”

“Sure!” MC replied, reaching for a colorful princess book. But LC shook her head vigorously, a bright smile on her face. “No, the book with no pictures. The one Mr. Fairy was reading…”

“Wait, what?” MC wondered, rummaging through the wagon until her hands landed on the library book—a worn hardcover filled with the folklore of Ireland.

“Is this the one?” she asked, holding it up. LC nodded eagerly. It didn’t take long for LC’s eyelids to flutter and finally close as her dreams swept her away. As MC watched her sister drift off, she couldn’t help but ponder whether this strange turn of events was a blessing or a curse.

To be continued maybe.....

[weirdmageddon]

ive finaly managed to lay it out my major interests. i dont know what took me so long to be able to do that. i posted it to bluesky but i’ll do it here too. i need a new pinned post anyway.

22 autistic goth nerd and other-proclaimed “wizard”

things i’m interested in:

science: ALL natural science, esp. neuroscience, neuropsychology, psychology (the mind), biology, anatomy & physiology, ecosystems, network theory

other realms: philosophy, sociology, anthropology, human ethology, personality differences

natural noumena: patterns in nature, emergence, self-organization / spontaneous order, chaos theory and fractals

tropes / archetypes

analytical psychology / jungian analysis (not in association to jordan peterson, whom i think is a chode. this is significant to me, because i feel like i share the phenomenological reality with jung that formed the basis of his ideas. many of these forces i’ve noticed on my own, separate from him, before i knew him. so seeing his ideas i was like “oh he put it into words. glad to know someone else has a keen sense for these phenomena”)

socionics model A

other typological systems: enneagram, mbti (not 16personalities), etc. quizzes are lazy minded and i dont give them much weight on principle. im into understanding the theoretical foundations

eclectic alternative music subcultures + history: esp. 70s-80s, experimental, psychedelic rock, punk, new wave, post-punk, goth rock, industrial

art and creativity in general

YTP and remix culture

the venture bros. (bonus points if you understand most of the references because this show is like my personal catnip)

jhonen vasquez: jthm, squee, i feel sick, invader zim (decade+ old fan)

david lynch: twin peaks, eraserhead, blue velvet, mulholland drive, etc

jon bois: pretty good, 17776/20020, chart party, team history documentaries, etc

blaseball / mmolb

vinesauce (decade+ old watcher)

pokemon: in general, but esp. knowledgeable about game mechanics (decade+ old fan)

gravity falls (decade+ old fan)

homestuck (decade+ old fan)

mother series

star trek* (*slowly immersing myself)

lots of more stuff i probably missed

typology type profile: LII-Ne IN(T) INFJ 5w4 so/sp 514 RCOAI

things i might be known for:

original dirtygfconfessions crew member (mod dipper. 2014–idk when the shit went down where our posts got deleted)

original real-time fandub crew member (2016-2018; 2025-) [*note: real-time fandub games, like the sonic dubs, were a spinoff by crew member penny snapcube]

hs act omega artist (2017-2019)

three-time podcast guester on mystery shack lookback

figure in spamtonology

tumblr historian. i was probably there when it happened.

op of tumblr post screenshots circulating on google images

random things about me:

shit nobody cares about enthusiast

given enough time i think i could probably explain anything

ive been here since late 2011

i live in a very isolated pocket of my own taste in art/music where im not really aware of what everyone else is listening to because it just…doesnt really cross my mind ever? i found out brian eno said something similar, “If I tried to make a commercial album, it would be a complete flop. I have no idea what the world at large likes.” i told my friend the other day i feel like i understand my self through music and art, because of the accumulation of my taste i can actually experience my unconscious preference and know what i feel my own experiences reflected in

im best at self-reflection and observations of own my own mental processes. like catching the background of consciousness

if i were forced at gunpoint to kin a homestuck character it would be aradia megido. we’re very close in spirit

also dipper pines mannerisms but i think im a bit more eccentric and mature

dare i say the big joel of tumblr

another eno quote i strongly relate to: “Sometimes you recognize that there is a category of human experience that has not been identified but everyone knows about it. That is when I find a term to describe it.”

i’m asexual. i don’t know my romantic orientation because attraction is so rare for me (not enough data) but i think i always had a queer mentality. i just call myself grayromantic. i never had a partner but i want one because i’m feeling ready now but it has to feel like the right person.

tags:

#mine ← my posts, if i remember to tag them. im reblog heavy.

#me ← relatable tag

#laugh rule ← if i laugh irl i have to tag it that

#fave ← self explanatory

my art insp/aesthetic/resources side blog: @bonewheel

[chaosherald]

Word with Friends!

Thank you @jenn2d2 for hosting this week! And thanks to @seaglassmelody for the tag!

The word is: Perspicacious

Quick in noticing, understanding, or judging things accurately or of acute mental vision or discernment

(The aftermath of the gingerwort truffle tea adventure with Davrin - established Rookanis - featuring Davrin, Lucanis, Neve, Emmrich, and my Mourn Watcher Rook - and some headcanons about the kind of shenanigans necromancer college students would get up to in their free time 😂)

“I can explain,” Davrin said hastily, one arm around Rook who was trying her best to pull them both to the ground while Assan bounded around them into the dining room. Emmrich and Neve were at the table, staring at them in shock over the pile of papers they had been sorting. Lucanis, knife in hand, had frozen in the middle of whatever he was chopping and was taking them in with the same cold assessing stare he saved for targets. Davrin was pretty sure the assassin wouldn't sully his kitchen knives by attacking him, but he really didn’t want to take the risk.

Rook, still swaying, oblivious to any danger, smiled at the room’s occupants. “Marvelous. Our esteemed Professor and the celebrated Detective are eminently qualified adjudicators. Assan has been tragically biased in his assessments so far.”

“We, uh, tried your gingerwort truffle tea, Emmrich,” Davrin said, trying to angle Rook over towards one of the chairs.

Emmrich stood and walked over to Rook's other side, helping maneuver her to a chair. Assan meanwhile made his way over to Neve, pushing his head against her and demanding ear scratches. The Detective obliged, clearly trying not to laugh. “And Rook is a light weight, I take it?”

“That is not on the rubric, Detective Gallus. We will have to consider you an alternate adjudicator.” Rook tried to pat Emmrich’s arm as she sat. It took her a couple tries. Her eyes were glassy, pupils much wider than normal. “Professor, Warden Davrin owes me his rebuttal.”

“I see, my friend,” Emmrich said, taking her hand and surreptitiously checking her pulse. “And what is the topic of debate?”

“The role of sentience in how we define the monstrous. Davrin maintains that instinctual creatures who facilitate harm would still fall under the monster order.” Rook swayed in her seat as she turned to look at Davrin. “I maintain active choice and intent are inherent to the veracious application of the term.”

Neve kept one hand on Assan and rested her chin in the other, elbow on the table. “Fascinating. Does Gingerwort Truffle Tea commonly make you sound like an Altus on the lecture circuit?”

Davrin sank into his own chair, putting his head in his hands. While not nearly as far gone as Rook, he was still feeling the tea too. “I have no idea. First she thought Assan was talking. Then she’s throwing around the gold coin words and challenging me to a debate.”

Emmrich chuckled. “Oh, no, that isn’t the tea. Just training from the Black Lily Society. I am so glad to know the tradition lives on.”

Rook gasped, hitting her hands against the table. “Professor! You are in violation of the first tenant of the society! One does not broadcast the existence of the order to the uninitiated.”

Emmrich patted Rook’s shoulder. “The senior most students and the younger watchers have a tradition of partaking in mind altering substances and engaging in philosophical debate. Those who wish to remain sober or volunteers record and score the arguments. A certain verbal acumen is indeed part of the rubric.”

Davrin glanced at Neve. He could tell she was also processing this information and adding it to her concept of the Mourn Watchers. “Now that sounds like a party,” she said drolly.

A hand suddenly clamped on his shoulder, causing Davrin to jump in his seat. Lucanis, who no doubt did that on purpose, dropped a wooden box onto the table. Davrin hadn’t heard him approach, which was all kinds of disconcerting. “What specifically was in the tea and how much did she have?” he asked, opening the box and pulling out trays of vials and powders.

Rook smiled at him, leaning in his direction, her eyes obviously traveling down his form. “And a good evening to you, Master Dellamorte.”

“Two cups, I think?” Davrin looked at Emmrich. “As to the contents, you’ll have to ask the Professor.”

Emmrich rattled off the ingredients. “Treatment might not be necessary, Lucanis” he said. “It just seems our friend has a particular sensitivity to the truffles’ effects. Water, rest, and time should set her right.”

Lucanis did not look convinced. “I'd rather not take any chances.” He turned away from the table and walked towards the sink, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water.

Rook watched him walk away, clearly admiring the view.

Neve snorted, watching her. Rook generally avoided being too overt with her flirting. “Still looking for a debate, Rook? Or has something else caught your attention?”

“Perspicacious as always, Detective Gallus.” Rook waved a hand vaguely in Davrin’s direction. “Let the record show I concede the debate in accordance with the copulatory addendums. I am not conceding to the superiority of your arguments.”

Neve laughed. Lucanis almost dropped the glass he was filling. Davrin looked from Rook to Emmrich. “Is that an official rule of the society? Walking away from a debate for a hookup?”

Emmrich smiled, shrugging slightly. “Another time honored tradition of many young scholars.”

Lucanis did a decent job keeping a straight face as he came back to the table. Placing down the glasses he methodically started measuring powders into the glasses. “You are going to drink this, then lay down on the couch out here while I finish dinner.”

Rook pouted. “Tandem studies of anatomy-”

“Are off the table until this is out of your system.” Lucanis handed her one of the glasses.

Rook took the glass with more than necessary touching of Lucanis’ hand and started to drink, not breaking eye contact.

Lucanis watched her, but held the second glass out to Davrin. “And you get to keep an eye on her while I'm cooking.”

Davrin took the glass. He was pretty sure Lucanis had mixed the same stuff into both. “Fair. I don't have to worry about you coming at me over this, right?”

Lucanis snorted. “No.”

“Good.” Davrin started to drink his glass.

“Even odds that one or both of you is going to be sick as the purifier does its job though so - keep a bucket close by.”

Neve made a face, patting Davrin on the back. “And that's my cue to take the notes back to my room. Assan is welcome to join me, aren't you boy?”

Emmrich helped Neve with gathering the papers. “I'll keep an eye on things out here, just in case there are any more adverse effects or spontaneous debates.”

Davrin rolled his eyes, but offered a hand to Rook to help her over to the couch. “Come on, Watcher Ingellvar. Next picnic, you pick the drinks.”

[weirdozxy]

So since most of you said yes to hear me yap about my reincarnation au then I'll do it!!!

Starting off by basic information reincarnation au is basically my main au, I do headcanon that the casts are reincarnations of the previous ones and yes I do know they aren't the same people in canon but imma just gently ignore that ^^

however I do have a 2nd au where they aren't the same people but it's still in progress so I'll yap about it later

Secondly, I'll put trigger warnings so people prepare themselves for what they are about to read or ignore that part!

Thirdly, some smps don't match up timeline but who gives a fuck anyway lol

Fourthly, this is the timeline of how everything gets settled into empires smp season 2 and Pearl's journey through the thousands of years she's had building this up.

Now...

TW death, suicide and self harm

Pearl is the goddess of reincarnation AND watcher. After she died during the rapture from withering away she got into evolution smp where she was in her default skin all confused and wondering where the hell was she, just minutes ago she was watching her life fly by after she died.

She misses her friends and fiancé (Gem) and when she saw Jimmy she thought it was the cod but it's not, he's just another Jimmy. (who eventually gets into the life series) and she went a little bit insane trying to reach out to him. Obviously he was confused and Pearl had a breakdown. Luckily though after some healing time and getting used to her new life Grian was mostly the one by her. Keeping her somewhat sane.

(Ps I haven't watched evolution smp so pardon for any mistakes!)

With the other evolution members she's been hanging out pretty good, even if Jimmy reminds her of the codfather (in her own words) (I'll watch Pearl's pov on the series soon so I'll get to to flesh this part out at some point) but overalls the watches loves to toy her around for just wanting to be with her friends again

She even has a book where she drew all of her friends and during this time Pearl thought of a great plan, what if she tried to save her friends? Grian wasn't too keen on the idea, scared if the watchers wouldn't like that but Pearl didn't care. She just wanted to bail out and get the powers so she could see what her friends were up to. (And save them and herself)

After the evolution smp is done and they all disperse, Pearl and Grian were the only ones that got watcher powers (although Pearl only has half so Grian is more powerful than her)

When she's free she's in her own world (the afterlife) during this time period she decides to go back in time to save them. With many, many, many, many, and many fail attempts, she slowly goes inside watching all of her friends die and cannot even save herself, but she's determined even though she's starting to actually lose sanity of watching her friends die over and over again.

Sausage tried to do the same, but it didn't work out so both were helpless. (Although they did have a tearful reunion) at some point Pearl gave up because Grian was telling her how bad her mentality is. Pearl and Grian argued about it because Pearl didn't want to stop, she was shaking and sobbing then calmed down once she realized she had to stop trying. Their faiths cannot be changed. They're going to die.

Sausage tried one more time and Pearl with exhausted eyes and lighter frame told him to give it up, but she'll make a new world (afterlife smp) where they'll be safe until she makes a new world now. (Empires smp season 2) Sausage refused crying but then Pearl hugged him and swore that she would make them safe again, Sausage cried into her arms before Sausage disappeared as Pearl deleted all of the shattered alternate universe they did. Leaving with the original.

Pearl was doing so bad mentally, watching her friends die over and over again with yourself being helpless and dying as well as carrying a heavy weight on her. She just wanted her friends to be safe.

Here's how the empires smp season 1 cast died btw

Canon deaths

Joel heartbreak because of his wife not remembering her and his palace

Joey fell and hit his head (his empire burnt down)

Scott sacrificed himself by stabbing himself to kill Xornoth with him

Sausage blew up with the staff (at least that's how I envision it)

Pearl withered away with her empire

Now here's what I have for the rest

Shrub jumped off a cliff due to not finding her gnome people

Fwhip disease due to being being exposed to chemicals over the explosion

Jimmy drowned himself due to guilt of leaving the cod people

Lizzie fell off her ocean palace by accident due to being confused around her

Katherine heartbreak (after some time due to her empire and losing her friends)

Gem did have the peaceful life she wanted despite feeling sad about everything, her brother kept her on edge but when he died she lost it and eventually died of a heartbreak as well leaving Violet alone and her other dragon alone as well

Pearl had to witness it all. She tried saving everyone but it just didn't work out. (The reason she saw it happening was because for the first time in her afterlife world she wanted to see how everyone was doing and was now determined to save them.

Pix was cursed with immortality, so he couldn't die. When he returned to empires his empire wasn't burnt down so he thought everything was normal, until he went to check up on his friends and everything was in ruins. He ended up leaving again without a word.

Pix then found a few bodies of the others, leaving him in more guilt and he cried for hours. Until he decided to bury each of them somewhere.

Pearl meanwhile was healing from exhausting herself out way too much after trying to save her friends and Grian brought her to hermitcraft season 8! (Freshly new so it was just the two of them and he says how he's planning to get the other hermits over, he says how it is a safe place where watchers can't get them.

Then she was planning afterlife smp, and when her friends would go in the afterlife (her home not the smp) she'd greet each of them and convince them to stay in the new smp while she prepares a new empires smp.

Some were on board almost immediately, tired after years of agony and guilt. Like Joel, Fwhip, Sausage and Gem. They had talked for a while before Pearl ascended them into the smp.

Some were hesitant but gave in eventually, like Katherine, Jimmy and Scott, both of three wanted to just vanish because Katherine and Jimmy left their empires and felt guilty about it, Scott wanted to turn back to his imaginary world where everything was alright. But then he gave a chance to reincarnation.

(Btw Pearl told them the plan of how they're going into a temporary smp until she makes a new empires smp.)

Ones that were REALLY hard to convince was Shrub, Lizzie and Joey. Joey wanted to stay in his world with Xornoth but Pearl said it's not great to live in a lie and so with many arguments he eventually gave in. Lizzie was all confused and scared but Pearl reassured her she'd be fine. Shrub didn't think she deserved it after she left her people to die and the reason why she killed herself was because of the guilt and lost hope to find her people again.

Pearl gave them all one last hug after they were all on board with the idea. They all cried (Lizzie didn't know why she cried but she did anyway.) Pearl promised them she's going to fix things up.

So they all go into the afterlife smp with Pearl watching from afar as their memory fades awwu and become new people (literally lmao) side note, they didn't go in all at once they were spoken to individually with Pearl it depends on when they die.

While they are living their lives in the afterlife smp, Pearl goes to discuss things about Pix and how he can be free himself too, if he joins her. He doesn't want to go into the afterlife and actually wants to be an archeologist so he doesn't let people forget about the emperors. However, Pearl wasn't too bored with the idea and he tried convincing her but she didn't want to. And so Pearl made the decision to wipe away his memories while keeping very few for him to remember.

(Pix knew he was going to get his memories wiped, they talked about it and he eventually agreed, because even if he wants to tell the stories of their friends he has seen their dead bodies and it still haunts him to this day.)

Pix wakes up in a new village not really knowing who he was except he is immortal and knows SOME stories about the ancient emperors and how he wants to be an archeologist.

Pearl, satisfied with what she's done, she's visited the others only a few times. Thanks to Sausage's church she can hear and see what's happening, while not being physically there.

Gem during this time in the afterlife smp actually developed how to do dimensional hopping thanks to her old wizard genes left in her. And so she hopes into hermitcraft season 8 surprisingly some hermits and ESPECIALLY Pearl, Pearl thinks this must be another version so she greets her like normally while crying inside until later she learns that's her Gem during season 8. (After last life she realizes Gem is the same as wizard Gem)

Which speaking about the life series,,.

The watchers say they have games (the life series) Pearl, confused, asks for elaboration and they tell her how they wanna take her friends from afterlife smp to the games of death (explains 3rd life and upcoming last life.)

Pearl absolutely refuses and begins yelling at them, saying how she didn't spend all this time for them to have more pain and how she did it for peace. The watchers look at each other before turning to her and saying how if she joins, they'll let her friends go.

Pearl immediately accepts and that's how she gets into the life series. They agreed to let her watch over her friends and when she finishes preparing Em pires smp season 2 they'll bring her over to the games.

Pearl can’t do this alone, she knows this. She's tried it before and fucked it all up. So she asks Joel (physically mind you since she managed to break into the server) who is looking at himself in the mirror admiring himself then screams at Pearl and throws stuff at her in fear and Pearl also screams back trying to appease the situation.

When everything is calmed down Pearl asks if he wants to be a God, of course he does he exclaims it! But then Pearl explains how he's a reincarnation and bla bla bla empires and he's confused and terrified but then Pearl gives him his memories back and after crying for some time he agrees to help her. (Since he wants his wife back and friends as well, just as much as Pearl wants it)

And so the adventure begins!

They find Shrub's hold dimension and say it's the perfect place to make the new season. Pearl suggested the idea since she wanted Shrub to have her home back even if it's all destroyed. They'll fix it together. And so they make the empires. Pix comes in and he kinds of recognizes the two but they say he can make himself home as well! They're just here to ballad (not actually they're fixing the place up)

Bla bla bla afterlife smp ends Pearl greets the others and without explanation boom reincarnation! (Of course it takes time because the people and parents have to be born and blabla)

Pearl then enters the games and comes back even more traumatized. Like I said before she realizes that Gem is the same one as the empires Gem because she didn't see her in her own afterlife, which was why she told the watchers to wait but they dragged her in.

Double life hasn't happened yet, but empire smp 2 is now in motion and Pearl is happy to see them all happy to Greet each other and start it fresh. Pearl did see their pasts and she wishes she had done things differently for others because some got horrible pasts.

She planned for Jimmy and Lizzie to be siblings, and they are but their parents got killed and they got separated at like 3 year old, Jimmy was in the Mesa and they cut off his feline tail which is why he hides his feline ears so no one suspects him and starts to tract him down.

Lizzie briefly remembers him but doesn't know from where.

Fwhip and Gem is complicated.. they do share the same blood but Gem did dimensional hopping so it screwed up her plans so Fwhip was born into his own home alone. Gem eventually found empires smp season 2 through instincts and she met the others.

And this is all! Oh my god I am so sorry this took forever and I feel like I said too much in one setting, I still have other things to say but it's mostly about the ships, backstories, friendships, soulmates etc and I wanted to write those into another post, this is mainly about the timeline and Pearl's journey through the thousands of years.

If you have any more questions please do not be afraid to ask!

[madrabbit014]

RRAU Briefing

Just a silly little thought of "What if Other Factions Asked Nels to Do Briefings/PSAs on Their Behalf?"

(this may have been funnier in my head tbh)

Portia & Rowena belong to @booksncatsworld Nheil belong to @so--whoonos Luca belong to @glittering-darmallon Zephyr belong to @larknnightingale Aria belong to @bubblecat-co Isiah & Heloise belong to @a-mumbling-nerd Tira belong to @tiravi Ezra belongs to @lunammoon

Edit: I keep forgetting to tag rooks 😭

Valo belongs to @glittering-darmallon as well and Esha belongs to @i-creatied-au

Word Count: 1,121

Nels sighed. Members from four of the six factions that made up the Veilguard were all looking up at them as they filed into the meeting room and found their seats. Most looked either annoyed or bored that they’d have to sit through another briefing. 

But Nels didn’t want to be here either. They wanted to be sprawled out on Aria’s couch, drawing in their sketch book. Or helping Lucanis with the groceries. Or sneaking out to Ventus to ride dracolisk. Or literally anything other than this. But some members of the Mourn Watch had come up to Nels and basically begged them to hold this meeting. So here they were.

Nels looked over all the faces once more now that everyone was seated and noticed Aria sitting in the back of the crows, glaring at all her problem children. Unfortunately, today, she was also one of the problem children. The elf shook their head and let out another sigh. They walked forward and dropped the stack of papers they were holding on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright. I don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be here. So let’s get moving so we can all get on with our day.” Nels held up a blank form from the stack they dropped, “This, is the on-boarding medical form all of you were asked to fill out on the Mourn Watch’s request.” Nels paused as their audience shifted uncomfortably in their seats. 

“Now, I’m not going to pretend like I was surprised to find out that neither the Crows or the Lords took this form seriously. That’s honestly par for the course. But the Veil Jumpers and Shadow Dragons? I expected more from you.” Nes shook their head, "The Mourn Watch has requested that each of you redo your paperwork—properly this time—and turn it in by dinner today.”

Portia spoke out, “What the hell was wrong with it the first time?”

“So glad you asked. Let’s start with the fact that the ‘Emergency Contact’ field is for you to provide us with contact information for anyone you want us to notify in the event of an emergency. You know, like if you’re severely injured or die. Writing in ‘Don’t tell Viago/Strife/Tarquin’ is not helpful information. We don’t give a damn who you don’t want us to contact. Just tell us who you do. On that note, fellow team members are not valid emergency contacts. I don’t care what name you put, it can be the Southern Devine for all I care. Put a valid contact in the box or we will contact your faction head by default. And Shadows? I’ve informed the Watchers that Tarquin is their main point of contact if you don’t have an alternate.”

The Lords started laughing amongst themselves but they weren’t off the hook either, “The Watchers would also like me to inform you that the following are invalid answers for the height and weight fields: ‘Idek man, I just got here’, ‘What are you, a cop?’, ‘Thin bestie, trust.’, ‘Tall’, ‘No clue’, ‘Mind your business’, ‘Taller than Nels’, ‘You’re not my mom.’, ‘More than three apples.’, a frowning face, a winking face, or a drawing of a steaming pile of poop.

"Also, you are only to use actual units of measurements, not: apples, trees, mabaris, ogres, gold, daggers, chairs, boots, or me. They would also like for me to tell you that rounding up to the nearest tenth is enough and there’s no reason to write it out to the seventh decimal place.”

Nels scratched their eyebrow with their thumb, “Also one of the Lords just drew the anarchy symbol on their form, wrote their name as ATAB, and drew a middle finger for their signature. The Watchers are aware of which one of you it belongs to, because you’re the only one without a form filled out. While I respect the hustle, there is a time and place.

"Next on the list: Crows. The ‘Special Diet’ field is not for you to list all the poisons you take every day. That is what you were given the separate Toxin from for, which some of you decided to either draw all over—including some interesting depictions of the fifth talon—or in one case write ‘I already put that on the other one, I’m not writing that shit again’.”

Nels shifted their weight and put their hands on their hips, “Now I would like the Crows to take notice that Heloise and Valo aren’t here. And Shadows please note Luca’s absence as well. That’s because the three of them actually turned in proper paperwork. Valo even made sure to ask the Watchers for help so he could do it properly because he didn’t want to shit all over the hard work Rowena put into making this form. They get to enjoy their afternoon, while you redo paperwork you should have done right the first time.”

“And if we don’t want to?” Nheil asked in a huff.

Nels clapped their hands, “And that brings us to the final part of today’s briefing! And it looks like Tira peaced out shortly after my greeting so…” Nels flipped through the papers they had and pulled out Tira’s form. They handed it off to Zephyr who had been standing off to the side the entire time, “Please make sure this is filed as the final form.” Zephyr nodded and then went back to staring daggers at the Crows. Or maybe just Aria.

“See, the thing is, the watchers asked me to have this little chat with you and get this taken care of today because tomorrow Ezra—who has not seen these yet—will be reviewing them herself. So you guys can either lose this afternoon to a small annoyance, or deal with her tomorrow.

"By the way, there’s only enough blank forms for everyone who needs to redo theirs.” Nels picked up a blank paper and the others watched as sparks danced on their hands before igniting the form, “Since Tira left early, hers will be submitted as is.”

“Finally, Shadows, you have exactly thirty minutes to submit a proper form directly to me after I call ‘dismissed’. For every minute you are late it is ten laps. Afterwards you will each spend the rest of the afternoon writing a very heartfelt apology letter to Rowena for treating her hard work like a joke—which you will deliver in person. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” When they saw their fellow faction members nodding they gave a bright smile, “Perfect! The rest of you can hand yours in to Zephyr, dinner today is the deadline, Isaiah and Esha: I am not your emergency contact, and you all are dismissed.”

[ctxinari]

Call of Duty OC : Xavier Gonzalez Ryder 🎲

"Next to me, your ‘master plans’ all look so small, like little mice."

A once young and brilliant, albeit awkward, former criminal dedicated his life to the Trinidad & Tobago Defense Forces after being transferred for ruthless military training under the TTDF for 5 years and the UK Armed Forces for an extra 2 years. Applying his exceptional intellect to unravel the most intricate cases. Possessing an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, he could recall minute details and detect patterns that others often overlooked. Though incredibly intelligent, he battled personal challenges: loss, trauma, and the weight of knowing too much. Throughout these struggles, Ryder remained steadfastly loyal to his team, intent on protecting the innocent and delivering justice to those in need. Having once been deep in the trenches, he now leverages his past experiences to dismantle criminals from within. Tough, relentless, and driven by a quest for redemption, he's the man who always gets the job done when called.

MAIN INFO :

Name: Xavier Gonzalez Ryder

Codename: S-T-A-L-K-E-R

Alias(es): - Xavier - Mr. Ryder - Sir - La Voz (By Chief Vishal) - Officer Xavier Gonzalez Ryder - Officer Ryder - Officer Xavier Ryder - Special Agent / Agent Ryder - Special Agent / Agent Xavier - Kid / Boy (By Arthur) - Watcher 5-0 - Mentor (by Chief Vishal)

Other Alias(es): - Mr. Misbegotten-son-of-a-monkey’s-ass - Xavie (by Mei, the name grew on him.) - Psycho (by Kieran) - Son (by Arthur and Xibalba) - Rich boy (by Athens) - Romeo (by Dr. Shivani) - Golden Boy (by Analog) - Xavier-Sama (by Pennelope Macoya - The Japanese Flower Lady) - Monster (by Madam Nairobi) - Habibi (by Dr. Nathaira) - Drama Queen (by Pink Puma) - King-Stick-Up-His-Ass - Bro (by Askarsh) - Ass-wipe (by Xaden) - Hubby (by Mei) - Man-of-a-few-words - Mr. Moody - (“Emo-Dad”) - (“Papa”) - (“Father”) - (”Dad”)

Rank: Specialist Officer.

Age: - 31 (Past Period / MW 2019) - 34 - 35 (Blank Period / Reboot MW 2 & 3) - 52 - 53 (Alternate AU - Final War AU - 2040)

Gender: Male

Marital Status: Single (later married to Mei Persad)

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Date of Birth: July 23, 1988

Native Language(s): Spanish

Other spoken language(s): English.

Nationality: Trinidadian

Place of birth: Port of Spain, Trinidad.

Home: - Casino Royale [0-1], Point Fortin, Trinidad. - Casino Royale [0-2], England, United Kingdom.

Occupation: - Member of The Bridge [0-3] (formerly) - Second-in-Command of the Commander Task Force - (T&T Defense Force) - Associated member of the Trinidad & Tobago Police Force - Associated member of the British Armed Forces - CEO of his parents’ Casino Royale [0-1] and [0-2] - Volunteer sponsor for local caring homes for orphans - Associated member of Task Force 141 - Part-time Photographer

Status: Alive

Universe: Reboot Timeline (2019-2023) / Modern Warfare 2019 / Modern Warfare 2 / Modern Warfare 3 / Next Generation Timeline (Alternate AU - Final War Au - 2040)

APPEARANCE INFO :

Face claim: Roman Reigns

Eye color: Hazel

Hair color: Black (previously dyed brown)

Height: 6’4” / 192 cm

Weight: 265 lbs / 120 kg

Body Type: Muscular

Blood type: B-

Scars: - Scars: Large slash coming up his left eye (caused by one of the workers at The Bridge while drunk), pentagram marks on both his shoulders caused by a branding iron (a sadistic punishment while also still in The Bridge). - Wounds: Bullet wound on his left side close to where his liver was (caused by Phillip Graves), Stab scar on his lower right side ribcage (also caused by one of the Shadow Members). - Amputations: Right (middle and index) fingers missing (caused by a former Bridge member; deceased).

CRIME LIST :

Mass murder

Murder

Human Trafficking (unaware)

Mass property damage

Sabotage

Defamation

Mass torture (physical and psychological)

Assault and battery

Drugging

Reckless endangerment

Property damage

Trespassing

Theft

Substance abuse (implied)

Torture

Burglary

Blackmail

Arson

Illegal use of weapons

Illegal border crossing

PERSONAL PREFERENCES INFO :

Clothing Style: A strange mix between streetwear and formal.

Favorite Book: - The Art of War by Sun Tzu - The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene

Color: Red, Black, and Gold

Favorite Drink: Old Fashioned and Red Wine

Favorite Flower[s]: - Red Hibiscus - Red Roses

Favorite Food: Rice and bhaji with stewed chicken

Favorite Song[s]: - Before I Leave by JAH CURE - U Me Luv by ITSJAHMIEL

Favorite Hairstyle: High bun (during work time), braided (when on missions), or putting his hair down (when out of work)

AFFILIATION INFO :

The Bridge [0-3] (Formerly): - Ethan “Invader” Aviel King

Commander Task Force: - General Zyran Emris - Mayor Thompson Eric - Judge Donovan Amory - Chief Vishal Magnus Emmanuel - Captain Kieran Ryder - Dr. Nathaira García - Dr. Evelyn García - Dr. Shivani García - Technical Analyst Athens Priel - Crime Cleaner Achlys Priel - Special Officer Askarsh Zaidyn - Special Officer Xaden Ryder - Special Officer Mei Persad

( © islandterochip ) Warriors Task Force: - General Alana Kalani - Chief Master Sergeant Tama Koa Nikau - Captain Kanoa Toa - First Sergeant Tiala "Malie" Toa - Sergeant Agnes “Blast” Falagi - Sergeant Nigel “Squirrel” Harrison - Dr. Aelan Kalani - Case Officer Iowana Naituku

Mexican Special Forces/Los Vaqueros: - Colonel Alejandro Vargas - Sergeant Major Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra - Special Officer Alyssa “Aly” Martinez ( © alypink )

Task Force 141: - Captain John Price - Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley - Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish - Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Sergeant Samantha “Butterfly” Wright ( © welldonekhushi )

( © kaitaiga ) 2nd Commando Regiment: - Sergeant Damien Whitlock - Captain Lachlan Jones

( © welldonekushi ) Para Special Forces: - Captain Arjun “Danush” Dhingra - Sergeant Aditya "Surya" Tripathi - Staff Sergeant Yuvraj Chaudhary

CIA: - Station Chief Kate Lasswell - Operation Officer Alex Keller - Officer Karlos Martinez ( © alypink )

Redeeming Love Ministries: - Father Arthur Benjamin Stells - Mr David Catherine Stells - Ms Anna Rebecca Lottie [Stells] - Ms Parvati Puja Radha

Pink XXX District: - Madison "P.Puma" Harley Jermaine

RELATIONSHIPS & FAMILY INFO :

Status in family: Adopted

Sibling[s]: 2 biological - [“HATCHET”] Kieran Mavros Ryder (Older Brother, Alive. Captain of Commander Task Force.) - [“BLITZ”] Xaden Sergio Devan Ryder (Twin Brother, Alive. Right-hand member of Commander Task Force.)

Grandfather[s]: - [Birth Father’s Side] UNKNOWN GRANDFATHER [1] (Grandfather, Deceased.) - [Birth Mother’s Side] UNKNOWN GRANDFATHER [2] (Grandfather, Deceased.)

Father[s]: - [Birth Father] UNKNOWN FATHER (Birth Father, Deceased.) - [Sponsor] Arthur Benjamin Stells. (Former Foster Father, Alive.) - [“FLINT”] Xibalba Bernabé Ryder (Adoptive Father, Alive)

Mother[s]: - [Birth Mother] UNKNOWN MOTHER (Birth Mother, Deceased.) - [“MELLOW”] Amada Isabel Díaz Ryder. (Adoptive Mother, Alive.)

Spouse: - [“MIRAGE”] Mei Chao Persad - Ryder (Wife, Alive. Comrade and Special Officer of Commander Task Force.)

Pets: Scrunky (Ragdoll Cat) [♂]

PROFESSION AND SKILLS INFO :

Fighting style: - Hand-to-Hand Combat - Boxing / Kickboxing

Weapon(s): Anything Available.

Distinct Weapon: Stainless Steel Butterfly Knife (easy to move with), Double M48 Tactical Tomahawk Military Axes, and Kill-Saw Chainsaw Bayonet.

Special skills: - Hyperthymesia: He has a great memory. With every little detail he picks up, he keeps it to himself and will not forget. So if you piss him off enough he’ll remind you of it. (And yes, that is blackmail.) - Planning: He always has a perfect map out and planning skills. Even while in The Bridge, his co-workers praised him for that, so now he uses that to his advantage. Always have a backup plan. Need help? He’s your guy. - Hiding: They call him “Stalker” for a reason; what do you expect? Hiding is his ultimate specialty when he doesn’t want anyone knowing he’s around, whether it’s inside or outside the line of work. He also hides his candy stash and weapons as well, large stuff included. That’s why some soldiers get confused or think they’re going insane. - Fast in Combat: Xavier reacts quickly when in combat, so watch yourself. He has the build and strength, so if you try shooting or stabbing him, he won’t go down as fast as you expect. [Heads up: HIDING WON’T WORK!]

PERSONALITY INFO :

Myers Briggs Type: INFJ (The Advocate) - He possesses deep analytical thinking, incredible intelligence, and an empathetic yet slightly awkward personality. If you need an answer, he'll find it before you finish asking. Xavier sees patterns where others see chaos. Whatever task you need help with, he’ll do it, even if it’s difficult. He wants to assist and make things easier for his team and comrades.

"Looks like they can kill you, is a cinnamon roll": Xavier is not that mean most of the time, but he does show a soft spot for others on the other side. He is very kind and patient to others who need help. His voice may sound rough, but trust, he isn’t mean.

Genius-Level Intellect: Xavier has an IQ of 187, reads 20,000 words per minute, and has an eidetic memory, which allows him to recall vast amounts of information instantly.

Confident and Flirtatious: Xavier carries himself with unmatched confidence, often teasing his friends and allies alike with playful, flirtatious banter. He never seems intimidated, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Protective and Caring (Deep Down): While he often acts aloof, Xavier shows deep care for those close to him, especially Xaden and Kieran, his fellow brothers and teammates. His protectiveness extends to Mei and others he encounters as comrades.

Sarcastic and Witty: He has a sharp tongue and frequently mocks his opponents, demonstrating both his intelligence and his ability to stay composed in battle. (The Daddy of all dad jokes when fighting for his life).

Good But Bad Driving Behaviour: He drives well, but when it comes to being in a rush and a car is too slow or doesn’t react quickly enough, he has incredible road rage to the point of cussing like a sailor in Trini Patois that even other’s won’t understand what he’s saying.

NEGATIVE TRAITS :

Stubborn: Xavier is usually a calm but stubborn man. He never asked for help since, back at The Bridge, he was mocked for being ‘too weak’. Sometimes, it concerns others to see him working by himself without any help. Even if he was ill, he would rather die working than resting.

Arrogance: His confidence and stubbornness can sometimes cross into arrogance. He often underestimates enemies or mocks them, even in serious situations, which leads to them lashing out. (He got shot in the leg for that.)

Emotionally Reserved: Xavier tends to bottle up his emotions, especially trauma and grief. This emotional repression sometimes leads to breakdowns or makes it hard for him to ask for help, as he was seen as weak in the past.

Addictive Tendencies: He has struggled with drug addiction in the past, revealing that he can be vulnerable to unhealthy coping mechanisms when overwhelmed.

Paranoia and Trust Issues: Due to his past (including being taken advantage of and watching people get hurt because of him), Xavier has deep trust issues. He constantly keeps his guard up, sometimes even with his comrades.

Reckless in Combat: He tends to throw himself into danger without hesitation. While it’s brave, it can also be impulsive and can put him (and others) at risk.

Slightly manipulative: Don’t let his sarcastic and positive behavior fool you. He may act helpful and kind, but he will play you like a violin. (would NEVER do that to the people he trusts.)

TRIVIA INFO :

He’s a distant relative of General Emris, Chief Emmanuel and a very close relative to Officer Xaden and Captain Kieran.

He’s the Second-in-Command for Commander Task Force. Captain’s not here? He gives the orders now.

Likes to bully Achlys because of how soft and shy he is, since he’s the youngest of the team (19). In reality, he won’t hesitate to embarrass anyone if they try doing the same thing. (Nuh-uh, that’s HIS baby, not yours!)

He got the codename “Stalker” from Mr. Arthur as a kid. He shows how much he used to follow people and grab information, and he still does it up till now. So, from his first impression, he got that name when he stepped foot into CTF.

Has an irrational fear of geese. Big tough officer covered in blood and trauma daily, but if a goose hisses at him, he’s gone. Full sprint. No shame.

Due to his background profile and past criminal records, he can be a very hard person to trust, and he understands that. So if you don’t trust him as easily, he’s not mad.

He has a lot of sleeping issues since he has frequent horrible nightmares to the point of mixing Temazepam, Antidepressants, and Alprazolam to sleep or function. It started at 13 - 14 but got worse after he ran away from The Bridge

HATES being touched by people (minus if he trusts you enough). Other than that, he snaps at anyone who tries touching him on his lower back, thighs, or neck in a sexual manner.

He actually loves cheesy rom-coms but refuses to admit it.

Has a sweet tooth and is low-key addicted to gummy bears as a kid since he got it from his father. He keeps a stash in his office drawer locked and gets personally offended if anyone tries to take them.

Can dance really well, and it pisses people off. The man is smooth with it.

THIS MAN IS SASSY AF, like: “Damn, sorry for offending your feelings, princess.”

(WARNING: Imply substance abuse, murder, and r-pe.) BACKSTORY / BACKGROUND INFO : (will rewrite/update his backstory, please be patient.)

On July 23, 1989, Xavier and his twin little brother (Xaden) were born in the cross-border of Port of Spain, Trinidad, during a life-or-death escape fleeing to Trinidad while trying to escape a violent shootout between both, unknown gunmen, and involving corrupt border police.

Before they were born, his mother, father, and two-year-old brother (Kieran) lived in a poor town in Tucupita, Venezuela. Their father worked as a fisherman, transporting goods to local Trinidadian fishermen in exchange for basic household items and groceries, while their mother had once been a schoolroom teacher. Trouble started when their mother spoke out against local militia pressure and presence in her school. Due to that, her voice drew unwanted attention. The family was soon harassed, threatened, marked, and finally targeted, leading to a violent confrontation that forced them to flee the country without clothes or basic items to survive.

After fleeing, their mother, heavily pregnant, fell into labor during the escape. Amid the chaos of rough waves, gunfire echoing in the distance, and fear of being caught or killed, Xavier and his twin brother were born. Right on the deck of a boat, under the open sea. Their happiness was short-lived when a black painted boat with two engines sped in their direction. Their father immediately covered all three children, but neither he nor his wife was shielded, as bullets pierced them clean, though they almost hit the children as well.

Within 2 days, the twins became incredibly malnourished, yet still had their umbilical cords connected to both themselves and their deceased mother. Kieran, on the other hand, both scared, confused, and hungry in the whole situation, tightly hugged his brothers and cried loudly to the point some military coastguards on a boat heard and sped to the scene. That was when a military sergeant by the name of Arthur “Cobalt” Stells and his cousin, David “Clutch” Stells, witnessed the bloody scene and immediately told their captain to which he ordered them to take care of it but at the same time, keep their guns drawn in case it might’ve been a trap since setups for crime using children were common in these waters.

Both men steadily got onto the bloodbath of a boat as they moved the man’s body out of the way to reveal the starving kids. Skin hugged tightly against their bones, showing how malnourished they were. Cutting the umbilical cord, the men took all three kids back into the military boat, which sped to their ship, where they immediately received special medical treatment and meals. Due to the twins being fresh newborns, a few soldiers had to go to the children’s hospital to receive breast milk from mothers in order to feed them, along with children's products for Kieran.

(Cue four men carrying heavy boxes of baby pampers, bottles, clothes, toys, and sealed bags with breastmilk while also getting weird stares from the locals.)

8 months later, David soon suggested that since the children were a little old enough, he could put them into an orphanage for adoption to which Arthur IMMEDIATELY shut down stating that quote “My father has a church, we (they) can raise them there until they are old enough to be taken into good foster homes.” That was when Arther began becoming a Sponsor to all three children, raising them inside a large catholic church with the help of his father, the other nuns, and helpers while also studying to become a priest himself while helping to raise local, immigrant, and abandoned children learn to read and write.

When Xavier became 14-years-old, he was a quiet, thoughtful, and observant kid, unlike his twin little brother, Xaden, who was more daring and outspoken, sometimes landing himself in trouble with the other kids. Xavier often kept to himself, reading, watching, learning, and sometimes hanging around the church sisters to adore him a lot. He was mostly close to Sister Anna Lottie and Father Arthur Stells, admiring their resilience and calmness while under pressure, but often jumpscaring them by accident, earning him the nickname “Stalker”. From a young age, Xavier was calculated, developing a deep sense of responsibility, often stepping into the role of protector, especially towards his older brother, who suffered long-term trauma from an early age. He chose to step up to the role, not wanting to burden his older brother with the responsibility of being their guardian or parent, but as their brother. But that didn’t stop Xavier from slowly drifting into dangerous circles. It started with a cigar..maybe two, but transformed into secretly drinking alcohol outside of church, too guilty to drink it inside, but he maintained himself and his responsibilities.

At the beginning of his school year in Form 3, Xavier had won a scholarship to a private secondary school in Port of Spain, where he first encountered a border world of law, history, and ethics. But it was also where he came face-to-face with institutional prejudice. Students who scoffed at his way of talking and teachers who treated him like a charity case. Rather than break, Xavier adapted. He learned to speak in measured tones, sharpened his writing like a blade, and began to ask questions about systems, power, and silence.

By the time he was 16, he had earned another scholarship, this time, to study law abroad. But then that was when a knock at the door came. Two people, Xibalba and Amanda Ryder, stood at the door with warm smiles and open arms. Due to his confusion, Arther sat him, his twin, his older brother, and the Ryder couple down, that was when he explained to Xavier and his brothers that those were his foster parents, and two people he had known way back a long time ago. He explained to them privately that the Ryder couple were special agents who travel the world and that they should never disclose that information to anyone else. Xavier, happy to finally have parents, agreed without a thought, along with his brothers. The Ryder brothers.

At the age of 18, The Ryder couple began training their adopted children, training them to use weapons and also military defenses. It started off with hunting, then stalking, then moving swiftly to attack. Xavier was mostly good at hiding and stalking, but he wanted more; he wanted more adventure besides training. Maybe it was the sense of wanting to provide and not be a burden. Maybe it was the fact that ‘justice’ began to take a shift on him.

After graduation, Xavier had started to look for a job to provide for himself without leeching off his parents' wallets. He wanted to take care of himself and his brothers without having Kieran take on the stress of being the provider. It started off with little packages of cigarettes, like the old days, but then it shifted to condoms and birth control for people so they just wanted a fun time without their parents finding out, and then it shifted to packets of cocaine and drug pills. Hell, he didn’t even know where he got them; all he knew was that his supplier was getting them from a warehouse named The Bridge from a guy named “Ethan King” under the name “Invader”. He continued his work until he suddenly stopped, reminding himself that he had loved ones at home, and to not let that corrupt his thinking. But that didn’t stop ol’ King from reaching out and contacting him, stating that he has a ‘special’ job for him. 10k a week, King stated. All he just had to have was a strong stomach and a mouth that can zip shut. Xavier was 19-years-old on May 18th, 2008 when he picked up on the offer, not knowing what he was getting into.

On June 2nd, 2011, Xavier locked himself in a storage room, hiding while clenching his missing middle and index finger in pain. This was not how it was supposed to go. A long slash was over his left eye, almost taking the whole eye out, blinding him a bit. Pentagram cuts on both his shoulders as a sick form of punishment. In the last week of the month of May, Xavier had been horrified, finally realizing what he had been dragged into. Women in cells, gagged, chained up. Some even already carry unwanted children. When he asked King about it, he explained that they are producers, cows, breeders who produce children in pure form. That was why they were forced to consume human meat, to make the children perfect to sell off in boxes disguise as packages. The women were marked, notified about their ovulation cycle as to when it started, and bred against their will by just a small tube of male substance and a medical syringe. Xavier felt sick hearing that. That night, he threw up so much he ended up passing out. Now, Xavier had planned to escape, but it didn't go as planned. One of the workers found out and ordered their men to hold him down for his punishment. That’s how he ended up in this position and how he lost his virginity now with a cellar woman and a child he was basically forced to contain.

2 months later, Xavier was slowly losing his emotions and his sanity as he kept working for those sick bastards. As they were having their fun. He started taking drugs to cope with everything, perhaps to have his mind in some illusion, to at least make him go anywhere but here. He remembered sitting in the cell, trying to comfort the woman to ease her mind off the burden of carrying something they both didn’t want, but then she claimed she didn’t want comfort; she wanted out. She begged Xaiver to free her from all this, to give her the comfort in something she desired. To be free. That was when Xavier snapped, I mean, it wasn’t like he no longer had a choice.

That Night, Xavier ran away, blood-soaked hands, clothes, and huge target on his back, but he didn’t care. He killed the woman, clean and painless. And he killed the others as well. As he ran, he felt a bullet pierce his knee, which made him stumble and fall hard to the forest ground. It was his brother Kieran, who was already in the TTDF, was the one who was leading and had found him after he went missing for so long. But he had mistaken him for an animal since he was out hunting. So he took Xavier quickly to the medical area back at home, where he was immediately greeted with hugs and cries from his family. Xavier didn’t understand why a monster like him would be treated with love and kindness. He should be treated with disgust, hatred, even. Xavier finally broke down and confessed about everything he had done leading up to this and the murders. But instead of being met with a slap to the face, Amada and Xibalba hugged their son tightly, explaining that he could get out of this. He just needed to turn his life around and repent.

In the year of 2018, Xavier had come back all fresh and new. He had undergone harsh military training for 5 years in the Trinidad and Tobago Defense Force, and he was transferred to the British Armed Forces for an extra 2 years of hardship. Now, he was informed that Kieran was forming a Task Force. He was also informed by the General, under the name Zyran, who had grown up with his former sponsor, Arther, and the one helping Kieran form a team for his Task Force, if he wanted to join. So he didn’t hesitate to take it and was placed as Kieran's second-in-command. That’s when he met his twin Xaden, teammates, and was welcomed into the Commander Task Force.

However, deep inside, Xavier harbored dreams of doing more than just surviving. He wanted to protect those who were never protected in the first place, to not forget where he came from, but to prove that nothing can be built into something.

MOODBOARD / THEME SONG :

More of Xavier Gonzalez Ryder🎲

[erme-maererme]

Also 🔥Emmrich (I'm just biased I know)

oh now we are getting to the really controversial takes (i think?). i have to say first that i am very vg critical, the problems i have with ir are in the root of the game, the very approach to how it was made, so there's not really a particular element that is salvageable to me in it, since it just is so intertwined.

i tried romancing emmrich, but it wasn't clicking for me, so i ended up with neve on my single playthrough. in part it's definitely that professor/student (well not student, but um less experienced necromancer ig) is not my preferred romance dynamic, and here it's quite emphasized. and i was playing as a mourn watcher, so actually maybe it is different for other factions?

also, niche unpopular opinion, astarion romancers playing datv (can't speak for everyone ofc, but there are some overlaps) are really giving emmrich false advertisement btw, because he and astarion are not alike at all beyond the generic gothic aesthetic that is associated with them.

if i am to consider what could make me connect with him more. they'd have to make mortalitasi actual mortalitasi (the only mages who are not only free from the circle, but also hold serious power in nevarra), place emmrich within this political framework. emmrich literally confirms the rumours about king markus being puppeteered by the mortalitasi at court to rook and then is like well i don't go here ofc, and i'm like no please let's go, that's the real juice. but vg is vg. also, necromancy should have a genuinely horrifying, creepy aspect to it by default, there was such interesting lore set up in dai, the spirits being used against their will by necromancers (according to solas at least) or the wailing in the necropolis of the undead (or was it spirits/wisps? i mean same thing technically since wisps occupy the undead thus creating them, but yk). or how do social structures form this place, how is one's status in life reflected in their place in the necropolis? how did neverrans come to such funerary practices and what are the cultural meanings connected to them? because vg is clearly reliant on just our norm of burying the dead, so it doesn't explain, but it mattered that it was specifically due to the magic and the fade and the undead that the rest of thedas prefers cremation.

like idk i was actually just as curious to finally see nevarra as i was about tevinter, but in the end they just didn't show any parts of it that were interesting to me. and combined with the general removal of any sharp edges from the characters as well and how no one is allowed to actually struggle and for problems to have weight. i definitely agree that saving manfred should have come with lichhood with the alternative path being acceptance of death/mortality. but well.

to sum up, i feel like this is an unpopular take because even among vg critical folks emmrich is often presented as a better written companion, but for the reasons listed above i don't really see him as being on a different level of writing than any other companion.

[darlingfreddie]

I hate you “guilt free” snacks. I hate you weight watchers. I hate you “skinny” food alternatives. I hate you slim fast. I hate you my fitness pal. I hate you calorie counting apps.

[stardustandash]

A Voice From the Past

Whumptober Day 5: Alternate Prompt - Finding Old Messages

A bright hologram lit up the room. The person’s face as familiar as Aloy’s own: Elisabet Sobeck. Aloy stared up at her as Elisabet surveyed the empty room. When her eyes landed on Aloy she couldn’t help the rush of want and guilt that flamed through her. As always, she wondered what Elisabet would think of her, if she would be proud.

Ao3 Link

The damn Ravager had caught Aloy off guard. All the tracks had pointed to the only machines in the area being a couple of Striders with their Watcher guardian. She had thought she was being quiet enough to slip by the chargers unnoticed, but that had put her straight in the path of the Ravager. It managed to clip her side with a blow that had sent her flying across the dusty ground and straight through the herd of Striders.

Like any of HADES’ deranged machines, it wasn’t satisfied with that. It launched itself across the ground in a giant bound, forcing Aloy to roll out of the way as she tried to draw her spear. The ground underneath the Ravager’s metal paws was splattered red. Blood. Her blood. Aloy couldn’t feel it yet through the adrenaline flooding her, but she knew it was bad. She hadn’t taken a hit like that from a machine in a long time. She knew she only had a few minutes before blood loss would make her slow and uncoordinated. Or in Rost’s words: get her killed.

The Ravager lined itself up for its next attack, cannon locked on Aloy. The Striders, emboldened by the larger machine, were also squaring off to charge. Aloy mentally ran off a list of every curse she knew from every tribe, and threw in some she’d picked up from the Old Ones for extra flavour. It was not looking good. She resettled her grip on her spear. There wasn’t enough time to switch to her bow.

Then she saw it. Between the rocks to her left a dark gap of a cave. As the Ravager’s canon whined into action Aloy ran for it, the projectiles cracking the stones just behind her. One of the Chargers galloped by close enough Aloy could feel the wind as it brushed by her but she could not stop. One wrong move, one hesitation and it would be over. With a last push she threw herself into the darkness.

It was not a solid landing on the other side.

Whatever ground she expected, it crumbled beneath her feet and Aloy fell into darkness. With only the thin light of the entrance above it was hard to see how far down she was falling, and by the time she even formed that thought she landed hard on an unforgiving cold floor. Metal floor. She groaned, rolling onto her good side and panting from the run and fall.

Aloy took a few minutes to take stock of herself. The adrenaline was leaving her body, and the pain was creeping in. The claw marks in her side were lines of icy fire. Her palms were scraped from rolling across the stones, and her fall was sure to produce some wonderful bruises all down her side. She groaned. These kinds of injuries would slow her down needlessly right when she needed to move the fastest.

She sat up, the movement straining now that Aloy was aware of all her aches and pains, and dug out a roll of cotton bandages and some dried hintergold to chew on. The herb numbed the pain as she slowly bandaged her bleeding side. Not her best job, but there was no water on hand to wash up with and not bleeding was her highest priority, followed by getting out of whatever cave she’d fallen into.

With Aloy’s side taken care of she pushed herself up to her feet and tapped her focus to activate it. The world around her lit up with a familiar purple glow and she understood why the floor had been so cold, and why she’d fallen.

It was a ruin of the Old Ones. There had once been stairs above Aloy, but her weight had sent them collapsing down without a hope of getting back to the surface. In front of her was a circular room that branched off into different directions, a design she had seen before in ruins. The trick was always picking the correct tunnel. Every Old Ones ruin had more than one entrance, and not all man made. She just had to find her way out, then she could keep going.

Walking hurt, but that was nothing new to Aloy. Her only concession to the pain was to put a hand over her ribs and press over where the bandages were keeping her together. She passed several rooms with the small computers the Old Ones liked clustered on tables, and a few still had occupied chairs in front of them. Most of the Focuses were too damaged, but a few still had the odd message on it. Mostly thoughts on the Faro swarm, or families left behind. Aloy collected them as she had so many others, letting their voices live on inside her Focus.

Then, as the tunnel split in two directions she saw it. Through the layers of grime and dirt and dust built up on the walls, she could make out the image of GAIA, surrounded by her subfunctions. This was a Zero Dawn facility. Aloy reached up to touch the image, frowning when her hand left a bloody smear across it. She wiped her hand against her leathers anf glared at the sight. If that wasn’t a metaphor for her whole life let a Stormbird strike her from above.

She continued on step by painful step, until she saw a green light blinking from one of the rooms. Curious what information might be logged on the machine she approached and placed a hand over the green light.

Immediately a bright hologram lit up the room. The person’s face as familiar as Aloy’s own: Elisabet Sobeck. Aloy stared up at her as Elisabet surveyed the empty room. When her eyes landed on Aloy she couldn’t help the rush of want and guilt that flamed through her. As always, she wondered what Elisabet would think of her, if she would be proud.

“Firstly, I would like to thank you for your dedication to project Zero Dawn. Without this facility, there would be no hope of bringing it to fruition. Here you are building part of what will one day take down the Faro swarm. I know it’s hard to keep going with all the reports coming in from around the globe, but your strength and dedication are what is going to defeat those machines once and for all.”

Aloy watched as Elisabet looked around the room to address nothing but ghosts as she talked about synthetic replicative materials and what they were doing at this facility. The speech Elisabet wass giving her long-dead audience is rehearsed, the cadence different from the small personal logs Aloy had picked up in the last year or so since leaving the Embrace, but all the same she soaked in her voice, her face. This was the woman that was the closest Aloy would ever have to a mother, and she stood before her covered in blood and dust with the failing world in her hands.

“…and though it may seem hopeless, there is a light at the end of all this. There will one day be a new dawn for humanity. One without the terror of the Faro swarm. Once more will humanity walk under the shade of trees and hear birds when we open our windows. And all of it will be thanks to you.”

The hologram froze for a few seconds, eyes locked forward onto Aloy. Elisabet stared down at her with pride in her digitally generated face before the hologram winked out and the room went dark once more.

Aloy wasn’t sure how long she stood there. Long enough that the hintergold wore off and the slashes in her side pulsed in time with her heartbeat. And yet she stayed, hand hovering over the activation. But she couldn’t just stand there and listen to Elisabet all day. She had to keep going, because all of it was down to her. Like those who worked here, and on Zero Dawn all those years ago, it was her strength, her dedication, that had to save the world.

[ms-katonic-of-tamriel]

Listening to a YT Vid on Veilguard's protag problem, which can be summed up as WHY is anyone listening to Rook, who isn't even important in their own faction and is canonically on hiatus from them, and why is Rook being just given leadership when they're early twenties with no experience and no connections. Which is kinda true, the only authority they have is being Varric's second in command, and most of Varric's authority comes from his own personal charisma and contacts, which is not available to Rook.

And it's kinda true, isn't it. Why Rook, and that question's never really answered satisfactorily in canon. And the only reason BTL works like it does is because:

Maia does have that connection to the Inquisition, she lived through it all and she's the Herald's kid. That does carry weight for those who know. And the other factor is the presence of an entire elder generation who will absolutely believe her, take her seriously and most importantly, marshall resources to help out. There's Miraak as Ambassador to Tevinter and all the weight the Empress's representative in Thedas title carries (not as much in Tevinter as in Orlais, but they're all afraid of him and he's happy to use that). There's Uncle Black Rose in Treviso - not an ambassador, but he's an envoy of the Empire and fulfilling a similar role, and he's trusted by most of the Crows. It's also the city with a massive Imperial presence, so Maia's mother's mighty Empire is there. There's House Pavus in the Shadow Dragons plus Mae and Ashur figuring it out and deciding it's in their interests to help - in no small part due to the amount of funding and supplies they get from the Empire.

Veil Jumpers - also Empire-funded, and Morrigan's there. There's also Liriel exerting an influence all the way from Mythallon. Grey Wardens - you need not nearly as many Wardens when the Blight Witch rallies to your side - Maia's literal half-sibling.

The Lords and the Mourn Watch are less certain, but that's OK, having to work for their respect is half the fun.

Point is, Maia probably works as a protagonist BETTER than canon Rook does, because there's a lot of people out there who will rally to Empress Alessia II's kid. Or for that matter, ex-Inquisition and rebel mages who remember the tiny Breaker of Storms/Mascot.

Because 'why does anyone listen to Rook' is a very different question to 'why does anyone listen to the eldest child of the Herald of Andraste and Empress of Tamriel who is also a figure of veneration in her own right among those who once served the Inquisition and has her mother's Dragonborn powers.'

Protagonist problem - solved. And something like it is how they should have had Veilguard go - they're not a random person, they're the Inquisitor's younger sibling who has been helping with the Solas hunt due to the Inquisitor no longer doing active combat duty due to losing an arm and therefore is running the whole gig from behind the scenes. But they need someone out in the field that they can trust... and so we have Baby Adaar/Cadash/Lavellan/Trevelyan out there, codenamed Rook because otherwise people get confused. The faction choice? Tied to who the Inquisitor romanced, perhaps. Dorian as a brother-in-law? Signed up with the Shadows, or alternately did time with the Watchers. Sera or Iron Bull? Lords of Fortune. Blackwall? Wardens. Solas? Veil Jumpers. Josie? Crows. Cassandra - maybe the Mourn Watch or the Wardens. Romanced no one or Cullen? Free choice of factions or the option to plain not have one, you were with Varric the whole time.

Many possibilities and we saw none of them. Sigh.

[professional-spectator]

Okay, a disclaimer and heads-up: I don't own Hoyo, Genshin Impact, or any related properties. Also, please be aware that this story will explore serious and sensitive themes. Please be aware that this is a work of fiction and may not represent my personal views or opinions.

This work is inspired by SAGAU (Self-Aware Genshin Impact Alternative Universe), isekai tropes, various isekai settings, creation myths, and fanfiction in general. Consider this my standard warning.

This story takes place after the Reader has been exiled rather kicked out from Teyvat for being the "fake creator." The Reader is not the actual creator, but just a Genshin player who has been wrongly labeled as the imposter. It's a Cyno x Reader story.

Chapter 3-After the end:

Cyno vividly recalled that fateful day when he first laid eyes on her in the sumeru city. Beneath the shroud of night, her face obscured by a cloak, she seemed to harbor secrets of her own, keeping to the shadows.

He had been on high alert, his mind haunted by the warnings of a false god—an imposter weaving deceit to ensnare the hearts of the unsuspecting. With a surge of resolve, he summoned his staff, an instinctive urge to pass judgment tingling in his fingertips.

Just then, the imposter turned to face him. "Cyno?" Her voice trembled as a flicker of recognition ignited in her eyes when she saw his staff. She understood the weight of that moment.

"I'm not the imposter... please!!" Her plea fell into the void, unheard, as his weapon swept towards her. She barely evaded the strike.

"Cyno, please... just listen..." she begged, desperation clawing at her tone. Her voice bore a semblance of familiarity, but he pushed that thought aside. She danced narrowly around his assault.

"You won't hear me, will you? No matter what..." Her voice fractured, tears spilling as madness tinged her gaze. In a moment of utter despair, she lunged toward his weapon. The Staff of the Scarlet Sands pierced her flesh, and he felt a jolt of horror as it dug deep. Her expression haunted him; blood oozed from her lips—not the shimmering golden blood of the divine, but the dark crimson of mortals. A sense of dread settled in his chest, compelling him to carry her to Tighnari for healing.

Four long years had passed since that encounter, but today, Cyno returned with a weighty burden. As he emerged into Tighnari's forest, the Forest watcher eyes widened in disbelief; Cyno cradled the imposter in one arm, while his other arm held a sleeping child, both swathed in blood.

Cyno stood before him, the imposter securely in tow, alive and breathing. But that wasn’t all—Cyno cradled her child in his arms.

“What in the world, Cyno?” Tighnari exclaimed, his eyes narrowing at the sight of blood smeared across them. As a healer by instinct, he rushed to assess their condition, searching for wounds. To his relief, there were none. The blood was merely a remnant of chaos, not a sign of injury. The forest watcher had been on patrol, only to see this.

He motioned for Cyno to follow him to the medic's quarters at the forest watcher's base, feeling a sense of urgency. Inside, Tighnari began to examine the imposter. As they worked, Cyno waited outside, a soft stirring caught his attention—the child stirred awake, her eyes wide with confusion as she clung to Cyno’s arm.

“Hero?” she murmured, her tiny voice filled with hope. Cyno’s heart sank. He recognized the truth: this girl was his child, his responsibility, yet he didn’t even know her name. The fortune teller’s words echoed in his mind: “You will hold your heart in your hand.”

In that moment, he realized he was quite literally holding his own heart—his daughter, who was searching for her mother.

“Mama?” the child asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“Your Mama will be fine, albi,” Cyno reassured her, coining a tender nickname that meant “my heart.” His voice was unusually soft, a stark contrast to the chaos of the moment. Tighnari listen carefully, sensing that there was more to this story than met the eye.

With Collei's assistance, Cyno managed to get Hala cleaned up and dressed. She looked adorable in her new dress, though Cyno felt completely out of his depth when it came to fixing her appearance. He had attempted a clumsy braid that left much to be desired.

"Let me take care of that," Collei chuckled softly. Gently, she brushed Hala's hair and expertly fashioned it into a lovely single braid. As she worked, she couldn’t resist pulling Hala into a warm embrace.

"Who is this little one, General Mahamatha Cyno?" Collei asked, her voice filled with curiosity. Cyno's mind drifted, contemplating the countless birthdays, holidays, and dinners he had missed with her.

“Hero?” Hala reached out, her tiny hand touching his face, prompting him to wrap her in a tight hug.

“She’s my daughter…” Cyno replied, a mixture of pride and longing in his voice.

Collei stood frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief as Tighnari appeared at the threshold of the room.

"I knew it..." he murmured, shaking his head in bewilderment. Tighnari's gaze flickered to Hala, who was innocently clutching onto Cyno, blissfully unaware of the heavy implications that hung in the air. In a twist of fate, it seemed that Cyno had fathered an illegitimate child with the most unexpected of individuals, the imposter.

"Collei, could you please give us a moment?" Tighnari asked, his voice steady yet urgent, needing to speak with Cyno privately.

Cyno cradled the child close to him, like a shield against the world. Meanwhile, Tighnari let out a weary sigh, feeling a creeping headache take hold.

“How do you know?” Cyno’s gaze softened as Tighnari replied.

“She has my eyes… and she carries the gift of the Pactsworn Pathclearer.” He gently brushed his fingers against Hala's cheek, and she beamed up at him, blissfully unaware of the peril that surrounded her very existence.

“You and the Imposter…” Tighnari hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

“You’re… intimate with the imposter? That’s so out of character for you.” He shook his head, reminding himself that he needed to conduct a blood test—just to be sure.

Cyno was acutely aware of how it all unfolded. The memories were etched in his mind with striking clarity. It had been shortly after their departure from Tighnari's place, following an exhausting battle. He had practically pulled her through the endless stretches of desert, desperate to ensure her safety.

"How much longer?" she complained, frustration evident in her tone as she kicked at the sand beneath her feet. "Seriously, why doesn’t this world have buses? Or cars? Just sand, sand, and more sand... Not even airplanes!" The expressions of her frustration were foreign to him; he hardly understood half of those things she mentioned.

"Have you finished yet, Imposter?" Cyno retorted, irritation creeping into his voice. "I’m telling you, I’m not the imposter. My name is—" She shot him a fierce glare, her eyes smoldering with annoyance.

"Listen, Habibti," he said, the term rolling off his tongue with a hint of sarcasm, it's a word akin to saying 'darling' or 'my love.'

"Enough with the complaints..."

She responded with a sharp glare, her arms crossed defiantly against her chest.

"Are you going to whine like a spoiled child all day?" he asked, observing how she pressed her lips together in a silent protest.

"I’m not spoiled..." she muttered under her breath, but it was clear she was trying to hold back her retorts. "My name is not Habibti..." She mutter "I don't even know, what that means..."

Cyno couldn't help but think that she had a tendency to complain more than anyone else. The imposter—ever eager to lend a hand—didn’t quite grasp the distinction between playing in their world and truly living in it. He set up camp and bonfire.

He shut his eyes for a moment, seeking a brief respite. Determined to feel useful, she decided to make stew, the only dish she felt confident preparing in this familiar world.

However, in a mix-up that seemed almost inevitable, she grabbed the wrong mushrooms from his bag. In hindsight, they were quite similar: both had striking red caps adorned with white spots.

When he awoke, the rich aroma of the bubbling stew filled the air. She proudly presented him with a steaming bowl, her sense of accomplishment evident. He took a cautious taste, and the earthy flavor washed over him.

"There’s still so mush-room to grow…" he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Har, har, very funny…" she retorted, taking a spoonful herself. As the warmth enveloped them, she fanned herself, tugging at her shirt slightly.

“It’s so hot!” she said, almost panting. “Is it always this warm?”

Cyno felt warm too; a flush crept across his face and he suddenly craved water. His gaze drifted to his open bag, where Tighnari had stashed medicinal supplies, including those red-capped mushrooms meant for grinding into healing potions. But if they were mishandled, they might very well turn into an aphrodisiac.

“Where did you get these mushrooms?” he inquired, concern creeping into his voice.

“From your bag. Why?” she leaned back, a shiver running through her.

“I think you food poisoned us…” he breathed, realizing she had no clue what she had done. The mushrooms hadn’t been in this game; she knew nothing of herbs, flora, or fauna.

“You… idiot…” he muttered, the effects pulsing through him, his glare fixated on her. How had someone so thoughtless survived this long?

“I’m not an idiot!” she shot back, indignation flaring in her eyes.

“Yes, you are. You just made an aphrodisiac stew…” he said incredulously. She reddened, a wave of embarrassment washing over her.

“I’ll toss it out…” she declared, unsteadily rising to her feet, as if discarding the stew would magically erase their predicament.

Cyno shook his head and tried to get up as well, only to stumble and fall against her. Their gazes locked, and the moment carried an unmistakable intimacy that led to a night neither of them could have predicted. When the wild escapade finally settled, she lay against him, skin on skin, both of them coming down from their unexpected high.

“You’re really a scholar…” she mused softly.

“I did study at the Akademiya…” he replied, a faint smile breaking through the tension.

In the past, things were different. But now, Cyno found himself grappling with a poignant truth—he had a daughter born from that fateful night. The innocent little girl had no inkling of her origins, and a part of him struggled with the thought of letting her go ever.

He confided in Tighnari, recounting the memories that weighed heavily on his heart. As Cyno spoke, Tighnari’s expression shifted, realization dawning upon him.

“So that’s why her loss hit you so hard,” he murmured, thoughtful. It was a sentiment that neither of their friends had truly understood, though perhaps Alhaitham and Kaveh were an exception—though they seemed to be caught up in a relationship of sorts, even if they were too oblivious to recognize it.

What will you do now?" Tighnari asked, concern etching his features.

"The Matra won't take kindly to their leader having a child with Teyvat enemy. And let’s not forget—an illegitimate child, born out of wedlock.." He rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of the situation. This could jeopardize Cyno's career and shake the trust of those under his command.

"I’ll take responsibility..." Cyno replied, determination in his voice. He cradled his daughter, Hala, who let out a giggle as he playfully bounced her into the air.

Reader

I awoke to the aroma of mint flowers wafting through the air, jolting me into a state of alertness. My heart raced as memories flooded my mind—my daughter’s voice echoing, the figure of Childe looming in the park, and the haunting image of blood. Panic surged through me as I forced my eyes open.

“No, no, no, no,” I muttered breathlessly, recognizing my surroundings. I was in the Forest Watchers' base, deep within Avidya Forest, in Gandharva Ville.

Reality struck me like a lightning bolt: I was back in Teyvat. My daughter was not by my side, and the realization sent waves of panic crashing over me. My bare arms were adorned with fresh clothes and bandages, remnants of a battle I couldn’t fully remember.

This place was a nightmare I desperately wanted to escape. With a wild burst of adrenaline, I sprang to my feet, feeling like a madwoman. My only thought was to flee, to find my child and break free from this treacherous world once more.

The door stood firmly shut, a barrier between me and the terror that clawed at my insides. I pounded on it, desperation spilling from my lips as I cried out.

“My daughter! Where are you, my baby?” My heart raced, threatening to break free from my chest as panic threatened to engulf me. Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a figure I recognized—a forest watcher, familiar from the game Rana.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern etching her features. Without a second thought, I surged past her. My daughter was all that mattered in that moment. How I had ended up here was a mystery, but one thing was clear: I had to find my way back to Earth. Together, we would escape this nightmare. I wouldn’t let her endure the horrors I faced.

“Are you okay?”

“Just breathe...”

“You don’t seem well…” I felt the voice wrap around me like a thick fog, hands reaching out in my direction. Dark memories swirled in my mind, dragging me back to that day—shouts of.

“Imposter!”

“False creator!”

“Kill her!” echoed like a haunting chorus.

“No, no, no! Stay away from me!” I cried out, taking off in a panic. The faces of the crowd morphed into a hazy blur as I ran, every heartbeat driving me to find my daughter. I needed to know she was safe. Desperately, I searched for a glimpse of her sweet, familiar face among the children of the village. Nothing.

“Mama” The sound of my daughter’s voice pierced through my thoughts, jolting me into action. I looked around in a frenzy, and there she was, beaming with joy, clapping her tiny hands.

My heart raced as my gaze fell upon Cyno—ever the fierce and stoic figure—holding her delicately, as if she were a princess. His crimson eyes met mine, and a wave of dread washed over me.

Did he know? I hated to think so, though part of me selfishly hoped he remained oblivious. My thoughts spun in a whirlwind of concern for my little Hala, as I felt a surge of desperation.

With all my might, I reached out to snatch her away, but Cyno effortlessly held her just out of my grasp, his stance protective. He was aware, and deep down, he knew she belonged to him.

A storm of emotions roiled within me—relief, fear, and guilt clashed as I faced the truth.

“Still weak as ever, I see…” he remarked, the exasperation lacing his tone. I shot him a fierce glare, my heart pounding.

“Please, just give her to me…” I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper. But I could tell he was firm; he wasn’t going to yield.

Cyno

Cyno stood there, emotions swirling within him like a tempest. He had just discovered the existence of his daughter—his precious little girl—only today. The revelation struck him like lightning; the feeling was overwhelming yet bittersweet. As he held the child close, the bond he felt was undeniable, yet tainted by the urgency echoing in her mother’s desperation.

"I'm her mother!" she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears, a raw mix of longing and sorrow evident in her voice.

"Please, give her to me…" Cyno felt an ache in his chest at her words. He didn't want to lose his daughter, not when he had just found her. Yet, he could sense that the woman before him—her mother—was consumed by her own pain.

In that moment, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had cast him aside, her focus solely on the child that share both of their blood. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the torment they had endured during that time, that had left her so distant.

"Did you know?" Cyno’s voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of his question heavy in the air.

"Know what?" she responded, desperation threading through her tone, her gaze locked on the little girl in his arms.

"Did you know you were pregnant when you left to Dragonspine?" Cyno's voice trembled slightly at the thought. The notion that she might have been aware of their impending parenthood while facing such peril terrified him. It replayed in his mind—the image of her, engulfed in blinding light, obliterated in a moment by three archons, left him haunted.

"You disappeared in the dead of night, and the last sight I had of you was that deadly blast aimed straight at you…" His voice faltered, the emotion rising as he tried not to alarm their daughter. He held her closer, the connection between them a small solace amidst the turmoil. This was a moment that could tear their world apart, and he wouldn’t let it fracture any further.

I remember..." she began, her voice tinged with regret. It was not a highlight in her life, that much was clear.

"Did you know?" he pressed gently, seeking understanding.

"No, I didn't know" she confessed, a hint of sorrow in her tone.

"I was pregnant then..." Her revelation hung in the air, deepening the weight of his guilt. He had allowed her to plunge into that chaos, and it felt like a heavy burden to bear.

The child's voice sliced through the stillness of the air.

" Mama..."

Cyno hesitated, then handed their daughter to her mother. She cradled the little girl with an expression of deep relief, as if she had just found a lifeline.

“Take us back to Earth…” she pleaded, her tone laced with desperation. It was clear she wanted to leave, as staying felt too perilous for her. Cyno had only held their child for a fleeting few hours, and her request took him by surprise, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“No.” His gaze hardened. “She’s my daughter. I’ve only had her for less than a day...” The mother tightened her grip around the girl, a fierce protector.

“She doesn’t know anything about Teyvat. It’s dangerous for her…” She countered his resolve.

“Dangerous? You’d prefer to return her to a weak world that can’t protect itself? I found you covered in blood…” Cyno’s thoughts swirled, but he kept the unique abilities of their child to himself.

“Do you want to raise her as a warrior? Is that what you envision? A life filled with violence and bloodshed?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger.

“You’re denying her the chance to know her father, her heritage. I am her father… Don’t you think I deserve a say in our child's future?” Cyno's voice rose, the weight of his emotions spilling out.

“Do you think I’m the kind of man who wouldn’t care about our child’s life?”

Tighnari observed the unfolding drama before him, feeling the tension in the air. The child, visibly uncomfortable, squirmed at the center of their conflict. Sensing the need for intervention, he stepped forward to break the charged atmosphere.

“Listen,” he began, his voice steady and measured, “I understand you both have some important matters to discuss, and it’s crucial to get it all out in the open. However, perhaps this isn’t the right setting for such a conversation—especially not in front of your child.”

He assumed the role of a mediator, aware that he needed to navigate the delicate situation carefully.

“Talking about this here will only stir up unnecessary thoughts and emotions,” Tighnari continued, maintaining a calm demeanor. His intention was clear: to protect the child and help the parents find a more suitable way to resolve their issues.

In a secluded room, Tighnari ushered the child away, leaving Cyno and the Imposter alone to confront their tangled emotions.

“Do you truly believe I wouldn’t care for my own child?” Cyno's voice trembled with anguish.

“I spent less than a day with her—her birthdays, her playdates, the moment she uttered her first words, took her first steps... I missed it all. I should have been there.” The weight of his regret surged forth, unabated.

“You vanished into the night without a word. I vowed to protect you. I always knew your innocence… And now, I discover we have a child together. If I had only known, I never would have allowed you to leave…” Cyno’s voice broke, revealing the raw pain that he carried.

“And what would that have accomplished? Both of us dead? Your friends and family suffering the same fate? I was a hunted fugitive—a labeled imposter, a false creator…” She recounted the bitter past, her heart heavy with memories. “Nations dancing on the edge of war. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being harmed or lost because of my mere existence. I was never meant to be in this world…”

Reader

I paused, observing him as he wrestled with his thoughts. Deep down, we both understood that my presence here was a mistake. This world wasn’t where I belonged; yet the realization that I carried our child weighed heavily on him.

“Perhaps, you’re here now, with our daughter who is part of me, part of Sumeru, and part of Teyvat. I intend to be her father…” I could hear the pain and determination lacing Cyno's voice. It was a right he had been unknowingly denied, and it certainly wasn’t my choice to keep him from his daughter.

One truth lingered in my mind: Earth was no longer an option for me. My daughter and I would be rooted in Teyvat for quite some time. I had thought my adventurous days in this world were over, yet it seemed fate had other plans for me. This wasn’t how my story was meant to unfold. I reminisced about the days when I was merely a fan of Genshin Impact, reading fiction tales of ocs, readers who were transported into the game. They often found a way home or chose to remain in Teyvat surrounded by friends. I had no such companions here. All I had was Cyno and our child—this was my reality now, after the end of my original story.

"I meant to take responsibility for you and our daughter..." Cyno declared, his words igniting the tension between us.

"Excuse me?" I exclaimed, fully aware of the implications of what he was saying. He wanted to marry me. Despite the fact that we weren't even dating—or even together by choice at the time we conceived our child—here we were, now faced with the reality of parenthood and still devoid of any romantic connection.

"You’re the mother of my child. I intended to care for you both properly..." His tone was grave, underscoring the seriousness with which he approached everything. It was a quality I both admired and loathed in him.

"Are you out of your mind? Right now, the Fatui are after us—after me and our child. And I’m still branded an imposter. You want to talk about marriage…?" I threw my hands up in exasperation. I recalled reading somewhere that jackals are monogamous creatures. Perhaps, given his origins linked to Hermanubis, he saw things in such a straightforward, rigid way.

"Listen, Habibti," he said, using the affectionate nickname he had bestowed upon me—though I still had no idea what it actually meant.

"I mean no offense. I truly care for our daughter. I just want to do right by her, and I don’t even know her name..." Understanding dawned on me; Cyno always gave his all to whatever he pursued.

"Hala... her name is Hala..." I said softly, turning my gaze away. I had named her after the moonlight, a name inspired by that night of intimacy when we spoke and held each other close. He had shared knowledge about the moon, and in that moment of vulnerability, I chose a name that reflected our connection. His surprised reaction revealed two things: first, how taken aback he was by my revelation, and second, that our night together had indeed meant something to me.

An hour and a half passed as we deliberated, and eventually, we reached some important conclusions.

The first was that I would remain in Teyvat with our daughter. This decision was a struggle for me; he was decidedly reluctant to abandon the idea of fleeing and staying on Earth. I, on the other hand, was deeply tied to my life there—my family, my friends, my career, my very existence. Yet, I yielded, swayed by his peculiar resilience and the undeniable fact that he lacked any form of identification. No matter which government or country, they would inevitably inquire and investigate, a hassle I wanted to avoid at all costs.

The second matter was his desire for our daughter to be legally recognized in Sumeru as his child and heir in Teyvat. This request might come with a heavy price, as it possibly mean he would have to relinquish his position as General Mahamarta.

Lastly, we agreed to seek a pardon for me concerning the label of "imposter." A title I had never chosen for myself, it hung over me like a dark cloud, and we needed to uncover the reasons behind it.

I was grateful that he didn’t insist on marriage—I simply wasn’t ready for that commitment. Truth be told, it wasn't entirely off the table; chivalry hadn’t entirely faded in Teyvat, but it often felt exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Despite its modern concepts, remnants of old-fashioned ideals lingered, presenting both blessings and burdens.

Once our conversation came to a close, he reached into his bag and pulled out the jackal cape, draping it over my shoulders. With a deft motion, he adjusted the strap around my neck and pulled the hood snugly over my head.

"For now, we need to keep your true identity a secret," he said, his tone both playful and serious. We stepped out together, and I saw Tighnari busy in his office, immersed in his work. Hala was nearby, lost in her own world of sketching. The moment she spotted me, her eyes lit up as she pointed to her rough drawings of Tighnari. Cyno, ever the playful one, swooped in and lifted her off the ground, bouncing her gently in the air. Hala’s laughter filled the room, her bond with Cyno already growing stronger as she squealed in delight.

As the hours crept deeper into the night, soft sounds drifted through the room. I could hear him and our daughter playing with Genius Invokation TCG cards. Though she didn't grasp the intricacies of the game, her delighted cheers and infectious giggles filled the air every time he tossed a card into play. Yet, as I listened to their laughter, an unsettling feeling gnawed at me—an instinct deep within, whispering that something dark loomed just beyond our happy scene.

Snezhnaya

The Tsaritsa listened intently as Tartaglia delivered his report, and her emerald eyes sparkled with intrigue at the mention of Sumeru's involvement.

"I can retrieve the child and her mother..." Tartaglia offered, his voice steady yet eager.

“It’s quite alright...” she replied, a smile gracing her lips as she affectionately ruffled his hair. He felt his cheeks flush; she relished her authority over him and her other subjects.

However, unbeknownst to all but one, she was not the true Tsaritsa. No, she was merely a player, much like the false imposter from the so-called “real world” of Earth. Once just a devoted Genshin Impact player, fate had intervened, thrusting her into the form of the Cryo Archon in Teyvat, long after the cataclysmic assault on Khaenri’ah, five hundred years before this moment. She harbored ambitions far removed from those of the original Tsaritsa.

A many years later, another player had emerged—a potential threat. She knew she had to intervene. If this newcomer managed to carve out a name for themselves, especially if they ventured to Snezhnaya, they might unravel the truth about her identity. To veer their course, she had cast a curse—or perhaps a form of magic—so that all in Teyvat would perceive the player as an imposter, a remnant of a forgotten creator. But while the three Archons, blissfully ignorant, unknowingly furthered her designs, she stumbled upon a revelation: this player had been pregnant. Spying between worlds proved to be a simple task. The child was born, a little girl, bore no constellation yet possessed a latent ability inherited from her father, along with a few powers she had unwittingly gleaned from the Archons themselves. The Tsaritsa coveted the girl, eager to add her as a pawn in her intricate game.

“My Archon?” Childe inquired, his brow furrowing with concern. She recalled the days when this had all been a mere game, when he had been her favorite character.

“Let us hold off for now,” she said with a sly smile. “Let’s allow them to bask in their false sense of hope...”

To be continued maybe

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Author Comment:

Our Reader-Imposter isn't actually the imposter. Unfortunately, she is merely a Genshin player framed by the Tsaritsa, who is the true imposter. I wanted to explore this concept because it's interesting to consider what happens when you get exactly what you want—so much so that you lose sight of your morals and identity in the process. I don't believe the fake Tsaritsa started as a bad person; however, power can corrupt people. She is living her dream, with her main character by her side, ruling over a powerful kingdom. Having spent 500 years in Teyvat, she has experienced the life of an archon, relishing the benefits that come with it. Be on the look out for more chapters.

The reader is uncertain about her feelings in this situation. Her mindset revolves around whether she truly loves Cyno in a romantic way.

A few chapters ago, it was highlighted that she's confused about her true emotions for him. While she was once a devoted fan of Cyno, viewing him as her favorite character, there was a moment when both characters lowered their defenses. They now share a child, and she is filled with dread at the thought of returning to Teyvat, having witnessed firsthand the darkness it can harbor.

She has a strong support system at home, on earth; her parents are wonderful and provide her with help. The idea of leaving that behind is daunting.

The reader is reluctant to marry someone she doesn’t genuinely love. On Cyno’s side, it’s clear he is a man of honor and duty. He isn’t trying to hide his past mistakes but is taking responsibility. He got her pregnant, and they have a child together. While it’s evident that he has deep feelings for her, her feelings are complicated—perhaps a mix of guilt and a newfound connection to their child.

Despite the challenges, Teyvat is not a perfect place. We’ve seen similar themes in the Caribert quest, which revolves around a father and his *cough* illegitimate son *cough*. Such occurrences are a reality in this world.

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@esthelily @quietplace26 @siopaomai