#i guess it's time for another edit of him

[choso-ish]

Twilight's Embrace

--Suguru Geto x gn! reader

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

. ݁ ⟡ ݁ Summary: Suguru's breakup with you before leaving Jujutsu Tech.

. ݁ ⟡ ݁ Word count: 1.3k

. ݁ ⟡ ݁ Warnings: Arguing, angst, I think one or two curse words

. ݁ ⟡ ݁ A/N: If you saw the original post of this, no you didn't. It flopped a bit (undoubtedly because of my bad writing, sorry guys), so I decided to do some editing, delete the first one, and post this instead. Can't tell if this is better or worse ngl.

“You deserve someone better.” 

The dim rays of moonlight that shone through the curtains cast an ethereal glow on his face. His lips were pursed, his posture poor, and his gaze no longer lovingly on you. 

He was no student, no man; just your lover eroding into something less than human. But no, he was never human, was he? He was a Jujutsu sorcerer – bound by duty and destiny. 

Humans were now his enemies, after all. 

However, the physical repercussions of that fact were ones you had overlooked for far too long, only noticing them for what they were in this moment, as the two of you were left face-to-face in his room. 

As he stood with his hands in his pockets, his arms suddenly seemed thinner, the shadows beneath his eyes deeper, and his hair now greasier and unrestrained. Each detail painted a poignant picture of his inner turmoil.

It was suddenly so vivid that you were shocked by how long it took you to really see it all in the first place. 

Outside, the faint murmur of crickets filled the silence between the two of you, punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the late night’s breeze. Fond memories created in this room were now losing their significance, and it hurt you too much to spend time mulling over that fact. 

You drew in a deep breath, your eyes drifting around the room, as if seeking refuge from your own swirling thoughts. A lone candle slowly flickered on the bedside table, its warm glow offering scant comfort in the face of looming despair.

"I don’t understand," you managed to say, the simplicity of your words betraying just how confused you really were.

“I mean,” you laugh anxiously, a hand slipping through your hair. “We were doing fine. More than fine…” 

So where was this all coming from? 

“You’ve been doing fine.” he slipped in smoothly, his eyes sharper than usual. The comment caused you to pause as another long silence fell across the room. 

"How long?" you questioned softly, your voice trembling with a mix of concern and apprehension. "How long have you been feeling this way?" Each word hung heavy in the air, waiting for his response to break the suffocating silence.

His eyes darted away, revealing a flicker of doubt behind his otherwise collected facade.

You knew, deep down, there was no way that he wasn’t bothered by this, too. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured. He fidgeted and readjusted himself before gazing out of the window and then back at you. “It’s been… pent up for a while I guess.” 

In the growing silence, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. Doubt crept into the corners of your mind as regret splintered through your heart. 

Each word he spoke felt like another crack in the facade of your shared reality. 

His jaw twitched and for a moment, there was a glimmer of challenge in his eyes as he held your gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” he shot back defensively. “What does matter is that I’m dealing with it.”

But you weren’t hearing it. You were too busy replaying all the ways you felt you had let him down. You weighed up just how much worse things could get before the bleeding stopped. You were standing on the edge of something irreversible – you just couldn’t see the canyon below.

“It matters to me.” you retort gently, subconsciously leaning forward as you try to pry through his walls. You attempt to grab his hand, but he pulls away and looks in the opposite direction. Goddamnit. 

“I can’t help if you don’t let me in, so stop shutting me out.” 

“But I don’t need your help.” There was a furrow in his brow, a crease of frustration etched deep into his forehead. “I told you, I’m dealing with it.”

Rejection had never tasted so bitter. Each time he refused to open up, it felt like reopening a wound. Why won't he just talk to you? Why won’t he confide in you? 

All you wanted was to bear his burdens for him. 

Anger begins to stir within you, and you feel a sense of powerlessness. He's always been your shoulder to cry on, your ear to bend towards in times of distress. Now, he’s closed off when he needs you, as if you’re suddenly a stranger in your own relationship. 

Your fists ball themselves at your thighs, nails piercing your flesh as you fight to hold back the mix of emotions raging inside you. Unshed tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes.

“I… I don’t know.” You manage to whisper, your heart thumping in your ears. “We’re supposed to be a team. You know, in this together." 

But he doesn’t say a word – a stinging reminder of the growing distance between the two of you. With a heavy heart, you realized that perhaps some wounds ran too deep to ever truly heal.

You never thought that would apply to the two of you. 

You cast a fleeting glance around the room once again, searching for something, anything, to anchor you in this moment of uncertainty – but all you found were echoes of memories, now tainted by the harsh reality of your shattered relationship.

The distance between you felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm widening with each passing moment. And though you longed to bridge the gap, to find your way back to each other, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that perhaps it was already too late. 

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed, each word tinged with a raw vulnerability you hadn't anticipated. "But I can't keep pretending everything's okay when it's not."

"I don't know," he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. "Maybe it's better if we just... let it go."

His words landed like a punch to the gut, the finality of them sending a chill down your spine. It was as if he had slammed a door shut that you had desperately hoped to keep open. 

Your eyes widened as you took another step closer to him. No way. 

"Then let's fix it together," you pushed, trying to ignore the tremble in your voice. "...Because I refuse to believe that we're beyond repair.” 

In the silence that followed, you held your breath, hoping for a positive response, a sign that he was willing to try along with you. 

But he remained stubbornly silent, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance. It was as if he had withdrawn into himself, building walls where bridges should have been.

It takes you a moment to realize that you had been crying. 

You quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to pool in your eyes, resigning yourself to the painful truth. "I can't do this alone," you whispered, the words a final plea for understanding. 

"I know," he finally murmured, his voice barely audible. "And I... I'm sorry."

His apology hung in the air like a hollow echo, devoid of the warmth and sincerity you had longed for. It was a bittersweet acknowledgment of the pain he had caused, but it offered no solace in the face of your shattered dreams.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, bringing his palm up to his jaw and running his fingers along his cheeks. “You know it’s not your fault. It’s mine.” 

He wasn't asking for forgiveness; he was grappling with his own emotions, aware of the consequences of his actions – and that terrified you. 

He slowly turned and approached the foyer. After grabbing his coat, he gripped and twisted the doorknob open. 

“Don’t leave me, Suguru.” you stood a few feet from the doorway, showing the last amount of desperation you had left. 

“Please.” 

His eyes caught yours for a brief second before he looked away. You heard the click of the door shutting in place as he exited, creating the final rift between the two of you.

The candle on the nightstand extinguished, the room going dark. 

How swiftly it had become yet another night with only the moon offering its consolation. 

likes/reblogs/comments are more than appreciated! thank you so much for reading to the end :D

©choso-ish. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk fandom #suguru geto

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (AOS Edition) Chapter Three

AOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Three: After the Academy

Summary: (Y/N) and Spock have become friends and run a simulation for a very strange cadet, Cadet Kirk.

            “Cadet Kirk is trying the Kobayashi Maru again?” said (Y/N), walking towards the testing observation room with Spock. “This is the third time.”

            A few years had passed since their first meeting. Spock and (Y/N) had, surprisingly, become friends. Well, it had been a surprise to everyone else, but to them, it made perfect sense. (Y/N) could sense emotions, yes, but they were very logical and intelligent. Spock respected that. And because Spock saw beyond the labels others had put on them, (Y/N) respected him. The two were known for working very well together and being an efficient, effective team.

            “It appears so,” said Spock. “He still has not understood the true test of the program.”

            (Y/N) sighed and shook their head. “He gets frustrated, not scared. He has the intelligence and resourcefulness to do well—after all, he started a year after Uhura but caught up—but this is the one thing he hasn’t understood yet.”

            Spock nodded in agreement. “Perhaps a third loss will teach him the psychological lesson.”

            “Well, psychologically speaking, I have to admit, he’s tenacious,” said (Y/N). “Not a terrible quality.”

            “We shall see what other qualities he displays this time,” said Spock.

l

            “We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S. Kobayashi Maru,” said Uhura, voice bored with the redundant situation she’d been put in since Kirk wanted to try the test for the third time. “This ship has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them.”

            “ ‘Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them, Captain,’ ” said Kirk from his place on the fake bridge.

            “I believe the human word for this bravado is ‘cocky,’ ” said Spock from behind the observation glass.

            “That would be the common vernacular,” agreed (Y/N). “And his emotions confirm it.” They cocked their head. “Strange, though. He doesn’t seem worried about the results of this test at all.”

            “Could it be he’s desensitized to failure now?” said Spock, considering the options.

            “His had less anxiety the second time he took the test, just more frustration,” said (Y/N). “But he has absolutely none now. That doesn’t seem likely. He should still have some worry about failing.”

            “Hm.” Spock laced his fingers and gazed at the test as it continued. “Let me know if his feelings change.”

            “Do you think he’s up to something?” asked (Y/N).

            “I do not jump to conclusions. I need more facts to make any educated hypotheses,” said Spock.

            “You’re making a guess,” said (Y/N).

            “No, it’s an educated hypothesis,” said Spock.

            (Y/N)’s smiled in amusement and shook their head.

            “Two Klingon vessels have entered the neutral zone and are locking weapons on us,” said Bones—real name Leonard McCoy—another cadet in his final year and a friend of Kirk.

            “That’s okay,” said Kirk confidently.

            “That’s okay?” repeated Bones incredulously.

            “Yeah, don’t worry about that,” said Kirk, leaning back in his chair.

            “Did he say, ‘don’t worry about it?’ ” said another test operator.

            “Is he not taking the simulation seriously?” said a third.

            “He’s…amused,” said (Y/N), blinking. “And happy.” They crossed their arms. “Put that together, and he’s gloating.”

            “Gloating?” repeated Spock, furrowing his brow ever-so-slightly.

            (Y/N) and Spock had the same thought. What could Kirk be gloating about?

            “Three more Klingon warbirds decloaking and targeting out ship.” Bones looked back at Kirk and sarcastically added, “I don’t suppose this is a problem, either.”

            “They’re firing, Captain,” warned another cadet.

            “Alert medical Bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship,” said Kirk, calm and nonchalant as ever.

            “And do you expect us to rescue them when we’re surrounded by Klingons, ‘Captain?’ ” pointed out Uhura.

            Kirk just spun around in his chair. “Alert Medical.”

            “Our ship is being hit. Shields at sixty percent,” warned Bones.

            “I understand,” said Kirk.

            “Well, should we, I don’t know, fire back?” said Bones.

            “No,” said Kirk, pulling out an apple and taking a bite.

            “Of course not,” muttered Bones.

            The lights on all the displays flickered. (Y/N) frowned. That wasn’t in the program. Spock had it running smoothly. Any glitches were when he improved it and tested it himself. For cadets, it was efficient and timed to perfection.

            “What is this? What’s going on?” wondered the confused test operators.

            “Spock, is this a new part of the test? Equipment failure?” said (Y/N).

            “I would have informed you beforehand. You know that,” said Spock.

            “I do,” said (Y/N). “But then that leaves us the question…what is going on?”

            The computers came back on, and the cadets looked around in confusion before focusing on the readouts (Uhura was the first to concentrate, which (Y/N) noticed proudly).

            “Arm photons. Prepare to fire on the Klingon warbirds,” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said a cadet.

            “Jim, their shields are still up,” said Bones.

            Kirk took a bite of his apple. “Are they?” His amusement grew.

            Bones turned to look at his readout, and his face fell into an expression of shock. “No, they’re not.”

            “Fire on all enemy ships,” ordered Kirk cheerfully. “One photon each should do. Let’s not waste ammunition.”

            “Target locked and acquired on all warbirds. Firing,” said another cadet.

            On the displays, the Klingon warbirds exploded as they were hit by photons. Kirk mimed pistols as he chewed his apple.

            “All ships destroyed, Captain,” said Uhura in a mix of being impressed, frustrated, and shocked.

            Kirk stood up. “So, we have managed to eliminate all enemy ships, no one onboard was injured, and the successful rescue of the Kobyashi Maru crew is underway.” He took another bite of apple and looked at the test operators smugly.

            “How the hell did that kid beat your test?” said an operator, turning to question the programmer himself.

            “I do not know,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) didn’t need to sense his emotions to know he was frustrated. Spock didn’t like not knowing.

l

            “It isn’t possible to beat your test. It’s designed to demonstrate failure,” said (Y/N).

            “And yet Cadet Kirk did,” said Spock. “I don’t believe there is a flaw in the current program, but I must investigate every possibility.” He was running through the code as they spoke. “There.” He tapped on the code. “A subroutine. Recently installed.”

            “I suspect—hypothesize—it was by Kirk,” said (Y/N). “He wasn’t surprised by the change in the test and wasn’t worried beforehand. That suggests he knew about it.” They crossed their arms. “It was clever, but it’s cheating.”

            “Indeed,” said Spock, nodding.

            Between his discovery of the subroutine and (Y/N)’s deductions—which made logical sense even from their empathic observations—they had all the evidence they needed to convene a hearing. Spock was fortunate to have (Y/N) as his partner in his work. Their skill and hard work made everything easier. Better.

            “We should go and submit our claim, then,” said (Y/N), turning to leave.

            “(L/N),” said Spock. “Thank you for your assistance. You did not need to stay after the test while I examined the code, but you helped my conclusions with your observations.”

            “Of course, Spock,” said (Y/N), smiling. Their chest warmed at Spock’s thanks. “You’re my friend. I wanted to support you since people were doubting your work. Wrongfully, but still.”

            “Your support was appreciated,” said Spock, nodding.

            “It was no problem,” said (Y/N), smiling. “But Spock, come on, I’ve told you to call me ‘(Y/N).’ ”

            “It isn’t formal,” said Spock.

            “We’re friends,” said (Y/N). “That isn’t formal.” They grinned and started the walk out of the room.

            Spock paused a moment before following. There was nothing to argue there. Spock and (Y/N) were friends.

l

            “This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter,” said the head of the disciplinary committee, still Barnett.

            This time, everyone had been called to the hearing, likely because this situation was much more egregious for the academy as a whole. Cheating was unacceptable. Cadets whispered to one another, but the murmurs quieted as the head of the committee spoke. (Y/N) sat beside Spock, reading for the hearing to begin.

            “James T. Kirk, step forward,” said Barnett.

            All heads went to the cadet in question, whose face fell. Kirk stood and walked down to face the committee like (Y/N) had years ago.

            “Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation 17.43 of the Starfleet code,” continued Barnett. “Is there anything you care to say before you begin, sir?”

            “Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly,” said Kirk.

            The head of committee looked at (Y/N) and Spock and nodded to them. They rose, and (Y/N) felt the ripple of surprise from those that knew of (Y/N) and Spock.

            “Step forward,” said Barnett.

            Spock and (Y/N) headed down to the other podium at the center of the hearing room.

            “This is Commander Spock and Lieutenant Commander (L/N). They are two of our most distinguished graduates,” explained Barnett. “Commander Spock has programmed the Kobayashi Maru exam for the last four years. Lieutenant (L/N) currently works with psychics in the Academy.” He looked at Spock and (Y/N). “State your case.”

            “Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine in the programming code, thereby changing the conditions of the test,” said Spock.

            “You are undoubtedly the culprit since you requested the third test and had no surprise when the test changed. You knew it was coming from the beginning,” said (Y/N). “No nerves, no surprise.”

            “Your point being?” said Kirk.

            “In academic vernacular, you cheated,” said Barnett.

            Kirk didn’t back down from the sharp down. “Let me ask you something I think we all know the answer to: the test itself is a cheat, isn’t it? I mean, you programmed it to be unwinnable.”

            “Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario,” said Spock.

            “I don’t believe in no win scenarios,” said Kirk firmly.

            “Then not only did you violate the rules, but you failed to understand the principal lesson,” said Spock.

            What a repartee, thought (Y/N).

            “Please, enlighten me,” said Kirk.

            “You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death,” said Spock. The reference to Kirk’s father was clear.

            Kirk swallowed, and (Y/N) felt the pressure of profound grief wave over them.

            “I of all people?” he said.

            “Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?” said Spock.

            Spock, that was a low blow, thought (Y/N), giving him a look.

            Spock noticed it and avoided their gaze. He never liked when they were upset at him.

            “I don’t think you like the fact that I beat your test,” said Kirk, his sadness sharpening to anger.

            “Cadet Kirk,” said (Y/N). “You didn’t beat the test. You failed to learn its lesson. Three times now. It’s not about beating it or failing it.”

            “What is it about then?” said Kirk.

            “Fear,” said (Y/N) simply. “A captain must learn to face fear and handle themself accordingly. You have to learn to control yourself, your ship, and your crew even when afraid.”

            Silence fell over the room as Kirk processed those words.

            “Excuse me, sir,” said an officer, walking in from outside the chamber. He broke the quiet tension. He walked up with a report to Barnett.

            Worry clouded his aura, and (Y/N) frowned. Barnett’s emotions changed to concern and confusion, and (Y/N) tensed. Something was going on.

            “We have received a distress call from Vulcan,” said Barnett.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Spock straightened. His expression didn’t change, but they had known him long enough to see he was concerned. It was his home.

            “With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian system, I hereby report all cadets to report to Hangar One immediately,” said Barnett. He stood. “Dismissed.”

            Everyone followed suit and rushed towards Hangar One. Spock was the first one to begin moving, and (Y/N) hurried after him.

            “Are you alright?” they asked.

            “I must ensure my assigned ship is well-staffed for the trip to Vulcan,” said Spock. “Then I—we—can handle the distress call.”

            (Y/N) nodded. He was focusing on the issue at hand. That was Spock’s way of dealing with problems.

            “Whatever ship I’m on, I’ll do the same. We’ll be able to face this,” said (Y/N) assuredly.

            “You’ll be on the Enterprise as well,” said Spock. “You’re efficient and skilled. You’ll be needed.” And if (Y/N) was with him, if there was trouble, he could keep an eye on them. He didn’t want them to be put in harm’s way where he couldn’t help them.

            “And I’ll do my best,” said (Y/N), smiling at Spock. “I can help with staffing so it’s not all on your shoulders.”

            Spock nodded. He was glad (Y/N) always concentrated on the tasks at hand. They were an excellent officer. “You handle communications and command. I’ll handle medical staff and science officers.”

            “Spock,” said (Y/N), pausing. He stopped, and (Y/N) touched his arm gently, supportively. “Whatever’s happening, I’m with you, alright? I’m here to help.”

            Spock looked at their hand. There was a subtle warmth from their hand on his arm, and although he knew they would never use their abilities on him without permission, he felt calmer knowing they were there.

            He nodded. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Of course, Spock.”

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

@kyalov

#logos and pathos #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #commander spock #star trek spock #mister spock #spock x reader #spock #mr spock #star trek #star trek x reader #star trek aos x reader #star trek aos #star trek alternate original series #aos spock #aos spock x reader

[purinfelix]

white ferrari ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: joao felix x reader summary: you don’t really know how to respond when a familiar face shows up at your apartment doorstep, one you haven’t seen in almost half a year since a fated summer of both love and heartbreak. warnings: just a lot of angst <//3 w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i tried my hand at angst once more because I've been feeling unreasonably sad about joao leaving barca ... (this is all inspired by a singular white ferrari x joao edit i saw on tiktok) - hope you all enjoy!!

Get home, throw your keys onto the counter top and listen to the echo they make throughout your empty apartment. Kick your shoes off, undress, shower and then stare at yourself in the mirror for a little too long. If you’re feeling up to it, fix yourself something decent to eat, but most nights you go straight to throwing yourself into bed and scrolling on your phone in the dark until you feel tired enough to sleep, whenever that may be.

Sure, it’s a bit of a boring routine - some might even argue it’s sad - but it’s one you’ve grown far too use to to change up now. You’re just about to get to the latter steps of said routine when you hear a knock at your door - a sound that, at this time of night especially, is unusual.

Tentatively, you approach the door and crack it open just enough to whisper scream at whatever idiot is bothering you at this hour. That is, of course, before you realise it’s him.

He’s gotten a little tanner than the last time you say him, but of course that was last summer now, a bright memory in your mind that seems so far away you struggle to believe that he’s really here, in front of you. His hair’s the same, a little messier and longer albeit, and you really wish you could just get a look at his face but he’s trying his best to avoid eye contact with you, and you can’t help but pick up on the air of shame he’s giving off.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Joao?” you scoff quietly through the tiny crack in your door, but he doesn’t do anything other than offer a smile that is somehow equal parts sad and apologetic. Immediately you feel awful for trying to lighten the mood, but you can’t help it, as bittersweet as it is you’re actually stupidly excited to see him here.

That is, until you open the door wider for him and notice the luggages surrounding him, waiting to be dragged in - so you’re just another pit stop after all, he really hasn’t changed. You shut the door without mentioning it though, following him through the dark as he trudges in. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that you don’t need to tell him to take his shoes off at the door, where to put his bags, or even where your bedroom is. It’d almost be sweet, if thinking of all the times he’d been to your place before didn’t feel like twisting a knife through an already bled-dry wound.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” you call out, following him through the darkness, worry brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“Have you been keeping up with me?” he says, his voice soft as he finally turns around to face you, having made it to your bedroom.

“You mean, at your new club? Yeah, I’ve been trying to here and there, but I do have my own life after all,” you reply, desperate to make him understand that you’ve been trying to move on.

He offers an understanding nod before glancing around your room, “you got new bedsheets.”

“Yeah, quite a while ago actually but, I guess you wouldn’t have known.”

You’re still standing in the doorway of your bedroom, your arms folded over your chest, not really knowing why you suddenly feel so defensive at having him in your house, after so long of not seeing each other.

“Right,” he says, sitting at the edge of your bed a little awkwardly, as if it’s his first time doing so - and you both know it isn’t.

“Joao, what’s going o-”

“They’re letting me go,” he interrupts you, his eyes glued to the floor as he does.

“Wh- like the club? They’re not signing you again? But why? I thought you were doing well?” The questions pour out of your mouth before you realise it’s probably best not to pry, at least given the glimpse of his defeated expression you’re offered.

“I really wish I knew,” he sighs, “my old club is demanding a crazy amount of money for me though, so it might be that.”

Your heart softens a bit seeing him like this, and it suddenly occurs to you that perhaps the reason he came over tonight had less to do with the fact that he was seeing you and more with the fact he had to see someone. If you’re being honest, you know you should shrug and tell him ‘too bad’ and there’s a tiny part of you that wants to ask him why he never called after that one night, but you don’t.

Instead, you walk over to your bed, sit next to him and bring your hand up to cup his face. You let your thumb graze over it gently, trying to ignore the ache you feel in your heart when he looks up at you with such a gentleness in his eyes you feel like you might fall in love with him - again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come over tonight, I just, wanted to see you,” he mumbles into the palm of your hand, and it’s only now you notice he’s leaning in closer.

“It’s okay, I’ve been wanting to see you too,” you hear yourself admit, and it’s not until the words leave your lips do you realise how much you actually mean them. Your hand moves to stroking his hair, and you can visibly see him melt under your touch.

It makes you think of all those nights the two of you spent together, and how they were a little over half a year ago now. When he was the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed new loan to one of Spain’s biggest football clubs that you met at a beachside bar one summer night. How he almost seemed to glow in the sunset when he walked you home, telling you about how he was fitting in with his new teammates, how much better this club was than his old one, how much happier he was. And how happy you were to just listen to him, watch his beaming smile and the adoration in his eyes, to get a taste of his life.

Because, a taste was really all you ever got. It’s not like you were expecting the two of you to get married and live happily ever after but it tugged at your heart whenever he would show up at your doorstep or happen to bump into you at the farmers market he always knew you went to. He would show up almost every second day, and love you like it was breathing, only to slink away the next morning with whispers of “Just don’t tell anyone,” and “You understand, right?”. Since he was a big footballer, and a younger one at that, he couldn’t have anything damaging his chances right now, which was why the two of you could only meet in privacy. You hated it, and the sour feeling it left in your gut every time you watched him close your apartment door at early hours of the morning, but it wasn’t like you had any other option than to believe him - since your only other choice was to lose him, and that was out of the question.

But still, you managed to mess it up - that one warm evening when the two of you were walking side by side along the beach, as you so often seemed to do. Walking close enough that people knew you were friendly, but far enough so that no one would suspect anything more. You can remember looking down at his arms, which he show proudly showed off by rolling up the sleeves of the button up he was wearing, and wanting nothing more than to hold his hand - if not for the physical contact, then to show everyone on this beach and beyond that he was yours. But you knew you couldn’t, so instead you resigned to asking slightly uncomfortable questions, all to make him think a little bit more about your relationship - and by extension, you.

“So,” you hummed, eyes looking down at the imprints of your feet in the sand, “do you think we’ll ever be like, a proper couple?” You cringe a little at how childish your wording sounds, but you’d be lying if you said you knew any other way to word it.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him glance up at you, a little taken aback by the suddenly confrontational question. “Uh, I thought we spoke about this,” he begins, and you immediately feel stupid for even asking, “I can’t really do relationships at the moment.”

“Well, we didn’t really speak about it, it was more you telling me, but I guess yeah,” you mumble, and you don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling so snarky about this.

“I mean, this is fun, right? What we’re doing now? I don’t really have any problem with it.”

Of course he doesn’t*.*

“Right, I mean I don’t really either,” you’re lying through your teeth at this point, “but I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to do all the things couples do?”

“Sure,” he quips, and you can tell he hasn’t even give this, or you, a second thought before.

“So don’t you think there’ll be a day when we actually get to, you know, hold hands and stuff?”

“Maybe,” he hums, and you don’t miss the nonchalant, almost bored, tone in his voice and how he isn’t even bothering to look at you. “You know, I’m just really busy with training and games now so.”

”Right, I get that, I mean once this summer’s over I’ll have to get on with things too,” you say, giving him exactly the response you know he’s expecting.

He turns to look at you finally, giving you a proud smile at your words. “Well, I’ve got to get going now,” he says abruptly.

“Oh, okay,” you utter, “Call me, alright?”

“Yeah, sure!” he calls out, but he’s already halfway up the beach and you’re sure he’s barely heard you. And you stood there for a while, watching him jog away, your heart sinking further with every step he took in the opposite direction.

And of course, he never did call - and you’d be lying if you said you were totally surprised. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and all you were left with were those memories. Echoes of his laughter, the taste of his kisses, the ghost of his touch, all haunted your apartment which now felt hollow and empty. Of course, you managed to get on with it somehow, move past him and whatever had happened between you two.

And yet, here he was, again. You were still trying to shake the surprise that crept through you, but as you continued running your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner you can’t help but feel a sickening sense of deja vu. At seeing him here, at touching him like this, at him being here at all. Still, you think you could stay like this forever - but of course, you can’t and the heaviness in your heart urges you to break the silence before you do something you’re going to regret.

“So, what does this mean for you then?” It’s an awkward question, you can admit, and it shows on Joao’s face when he finally looks up at you - a little dazed and confused. You scoot a little bit away from him to lie down and he takes this as his sign to do the same.

“Hm? Oh, right,” he leans in a little closer as he lies down and for a split second you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he just lays his head down on your chest as he continues to talk, “I guess I’ll have to go back to my old club, I mean I’ve got no choice.”

“Right,” you say curtly, caught off guard by the suddenly affectionate gesture - and what might be disappointment at the fact he didn’t kiss you. You don’t push him off though, instead you continue to stroke his hair, looking down at him as he talks.

“I just,” he sighs, “I just thought I was doing well you know?” You nod understandingly and you can hear the frustrated disappointment in his tone, one you recognise from the times he’d lost games before and come over to rant all about them.

“I’m sure you were amazing,” you try your best to reassure him, and it seems to work as he nods against your chest. There’s a beat of silence, you feel his breathing slow and it’s only then you realise how tired he is - from how slow his movements have been this entire evening. You’re about to give in and let him fall asleep on you, but it’s his turn to break the silence this time.

“Today was actually the last game of the season,” his words aren’t the clearest, and you can tell he’s basically half asleep, “the rest of the team wanted to go out to celebrate but I just couldn’t go. Seeing them all smiling and laughing while knowing they’ve got a place at that club next season while I don’t, I just couldn’t do it, you know?”

You wish you could tell him how much you understand that feeling, but instead you just hum in agreement.

“I wanted to see you instead,” and for about the billionth time that night you find yourself taken aback by his words. “I’m sorry I never called.”

“I really wish you had, I missed you,” you respond, a little weary of how honest you’re being suddenly. But he needs to hear this, needs to know how he made you feel when he suddenly disappeared after weeks of loving you like nothing else mattered.

That is of course, before you recognise the soft rising and falling of his chest - he’s fallen asleep. Your heart aches a little at the sight, and you let out a sigh when you realise you’ve got no choice other than to lay there, arms wrapped around him, until you fall asleep too. You reach over to switch off your singular lamp, drowning the two of you in darkness. Staring out your window at the cool evening sky, you think about how much has changed since the two of you last lay together like this. How with the changing of the seasons you two became such different people, and moved on to different parts of your lives - but through it all, your feelings for him never seemed to fade, and for the first time in months it felt like you were being gifted some reciprocity. You could only hope Joao had changed enough to not repeat his morning routines, slipping away and leaving you alone once more. But until then, you were content with this - this small moment, that might not have mattered at all in the grand scheme of things, but was enough for you and your aching heart. If nothing more, to lay here with him in the darkness, the rhythm of his soft breathing lulling you to sleep, was enough.

#joao felix #joão félix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix oneshot #joao felix fic #fanfic #football #oneshot #fc barça #fc barcelona #jet writes ★ #purinfelix #angst fic

[melverie]

on a scale of 1 to satan how bbg is mephisto

Satan has had far more time to establish his place as the ultimate babygirl (to me at least), so I can't give Mephisto the honor of being anywhere near his level but man the devs are making sure that he's at least getting close

I mean he

is the local horsegirl

apparently has a massive sweet tooth

stakes his entire self-worth on being useful to the future ruler of the land

seems to be great with kids

is super diligent. Just look at how much effort he is putting into journalism despite absolutely having no interest in pursuing that field in the future

is an honorary member of the Anti-Lucifer League, yet refuses to spread any false information about him in the school newspaper and mostly ends up singing his praises instead

runs said newspaper (and as someone who did the same for a year, I respect that a lot)

isn't really all that interested in MC, which is a nice change of pace

and finally, seems to dye his hair purple which makes him look like an eggplant <3

Also when he saved MC from falling on the ground and then brushed it off afterwards because he "only did what anyone would have done" back in season 4? That part was so good

ALSO Solmare could easily give him the perfect blushing face. Just look at him

#thank you for the ask anon!! 💚💚💚 #sorry i took a bit to reply tho^^; #and yes i did another blushing mephisto edit just for this hehe >:) #love me a man with a good blushing face #just look at solomon's #god tier #speaking of his natural hair color tho he'd look so good in it #i guess it's time for another edit of him #also i'm kind of sad at how heavily everything about him is so tied to diavolo bc that means we get so see less of his “normal” personality #but then again i'm pretty sure that' intentional the story seems to push the idea that he just isn't allowed to be his own person #and besides we got those two (?) mephisto & thirteen scenes which I LOVE #i hope they interact more often they are such a funny duo imo #obey me #obey me mephistopheles

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

#This took so long to make lol #cause I had to edit every scene with Hobie from both versions so I could watch them right after one another to compare them #I did this with ALL the scenes he's in also the ones where he's on screen as spider-punk #but they only changed his filters in these scenes so it was a waste of time :') #sidenote: no it wasn't it's never a waste of time to look at hobie I just couldn't use it for my GIFset lol #I also made a bouns one but I'm not allowed to post more than 30 GIFs in one post apparently so I guess I just won't add it then... #but Hobie was basically filterless during all these scenes in the theatrical version #I like that they gave him more different filters in the digital version #the only change I don't like is in the first GIFs #cause like that one post pointed out it looks like they removed his lipstick for some reason #also really wish I had a better video editor so we could get a closer look at Hobie but I did my best with what I had #also slowed some of them down to get a better look at them #been having this idea for a while and now I finally finished it! #which means I can go back to working on my fics now #hopefully lol #also lemme know if there are some other scens you guys want me to make comparisons of #cause I have both versions #the theatrical release isn't the highest quality though so if you know where I can get my hands on a better version lemme know ;) #hobie brown #spider punk #miles morales #spider man #peter b parker #jess drew #miguel o'hara #spider man across the spider verse #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv #theatrical version

[spinnysocks]

i have this side au where kiburi becomes a parental figure for dogo after his parents & some of the outlanders go missing and its soooo sadddd. he takes care of him after dogo basically clung to him when he couldn't find his mom or dad. kiburi lets him stick around in respect for reirei and its like a redemption arc and hdghdg THE ANGST its indescribable

#me realising this is similar to The Crocodile's Journey... #crocodiles and adopting another species huh? #the au is entirely inspired by the “I don't like children” scene from Cruella #is that the name of the movie? idk but you know what i'm on about #dogo cuddles up against kiburi's side #kiburi's all like “I don't like kids!” but dogo doesn't leave him alone #kiburi eventually finds out his parents are gone and he's like “Well. Shit. Guess I'm carin' for him” #there's not much background to it #it's more a character interaction concept i guess #BUT IT MAKES ME SAD #i keep hearing sad audio edits of children and parental figures and i get reminded of this au #kills me every. time. #the lion guard #tlg au #kiburi #dogo

[hiemaldesirae]

old art dump 2 (i ramble in tags)

#🌗 art tag #my ocs #my characters #my original character #my original characters #sighs. okay time to go through these guys #ran #<- i still really love his pieces. the anatomy is off but honestly it still looks pr good #second and third ones are #unnamed oc #its the one with two forms. i will find him and dig him out but ik thats him #i really dislike the second one but the third one is... okay i guess #i technically did alr redraw it w my sona hahahaha #esp bc the oc in question was my main oc at the time #last one should be #prometheus prince of ash #i think ????? probably. its the hair 😭😭 #edit added another piece i found #hes so goregous! thats lord yu #lord yu

[w1lmutt]

Take that might send me to the shadow realm but uhhhh

Runaway kid/the runaway/Rk >>> seven

🏃

#like i know seven is following the same banking convention as six and all #but to me runaway just feels so much more right. like an actual nickname the maw kids would give him #''the runaway's trying to escape again. how long till the janitor gets him this time?'' #idk i feel like it's a nickname w power behind it. like ''no matter how much you keep me down i will never stop running'' #while also having a bit of a negative connotation like ''rubbing away from ones problems'' instead of facing them right on #meanwhile seven is a number. good for em i guess #little nightmares runaway kid #w1l says some stuff #this rant was born out of looking at ln fics on ao3 and everyone insisting on calling my boy seven lmao #edit: YEEHAW autocorrect ruining my tags for me yet again. ''running from ones problem'' not rubbing hhh #edit again cuz i noticed ANOTHER autocorrect: ''naming convention'' not banking convention good lorddddddd #i need to reread my tags more before posting smh

[skrunksthatwunk]

ok so. kiwami 2. rooftop scene. the ending. it's a bit of a clusterfuck but i wanna talk about one detail, a problem they bring to your attention by Fucking. Talking About Her.

haruka is watching all of this unfold.

[this post is like 4.5k words long + pretty critical + has spoilers for kiwami and kiwami 2, and really minor/vague ones for a couple others. they're not that bad though, trust me (and i added a warning in the one place it is major)]

ALSO CONTENT WARNING i'm gonna talk about kiryu's passive suicidality a good amount in this one, so stay away from this if you think that might affect you negatively/you'd be better off skipping it. i'll also make a tl;dr (which i will highlight in red) at the very end if you really wanna know what my point is that will exclude those elements <3. i am also going to use a lot of choice-based language in regards to kiryu's contemplation of suicide because i think it's the lens through which the games treat the topic, but i personally don't find it a productive or realistic way to look at suicide or suicidal ideation at all. someone dying by suicide absolutely does not mean they don't care about their loved ones enough to fight on or whatever. i love you, and proceed with caution on this one.

(also i'm using the kiwamis as my point of reference because i uh. don't have a ps2? those are the games that i played, and though the differences are likely slight, i wanna be clear about that. also,, ignore the watermark on these screenshots,, i didn't notice them and i'm not retaking them. we're all gonna have to settle for youtube cutscene comps for now xoxo)

first, we have to talk about the ending of the first game.

[note: i am Really Really Confident kiryu has a conversation earlier in the game about his going to jail in nishiki's stead being him running away and choosing not to resist his two options (go to jail or let nishiki go to jail) and define his own path, fighting his way against fate to make it happen. part of why i'm so confident it exists is because it made such an impression on me at the time. it's pretty important to my interpretation of things but i also can't find it for the life of me, so uh. sorry ✌️ i really tried. this post's takes/analysis will be dependent on this scene existing, so keep that in mind. if anyone knows where to find the scene/screenshots of it, lmk and i'll add a follow-up with it]

kiwami stuff

so as she's dying, yumi tells haruka this:

that she may be dying (painfully, and right as she's getting everything she wanted), but she doesn't regret it, because at least she did something rather than running away from it all. that you shouldn't run away, ever.

shortly thereafter, when the police find kiryu and haruka, this exchange happens between him and date. here's the play by play:

date tells kiryu he can get him out of trouble with this, and that if he doesn't, he'll get life in prison; kiryu declines his help:

kiryu is so devastated (understandably) by the back to back losses of the three people closest to him that he resigns himself to life in prison, and the death-in-effect that would be. he would prefer to waste away rather than struggle through a life without them. prison was monotonous and isolating, but coming back after a decade was overwhelming, and coming back to everything being so warped and twisted, and then losing the corrupted scraps he had anyway, well. he wants to go back to sleep. he doesn't want to be in a world where everything's the same except he's on his own. better to return to safety, to die slowly in a hell he knows well than weather a new one where he has control and agency, and thus one where he has the ability to fail and to lose anything at any time. he explains to date that that loss is why he can accept his death:

date shakes him and asks him if there's really nothing left for him, no reason to keep living at all:

then echoes yumi's advice to haruka:

which makes an impression on kiryu:

date gives him a reason to live in the form of haruka, saying she'll be on her own again if he goes to jail. he hijacks kiryu's tragic protector complex to keep him alive, because she needs him, and because she's someone precious to him:

after the dust has cleared,

kiryu and date also have this exchange, where date tells him to stay away from the cops (and presumably arrest and a return to prison, the aforementioned fate akin to death), and kiryu cites haruka as his reason to stay away, one he holds to with no uncertainty (showing again that he's accepted date's logic, that his reason to keep living even when it's incredibly difficult is to care for the more vulnerable haruka). given the weight of the consequences, to me, it feels like date's telling him not to be alone with his thoughts or something. it's almost frightening:

so, what's our takeaway from kiwami?

kiryu lost everything and hit rock bottom, but he chose to fight, and to live life on his own terms, even when it got difficult. that's the narrative life lesson he had to learn to avoid repeating the events of 1995. he made that choice for haruka's sake. it's seen as growth.

and without him, haruka would've just returned to the orphanage (assuming she could make it back to sunflower at all) with no one who knew or understood what she had been through, no one to mourn with her, and no one to give her the attention, care, and protection she needs. kiryu knows what it's like to be an orphan with a limited parental figure who only checks in every so often (kazama, "aunt" yumi), and what someone will do for attention/affection from that person (via both himself and nishiki swearing up, climbing the ranks, etc. arguably haruka coming to kamurocho by herself to find "mizuki" is similar), and what it's like to lose them anyway (again, kazama, yumi). their situations parallel each others' somewhat, and that binds them further. and after losing everyone (which he blames himself for to some extent, as one can probably assume from this and 2, and something key to his arc in later games), he chooses to protect her. and this time, he won't fail. at least partially because failing would hurt him, too. he'd have nothing left again.

okay. now we get to kiwami 2.

if you forgot, the context is basically:

everybody's fighting on the roof of a building which i'm sure will not be a running theme or anything as the series goes on

there's a bomb that's about to go off and they don't know how to/can't defuse it

ryuji shot the twist villain to death, but took fatal hits to do so

sayama's like hey!! let's get out of here!!! and kiryu and ryuji are like nooo we have to settle this oughh it's punchin time and they stick her on an elevator and send her down so she doesn't have to watch

ryuji loses. sayama returns, they have a cute sibling heart to heart, and ryuji dies in her arms. sad

kiryu is in rough shape as well, and there's like 2 minutes left on the bomb's timer

here's the scene itself:

sayama tells kiryu they have to run, and kiryu says he can't. the gist is "let's run!" "you go without me" "i'm not leaving you!" "i'm in no condition to run" "i'll carry you then!!" sayama: *sees how fucked up kiryu is, realizes he's Going To Die Anyway* "ok, then i'm staying with you!" and then further bickering about that, before they give up and make out (as one does i guess)

date (he's here now) yells this at them from a helicopter:

before someone else in the helicopter tells date this:

we get this shot of haruka calling out to kiryu as the helicopter swerves away:

and kiryu and sayama have this exchange about haruka where they say they let her down, but that she'll understand:

then they hug and the bomb ticks to zero right when the credits hit. in post credits it's revealed that the twist villain defused the bomb when they weren't looking, betraying his co-villain for reasons i truthfully do not remember and am unwilling to look up. it's not about that right now.

so, how does this scene interact with the ending of the previous game?

the short answer is "badly <3" but here's the long answer:

it's about choices.

the thing about fiction is that anything you want to have happen, as a writer, can happen. it may not be effective, internally consistent, or logical, but you can write it regardless. audiences suspend their disbelief for the sake of engaging fully with your fiction, but everyone has a threshold past which they will stop being engaged in a story and either become uninvested or annoyed. writers usually have lines they're unwilling to cross as well. but in almost every story, there's at least a couple of places where they stretch reality a little to make the narrative they want happen. this is not a bad thing at all. that's how stories get told.

now, i'm gonna be real with you. i don't care about how feasible plots are like 95% of the time. it's not something i think about much, nor is it something i prioritize. i am a very character-centric media consumer, so if world building and/or plot are a bit stale or contrived, that doesn't really bother me much so long as i'm invested in the characters involved. some people can't stand plot holes or the ways musicals burst into song or whatever, and that's fine for them. but it's not something i tend to find that all that important.

this is all to say that i have a sorta affection for rgg's flavor of bullshit pulling. and it is a powerful flavor, maybe even an acquired taste, but i can and do rock with it so long as it doesn't damage the characters too much. this is why i'm not making a lengthy post howling into the void about joji kazama or the second joon-gi han or how many secret relatives there are. those things are silly and endearing and a clumsy yet heartfelt part of a series i care about very deeply. i'll joke about it, but i don't consider it much of a flaw. it's more like personality. flaws are texture, and they help a piece's identity. point is i am very, very willing and able to suspend my disbelief for these games in exchange for a good time, particularly via good characters.

(if you want another example of where i draw the line from within rgg, the answer's the YAKUZA 4 SPOILERS INCOMING rubber bullets twist, because i think 1) it's actively horrifically stupid (especially retconning a scene we SAW HAPPEN. WE SAW BLOOD ON EACH IMPACT, AND RUBBER BULLETS DON'T OFTEN BREAK SKIN THAT DEEPLY (THEIR DAMAGE IS MORE PERCUSSIVE THAN PENETRATIVE). THESE EVENTS HAPPEN IN THE SAME GAME YOU DON'T HAVE TO RETCON IT JUST REWRITE IT. OR DON'T SHOW THE HIT AT ALL SO THERE'S MORE PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY. DON'T DO THIS JUST TO HYPE UP YOUR SHITTY VILLAIN NO ONE CARES ABOUT. and 2) (a bit more importantly) i think it actively removes saejima's primary internal conflict for that game, that being his intense guilt over the 18 murders he thinks he committed, one i was invested and interested in. but this isn't a rubber bullets post.)

characters in this series walk off a lot of life threatening injuries. they survive miraculously, they escape in the nick of time, and they pull through in the end. kiryu still somehow hasn't killed anyone. almost every game in his saga ends with an "is kiryu gonna make it out this time?!?" shortly followed by a "yeah lol. lmao" postcredits reveal. kiryu fucking punches a marble statue into dust in the first game. having a story that asks you to suspend your disbelief so much and so often means that when a decision is made, it's not the writers saying, "well, this would have to happen so we are obligated/forced to write it happening" so much as "we wanted this to happen for some reason(s)," because you already know that they're not guided solely by logic. again, this is true of all writers, it's just amplified in stories like these because they've already given you so many hard mode suspension of disbelief moments (they've broken you in like leather, yeah? or like how obvious internet scams allow for self selection by being so obvious that only the most vulnerable people would fall for them. they curate an audience willing to play along with their bullshit flavor so they can tell a story that's more likely to satisfy that audience. in a good way, in a fun way! mass appeal is overrated). there is not much limit to what this series is willing to try and sell you.

so when ryuji takes lethal damage taking out the big bad, that's a choice. when he doesn't die immediately, that's a choice. when ryuji and kiryu send sayama away in the soon-to-be-forgotten elevator so they can settle this like men or whatever despite the literal actual bomb about to go off, that's a choice. when sayama comes back, that's a choice. when ryuji does die, that's a choice. when kiryu determines that he can't escape in time, that's a choice. when sayama is unwilling to leave him, that's a choice. when she says she'll carry him out and there's an elevator right fucking there and then she's like never mind i guess i won't anymore we're dying together right now kiryu like they're not gonna even try?? wouldn't distancing themselves from the blast give themselves a better shot, something that's super possible given the 2 minutes they have with that elevator??? sayama you met him like a week and a half ago why are you ready to die with him that's not a plot hole i just think that's kinda strange whatever anyway, that's a choice. when kiryu stops arguing with her so they can kiss (next to her brother's corpse), that's a choice. when date shows up, that's a choice. when the helicopter can't save them because the bomb was going to go off too soon, that's a choice. when they put haruka in that helicopter and take her away, let her only impact be reminding kiryu and sayama that they can't help her, that's a choice. when they spend their last moments talking as if they're already dead, then simply waiting, that's a choice.

they're all choices that the writers made for the characters, and we are asked to believe them for the sake of achieving the writers' vision, as with any story. the only problem is that the writers' vision here fucking blows.

i'm not saying it would be realistic for kiryu and sayama (and even ryuji) to make it out alive, but it wouldn't be out of character for the series in the slightest. kiryu is suddenly unable to power through here, and that's a choice. so, what is their vision?

put simply, i think they wanted a romantic last stand for kiryu and sayama, a tragic scene of doomed, devoted lovers. and i think they wanted an edge-of-your-seat fake out death. they wanted spectacle.

here's how some specific choices they made undermine all that shit we talked about earlier from the first game.

once again, kiryu is called by date to live, to pick himself up and keep going, no matter how impossible the odds are. he's even reminded by haruka's presence, his one anchor in keeping himself going. the growth he had in the parallel scene in the previous game is challenged, and he fails.

it's not enough this time. and that's a choice.

it's also one i can't think of a good reason for, and that's the real kicker.

characters can have developmental backslide just like people do, and if they're given good reason for it, it can be just as, if not far more compelling that purely linear growth (i am a chimera ant arc enjoyer, and that's all i'll say. sorry if you haven't seen hunter x hunter. uhh. i am also a zuko avatar enjoyer if that helps). but i can't think of anything that happened in that game that would cause this from a character perspective. if anything, kiryu should be less likely to do this intentionally. he's spent around a year raising haruka, and a year has passed since he lost his loved ones. at the very least, the pain should be more dull, though it is established through an early nightmare sequence that his ass is (justifiably) not over it yet. given that their deaths were the initial motivation for his willingness to rot forever, theoretically, he should be more motivated to stay alive than before now that he's got more investment and stability in his life outside of them, particularly when it comes to haruka, his reason for surviving. and if the ongoing nature of the trauma was the motivator for this, then they should've had it affect him more past that nightmare scene (it really serves more as a recap of the last game than anything else) so it didn't come out of nowhere. so the reminder of the lesson that saved his life and then guided it for at least a year afterwards, one that the whole resolution of the previous game relied on heavily falls flat for... some reason.

i think this is a good time to mention that, generally speaking, you don't write arbitrary choices into characters. sure, people in real life are often sporadic, but when analyzing fictional characters, every choice is filed into a portfolio of characterization that can and should be analyzed. going for pure realism can obfuscate their development, motivations, themes, etc. their choices and reactions may be unorthodox, but they must be internally consistent. this is very related to how i view plot contrivance as well. characters drive the plot, not the other way around. stories are about the ways characters affect their worlds/lives and vice versa, and they're the human face to the themes and ideas the writers are trying to explore and express. maybe my stance on this seems hypocritical. i don't know if it is. but to me, plot issues are usually a matter of engagement and investment, while character issues are a matter of substance.

i hope this doesn't feel patronizing explaining all of this, but i want you guys to know where i'm coming from in my analysis. starting at my base philosophy on writing is the easiest way to do that, i feel. defining the terms of the debate, and all that. anyway

and i mean, look. they survive because "it was defused the whole time we just didn't see it happen", so it's not like narrative tension or realism or whatever was THAT big of a priority overall. if it was gonna be a cop-out anyway, they should'nt have ruined kiryu's development too, yeah?. and sayama fucks off to america after this game anyway, so it's not like the doomed lovers thing had much payoff or meaning after this one (though you could argue that's more an issue with yakuza 3 than yk2, which has some merit to it). which means that they chose to sacrifice kiryu's prior development and internal logic for the sake of cheap tension for their finale that was both kinda illogical in and of itself (the elevator!! the elevator!!!) and a romantic climax that neither required nor really benefitted from this staging. (like. you coulda had them make out and then get saved by date, or kiss on the elevator in a "it's moving, but will we make it in time??" way or whatever. look i'm not saying those are great options either but they're SOMETHING okay. it would remove/reduce the amount of time wasted on characters sitting around with their thumbs up their asses for no reason in this finale).

instead the message of this finale is that, actually, sometimes it is impossible to change your circumstances and fight for your own way out of an awful situation. and what should you do about this unfortunate truth? uh. die! i guess. it's the exact opposite of the encouraging, optimistic message of the last game. zetsubou chou pride my ass.

note: i feel i should mention that when suicidality is brought up within the series (particularly in substories), it is always something someone has to overcome themselves through wanting it badly enough. they simply need the inspiration and the motivation to keep going. it's arguably treated as a moral obligation. frankly, the series is broadly very meritocratic (<- bad) when it comes to this topic (and others, but that's a Whole Other Thing. see akiyama's weird loan shark tests as well). sheer will and resolve is enough to conquer any problem, be it physical or mental/emotional, and it's irresponsible to act/feel otherwise. this is the logic the games operating under, and kiryu is often the mouthpiece for this bootstrap-pulling "tough love" sentiment. so when kiryu "chooses" to die, yet faces no emotional fallout from date, haruka, or anyone else, it feels very out of place. it's not just an odd choice; it's specifically, once again, an odd choice to make in context of the game/series/character it appears in.

kiryu's just like eh, haruka'll watch her only family die right as she gets some sense of tentative stability and lets her guard down after a devastating month the year prior (and a relatively dismal upbringing before that) that we trauma bonded over. sure, she likely came to view me as the one who would stay no matter what, who was too strong to be taken out, who she could always rely on, and so i know that dying would hurt her immensely, but she's smart enough to know it'd happen eventually. her eventual recovery means it's okay for me to do this (somehow, in a way it wasn't in the first game). it's an excuse within the narrative's logic, and one it is uncritical of simply because it's kiryu. he gets a pass.

and i think with the previously mentioned passive suicidality and general series-long mental health issues kiryu displays (i mean. yakuza 5's literally his depression arc), this could be retroactively seen as an interesting choice, like a piece in that particular narrative. i don't even dislike that viewing, especially in terms of fan approach. but (assuming this went down the same in yakuza 2), they likely didn't have that in mind. all they had then was the first game and the movie. and they took the first game's Entire Message and contradicted it for nothing but a scene they wanted to have happen because it'd be suspenseful and/or emotional (without actually doing the work to earn it). and they're not fans trying to analyze his character, they're the ones making choices for him. and they chose to massacre my boy. and if the subject of kiryu's mental health was a priority of theirs, why didn't they explore that? haruka and date's feelings on him not resisting and their words not being enough (whether that blame is justified by the narrative or not (it shouldn't be btw)), the uncomfortable drifting that resigning yourself to death and living afterwards anyway often brings, literally any conversation about it besides the minimal shit we get post credits of date being like "did you know about the bomb not having a fuse?" which like. bad answer either way (which is why they weren't straightforward about it, the cowards). you can't just be like "oh uh. idk he just gave up this time. yeah he was gonna die on purpose for some reason. good thing the bomb was fake lol" and then pack up and go home!! that's stupid!! any merit the idea of kiryu dying by suicide in this scene and in this way could have had from a character-based perspective loses its weight because 1. it didn't happen (for kinda stupid reasons), which makes it fall flat and 2. no one is really affected by the fact that it almost did, including him. they sacrificed his ass and replaced it with nothing, even when there could have been interesting outcomes to it.

so the narrative effectively chose to kill him by making the situation impossible, and this impossibility is ultimately arbitrary, given the series' usual approach to miraculous, illogical escapes. that, or the choice to stay was up to kiryu and sayama, one that 1. doesn't make sense and is actively regressive in context of kiryu's arc in the only other game in the series (as well as his whole saga in retrospect) and 2. one that contradicts how the series sees/treats resignation to death/death by suicide in all other contexts without being addressed, challenged, or condemned in ways it would in all other contexts. because they don't want you to think about it like that. they want you to think he (and the narrative) had no choice, that it made sense to do that. but it didn't. it doesn't.

and look, honestly? if i was bleeding out and had like 2 minutes to live, there's a non zero chance i'd say fuck it and kiss a girl too. i get it. but i am (and this is crucial) not a fucking yakuza character. and i'm certainly not kiryu kazuma.

tl;dr (basically just rephrasing the second to last main paragraph)

there are not sufficient character reasons for kiryu and sayama not trying to escape. additionally, because the narrative regularly facilitates even less likely escapes, it's not so constrained to logic and reality that it couldn't pull this one off. the choice to let their situation be impossible this one time was a cheap and arbitrary way of forcing a scene they thought would be cool and dramatic, and in doing so they chose to cannibalize a key emotional note of the previous finale (namely kiryu's mission to dedicate his life to protecting haruka) for hollow last minute stakes-upping in this one. it is then completely disregarded anyway. god damn.

#got so into this post that i used tumblr on my laptop for the first time to surpass mobile's image limit #i also added transcriptions in the alt text (which i should do more often) #actually thinking about it in the movie kiryu teaches haruka that lesson about stumbling on.. and she's the one to ask to follow him... hm. #just interesting given that the movie came out before 2. i don't think it makes much of a difference to the post it's just neat to me #one of my favorite parts of writing this was skimming through a bunch of yk1/yk2 cutscenes and noticing how often kiryu pats haruka's head #it happens a lot more than i remembered and it's very sweet to me. get bonked little one <3 #another good thing was realizing you can edit tags when you're not on mobile.... fucking life changing. i have lost hours to mobile tag #editing and i'm not even kidding about that #speaking of editing this one took like 6 hours.. my brother used “yakuza autism” (verb) for me earlier and it's so true. source: this post #i did have a short break to get food bc i hadn't eaten all day but that's mostly because i woke up at 3pm. anyway #also if you like kiwami 2's ending you're not even remotely alone. i looked at the comment sections of the scene comps and ppl love it #and more power to you!! i like it when people enjoy things. and tbh i DO have feelings that i'm supposed to about that ending #i just also have feelings you're not supposed to. like. anger. i guess. #rgg #ryu ga gotoku #skrunk meta #aww yeah it's a new tag babeyy #yakuza kiwami 2 #kiwami 2 #yakuza #like a dragon #yk2 #kiryu kazuma #sawamura haruka #sayama kaoru #maybe my thoughts'll change after replaying the games...? it's been like a year and a half since i beat yk2 so i am a bit fuzzy on it #yakuza kiwami spoilers #yakuza kiwami 2 spoilers

[cicadaknight]

well into act 2 and supposedly astarion and i are together according to everyone in camp, but he has nothing more to say besides the usual “hello darling” 😩

#bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #i think i got one cut scene about the scary magic book #and another about his scars way back #and i feel like there’s a bug with raphael #ran into him at the inn playing chess and astarion asked to make his deal #but when we ran into him a second time by the mausoleum he had nothibg to say about the deal #it just triggered a pale elf journal entry like ‘raphel didn’t say anything guess astarion has to go to baldurs gate and figure it out’ #i’ve spent so much time in the shadowlands i don’t want to save scum back 12 hours to redo stuff… #but also idk when i would possibly retrigger anything #ALSO managing save files is driving me nuts on console #you can’t mass delete so i just scroll to randomly erase saves #but that’s risky if you ever want to go back #h #astarion #astarion spoilers #baldurs gate spoilers #once again tumblr please lemme edit typos in tags on mobile #pleasssse #edit the next day: it was definitely because i hadn’t gone to moonrise yet #i was trying to clear the whole region before heading in #raphael will strike a deal after you’ve been given a quest to go there by someone else #otherwise he’ll flake

[ishibishie]

WE FUCKING GAMING

#not art #it's time for another exciting episode of CIRRUS'S SCOUTING ADVENTURES #god steven treated me SO damn well this time! make up for the ss steven scouts lol #my scout points are at 198/400 and i snagged 4 copies in that time! #just threw him a candy after 4/5 because i may try for some other pairs this month #ALSO! steven in the lodge is so FUCKING CUTE HHGAGSHAGEHSH #i wanna physically Explode he's so adorable when he does his lil hand clap with that innocent smile 🥺 #he only dipped once before i could give him anything which is. fine i guess #maybe i didn't talk about rocks enough when he left early :( picky ass bitch #between the new event and steven's lodge presences guess who has to update her steven manifesto #i'll announce when i'm taking the manifesto offline for edits whenever i get to that point :) expect that update before the end of april! #hhhnggshsghsnshsg steven. hhhsnhh.

[orcelito]

ok so this did absolutely no favors for the group’s feelings towards goro but lmfao it’s fiiiiiiine. theyre just gonna have to get used to this. 

#speculation nation #discacc shit #they got him back pretty good too at least #ive just been rereading everything i wrote #really wanna continue but i think i used all my brain power to get this out lmao. #3k words is already pretty great so like. that's fine #man. man ..... this really is the main event of the chapter lmfao #it was either gonna happen bit by excruciating bit. oooooor i guess all in one go #in one manic push that reflects the manic energy goro embodies in this scene #which means i just have the closing parts of this scene left . and then the final scene. #which. in theory. both of these things could probably be finished if i got another good writing bug #which would mean best case scenario probably new chapter in 2 days. to give brain time to edit. #that is probably not going to happen lol. but it's a goal. #hmmmMMM #o h . #actually. i have. only a 5 hour shift tomorrow. and then sunday off. #and no imminent assignments. #this really could be out on sunday. oh my god . #grabs my brain in a choke hold. you'd better not BLOW THIS FOR US. WE COULD HAVE THIS OUT IN 2 DAYS #lkjfsdlfjsdlkfjsldfkjsdlfkj after MONTHS of struggling over this chapter. im really excited now #NO PROMISES bc who fucking knows. but if not in 2 days it wont be long. really really hoping.

[starscreaming666]

you know if they released an avatar film that was straight up 10 hours long no breaks no intermissions I'd be in that theatre for the whole thing. Run out of food or water no problem I got blue people running through my VEINS. James Cameron give me the 10 hour avatar film. Let me be consumed

#I'm watching the extended edition again #God why can't this be the definitive film in the eyes of the public #It's just so much better #In so many miniscule ways #Like Jake's introduction with his anger and compassion the scenes where grace discusses why the Omaticaya hate the rda uhh SYLWANIN #Like. Every single tiny thing adds up to make a much more engaging film and I know it's a longer watch but like #It's just a more memorable experience when you have all these little details #And I love the theatrical cut. It's a good cut. It works #But it's not like. I don't know #its more if a standard blockbuster y'know? More uhhh. Marvel-y I guess? I don't know man just give me the little details #Wait also one more thing I can't forgive is the deletion of the extension to Norm's introduction where he gives condolences for Tom's death #Like in both cuts he just. Like did Norm secretly hate Tom. What's. Like you went through training with him king what's up here #I want a cut of avatar where every single deleted scene is there. All of them. Provide #Avatar my horribly flawed best friend avatar #james cameron's avatar #Avatar #Wait also another thing I'd love is an avatar film where they speak Na'vi the whole time. Disregards the time it takes to teach the actors #To learn the language #I shrimply do not see it. I want to have 2+ hours of pure Na'vi beamed directly into my BRAIN

[sugume]

LESSONS IN CORRUPTION w/Gojo Satoru

IN WHICH: Your teacher finally has his way with you at the end of senior year

( TW ): fem!Reader, dark & explicit content, mean and manipulative teacher!Gojo, Porn w/ no plot, corruption kink, power dynamics, virgin!reader, unprotected sex, cream pie, size difference, breeding kink, blood, fingering, age gap (reader is 19, Gojo late 20's), Gojo secretly records, half edited

Word count - › 1.6K

“You know I love you right?” Satoru asks, cupping your face. 

“I love you too.” You smile up at him as he fingers your pussy. 

“Loved you ever since I laid eyes on you—ever since you walked in my class with that short skirt and those white knee-high socks. My innocent schoolgirl.” He leans down to kiss you on the rose-covered hotel bed.  

It was your graduation party last week, but he said couldn’t make it to your party at your parent’s house, said he had an important meeting, and RSVP no to your parents’ invitation but when you asked them, they looked at you incredulously and asked why they’d send invitations to your teachers. When you went to school for your last week and told this to Gojo he said he did get an invitation and your parents told you that so you wouldn’t get upset that he couldn’t make it. 

—

“Gotta surprise for you though.” Gojo smiles up at you from his chair. You’re sitting on his desk, feet resting on the armrest of your teacher’s chair. Gojo can see your panty-clad pussy from his position under you, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows you’d be embarrassed if you knew he could see your Hello Kitty panties.  

“Really? What is it is!” You set your salad down so he could have your full attention, you know he doesn’t like it when you focus on anything else--even if it’s something as simple as food. You think it’s romantic how much he needs your full attention. 

“Well since I couldn’t come to your party, I figured I should throw you another party, this time just us. It could be our special party.” 

“Oh my god, really?” You throw yourself in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. His cologne engulfs you. 

“Mhm, and guess what? It’s gonna be a sleepover party at that new fancy hotel that just opened downtown. You excited Princess?” Gojo wraps his arms around your waist, discreetly rubbing his semi on your pussy. 

“Super-duper excited! When is it? Please say soon!” You cheer, innocently bouncing in his lap. Your pussy clenching when you feel his cock rub down the length of your damped cunt. You hope he doesn’t notice. 

“This weekend schoolgirl, your parents approved n’ everything.” He informs you, holding you down on his now rock-solid cock.  

He couldn’t wait for this weekend.  

“Really?” 

“Really, but they told me they want you to tell them you’re staying at your best friend’s house,” you open your mouth to question why but his grip on your waist tightens and he looks down at you angrily. “Don’t question us y/n, you know your parents and I know what we’re doing. Were the adults, you’re just a child, understand?” 

“Yes, Sir.” You nod, not wanting to upset him when he’s always so good to you.  

“Good girl, now finish your lunch sweetheart—no stay on my lap I make sure you eat it right.” 

—

Gojo glances at the nightstand, ensuring his phone is set up before he looks back at you. Rose petals underneath, nipples puckered, and eyes crossed you look like an angel. His angel. 

“Sir! I-it feels weird down there—I think I gotta pee.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers. 

“Just let it happen, princess,” He curls his fingers into your g-spot, his other hand going to rub your clit. Your legs start to shake, and you try to clamp them shut but Satoru’s thighs keep them in place. “Don't—That’s it, let go, let it happen.” 

You never knew what it was like to orgasm, Satoru has only told you what it would be like, but this—this—you could get used to the way your pussy contracts on your teacher’s fingers and your mind goes blank. 

Your hands fly down to his wrists once it’s over, suddenly overwhelmed. 

“S’too much ‘Toru, please no more!” You cry out, another mini orgasm washing over you.  

“Gotta prep you—get you wet enough for my cock sweet girl,” he takes his fingers out of your cunt, and your juices following in suit. “Think you’re ready?” 

“Mhm.” You look up at him like he hung the moon and stars. Right now, if he told you he did—you’d believe him. 

He brings his wet fingers to your mouth, and instinctively you open your mouth. He shoves them in. 

“Can’t wait to see this small pussy take a dick too big, too old for ‘er.” He groans at the thought, pulling his now clean fingers out of your mouth to pull his boxers off.  

You gasp when you see it jump out. It’s huge, the tip is an angry shade of red, and his balls look ready to explode any second. You don’t think with all the prep in the world you could take it. 

“It’s too big, Sir.” you whimper, shyly backing away from him.  

“Don’t run away from me y/n, how many lessons does it take for you to get ‘Don’t question your elders’ through that little brain of yours,” he pulls you back, slapping your pussy. “C’mon now, didn’t you say you loved me?” He pouts, looking down at you with puppy eyes. Your heart clenches. 

“Course I love you—I can take it. I promise.” You grab his face, the one you’ve spent the last semester admiring from afar, and kiss him the way he taught you. 

“Yea?” 

“Mhm.” You lay back down and wrap your legs around his hips. 

He grabs his cock, the head soaked with your juices, and slowly pushes it in. You gasp from the sudden intrusion. His fingers did nothing to prepare you for his girthy cock. He pulls out again before pushing in, this time a few more inches. He repeats this movement until you're filled to the brim. He looks down and chuckles. Only two-thirds of his cock is in your too-small pussy. Blood trickles out the side of your pussy. 

“Hurts.” You cry. He looks up to see thick tears flowing down your cheeks. 

He thinks about comforting you, but he can’t get his mind off your tight pussy. He’s too worried about not cumming prematurely than comforting you.  

“Shh, it’ll feel better soon honey, just lay there and take it.” He starts to move in and out of your cunt. Using your blood as extra lube. 

You claw at his back from the overwhelming feeling of your pussy being stretched. Satoru grunts above you, sucking hickeys all over your breast. After the ninth thrust, you start to moan, the pain quickly turning into pleasure. 

“Sir! Feels s’good.” You moan.  

“Your cunt feels surreal princess, never felt anything like this, think I might need to fuck my students more.” He says into your neck, speeding up when his balls start to clench and ache with the need to release. 

Suddenly, you’re overcome with a surge of jealousy, the thought of him fucking the other girls when you leave for college, teaching them how to kiss, and letting them sit on his lap and eat lunch every day makes you want to cry and scream and the same time. He’s yours! He doesn’t get to fuck anyone else, nobody else should be bleeding on his cock and cumming on his fingers.  

“S’not fair! You’re mine, only mine!” You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him impossibly closer to you, in you. 

“Then prove it little girl, show me that I belong to you.” He shoves his lips on your pouting ones. 

You throw your arms around his neck and buck into his hips, determined to show him that he only needs you. That you’re enough to satisfy all his needs. 

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum deep in this cunny. Gonna fill you up—watch you get full with my baby and have to drop out of college before you even finish the first semester!” His thrusts turn sloppy, bruising your swollen cunt. 

“Yes, give me your baby Sir, please!” You moan, suddenly thinking about a life with him and a baby you two 've created. You’ve never felt so empty. 

“Please, please, need ‘ur baby s’bad!” You slur, legs tightening around his waist. 

“‘M cummin’ schoolgirl, ‘m fucking my baby into your too-small cunt.” Satoru groans, his balls contracting as he shoots his load into your womb. 

The sensation of being filled causes you to orgasm again, the world going blank for a few seconds.  

“Shit!” Satoru lays over top of you, the weight of him making you wheeze. You lay there silently for a few minutes, unable to form a coherent thought. 

“W-was that good?” you question when your mind clears, thinking back to what he said about fucking other girls. 

“Of course it was princess, best I’ve ever had.” He reassures all the while his mind is racing, thinking ‘bout the new girl that just transferred to your school. He kisses you as he places a bet with himself ‘How long would it take to get her breed full of his child too.’ 

#𐙚 ࣪ ˖ sugume writes #𐙚 ࣪ ˖ smut journal #gojo x reader #x reader #smut #jjk #anime #gojo x you #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #suguru #satoru gojo #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji smut #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami smut #choso x y/n #choso x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #jjk geto

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

[indecisivemuch]

Lovesick & Lovelorn

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You thought that Luke Castellan, your best friend, did not reciprocate your feelings for him. To cope, you wrote letters addressed to him and kept them in a box. What happens when one of your sisters finds it? Inspired by 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' (fluff, best friends to lovers; you thought it was unreciprocated feelings, happy ending).

Note: Ahh, I'm so happy the show got renewed for season 2.

Word count: 3.3k

You were deeply convinced your fate was tied to one with eternal lovelorn. 

Three years ago, you arrived at Camp Half-Blood and settled into the Hermes cabin before you were claimed by your Godly parent. It was there that you met Luke Castellan - one of your soon-to-be best friends. Though, you knew you were doomed from your first glance into his eyes. Then came his friendly smile and an offer of a handshake, where his hand engulfed yours.

At first, you thought that silly little crush would dissipate. But over time, as you became close friends with the Hermes cabin counselor, you were almost convinced he was faultless. You seemed to adore every little thing about him. Along with the fondness that grew in your heart was also self-pity. At one point, even looking at him hurt because you knew he did not return your feelings.

Hence, the letters.

In between your memories of Luke were letters you wrote throughout those years just to cope with the unreciprocated feeling. It was painful, but what else could you do? You truly believed confessing would put your friendship at risk. Neither did you feel like dealing with the heartache of a rejection. So you never uttered any of your feelings to him, continuing to imprint it on lined papers instead.

You scowled as the pen you were using ran out of ink, leaving the latest edition of unspoken words unfinished. Wordlessly, you fold the incomplete letter into an envelope and shove it into the turquoise box you bought while returning from a quest once. You neatly put the box under your bed.

“Y/N, it’s time to head out,” one of your sisters repeated. Two minutes ago, people were starting to leave, so those on cleaning duties could clean up your cabin. Since you were mid-writing, you hastily asked for a few more seconds. Now, you were the only one left besides two of your sisters.

“Yes, sorry,” you quickly muttered, exiting the cabin and almost immediately bumped into Luke. “Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked.

“I’m here for you. I thought we should hang out,” Luke answered ever so casually. Yet, your heart swelled at the thought that he was there for you. Before you could reply, you two were interrupted by another camper, who told you that one of your other best friends needed you and that it was an emergency.

“I’m so sorry, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on that hangout,” you informed Luke. You slowly started walking backward and away from him. “I’ll see you later, though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Come find me whenever you’re done, yeah?” Luke requested, hoping to spend time with you later. His soft look made you pause mid-step, almost as if your foot had been cemented to the stones beneath. You nodded absentmindedly before snapping out of that state to comfort your friend.

After two hours of listening to your friend and comforting them, you finally left their cabin to search for Luke, who previously told you to find him after. However, around half an hour later, you slowly gave up at the thought of doing so, feeling almost defeated.

As you turned to head back to your cabin, you spotted the Hermes counselor exiting his. You called out his name, watching his back stiffen before he turned to you. You ignored the odd behavior and recalled, “I’m free now if you’re down to hang out.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m really busy right now.”

“Uhm, well, I guess I’ll just meet you at our spot whenever you’re done then?” you suggested. You and Luke fell into a routine of star-gazing every night.

Laying under the dark sky that painted your whole horizon often made you feel small. But something about that was so calming, especially considering most of the time, you were suffocated by the weight and duties of being a Demigod. You wondered if it was the moment or if it was Luke’ presence that aided your momentary peace.

“I really, really can’t tonight, I have a lot of things to do.”

“Oh… that’s okay. I’ll see you around?” you replied, watching as Luke fidgeted and gulped while attempting to look normal. It was futile, really, because being best friends meant you could sense when the slightest thing was even off. He nodded, and you retreated to your cabin with thoughts swirling in your head.

Then came the next few torturous and confusing days. For the last two years, Luke would always approach you - almost daily, and vice versa. Being best friends with Luke has been wonderful. Every day together felt like a blessing.

Now, it seemed almost like he was avoiding you. He would find a new excuse whenever you approached. He wouldn’t even look in your direction. Yesterday, you made eye contact with him, and he turned away abruptly, facing his back towards you.

You had enough after day three. You went to your cabin after dinner and reached under your bed with one hand. You did not want to, but this would perhaps be your first-ever letter of anguish about Luke Castellan.

The box…where is the box?

You peered under your bed, mouth hanging open when your eyes could not spot it either. You looked up and around, hoping maybe you had misplaced it somewhere, even though part of you knew you had put it under your bed. You have always done so.

“Hey, have you seen a turquoise box?” you asked your sister as she walked by.

“Oh, the rectangle one, about this big?” your sister reconfirmed, using her hand to show you the size she indicated.

“Yes, that one.”

“Oh, I gave it to Luke.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was cleaning the cabin three days ago, accidentally knocked it over and saw letters addressed to him. He was right by the door, so I thought maybe I should just deliver them to him.”

Blood drained from your face, and your heart plummeted. Anything else your sister seemed to be talking about started sounding like murmurs, and you could not focus on a word she was saying. Your worst nightmare seemed to have arrived. Somehow, your friendship with him had ended without you knowing. No wonder he has been avoiding you these past few days. He has read them all.

“I need to go,” you quickly muttered, storming out of your cabin. You could feel your body slightly shaking from the panic. No amount of Demigod training had prepared you for moments like these. Then you saw Luke walking over you…with the box in his hands. You took a deep breath and practically forced your voice box to work.

“Listen, Luke—”

“I didn’t think you’d buy birthday gifts that early, Y/N,” he interrupted.

“What?” you questioned and observed the sweet smile gracing his Adonis-like face.

“This?” he gestured to the box. “Your sister gave it to me and said it was from you. Though I thought I should give it back ‘cause it’s not my birthday yet, you might have wanted to give it to me yourself.”

“Oh…” it was the only thing you could utter as it dawned on you what he had perceived the situation as. “Wait, so you haven’t opened it?” you clarified.

“Nope.”

“...So we’re ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” your mouth hung slightly agape at his words. As you scrunch your eyebrows, you could see how his fingers fidget somewhat, almost as if he could tell you would bring his odd behavior up.

“You’ve been acting really odd the last few days, Luke. It had me worried. I thought I did something wrong. It seems like you were avoiding me.”

“I was just really busy with counselor duties,” he dismissed it. However, something about it made you a bit hesitant to believe his words. You did it anyway, nevertheless. You blamed it on your stupid heart.

“Yeah, but—” you stopped, not wanting to stir anything. “Ok then, I’m going to put this away, but I’ll see you later, yeah? Maybe we can finally not rain check again?” You hated how hopeful you sounded. You’re glad that the sun had set a few minutes ago, blessing you with enough degree of darkness to hide your facial expressions from being as evident as they would be in daylight.

“Of course, I’ll see you later, Y/N,” despite the dark and only dim lights from nearby, you noticed there was something different about him. Luke was wearing a nervous smile, almost sheepish like a schoolboy. There was a glimmer of amazement in his eyes like he was in disbelief. Though it was definitely overpowered by a glaring degree of warmth. He was looking at you like all those writers have written down in the books you have read before - something along the lines of adoration and love.

You shook those thoughts away again, refusing to somehow fool yourself into believing he could reciprocate those feelings.

“Yeah, see you,” you muttered, hand gripping tightly on the box as you took it from his hold. As soon as you reached your cabin, you opened the box to peer inside. You immediately sighed in relief upon seeing the copious amount of letters with your handwriting on them, all with Luke’s name on the front.

However, your eyes landed on one unfamiliar one. It had your name on it, written in a familiar wonky handwriting that you have always found endearing.

You sat on your bed, taking the letter out delicately, almost in disbelief. Then, dread overtook any other emotion. Was this Luke’s way of letting you down easy? By pretending to not have read any of your letters and rejecting you through the form that you express your love to him? — you had to physically shake your head at that thought.

You took the letter out of its envelope and started reading: 

‘Dear Y/N,

This is probably the 40th time I tried writing this letter. It feels impossible to try and convey everything onto one piece of paper.

You deserve someone to at least view you as their muse rather than always being the writer. 

Hence why, for the past few days, I had to physically drag myself away from you every time you tried approaching me because I knew if I didn’t, I would just end up spilling my feelings out right then. I knew if I even looked at you, I would have just abandoned this letter idea and run to you. You should have seen me yesterday. When we made eye contact, I had to turn away from you because having the knowledge of you liking me back was enough to knock all the air out of my lungs. I was a flustered mess from just that eye contact.

I doubt my words could rival what you have written about me. You once wrote how it hurts to love someone this much and to always be the poet but never the poem. Well, I’d like to thank you for making me your poems. However, now it is your turn. Allow me to be your poet.

You occupy my mind like it’s your castle. If I had to name everything I love about you, this letter would never end. But for starters, here are some of the first times:

The first time Chiron introduced you to the Hermes cabin, I could not take my eyes off you. Chris had to nudge me away. Just from that alone, a part of me knew I was in trouble. I think I came to the conclusion that I did not want to hold anybody else’s hand after just shaking yours.

2.5 years back during a campfire in June, even when the fire had died and the air grew cold, our voices still filled the air. Conversations just flow when I am with you. I remember never wanting that moment to end. Then you started talking about constellations and told me about the ones above us. Right there and then was the first time I had the urge to kiss you, and to show you that I was just as obsessed with you as you were with stars.

The first time I realized I was in love with you was while coming back from a quest 2 years ago. I remember feeling so numb coming back. The world almost seemed monotone, and I wondered for a second, what if I had made one wrong move? Just as I returned to camp, you bolted and hugged me. Somehow, it felt like I had just taken my first bit of fresh air after drowning for so long. I vividly recall shutting my eyes as I hugged you back because I felt like I was finally home. I remember never wanting to be away or out of your hold as others approached and rushed to get me into the infirmary for checkups.

It was only when I was lying on the infirmary bed that it hit me like a train that lost control. A large proportion of why I fought so hard was to come back to you. You’re my best friend, Y/N, and my place of solace and peace. Then came the realization that I was in love with you. I remember everybody else’s voice drowning out as I focused on that thought. It was strangely calming, as if my heart had known all along but was waiting for my head to catch up. Then I remember just smiling as I looked at the ceiling, unafraid of the new feeling.

Last year, the day we went on a quest together lapsed with Valentine’s Day. Every moment felt extra sweet. Us sitting on the train, staring outside the window together like a couple going on a trip. My mind savoured the small things like you falling asleep on my shoulder with my coat around you and us holding hands as we walked through the crowd to not get lost among couples - which I like to imagine that others had thought we were one as well. It was the first time I allowed myself to pretend this is how it would feel like if you were mine and how our lives together would be if we were not Demigods.

I thought for sure you would have realized something by the way I was staring and acting around you that I was irrevocably in love with you. After reading your letters, I realized that you did see it. But you refused to believe that I could ever be in love with you. Well, I hope my letters will reverse all your doubts, because Y/N, it is so easy to fall in love with you. 

In fact, the world I built up in my head during last year’s quest had consumed my thoughts enough to make me frown at the idea of returning to camp, where it would not just be the two of us anymore. Loving you has never been something I was afraid of. Loving you has been an honour every single day, even if you never knew of it. 

It’s also somewhat funny that I was heavily lovesick while you were lovelorn. But I promise, Y/N, that from this second on, I intend to make you know that you are loved and that I am so deeply in love with you.

Again, I never intended for you to wait for three days, but I ended up throwing away every letter I started because I felt like none had suffice. I didn’t want to mess it up and give you something less than you deserved. I wanted to do something nice for you. I promise I’ll make it up for those three days if you allow me to. But one chance is all I need.

If you are willing to give me that chance, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Luke Castellan’

Upon reading his last words, you immediately left your cabin with the letter in hand. You jogged to the spot where the two of you would always meet to stargaze together. Almost instantly, you saw his tall figure under the moonlight. As if he could sense your presence, the Hermes boy turned around and gave you a sweet smile.

“You meant it?” you asked as you raised the letter up, slowly approaching him.

“Every single word, including all the unspoken ones I intend on telling you from now on,” the way he said it felt like he was swearing it on his own heart. “In fact, I would have written more down, but I knew I was keeping you waiting for too long,” he explained as you stopped right before him.

Something about this moment felt cathartic. Three years of dancing around unspoken words and yearning led to this moment. Luke grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your knuckle. You peered up at him, and it was then that you finally accepted what his looks meant: he was in love with you, and there was no doubt about that. There was no more denial on your end that Luke Castellan was enamored with you.

“Will you let me be your poet, Y/N?” he breathlessly referenced the words you and him had both previously written like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime.

“Of course,” you answered almost without hesitation, watching his eyes soften even more, if possible.

“Is it ok if I ask you another question?” he asked again, his other hand caressing your cheek.

“Yeah?” Your face flushed as you saw his brown eyes dart to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

This time, you didn’t say anything. You’ve written down way too many words in the past three years. You decided actions would speak louder in this case. So you pulled Luke down by his camp necklace, hands gripping the beads on it as you tiptoed up to reach his lips. 

Luke physically melted as he brought one hand to your waist to hold you up as he leaned down from the height difference. Everything Luke had imagined before could not match the kiss he was finally sharing with you - the kiss that seemed to seal his lips into a spell that would forever leave them unable to belong to anyone else. It felt like heaven and hell combined because he knew that this was going to ruin him forever, and every second he spent with his eyes shut would be one where he had this feeling and moment sown behind his eyelids. 

You had the same line of thoughts. The wait was long, but you felt like it was worth it. Under the stars, you may feel small. But standing there next to Luke, you finally realize it doesn’t matter. Because he was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were his sun, moon, and everything in between - no constellations could ever measure to you.

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

masterlist

Join my Luke Castellan taglist

taglist: @nininehaaa @perseus-jackass @tanifsblog @bubbly0 @hinata7346

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan #luke castellan fanfiction #pjo fic #pjo #charlie bushnell #pjo imagine #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo series #best friends to lovers #fluff