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allbark-no-bite · 5 months

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marriage and honor.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.5k)

summary: the Navy has already taken two people from your life, and you don’t intend to let there be a third. that is until Jake Seresin walks into your life

warnings: severe plot holes, mentions of character death, swearing

authors note: based off of the movie Purple Hearts. it’s a great movie and i highly suggest watching it! please bear with me in the beginning of this, the plot holes fix themselves, i promise lol. i literally threw this together because i wrote one scene for shits and giggles and had to commit to it

(read parts two and three here: december and devotion, cats and christmas)

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No one ever expects to have to bury their brother at fifteen. Kinda just like no one expects to have to bury their other brother at eighteen. But you do it the first time and then you do it again three years later. It's a bit like deja vu the second time, like you're reliving the actual nightmare all over again. Except this time there's no one to hold your hand and tell you it's all going to be alright because he's dead and buried too.

They both die honorable deaths in service to their country. At least that's what they say at the memorials. You're not so sure there's anything comforting about dying honorably. They're both still dead, honored or not.

Raised by your grandparents, you'd grown up the youngest of three on a military base smack dab in the middle of San Diego, better yet known as Fightertown USA. True military brats, your old brothers enlisted straight out of high school, one after the other. As their young and impressionable kid sister, you worshiped the ground they walked on and had your heart set on following in their footsteps. That was of course, until they both went and died.

'Sometime these things just happen', is what you were told. And you know, freak accidents do happen. Engines fail, training exercises go awry, safety precautions are ignored. But that doesn't make up for the fact that lightning has, against all odds, stuck the same place twice.

So after the Navy takes away not one but two people from your life, you swear off all things to do with military life. The moment you graduate high school you pay out of pocket just to move off of the base into a shitty the-bedroom-and-bathroom-are-in-the-same-place apartment. You go to college and get the kind of degree that looks good on paper but you can't really get a job with. But it's fine because it helped you to put the past behind you and move on. So much that when your grandmother passes away unexpectedly, leaving your grandfather widowed, you're able to stomach moving back closer to home to take care of him.

At least, you'd thought that you had moved on.

Now, standing in the middle of the courthouse wearing what had been your college graduation dress (the only white dress you could find on such short notice) and watching the man before you slip a ring on your finger, you're not so sure. As a matter of a fact, you actually feel sick, queasy like you might have to bend over the nearest trashcan to get the blood rushing to your head again. That might would be a good idea because what the hell were you thinking.

Jake must take notice of the expression on your face because he offers you a weak smile, his pink lips pressed together. The same thought must be running through his mind too because he also looks like he might be sick at any moment.

What the hell were either of you thinking?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Thankfully the minister is too bored looking with his own job to notice that both of you are looking worse for wear. He also completely forgets to say 'you may now kiss the bride', which is another thing to be thankful for. That might have been the straw that broke the camel's back and sent both you and Jake running for the hills. Instead he mumbles a unenthusiastic congratulations and departs from the room, leaving you and Jake standing numbly side by side.

In the following seconds after the minister leaves the room, silence settles between the two of you, partially due to shock and partially because you don't even know what to say. It's a sight, Jake in his pristine navy dress whites and you in your too short college graduation dress.

Finally, Jake clears his throat, swallowing. "Well, there's no turning back now."

*queue rewind noise*

You may be wondering how we got here.

*six days ago*

"C'mon baby, you didn't think that was funny? Girls usually love that line."

He'd been after you all night, smiling, cracking jokes, buying you beers. You had to admit, he was nothing if not persistant.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't date funny guys." Despite your tone, you're actually genuinely amused by the situation. He's trying so hard, and it's getting him absolutely nowhere.

He's handsome, without a doubt the most attractive man at the bar, but he could be the most attractive man in the world and you still wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Not with that smile and defiantly not with that uniform on.

"And why is that?" he laughs, undeterred by your blatant disinterest. His friends are watching, have been watching the two of you do this dance all night, and he's not about to back down now.

You watch the smile lines that appear on his tanned face, the way his eyes crinkle in amusement as he awaits on your answer. He's probably a few years your senior, early thirties if that's anything to go by.

"Funny guys are dangerous. They make you laugh and laugh and then boom you're naked."

His smile twitches and yeah, you can be funny too, wise guy.

"Is that where you think this is going?" he asks.

"Where else would it be going?"

And that's how it all started. The beginning of the end.

"You know navy spouses get a monthly stipend and are allowed to live on base?"

You remain facing the bar, peeling at the label on your bottle, not bothering to glance to your side. "You know, I really fucking wish Natasha would keep her mouth shut."

"(Y/n)—"

"It's no one else's fucking business what—"

He grabs the seat of your stool, nearly jerking it out from under you as he pulls it closer to his own. "Listen to me," he growls, a stark change from his usual demeanor.

Stubbornly leaning away so that you're not so close, you regard him with suspicious and narrowed eyes. You raise an eyebrow as if to say he's got your attention, however unwillingly.

"Right now, we're both in a tight spot, okay?"

You knew about his dad. Heard the whole spiel from Natasha— who you're learning that while, your best friend, cannot be trusted to keep her mouth shut— about how they weren't on good terms, hadn't talked since Jake got into the academy, and suddenly he calls out of the blue to tell Jake that he'd had enough of his son's playing around and that it was time for him to start thinking about getting married. That if he didn't within the next few months, he'd arrange the whole thing himself.

"You need a place to live—" You shush him, eyes darting to the people around you. You don't need anyone knowing that you can't exactly afford to pay your rent. Jake rolls his eyes because he doubts anyone could hear him even if he was yelling with how loud it is in the bar, but he lowers his voice regardless. "You need a place to live, and I need to get my old man off of my back..." He trails off, as if you should know where he's going with this.

You don't. You're just staring at him with an increasingly annoyed expression on your face, wondering how soon you can get out of this conversation.

He takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Hear me out, okay? What if we get married?"

You had actually laughed in his face at first, and Jake was so dead serious about it that he didn't even dwell on the fact that it was the first time you had laughed at something that he'd said.

"Not a chance in hell, Seresin," had been your second response. But that's the thing with pretty guys, they can be awfully convincing.

It all happens so fast that you have metaphorical whiplash. Next thing you know, you're wearing a brand new diamond on your finger and going out to the bar with his entire squad the night before their deployment.

Of course, they're all a bit shocked at first. You would be too. You and Jake hadn't exactly been even remotely civil with each other just a few days prior. But if any of them are suspicious of your's and Jake's sudden union, they don't let on, all too happy to have something to celebrate before they ship out. Fanboy and Payback have each brought their wives and Natasha her girlfriend as well. You suppose you're expected to mingle with them, maybe shed a tear or two over the shared bond that your partners are going across the country, but you can't really find a way to connect with them so you kind of just avoid them altogether. You do feel bad, sitting there without a care in the world while they all try to offer comfort and reassurance to each other. But you don't really know what else to do because it's not like you're exactly sad.

Thankfully Javy, or as he's known, Coyote, stands up and raises his near empty bottle of beer in the air and saves you from anymore uncomfortable sitting. "I'd like to make a toast! To the newlyweds!" You spoke too soon. The table cheers and raises their bottles in response, all of the attention turning to where you and Jake are sitting. Cheeks immediately flushing, you have to refrain from sinking down in your seat. Jake is grinning, accepting the few rough pats on the back that he receives from Rooster beside him.

And just when you think that's the worst it's going to get, it gets worse.

"Kiss!"

You're not sure who starts it, but like teenage boys, the entire squad parrots in unison.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

At first Jake just laughs and shakes his head good naturedly, shrugging off the insistent urging of his friends, and you think that's going to be the end of it. But the chanting doesn't stop and finally Jake turns towards you. Your face is probably red hot and undeniably panicked. Heart racing, you try to read him in the half second that you're given as he leans and wraps his arm around you. Is he going to kiss you? Are you supposed to kiss him?

Neither option happens. Jake's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side and at the last moment, he turns to press a kiss to your cheek. A series of disappointed boos follow but they are drowned out by clapping for the most part. He's uncomfortably close, closer than you ever would have liked to be to Jake Seresin, but you have to remind yourself that it's all for show. When Jake does turn away, you can still feel the warmth of his lips smeared against your cheek. Even so, he hasn't let go of you pressed into his side.

Your heart still racing, you reason with yourself that if Jake can play the part, you might as well too, and under that pretense, allow yourself to hide your face into his shoulder to conceal it's redness. The smell of his cologne washes over you, and oddly enough, you don't hate it. It's subtle, with a hit of what might be amber, and nothing like the overwhelmingly masculine scent that you would have pegged him for.

If Jake finds your sudden willingness to touch him strange, he doesn't comment on it, likely assuming that you're just trying to make this thing between the two of you seem real. You somewhat reluctantly pull away when Coyote's voice raises again.

"And here's to shooting down some fucking MiGs!"

Again, the table erupts into a chorus of cheering and hollering. You still, allowing Jake to fully pull away from your side while the proclamation rings out in your head. It's a very grounding moment, and suddenly you feel very alone sitting at the table. No one seems to have noticed your shift in mood. Maybe you're the only one put off by Javy's statement because this is their reality. There are people who are not coming home from this mission; everyone just likes to assume it won't be them. You know better.

You can't help it, the words just come out of your mouth. "That's a fucked up thing to say."

It's the first time you've really spoken up the entire night and all heads turn towards you. Based on the look in Jake's eyes, which is a bit apprehensive, as if he knows this is headed nowhere good, you realize you probably should have just kept your mouth shut.

Payback shifts uncomfortably in his chair while the rest of the crew glances around the table wearing varying states of confusion. Their gazes shift from you to Jake, as if waiting for some sort of explanation.

Coyote is the first to break the silence. "Look, sweetheart, that's just the way things are. Here in the Navy, that's a badge of honor. Your boy Hangman here is the only one of us with a confirmed air-to-air kill."

"(Y/n)—", Jake attempts to interject, but you're not about to let him explain himself to you in front of all these people.

You set your jaw and swallow back the anger threatening to rise up in your throat. "Yeah, because killing people is so honorable."

Coyote scoffs. "We're just doing our jobs. And if that means taking down a few planes while we're at it, so be it."

"Your job is to protect people," you snap. "There are people out there who have families—"

"Alright, that's enough—" Jake begins to interject for the second time, but this time it's Coyote who interrupts him.

"Come on, man. You're really going to let her say that kinda shit—"

You stand up. "I don't need his permission to—"

"I SAID ENOUGH." This time it's startling enough to cut both of you off. "(Y/n), what is your fucking problem?" Jake snaps.

You flinch at the harshness of his question.

Your eyes travel around the quiet table, where everyone is holding their breath, and then back to Jake. His green eyes reflect a type of pissed off what would be terrifying if you weren't so angry yourself.

A small, logical part of you knows that he has a right to be angry. You've picked a fight for no apparent reason in front of his friends and he hasn't the slightest clue why. It's not his fault your brothers are dead and you blame the Navy for it.

Regardless, that doesn't make up for the fact that you're pissed off by his defense of what Coyote has said. Even though you probably owe him an explanation, you're not about to answer him when he's just yelled at you. You also know that if you don't say something, he's going to and you'd rather die before letting him tell you off in front of all these people. You abruptly push away from the table and storm off for the bar top. You can hear Jake chasing after you.

"(Y/n)."

You ignore him in favor of heading towards the back door of the Hard Deck, pushing past people regardless of whether they're in your way or not. Being slightly more considerate, you can hear Jake moving much slower as he excuses himself through the crowd.

"(Y/n)—"

You come to a stop once you reach the door, spinning on your heels with a fire in your eyes.

"What's my problem?!"

Behind you, you can hear the loud jesting and jeering of his friends back at the table. They're still ruffled with excitement from your outburst, and Coyote's voice follows your retreating back. "Jesus man, get your girl under control."

I'm not his girl, you want to snap. He doesn't own me.

Jake has stopped a few feet away from you.

"What's my fucking problem?! My problem is that your friends are sitting over there calling murder honor."

Jake sighs harshly though his nose. Shaking his head, green eyes looking up, he begins, "He didn't mean—"

"No. I know what he meant, Jake. You're all a bunch of cowards. You're all too goddamn scared to admit that maybe you're not doing as much good as you thought over there, and so you just justify it by saying all killing is good killing, right?" you spit.

His vibrant green eyes harden but he doesn't respond. "That's some real goddamn honor, right, Jake?" you repeat, angrier this time, wanting more than just some watered down reaction from him. If there's one thing that pisses you off about Jake, it's that you've never gotten anything more than what he's conditioned himself to respond with. It's like he's locked up in this stupid box of his and the most you can ever get out of him is a glance. You want him to be angry with you.

"That's enough." His jaw is tight, and you can tell that even despite his lowered voice and rather subdued demeanor, you've hit a nerve.

"Admit it. Admit that you—“

"(Y/n)." His voice adopts a seriousness that you've never heard from him before. It sounds almost dangerous.

Jake steps towards you and for a moment you think you've won. And then in the moment following that, you actually think that he's going to get physically angry with you. Your heart stalls. Jake's a big guy, a naval aviator, and no matter how good he sells himself to be, he could hurt you if he wanted too. You would never have pegged him as someone who would put his hands on a girl, even after only knowing him for a week, but a man is a man, perfectly ironed uniform or not.

Only he doesn't. Instead he steps into your space and leans in closer than you've ever been before. His hand presses into your back, firmly pulling you into his chest so that you have no choice but to shift closer to him, your bodies molding together. "I said that's enough. They can see us arguing."

The press of his mouth to your ear conceals the exchange of your conversation from the listening table. You can smell his cologne on the starched collar of his uniform.

"I don't care if they see us—" Pushing your palm into his chest, you try to reestablish the distance between you, but like a brick wall, Jake doesn't budge.

"You realize that we have to make this look real?" he hisses. "From here on out, they're watching everything we do. The government is watching everything we do. Do you understood that?" His voice is tense, and it sounds more urgent than angry now.

Standing there, you realize his heart is thumping heavily beneath your palm. His body is uncomfortably rigid, like a scared dog waiting for its owner to show up and see the mess he's made. Behind you, the table has gone relatively quite. Rooster murmurs something along the lines of, "It's a little early for there to be trouble in paradise already."

Someone—Coyote—responds, "I don't think he thought this through, man. They won't last two weeks."

Jake's eyes meet yours, and you know he can hear them too. You swallow, trying to relax a little in his grasp. He's right, you have to make this look real, and fighting right off the bat doesn't exactly look good.

"Are they still looking at us?" You finally ask, leery now to even speak too loud.

Jake breathes a sigh of relief beside your ear, taking your sudden quiet as cooperation. "Yeah, just keep talking, okay? Act like we're working it out."

Despite trying to appear more comfortable than you are, you don't move your hand from his chest. The coarse material of his dress whites rises and falls steadily beneath your palm. It's calming in a sense, and you try to focus on its rhythm rather than the fact that you're so close that you can feel the heat of his mouth beside your ear.

"Still looking?" You ask after a few moments pass.

He hums. "Yep."

"Well then what do we do? We can't just stand like this forever." The longer you stand together, the more details you become aware of. Like the fact that his face is freshly shaven against your cheek and that he must have brushed his teeth before this because his breath smells like Listerine.

"Look at me."

"What?" You ask, your brow furrowing as he pulls away. His hand that had been holding your waist firmly in place lifts to grip your jaw.

"You're going to have to kiss me," he explains, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

"What?" Before you can even protest, he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. Without the time to process what exactly is happening given your state of alarm, all you can do is go along with it. His lips mold against yours in what might be the most borderline tame kiss you've ever had. Despite this, you are reluctantly surprised to note how good of a kisser he is. It's just forceful enough to let you know he's in control but not so much that it's unpleasant. His lips are full and taste vaguely of his mouth wash.

You don't kiss him back.

It makes no difference to the group behind you whether you actually kiss or not; they can't tell from this distance and all they have to do is believe it happened. It's more for your own self preservation than anything. It's one thing to play the part, it's another thing to get caught up in it and catch feelings. And with Jake Seresin, that was a dangerous game to play. You'd already felt it, him prying his way under your skin when he'd held you at the table and the smell of his cologne filled your sense. It would be that easy.

To his credit, Jake lingers just long enough to make the kiss believable before pulling away. Even si, it still feels uncomfortably long. He leans back and you don't miss the fact that he wipes his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath, looking away.

"Jake..." you begin, immediately feeling bad, but he stops you.

"Whatever, (Y/n). It's fine." He won't look you in the eyes now. You turn to look over your shoulder, desperate to get yourself out of this increasingly bad situation .

"They're not looking," you say, finding the table now amicably chatting with each other rather than focused on the two of you. The sudden PDA must have finally diverted their attention. "...you can step away now."

"Right," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. Jake drops his hand from your waist and steps back like he's glad to finally put some distance between the two of you. So much for making this look natural.

You return to the table shortly after, in hand to make it appear as if you've made up and smiling tightly when Bob cheerily welcomes you back to break the awkward silence. Once seated, you drop each other's hand beneath the table immediately. The rest of the evening is spent avoiding contributing to conversations that involve the other. If anyone notices, they don't comment on the fact that the two of you hardly look at each other for the rest of the evening, and somehow you manage to put up an otherwise happily married front.

When a few of the guys finally get a little bit too drunk, specifically Rooster, you're all too happy when Natasha calls it a night. Because they ship out the next day, Jake drives you back to the hotel where all of the married couples have rented out a room for the night. Apparently it's a tradition or something. You make the drive in silence. You let him check into the room and carry both of your bags up, disappearing into the small bathroom to splash cool water onto your face. It helps to ease some of the tension from this evening. Leaning over the sink, you watch the water swirl down the drain.

Is this crazy? This is crazy, right?

Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands when you step out. He's taken off his hat and suddenly he seems a lot more fragile than he was a few minutes ago. There's a softness to him, something having been previously concealed by the precise styling of his hair and tense pull of his set jaw. Before you can break the silence, he sucks in an uneasy breath.

"Hey, we need to talk about something. Um, you know... in case I..."

In case he doesn't come back.

You swallow, looking down at the ground. After tonight, after he's kissed you, all of this is starting to feel a little bit to real. What the hell happened to pretending? This was all supposed to be pretend. "Jake, please don't do that—"

He stands up from the end of the bed, and you notice the folded paper in his hands. "This is all of my personal information, you know, bank accounts, passwords, phone numbers... Anything you might need if something happens to me." He says it all as if it's so normal, but you can hear the apprehension in the thinness of his voice.

Already, you're shaking your head as he hands you the letter. "Jake, please. I don't want that." Your heart is pounding and all you want to do in the moment is go back in time and never have agreed to do this in the first place. This was insane. What were you thinking? Like you were going to put yourself through this again?

"(Y/n)—“ Jake tries, interrupting your spiral of thoughts.

"I said NO, Jake," you snap, stepping back from him and the letter. There are tears burning at the backs of your eyes, like you might burst into a hit of hysteria at any moment. "I change my mind. I can't do this..."

Jake's eyes glance from you to the paper in his hand and then back to you, and then he drops his outstretched arm with what sounds like a laugh. "Right. Not like we're fuckin' married or anything." He releases a puff of air from his cheeks and runs his hand through his hair like he's contemplating pulling it out. "Do you know how screwed we are if anyone finds out about this? Do you, (Y/n)??" he asks, his voice rising to a concerning level. "We're done!"

"Jake, I—"

He tosses the letter onto the bed and sits back down with a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. When he finally speaks again, his voice had lowered to a more acceptable volume. "It's a bit too late for you to back out now. If the Navy finds out about this— if anyone one finds out about this, I could lose my job. We could both go to jail."

Silence settles over the two of you as Jake sits on the bed, staring at his feet, and you stand there in the middle of the room, willing your heart to stop pounding in your chest. You need to get out of here before your heart implodes. You turn and grab your coat from by the door.

"Where are you going?" Jake asks, his voice tired and annoyed.

"I need some air," you say, shrugging on your coat and opening the door. He doesn't try to stop you on the way out.

You regret the decision the second that you walk out the door. Now that the sun is gone, it's freezing outside. Your original plan had been to go for a walk to clear your head but you doubt now you'd make it very far. Walking down the stairs and out into the nearly empty parking lot, you look around, considering whether or not you would survive the trek to a gas station. When you realize you've left your phone back in the room, you decide against it. You aren't dumb enough to walk in the dark alone. Instead you head towards Jake's truck, which is parked out by itself at the end of the lot. To your surprise, you find it's unlocked and the door swings open when you tug on the handle. You climb in and the switch to lock the door behind you. Even the inside of the car is cold but at least it's out of the wind. You hug your knees into your check and tuck your chin into them, curling up in the driver's seat to keep warm.

And then you just sob.

It's the kind of sobbing that starts long and drawn out and then escalates into the rapid breathing that happens when you can't get enough air into your lungs and it feels as though there's an entire golf ball stuck in your throat. You haven't cried this hard since you were a kid—since your first brother died. You didn't cry the second time, didn't allow yourself to feel anything the second time because you knew there wasn't going to be anyone to pull you back together if you did.

At least being away from all of this had allowed you some time to forget, even if for just a moment, that they were gone without having to be constantly reminded. You had moved to put as much distance between yourself and the Navy as possible. Because that way life wouldn't get the chance to take another person from you in the same way. Looking at the ring on your finger now, that's exactly the opposite of what you had just done. This was just supposed to be until you could get back on your feet, and if it helped Jake out in the process then great. Now that you think about it, it was stupid of you to think that you would be able to make it through this with out catching feelings for him.

Now you're going to lose him too.

You cry until you almost make yourself sick and then some more. Your sobbing is interrupted every few minutes when you choke on your own air and have to swallow the golf ball that is lodged in your throat so that you can breathe. You're not sure how long you sit there just crying. Surely at least an hour has passed. By the time your sobbing has slowed, your head hurts and your chest aches enough to be sore.

Knock knock knock

You jump at the noise, head shooting up from between the bracket of your knees. It's dark outside, the parking lot just barley lit in a wash of grey by the moon. Even so, you can make out Jake's broad figure in the darkness.

"Open the damn door." His order comes out in a puff of frosty condensation that warms a spot on the window, his voice only partially muffled by the barrier. His shoulders are hunched against the cold, the upturned collar of his coat doing little to protect him from the brutal conditions.

For a while you just stare at him through the window, swallowing back the spit in your throat.

"Open the door," he repeats, knowing better than to think that you can't hear him. If only locking yourself in his car was the solution of all of your problems. Reluctantly, you reach over and click the lock, slowly rolling down the window.

After it stops, you stare at each other through the open car window, separated only by the frame of door that he could now easily reach out and open. His soft brown hair is mushed and in disarray, nose and cheeks tinted pink form the chill. The pleasant green of his eyes is mostly hidden as he squints against the wind.

Finally, you suck in a breathe, your chest shuddering. "I cannot do this," you stress, all of the fear that you've been shoving down now presenting itself in a singular sentence.

Jake sighs, his face softening to reflect a look of sympathy. "Look, I promise you, it's not that bad. You'll come with me to the carrier when I ship out tomorrow, we'll hug each other goodbye, and then you won't even have to see me for a couple of months. It'll be like none of this ever happened. And when I come back... we'll figure it out. Okay?" His voice is soft and understanding, like he's talking to a child.

You stare at the dashboard, your stomach still churning anxiously. "That's not what I'm... It's not you, Jake." Quite the opposite. "I lost my brothers to the Navy. Both of them. And I don't think I can take losing anyone else."

Immediately Jake's face falls as he puts everything into place. Your initial distaste for him, your furious outburst at Hard Deck, your reluctance to have have anything to do with the Navy... "I—God, I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I had no idea."

You shrug, calming down now that you've finally let go over everything that you've been holding in. "I asked Natasha not to tell you. I just thought that I could get over it so what was the point in even telling you?"

The wind blowing into through the open window is bone chilling and so you can only imagine how cold Jake is standing outside the car. For a while there's only the sound of his quiet breathing.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, (Y/n)," he says into the darkness.

"How can you be so sure?"

Hands shoved into his pockets, body braced against the wind, he shrugs. "I'm not. But if I didn't tell myself that every morning, I'd never get out of bed."

Sighing, you pull the handle on the inside of the door. "C'mon, it's fucking cold out there."

Jake huffs as if to say, you're telling me, and grabs the handle to pull open the door. Only instead of climbing in, he steps further inside the door and grabs your head in his cold hands so that your faces are mere inches apart. "I mean it, kid. I'm not going to leave you, alright? You just gotta trust me."

Looking into his eyes, you know he means it. For the second time since you've known Jake, you really see him. Standing before you is the same man that you saw in both of your brothers. Granted, they were much younger than he is now, but you get it. You'd been trying to see him as anyone else other than the brothers you lost, praying that it would hurt less, but you can't make someone into something they're not.

"Okay," you whisper. "I trust you, Jake."

You're awake hours earlier than what you're used to in the morning, but that's only because you had glanced at the alarm clock at half past three and realized that you only had few hours left with Jake. The both of you had returned to the hotel room and changed in comfortable silence, slipping into the single bed together without a word. Jake had reached over and pulled you into him without so much as a second thought. Now his body is draped heavily on top of yours, his nose tucked into your hair as your fingers trace along the bare skin of his exposed back.

You switch between staring at the ceiling and watching the numbers change on the alarm clock, trying to think about anything other than the fact that Jake would wake up in about an hour, you'd drop him off at the carrier at six, and that would be it. You'd only just gotten him and now you were going to have to let him go.

When Jake's alarm does go off, you're more emotional than you thought you would be, but Jake seems to be fine, dutifully putting on his uniform and carefully packing all of his bags, so you try to put on a brave face. You move slowly, dragging out the process of getting dressed as long as possible just so that there's no excuse to leave for the dock any sooner than you have too. After you're done getting ready, you watch him shave once and then again for good measure before he ultimately decides that you've both wasted enough time putting off the inevitable.

The drive there is silent as well and would have been unbearable had Jake not reached over the consol to reassuringly squeeze your hand. He doesn't let go of it until you pull into the crowded port. Between people trying to get their things on board and a bunch of teary goodbyes, it's beyond you how you manage to find the Dagger Squad in the midst of the chaos. Fanboy and Payback are saying goodbye to their families while Rooster and Natasha chatter excitedly with an older man also dressed in naval attire, the name plate on his uniform identify him as 'Maverick'. It's all so overwhelming that only when Jake squeezes your hand again do you realize that it's time for you to say goodbye.

Reluctantly, you turn towards him, interlocked hands swinging between the two of you. He does his best to smile, and to his credit, it's not entirely fake. "Well," he sighs. "This it it."

"For now," you add, returning his soft smile as you look up at him.

"For now," Jake agrees, his smile brightening now that you seem to be okay also. He pauses, just staring down at you for a moment before he adds, "Are you going to let me kiss you?"

You smile, answering him this time without hesitation. "Only if you keep your promise."

Jake's large hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling your chin in his palm as he leans down to you. "I promise," he murmurs before pressing his mouth to yours, perhaps even more tender than he did the first time at Hard Deck. Only this time you reciprocate it, chasing his mouth as you lift up on your toes and run your fingers through the back of his hair. Groaning, Jake sighs into the kiss. It's dizzying and you don't know how it's possible to put all of the passion that you've been holding back into one kiss, but somehow you do. His lips are soft and you have to shove down the urge to grip his hair and demand him for more, because it by some miracle occurs to you that you're on a ship in front of hundreds people.

Jake's the one to pull away, his eyes shining and pink lips slightly more swollen than they were a minute ago. You can't help but laugh, wiping away some of your lipgloss from his mouth with your thumb. "Goodbye, Jake."

"Goodbye, (Y/n). And don't forget, I'll see you soon."

#top gun maverick #top gun fic #topgun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n

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antidictaphobium · 4 months

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maybe this is a hot take but i actually think fat people who are "responsible" for their own fatness are literally fine. like there is no argument i can make that proves it is worth ostracizing someone for their fatness, let alone challenging someone's bodily autonomy over it. what's it gonna do, prove to the young and impressionable that it's actually possible to be fat and happy?

for one, it's been proven that fatness usually has more to do with hormones and biological predisposition than someone's everyday habits, and most weight loss diet and excercise routines are not only very unhealthy but also don't last in the slightest. and even if that weren't true, why does it matter so much? why does someone have to have a "good reason" for being fat? why must we prove we're one of the good ones? why must we prove we're trying to be something other than fat to be valid?

to all the fat emotional eaters, fat people who are fat because they love food, fat people who gained weight on purpose or on accident, fat people who don't like traditional excercise or cannot access it, fat people whose doctors tell them all their problems stem from their fatness, fat people who have been fat their entire lives and fat people who just became fat recently, to all the fat people who are fat due to illness or personal habits or for no apparent reason at all, you are lovely. your fatness is not shameful. you can be beautiful and cute and sexy and confident and loved without proving you deserve to exist. you deserve to exist as is.

fat is not a dirty word. my fatness is not dirty, and neither is yours. you don't stop being loveable if you're the reason you're fat.

#just been hearing some shit takes about fatness and fat people from friends/family/coworkers over the get-together season #anyways if anyone has some good fat positivity send it my way #fat positivity #fat pride #fat positive #body positivity #bodypos

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milkstoner · 10 months

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Malleus is 178, and if the story of Twisted Wonderland is set in 2020, he was born in 1842, you know, the very middle of the 19th century. In the human history of the west, we associate those times with progress and revolutions in art (impressionism in france), science (darwin), geopolitics (japan opening its borders)… these are the first hundred years of the mass society, modernity, in constant expansion. There was a conscious shift in paradigms. Everything started happening so fast.

Malleus’ birth must have symbolized those same values for the fey of the night. It was probably a miracle to the people, seeing as it was confirmed a dragon egg hatches with the help of its parent’s love. Because of reasons that haven’t been confirmed yet (many speculate Lilia drained his magic for a few hundred years), the little prince is born and he will bring a new era when the time comes. It seems the pressure is on for Malleus to act older than he is. As such, it’s no surprise that Malleus will prematurely refer to himself as a king, as evidenced in one of his magic3 lines as well as one of his dorm card homescreen lines. Lilia also refers to him as a king in the Savanaclaw localization.

His physicality doesn’t help; I don’t need to remind you that Malleus already is regarded as one of the most powerful mages ever. In a voiceline, Malleus says that to be a leader, all you need to do is show your power. He and many others seem to associate power with maturity… but I see Malleus’ as modernity, constant change, which, in the wake of the mass society during the 17th century, is young. He still has many many years to live and his strength will only be greater. This is not yet his prime. But that sheer power is inherited from a family tree which is ancient and whose roots are his very veins. The wrath of Maleficent when she cursed Aurora is Malleus’ heartbeat. If historiography can’t convey myths and legends and tales accurately, Malleus’ hands, his wings, his eyes will remind all of the Thorn Fairy’s former glory.

But if the constant fandom jokes about Malleus being a manchild are anything to go by, we all know he is mentally a boy. He is young, you know, he is a paradox and an anachronism; his psychology evokes the constant anxiety and fear of judgement of the middle ages, the misery, the catacombs, the plague, it seems like we are at the very start of the concept of civilization, entire peoples are decimated by illness, and this goes on for a thousand years. Malleus is jaded, bored, he is far too powerful and everything is so dull, the days blend together and he insists he is a grown man and he needs no patronizing, he sees those around him as babies, but the middle ages are decay and artistically stunted, much like Malleus’ mind, because he doesn’t want to lose, he’s afraid, and when you are a child everything you feel is so vivid and intense and you feel like everyday is the end of the world.

So to answer the question; is Malleus young or old? The lines are blurred. He doesn’t know anymore.

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #malleus twst #twst malleus

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seoafin · 5 months

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dog days are over | chapter seven

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): no word count: ~6.8k

fic masterlist read on ao3

You listlessly play with the spread book in front of you, tugging at the corners of the page as you mindlessly stare at the text. Nothing is comprehended. After a few more minutes of trying to pull your concentration together, you give up. Pushing the book back, you lean back, bleary eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the library, and sigh.

Your temples throb, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

It's been a while since you’ve been pressed for sleep like you are now. You stay awake through the night, catching an hour or two of sleep when exhaustion overtakes you. Through it all, Go stays awake with you, and the two of you have taken to watching animal documentaries together.

The nights are long and constant, but you aren’t alone.

You’re thinking about getting another fruit shaped bed for Go and a few other enrichment activities, when a giggle draws your attention back to reality.

You blink.

Another giggle soon joins the fray.

Smiling, you get to your feet and follow the badly stifled laughter. You finally peer around a tall stack of books to find Mimiko and Nanako crouching down, hands pressed to their mouths as giggles wrack their bodies.

You attempt some semblance at being stern. “Did you girls escape Yaga-sensei again?”

A wide, mischievous grin stretches Nanako’s lips. “We did!” She announces, delighted. “I bet the old man’s running around wondering where he lost us!”

She and Mimiko dissolve into giggles once more.

The old man…

You can’t help but be fondly exasperated. Undoubtedly Satoru and Suguru’s influence. Their words rubbing off on their young, impressionable minds. You should expect better from Suguru, but you don’t.

You kneel down to face them. The delight on their faces is palpable. You can’t help but feel a little better, seeing them laugh like the children they are. If the two of them are here then that means…

They must have been dropped off in the morning. Your heart quickens at the thought of encountering them. They must be upset at you, over your nonsensical outburst, and at the thought of it all, apologies instinctively jump to your tongue. You bite them back.

Mimiko and Nanako exchange a glance. The motion makes you think of Satoru and Suguru, and for a sudden you think you’re seeing doubles.

Nanako momentarily lowers her gaze before speaking. “Are you and papa fighting?”

You blink at her.

Nanako’s eyes are wide with a sadness that wouldn’t look out of place on a beaten dog. “Papa and Satoru are really sad you’re mad at them.”

Mad…

Your mouth is dry. “That’s…”

They stare at you, forlorn expressions matching. “That’s not it,” you force out. “It’s…a lot more…difficult to explain. I’m not mad.” Anger has always been a foreign emotion to you. You’ve never had the means to sustain something as ever permanent as anger. You’re ill suited to it.

Nanako brightens immediately. “Really? When are you going to move into our apartment?”

Mimiko asks, “Are you going to have babies?”

“I want a younger brother!”

“And a sister…”

“That’s not…” your face vigorously heats. It seems you weren’t as discreet as you wished. You’d have to…talk to Satoru and Suguru about being more careful. After you build up the courage to face them. “We’re not…” You clear your throat. Better to clear up any misconceptions right now. “It’s true that something happened, but it’s not like that,” you say firmly. “I promise.”

The two of them go momentarily silent, understanding the weight of a promise from your lips.

Mimiko gazes at you discerningly, in a way that has always reminded you of Suguru, her quieter disposition making her no less of a force. “You don’t love papa?”

Nanako leans into you. “Or Satoru?”

“Of course I love them,” you answer truthfully, even though your stomach tightens.

“But…not like that?” Nanako leans in closer, gesturing for you to lend her your ear. You incline your head down. In your ear she whispers, “Nao-kun at school told Kana that he loves her and that they're going to get married. Do you love Papa and Satoru like that?”

You stare at her, eyes wide. The twins tilt their heads to the left in one synchronized movement you’re sure they aren’t even cognizant of. You feel sick all of a sudden, hands sweaty and head spinning. “It’s not like that,” you say quickly. It’s not like that. Not like that. You’d never…not with Satoru and Suguru. Never with Satoru and Suguru. You’re sure they’ve never entertained the idea either.

“If Satoru and Suguru got married to another woman, I’d support them,” you say plainly. You’re unsure how to articulate it any other way. “Because I love them. I want them to be happy.” Their happiness makes you happy. Despite it, you smile, reaching out to ruffle Mimiko’s hair, and then Nanako’s. They light up at your touch. “This is something for the adults to worry about, okay?”

They don’t look convinced. When Nanako, once more, opens her mouth, you hurriedly rush to change the topic. “Have you two eaten?” Suguru would’ve sent them off with breakfast, but it’s already nearing late afternoon. They must be hungry.

Mimiko nods. You notice that her long dark hair is styled with her pretty silver clip. Nanako's blonde hair is tied into a slightly curled ponytail, complete with a pink bow. Suguru must have done their hair this morning, just as he does most mornings. Both accessories must have been gifts from Suguru. He spoils them. The thought brings a smile to your lips.

“Alright,” You jump up. “Shall we go get lunch?”

Mimiko and Nanako stand, the two of them taking your hands on either side of you as you make your way to the cafeteria. Nanako is recounting her week at school and the messy love lives of her elementary classmates, including the three boys that had confessed their love for her and asked her to be her girlfriend to which she responded that no boy would be able to match her papa in any way. Mimiko nods seriously in agreement.

You’re in the middle of asking which suitor suits her tastes the best when you hear your name from behind. You turn.

Sasaki is in a dark emerald kimono that reminds you of Megumi’s eyes. The delicate fabric is decorated with embroidered auspicious cranes, one of which spans the length and curve of her leg, silver colored, eye black.

“Sasaki-san,” you greet with a smile. Of all the places to see her, you didn’t think you’d see her at jujutsu tech. “It’s been a while.”

“Please,” she replies, “Call me Kumiko. It seems wrong to have a friend of Geto-sama and Gojo-sama’s to address me with formalities.”

“Kumiko then,” you agree. You look down at Mimiko and Nanako and lightly squeeze their hands. “I’m not sure if you’ve met, but these two are Mimiko and Nanako.”

“Hello,” Nanako says, gazing from Sasaki to you. When you smile encouragingly and nod, she says, “I’m Nanako, and this is my sister Mimiko.”

Mimiko stares at her quietly.

Sasaki beams. “I’ve heard of you two. Geto-sama’s wards.” She kneels down to their height. “My name is Kumiko. Please feel free to refer to me as such. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other more often from here on out.”

“We were just about to go to the cafeteria to get some food,” you say. “Would you like to join us?”

Sasaki brightens. “Of course.”

The short walk to the cafeteria is in silence, Nanako having fallen suspiciously quiet, and your attempts to get her to recount her story about Kouta-kun getting in trouble for not feeding the class fishes shut down.

“They’re a little shy around new people,” you explain as the girls have gone to get lunch, trays in hand. The cafeteria is empty, save for a few auxiliary managers milling around. “But they get over it quickly. When Nanako gets going she doesn’t stop.”

Sasaki is understanding. “Of course,” she says. “It’s only reasonable considering their…” something like sympathy dabs at her face, “history.”

History.

You suppose that’s what it is now. You can only hope the scars on their hearts have mostly healed, but you also know that sometimes they wake up in cold sweats, scrambling into Suguru’s arms and clutching him tightly. They love him. They adore him with a hero worship you’d be more worried about if you hadn’t known Suguru to be the good person he is. In their eyes, Suguru can do no wrong, so when he holds them close and tells them that the ghosts of their past are just that, ghosts, they believe him.

But you also know some things never heal.

They’re still young, you think. Unlike you. You never learned what it means to leave things in the past. They’ll learn from your mistakes.

“Are you here on business?” You ask.

“Oh my, the only business I’d ever be conducting here would be marriage talks,” she says goodnaturedly. “I’m with my elder brother. He’s here for a meeting with the elders that came in from Fukuoka. I was told to accompany him by my father, but I’m afraid even I cannot wait several hours with immunity,” she smiles, and you are once again taken by her good looks. She simply doesn’t look human, even more up close. “I was bored,” she states, mirthful. “I was hoping Geto-sama or even Gojo-sama would be here today.”

“I see…” you glance at the clock towards the entrance of the room. “If you wait until a little later, I’m sure you’ll catch them when they come to pick up the twins.”

She looks surprised. “They personally come to pick up the children?”

“On most days. Sometimes when Suguru and Satoru are busy, I drop them off. Or Shoko if she finishes a shift early. But usually either Satoru or Suguru try to make it.” Sometimes, when it was impossible for anyone, an auxiliary manager. But Suguru doesn't like the idea of strangers taking the twins home so often times than not Ijichi is made to drive the twins home. He doesn't mind it too much. You made sure to talk to him about it. In fact you'd say he's fond of the girls when they aren't tormenting him.

“Most men wouldn’t take the time out of their day.”

You can’t really speak to that, but you suppose the elites have always had their own way of doing things, far removed from your own experiences. Either way, you’ve always been alone. You don’t remember your father’s face. Not anymore. Only the hurt he left you with.

She studies you, dark eyes intentful. “Geto-sama is a kind man.” A light smile touches her lips. You can’t help but think it looks sad. “My brother was…” she hesitates, “not pleased when Gojo-sama did not come to the marriage talks our families arranged. If it weren’t for Geto-sama…” Clearing her throat, she forces a smile. “I thought he was lovely.”

You can’t help the pride blooming in your chest. Suguru is lovely, you think. The kindest and one of the best people you know. You shouldn’t have blown up at him, at Satoru. Your heart grows heavy.

“Suguru’s a good person,” you agree. “Satoru too.” Although people may not think it at first, too cowed by his presence.

“That’s…reassuring to hear,” she says. Her gaze turns contemplative. “The two of them make quite a pair…”

Before she can finish her train of thought, the twins return with bento boxes.

Nanako pushes a third box in your direction. “This one’s yours!”

“Oh, I’m fin—”

“Papa says it’s important to make sure you’re eating,” Mimiko says, opening hers. “He and Satoru say you always forget.”

“Is that right…” you say, exasperated. Luckily, there’s an extra chopstick inside. You offer a pair to Sasaki. “Hungry?”

“I’ve eaten,” she politely inclines her head. “Thank you for offering.”

As you start on your tempura, Sasaki asks the twins about school. “Do you enjoy it? School with civilians. It’s not…odd?” To be leading separate lives, she seems to say.

Nanako shrugs. “It’s just school. Megumi’s school seems more fun though. Megumi once beat up a sixth grader for picking on Tsumiki when he was in fifth grade! And the bully came back with middle schoolers, Megumi beat them up too!”

You sweat. You remember that particular incident, and the accusations of delinquency flying out of several mouths. Satoru and Suguru had shared a long laugh over it. In front of the principal, and the offending student’s father.

“The Zenin heir,” Sasaki mulls. You’re glad Megumi isn’t here to hear that. “The three of you don’t attend the same school?”

“I thought it better for Megumi and Tsumiki to stay at the school they were originally enrolled in. We enrolled the twins at a school closer to the apartment,” you say. “But you two want to get into Tsumiki’s middle school, right?”

They nod. Megumi didn’t care as much, something that chagrined Tsumiki. But to you, it only seemed natural he would follow his older sister. The three of them would easily test into the school. It wasn’t as much of a worry.

“Forgive me for being curious,” Sasaki says shyly. “I was only ever homeschooled so the likes of regular school is beyond me…”

You don’t think she missed much, but then again, your own memories of elementary and middle school don’t inspire any great, memorable feelings within you.

Mimiko looks from you to Sasaki. “Are you two friends?”

You’d hate to presume. “Sasaki-san is much more a friend of Suguru’s than mine.”

Nanako perks up at Suguru’s name. “Papa’s?”

There’s a light blush on her face. “Oh,” she breathes out. “I would hate to be presumptuous…or take advantage of Geto-sama’s kindness…”

You smile. “That’s nothing, I wouldn’t be worried. Suguru’s a lot less formal than he seems.”

“I see…” a pleased expression settles on her face.

You feel someone approaching, and in your peripheral you see a man in a suit.

Sasaki straightens immediately as the man bends down to whisper into Sasaki’s ear. Expression formal, she stands.

“I’m afraid my brother is calling for me,” she says apologetically. “I have to take my leave, but thank you for entertaining me.”

“Anytime,” you reply.

You can’t help but think her steps look heavy as she walks away, the man trailing after her.

When you turn back to the twins, you say, “What did you think of Sasaki-san?”

Nanako shrugs.

Mimiko eats her bento.

“It's important for you to meet new people,” you say softly. You wonder how you can phrase it in a way they can understand. “One day, there might be someone new in Suguru and Satoru’s life.”

Mimiko peers up at you. “Not…you?”

“Not me,” you agree. If not Sasaki-san then someone else, but you’re sure Suguru is fond of her. Maybe he’s playing coy. Satoru would endear himself to her soon enough. The three of them make an unearthly attractive couple. You think of married Meiko-san, an unhappy bride, and you wonder if marriage is even worth it after all. Love is enough, and to you, it’s always been enough.

But Meiko-san too, you think, is beautiful in a way that wouldn’t look out of place at Satoru and Suguru’s side. You’ve never personally met one of Satoru and Suguru’s partners before, but suddenly it’s real. You wonder if they slid their hands over her body, if they held her, if they kissed the moans from her lips. Your face goes warm. And suddenly it feels all wrong, like you’ve done something you shouldn’t. Satoru and Suguru aren’t meant for you. You’re content just to watch them, to see them happy. A sudden feeling of shame washes over you at how you had faced Sasaki so brazenly, and innocently watched her face fill with joy at the mention of Suguru.

The food goes bitter in your mouth.

“No,” Nanako says plainly, lotus root caught between her chopsticks. “I don’t think so.”

You force yourself to smile, despite the horrible, sinking feeling in your chest. Maybe this would be an easier topic for Suguru to broach with the girls when it’s time. “Is Suguru picking you up today?”

Nanako nods eagerly, waving the screen of her lit phone. “Papa said he’d be here soon!”

Apprehension swirls in your gut.

“Mimiko! Nanako!” A deep voice exclaims from behind you.

The twins go suspiciously silent, looking anywhere but at the man behind you.

You blink at him. “Yaga-sensei, there you are.” Your old sensei’s appearance is in unusual disarray, lips sternly pursed. You wonder what wild goose chase the girls had led him on. Well, you’d feel better leaving the kids in his care until Suguru came anyway. You're relieved.

He straightens, crossing his arms in that imposing way that makes you feel as if you’re in high school again, seated in seiza, wondering what Satoru and Suguru had gotten up to that you were also getting punished.

“You didn’t think to call?” He asks gruffly, gaze imperceptible behind his sunglasses. “I thought the girls had run away.”

They had, you think. But it might not be in your best interests to mention that.

Call…

Ah. Right. You could’ve done that. You should’ve. You reach into your pocket for your phone and come out empty. Yaga-sensei stares at your hand.

He closes his eyes, thoroughly exasperated. “Some things…”

If you squint and turn your head, you could almost swear he looks fond.

As you walk away, you hear Yaga-sensei clear his throat. You recognize it as a precursor to a long lecture.

You speed up.

—

You are engrossed in a book on Heian deathbed rites when Shoko marches into the library. Your paper is on the Shoen system, but you had found a peculiar scroll — a first hand account written by a Gojo clan historian focusing on Gojo-specific funeral customs and before you knew it, you were nose deep into a whole new topic.

“This is a kidnapping,” she says. “Get up, I’m taking you home.”

Not really, you think. You’d follow Shoko anywhere, without much prompting at all. So you obediently close your book, tidy your paperwork, and pack up everything while Shoko watches with her arms folded. By the time you’re done, your eyes are blurry from the strain, and Shoko watches in dismay as you unsteadily walk over to her.

“What time is it?”

“Two in the morning,” she replies, as the two of you exit the campus and walk to the street where she’s called a taxi.

When she opens the door, you wordlessly get in. You must have slept on her shoulder, because a hand gently wakes you up soon after you think you closed your eyes. You blink dazedly, straightening, recognizing the apartment complex outside the taxi as Shoko’s.

You immediately think of Go.

“I have to go home to check—”

“I already sent someone over,” she says, opening the door. A bemused look on her face. “Your cat doesn’t seem to like men, you know that?”

You’re worried at once. Alert. “Did something happen?”

Shoko raises her phone in your face. You take her phone and scroll through the twenty pictures of a contented Go lying on a female auxiliary manager’s lap in your apartment. You breathe a sigh of relief. You don’t recognize her, but if Shoko sent her, then you trust her.

You give her phone back and wordlessly exit the car. You let Shoko lead you up the elevator and to her apartment. Standing in her chicly decorated apartment, you’re at a sudden loss of how to proceed.

“Shoko, why am I here?” Sometimes, oddly enough, you are overcome with a peculiar untethered feeling. You felt a little of it at Meiko’s wedding reception. A feeling in your gut saying you shouldn’t be here.

“We’re having a sleepover. Just like we used to.” She disappears down the hallway and returns with clothes. “You can borrow these.”

The knot in your stomach unravels, just enough that it becomes easier to breathe. Just like we used to. The two of you have been busy. You with your classes and assignments and missions and Satoru and Suguru. Her with medical school, her jujutsu duties, and everything the higher ups feel fit to assign to her as the resident medic.

You stare at the bundle of clothes in your hands and will yourself not to cry, but you can feel your eyes become watery. Everything is easier when you’re with Shoko, you think, and everything for the last few months has been too hard.

You wonder where everything went wrong.

“Thanks,” you say hoarsely, unable to meet her eyes. You abruptly turn towards the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

In the bathroom, you lift the bundle in your hands to your face. It’s soft and smells faintly of Shoko. Her clothes. You shower, wash up, and change.

You walk out back to the living room to find Shoko eating a tub of dark chocolate ice cream on her couch. Settling down next to her, she hands you a spoon and you take a large bite of it.

“I haven’t been seeing you around the campus much lately,” she says nonchalantly.

“I’ve been busy,” you reply, shooting her a weak smile. “Lots of work.”

There’s a glint of momentary suspicion in her gaze. It passes quickly as she answers, “I guess so. It’s Satoru’s birthday soon. Wonder what he’s going to ask of us this year.”

The reminder of it makes you internally wince. “A twelve tier birthday cake?”

“A life sized sugar sculpture.”

You smile. “All that and a long vacation.”

She snorts. “He’ll take you and Suguru and never come back.”

You go quiet, smile fading, and Shoko's gaze is on you.

You hold your breath, but Shoko only puts her ice cream and spoon on the coffee table, and settles back into the couch. “I haven’t met your cat yet. ‘Go’ was it?”

You might cry all over again. “He looks like Satoru,” you say. “White fur and blue eyes. I’m not sure what kind of cat he is, but he’s big.” You demonstrate how big he’s been getting with your hands, feeling your spirits lift as you tell her about how Go is the prettiest, most beautiful cat you’ve ever seen, all his habits and quirks, and how much you enjoy brushing his fur. You think he’s a little vain, gently butting at your hand until his fur is glistening and smooth to his liking, but you love that about him too. You tell her that he’ll love her as much as you do, and that she should visit when she has time.

You miss him, you realize. You’ve grown accustomed to expecting someone when you go home. You come back to your apartment and scoop him into your arms, and Go nuzzles into your neck like he’s welcoming you home.

Shoko smiles. “Next time you should bring him.”

You brighten. You think Go could do with a change of scenery. Sometimes you wonder if your apartment was too small for him. You don't want him bored. The other day you found him sleeping in one of your cabinets.

It’s been a while since you talked this much. You suppose without Satoru and Suguru, the amount of people you can confide in have dwindled. You don’t know many people, not like Satoru and Suguru and Shoko. You’ve never been good at conversing, or making friends.

The two of you talk about everything and anything. The classmate at medical school that asked her out for drinks after their exam next week. Med school relationship drama. One of the Gojo elders had approached her earlier in the week, asking for the reverse cursed user Ieiri-san, and had been disappointed upon the realization that Ieiri-san was the woman right in front of him. You tell her that it had been with Hideo that you chanced upon Go, about Haibara’s mistake, and seeing Sasaki-san at the school.

“I think Suguru likes her,” you say, thinking about Sasaki’s face softening at the mention of Suguru. “She really likes him.”

If she’s at all interested in the state of Suguru’s love life, she doesn’t show it. You don’t expect her to be. “Is that right.”

Your gaze falls to your hands. “I…” I messed up, you want to say. You had an outburst, spurred on by exhaustion and your own shame, but the words die on your tongue.

“They’ve been sulking, you know,” Shoko says plainly.

You blink, looking up at her.

“I’ve seen Satoru standing outside your library these last few days.” She gives you a look. “I saw him earlier today. He was there for over an hour looking like a pathetic, kicked dog.”

This is news to you. You thought Satoru had been in Kamakura today. “He…was…?”

You didn’t know Satoru had been anywhere near your vicinity.

“And Suguru,” she looks faintly amused, “has been just despondent in my office.”

You feel sick. “Really?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She’s using her doctor tone, you think. Pragmatic, self assured, and confidently right.

As awful as you feel, that brings a mirthless smile to your lips. “You don’t even know what I did.”

She raises an eyebrow, daring you to disagree. “I don’t need to.” Her hand reaches out to squeeze yours. Your eyes grow wet once again as you feel the weight of her gaze on you.

Meeting Suguru, Shoko, and Satoru had acquainted you with the discomfort of being seen. Before them, you had never felt particularly bothered by anyone’s opinions of you, not even when others complained to Yaga-sensei about the audaciousness of your gaze, your bluntness. But maybe that was because nobody had bothered to pay you any attention in the first place.

You didn’t understand back then, why it had even mattered in the first place. Why Satoru had thought you to be a challenge when you first met him. Maybe you still don’t. You still seem to say and do all the wrong things. Maybe you haven’t learned a single thing.

Now you can’t help but think the floor is a familiar sight to you.

You don’t want them to look at you. Maybe a part of you is afraid they’ll see you for who you really are. And Satoru and Suguru are nothing if not discerning.

Shoko moves closer to you, and you let yourself lie down, rearranging yourself so that you and her are comfortably lying down, face to face.

A comfortable silence overtakes the two of you. Shoko presses closer to you, and you can feel her breath on your shoulder before she moves flat on her back.

“It’s okay to be a bother,” she says. “You’ve always been the type to keep everything to yourself.”

You’ve never thought it necessary to burden others with your problems and mistakes. You hold them close to your heart, and hope they never hurt you again.

Shoko snorts at your silence. “You’re doing it again.”

Troubled, you say, “I’ve never really known what to say…”

“I know,” her voice goes soft. “It wouldn’t hurt to be more forthcoming with the things troubling you. I want to know, and I’m sure they want to too.”

Shoko wants to know about your problems. She wants you to talk to her. Your throat grows thick. And yet…

“It’s getting harder and harder to talk to…” Them.

You feel horrible as soon as the words leave your lips, it feels like a weight off your shoulders. You’re terrified, wanting, and self loathing. You don’t want to know how Satoru and Suguru feel about the new direction of your relationship. You don’t think you’d be able to come back from knowing they regret it. You’re already keenly aware of what you can offer them, and that already isn’t enough.

Maybe that’s why you feel choked by words every time you see them. They’re so far away from you. You’re not sure when the distance between you and them had grown into an insurmountable gap. But that’s okay. You’re content to watch them.

Shoko sighs in a manner that reminds you how she breathes out cigarette smoke, bottom lip slightly jutted out. “Yeah, well, they’re idiots.” There’s something forlorn in her gaze. “They’ve never known how to handle fragile things.”

“I…I suppose…”

She rolls over on her side to face you. “Forget about them,” she says decisively. “You shouldn’t waste another second on those idiots.”

S-scathing…

Her lips twist. It almost looks like a smile. “But you won’t, will you?”

“...”

“I know it’s been hard for you these last few months.” She throws an arm over her face and groans. “They’ve been working me like a dog. I wish they’d at least keep me at Jujutsu High,” with you . “When we were in high school, they barely sent me out on missions.” A note of distaste enters her voice. “Those two are doing their jobs too well.”

You smile, always touched. There are so many things you could say. There are important people in need of her help, just like they need Satoru and Suguru’s help. Jujutsu society relies on her. You know she secretly enjoys the work, and helping people. That’s who Shoko is.

Instead you selfishly say: “Me too. I wish I could see you all the time.”

Her lips curl into a genuine smile. She scoots closer to you, resting her head in the space above your shoulder. The air becomes drowsy, almost dream-like in the low light of a lamp resting on a cabinet, next to a vase of flowers emanating your cursed energy.

“Shoko,” you say quietly, like you're releasing a secret into the night. “When I was in Nagoya…”

—

When you leave for your apartment the next day (sad to be leaving Shoko, excited to see Go), you are in high spirits. Light-hearted happiness for the first time in months.

You slow to a stop. There's someone waiting in front of your building.

You hadn’t realized it that day, at her wedding reception, or even at Satoru and Suguru’s apartment, just how long her hair is. Down, Meiko’s hair reaches her waist. It’s styled into neat waves today, instead of being tied up.

She smiles at you, bundled up in a brown trench coat, and waves. Long fur gloves adorn her hands. She looks wildly out of place in front of your decrepit apartment building.

“And here I thought I had been lied to,” she says cheerily as you approach. “You do live here!”

“That’s right,” you answer politely, curious about her sudden appearance. “Is there something you need of me?”

“Oh nothing so serious.” She waves an easy hand. “Just wanted to invite you out for dinner next week.”

“Me?” You think this may be Meiko’s roundabout way of asking you to also invite Satoru or Suguru to the dinner too. You aren’t sure why Meiko wouldn’t ask them herself since they already seem to be acquainted (in more ways than one), but why else would she invite you in the first place? There’s not much else than you can offer her. You’d have to make clear that the most you can do is float the suggestion. You’re sure she’s overestimating how much sway you hold over your friends in the first place.

Satoru and Suguru could be a little selfish in that way.

“That’s right. How does six work?”

“Six works fine,” you pause. Next you settle on: “I’ll be sure to invite them.”

That’s as much as you can do anyway. You wonder if you’ve conveyed the sentiment well enough. If she pulls back the invitation, you wouldn’t embarrass her. You gauge her expression.

She makes a face. “Oh no. Not them.”

You blink.

“Just you, thank you very much!”

“Just…me?”

“Just you.”

“Oh,” you say, a bit awed. You hadn’t expected that.

“Besides,” she huffs. “They’d only intrude on our time together.” She takes your hands with her gloved ones. This is the second time you’ve felt the warmth of her hands. Your throat goes dry. You can’t feel the brittle chill of the weather. She smiles. “I want you all to myself.”

You swallow, stomach flipping.

Your words come out breathlessly. “Me?”

“That’s right,” she hums. “You’ll come won’t you?”

“I will,” it sounds more eager than you intended. You draw back, slightly embarrassed. "If...if you want me."

"Of course I do," she answers without a hint of hesitation.

She squeezes your hands once, before dropping them and letting you go. You’re a little disappointed. You shake yourself out of it.

She tells you she’ll text you the restaurant name. You hadn’t noticed the unmarked car waiting by the road until it pulls up close. The driver gets out of the car to open the door for her. With a wave and a wink, she’s gone, leaving you wondering if you had imagined her.

The air is oppressively heavy at Jujutsu tech. You’re unsure what the occasion is, but it must be of the utmost importance if the private cars and suited men and robed elders tell you anything. From your vantage point on the balcony of the top floor of an unused storage building overlooking the main courtyard, you can see members of the upper echelons of jujutsu and civilian society crossing to the main building, gathering for some event or meeting. Did they come from Kyoto?

Suguru and Satoru would know. The two of them are too important not to be involved somehow. A meeting discussing a wave of crimes perpetrated by the rise of curse users in Kyoto. Discussing the national security of Japan. Discussing the maintenance of Tengen-sama’s barriers. There are so many things the meetings could entail. You can expect Satoru, Suguru, and even Shoko’s schedules to be stacked for the rest of the week. Meeting after meeting after meeting.

You feel for them. In your case, you had the perfunctory meeting here and there, involving Tokyo matters on a smaller scale. Your presence isn’t required. You usually blanked through them anyway, unless they were actually important in some way. In your opinion, you believed it was better than Satoru sleeping through his.

Well, you wouldn’t be needed here. Not for the week anyway.

Your stomach is sore from your position pressed into the railing of the balcony. You figure you should head home. The clouds above you are darkening, and you can feel a storm coming on.

You straighten when you catch a glimpse of white. It’s Satoru.

Satoru’s face looks distinctly annoyed in a fashion that reminds you of his high school petulance as he heads towards the direction of the Torii gates. You squint. There are two older and shorter men dressed in robes behind him struggling to keep up to his long strides, perhaps calling out to him. Satoru ignores them, but they end up catching up to him anyway. Your gaze is glued to the scene as the men try to stop Satoru from leaving, gesticulating wildly.

That’s when you see Suguru calmly making his way to Satoru. He places a hand on his shoulder, and you see Satoru slightly relax.

Satoru raises his head. Your stomach plummets at once, and you drop to the floor, immediately erasing your cursed energy. You’re unsure if it worked. Satoru is excellent at sensing cursed energy and even better at controlling his own. Even at the distance you’re at, you’re sure he has an inkling. But you’ve always been good at knowing how to disappear. Your fine control over your own cursed energy isn’t something to casually disregard.

You decide to leave. You crawl into the storage room and don’t bother shutting the door to the balcony. Then you stand, brushing yourself off. Waiting until you’re sure the courtyard has been evacuated, you walk down to the first floor.

It’s not that late, you think. You could still take the train home instead of calling a taxi. You wouldn’t mind the walk from the school down to the city. It would only be a mild inconvenience if it rained. The thought strikes you as you’ve already made your way down the long steps and the winded road to the main road. As you contemplate retracing your steps back to the campus to grab an umbrella, a long sleek black car pulls up to the road.

You don’t pay it much mind, ultimately deciding to brave the rain. No big deal. You’d have to take a shower and dry before indulging in your daily cuddle sessions with Go though. He’s not a big fan of water. You start on your path to the train station, passing the man who had gotten out of the car flanked by two men in suits.

“You.”

You keep on walking.

“Woman.”

You stop, turning back to face an unfamiliar man. You blink. “Me?”

His nose crinkles, face easily conforming to a look of distaste. “Are you deaf?”

“No,” you reply. Not yet at least. Your eyesight might be a little impaired though. All those constant nights in the library haven’t done you any favors. If glasses are inevitable, Satoru is going to make fun of you. Suguru will be polite about it, but he and Satoru will laugh about it later. The thought both slightly depresses and tires you.

Something about the look on his face tells you he wasn’t looking for a reply. Oh.

He replies with your full name. You blink.

“—Class of 2008.”

“Yes, that’s me.” You glance at the men behind him. You had noticed them as body guards before they had even left the car. Not jujutsu sorcerers. Enough control over their cursed energy to regulate their own, but not refined enough. A higher up? Someone from an important clan. You hope he’s not expecting you to recognize him. You’ve long given up on trying to memorize things like that.

The two of you stare at each other in silence. His face tightens. “Sasaki Ichiro.”

This must be Sasaki’s older brother. Now that you think about it, they share the same hazel gaze, and the fine slope of their noses…

However, his features are encompassed by a coldness not present on Sasaki’s own.

You wonder what he wants.

“Did you need something?” You are pressed by an urgent need to hold Go in your arms. Preferably as soon as you can. You’ll make him a nice dinner tonight, in the strawberry bowl you bought just for him the other day in a ceramics shop in Ginza.

“I don’t like your tone,” he clicks his tongue, eyes raking over you with a scrutinizing edge. He must not like what he sees because a frown digs at his lips. “Are you always this impertinent with those above your station?”

You thought you had been polite, but not enough evidently. For these types, it’s always better to keep quiet and let them talk. They like to talk.

He continues. “I was merely curious. I believed there were only two others in the esteemed Gojo head’s class.”

If you’re being honest, you would’ve preferred he kept on believing that. You hadn’t corrected people when they assumed you to be in Nanami and Haibara’s class. It happened in high school often, except Satoru had been deeply offended for no reason at all, and made it a point to introduce you as his classmate to every single higher up and elder and jujustu sorcerer the two of you chanced upon, forcing you forward with a rough hand that made you almost stumble over your feet.

What? You prefer Nanami and Haibara over us or somethin’? You’re ours.

“It seems there are exceptions to be made everywhere,” he says coolly. “The exception in an exceptional class.”

With that, he doesn’t spare you another glance as he turns on his heels towards the campus of jujutsu high.

Exceptional, huh.

You watch him disappear into the trees following the path to the school. You wonder if he’ll see Satoru or Suguru or Shoko later today. He’ll offer them his respect, and probably his deference with an expression that doesn’t look like he’d like to spit at their feet.

Oh well, better you than them.

You wonder if he’ll broach the idea of marrying Sasaki to them. You hope it’ll be at least to Suguru, not Satoru. You remember the softness of her gaze, the pink blush on her cheeks, the slight, shy curl of her lips when mentioning Suguru. A lovely flower you think, made even lovelier by love.

You’re not sure how Satoru and Suguru feel about flowers, but they’ve always kept the ones you’ve given them over the years. You think it might mean something.

A droplet of water hits your cheek.

#geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ddao #m.jjk

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prince-kallisto · 6 months

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Crowley: A False Prophet and the Unholy Trinity

HEAR ME OUT, HEAR ME OUT. @overly-niche-twst makes amazing and funny memes, but as you all should know, even the memes aren’t immune from my theories. But the connection of Crowley and the “false prophet” hit me like a train. A false prophet? In a game where the religious symbolism runs rampant? And when digging into research, I was SHOOK at what I learned. I swear this is the worst rabbit hole I’ve ever gone through because of a MEME 😭

In Biblical lore, a prophet is someone who receives a divine message from a supernatural source and must share the message with the rest of humanity. This message is often referred to as a “prophecy.”

I’ve talked about Levan potentially having prophetic powers on here several times, but as a little recap, Lilia seems to hint at Levan’s uncanny foresight. Either he’s just an incredible master strategist, or Levan has powerful magic (perhaps Unique Magic, or just really good at astrology) related to seeing the future. For example, he SOMEHOW knew that Lilia and Malleus would attend NRC 500 years in the future, and taught Lilia and the other Fae a common language with humans in hopes of reuniting the Fae and humans in the future, like at NRC.

What makes me feel certain about this theory is that ravens in Greek mythology were related to Prophecy, because they were believed to be the bird of Apollo, the Greek god of prophecy. And Levan seems to be twisted from Diavolo, Maleficent’s Raven (unconfirmed but seems likely with info so far)

Technically, if the gift of prophecy was Levan’s UNIQUE Magic, it could count as a “supernatural” source, right? And if he taught and guiding the Fae with the information he saw from the future, Levan could technically be considered a prophet.

But what is a false prophet, and why do I believe Crowley is one?

(Disclaimer, I am not religious myself and am using Biblical texts from a purely analytical perspective. If you know better on this topic, want to add something/correct me, please let me know! Sorry for putting so many links here too haha, there’s just too much to talk about in one post!)

A false prophet is someone who falsely claims the gift of prophecy, or is speaking from the supernatural source of evil, typically the Devil. According to Biblical lore, the false prophet will present themselves as benevolent (Crowley “I am so kind” is that you) and weak, but have great power and evil. What I found very interesting was this line from the Bible:

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”

I’ve made theories regarding Crowley’s true nature many, many times before. My moots tease me for using this Rook screenshot so many times, but I genuinely believe Rook understands Crowley’s character.

Anyway, the TRUE enemy is one who watches from the periphery with a smile…something that Crowley always does. Always watching, but never seemingly acting. He lets everyone’s guard down by being useless, unreliable, and ridiculous, but he definitely has something up his sleeve. In Biblical lore, the wolf is considered a malevolent predator who feeds on the innocent. Like young and impressionable students, perhaps? I think it’s very interesting that Crowley refers to students as his eggs or chicks, like children that he’s “raising.” But a baby bird is one of the many symbols of innocence, and Yana Toboso herself has cryptically said how the repeated egg theme in TWST is a representation of how “Eggs are a good symbol of things that can never go back to how they were, once they have been broken.”

But what about the False Prophet? Well, I’ve recently made an analysis on how Crowley encourages the Overblots in every single book. As a little recap, he’s the one who suggests the magic duel against Riddle in Book 1, the Hall of Fame to Leona in Book 2, signs a contract with Azul in Book 3, abandons Yuu and also stirs Jamil’s hatred by making Kalim housewarden in Book 4, etc etc. He’s constantly leading these students astray in a very subtle manner. But I think he needs the Overblots to happen so Yuu can save them, so he can get the Overblot Crystals.

Additionally, Lilia mentions how historical narrative have been “twisted” to suit someone’s agenda. And judging from how everyone thinks the Disney Villains were sources of good to look up to, the manipulation from Crowley may be more literal than we think.

And if Crowley is leading these people astray for a greater purpose/higher power, this technically makes him a False Prophet. It goes even deeper when you consider his cryptic words throughout the books, as if he is seeing the future. He knows where the students are when they’re talking about important things, he knows when STYX will break in…and as I mentioned, ravens are connected to the gift of prophecy.

And guess what? The False Prophet, according to Christian lore, is part of the Unholy Trinity. TWST has a slyly repeats the theme of three, and which can noticed in NRC’s logo that may represent the past, present, and future. BUT THATS NOT WHY I WAS FREAKING OUT-

Because what does the Unholy Trinity consist of?

The DRAGON

The ANTICHRIST

And the FALSE PROPHET

In a previous theory examining religious symbolism with Meleanor and the Virgin Mary, I also concluded that Malleus Draconia is a representation of the Antichrist, especially because of the star imagery in TWST. Meleanor even refers to him as an “evil star” that would curse humanity.

But now I’m doubting this- I think I had it all wrong. Not about Meleanor being the Virgin Mary, but about who represents the Antichrist. But let me go over what the implications of the Unholy Trinity means first.

Edit: actually I never claimed Malleus was the antichrist at all in that post LMAO, I confused myself with the different names for Lucifer/Devil/Satan 😭😭😭 so technically I was right all along with claiming that Malleus is Lucifer in that post🤪🤪🤪🤪 I won’t edit out this mistake to avoid confusion in the reblogs

The Antichrist and the False Prophet are referred to as the “first and second beast,” who obey the DRAGON. But the Antichrist, aka the First Beast/Beast of the Sea, is described as “emerging from the abyss”

MALLEUS’ TITLE IS LITERALLY THE RULER OF THE ABYSS. IM GONNA- BABXBSB

Edit: I’d like to add that the Bible describes this Abyss as an unfathomably deep, dark, and boundless place, often compared to the ocean and chaos. And recently in Book 7, Silver almost succumbed to the darkness…where there was no light, no people, nothing except darkness and blot. That is TWST’s version of the Abyss, and Malleus is the ruler of it! This religious symbolism has to be intentional

I think the Antichrist actually GRIM. A supreme representation of evil thats said that appear at the END OF THE WORLD/APOCALYPSE. And if we recall the prologue, we see Grim in a horrible monster form in a shattered Mirror Chamber. An amalgamation from the Overblot Crystals, which is literally the condensed version of the Overblot, a representation of purely negative emotions.

And based on what text describes the First Beast as, he has “seven heads, appearance of a leopard, feet of a bear, and a mouth of a lion. The dragon gave him his power, his throne, and great authority.”

What’s even more interesting is that there’s an “Angel of the Abyss” known as Abaddon. His description intrigued me, as “king of a plague of locusts resembling horses with crowned human faces, women's hair, lions' teeth, wings, iron breast-plates, and a tail with a scorpion's stinger” Since this character is up to interpretation, some religious scholars say this character is the Antichrist. Again, it’s a wild amalgamation of features that sound like Grim.

The Second Beast/Beast of the Earth, aka the False Prophet, is said to rise from the earth (a metaphor for Hell perhaps) and force the world to worship the antichrist. That’s one of the definitions of the false prophet, as one who seeks to lure humanity astray alongside the Devil. Is this some crazy foreshadowing for what Crowley will do in the future?!

And once again using Biblical texts, this second beast “spoke like a dragon,” referring to his arrogance and connection to the Devil. It reminds me of Levan’s title as Ryūgan Duke Levan,” or 竜眼公レヴァーン , aka “Dragon-Eyed”

Anyway. Back to the Dragon, it’s also referred to as the Serpent. Serpents in biblical lore are incredibly important- but are also very symbolic in TWST. I’ve made an post analyzing the serpents in NRC’s logo before, but as a recap, they’re also one of the symbols of rebirth in TWST. I’d like to add that snakes also considered symbols of Wisdom, which is fitting for “Sages Island.” Some religious scholars also consider the lying serpent in the Garden of Eden to be the “first false prophet.”

But the Ancient Serpent specifically represents the “Devil/Satan/the Dragon.”

The reason why I’m doubting Meleanor being the “Dragon” in this Unholy Trinity is because the Dragon attacks the WOMAN OF THE APOCALYPSE, AKA THE VIRGIN MARY 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️ IS MY MELEANOR THEORY COMING TRUE?!? ( I’m just being delulu but please humor me)

But what’s even more interesting is that again in Revelations, it’s said an Angel with a “key to the Abyss and a chain” locks up the Ancient Serpent for 1000 years. Hm?? Malleus literally said that everyone would sleep for 1000 years in his Overblot. What’s interesting about the Angel is that he has the key to the ABYSS…is this Angel meant to be Silver?!? Silver, who has a glowing ring protecting him from the darkness, and heavily connected to a magical sword??? So he the Angel with the “key” to the Abyss, aka Malleus?

So if Crowley is the false prophet…there’s a high chance he’s behind the Overblots. And remember: the False Prophet will force the world to worship the Antichrist. Is this to foreshadow how Crowley will make the Twisted Wonderland world fall because of Grim?

So let me recap what I think this means:

The Dragon- Malleus

The Antichrist- Grim

The False Prophet- Crowley

The Angel- Silver

The Virgin Mary- Meleanor

And you know what, let’s just throwing in the idea that Yuu is the Lamb that opens the Seven Seals, which marks the beginning of the apocalypse, and the Seven Angels/Trumpets are the Overblotters, WHY NOT. A theory to elaborate on for another day…perhaps it will be a series connecting the biblical apocalypse to TWST?

🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️ANYWAY IF THE UNHOLY TRINITY THING IS INTENTIONAL IM GONNA SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST

To Joy, I got really carried away with this theory, apologies if it sounds confusing, I did NOT mean it to go this far 😭😭😭 but I swear, that was a muse moment, your meme made ALL my brain cells connect for once and I feel like I’ve unearthed something important 🫡

Of course, let me just say that these parallels are not perfect (e.g Malleus being the Dragon despite Meleanor being the Virgin Mary) and some of these characters may better fit other Biblical figures better 🫡 But since I’m focusing on the Apocalypse part, I think that is idea is working, and I’d really like to delve deeper into research!

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dotster001 · 1 year

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Diasomnia request: Reader was born in Titan time (before the gods. When the earth was still very fresh) reader's father had committed a terrible crime, which is why he was cursed to never die, to be punished forever for his crime. However, he managed to get the curse passed to Reader. How do the Diasomnia people react to the fact that Reader can never die? And that they have experienced everything that has happened so far (wars,etc) (you can do later the other dorms too if you want)

(thank you for your patience boo! I hope you like it! It's a lil angsty, and I definitely have never had existential crises like these 😅 still haven't fixed the silver pic, not sorry)

CW: angst, little to no comfort, discussions of death

At first he's happy. You are like him! You've lived a long time, and seen so many things! No wonder he was drawn to you!

Then he thinks of the loneliness he has dealt with. Sure he has Lilia, and he has Sebek and Silver now, but he remembers people who are long gone, people he has outlived. He doesn't want anyone to feel like him, and now he realizes that you are like him, he wants to help fill the void.

If you want to talk about your experiences, he'll listen quietly and just be a firm presence for you. If you don't want to talk about it, he'll make new memories with you.

Technically, you are older than him. And you know what? He's okay with that. Give him a new perspective. It's the only way to be a well rounded king.

Is he thinking about how you being an old immortal soul will make you a good co-ruler…maybe.

Same bro.

A truth that Lilia has had to learn over the years is that existence is a burden, and humans are not meant to carry it for eternity. Humans are meant to die. To rest. To move on. You must be so tired.

Like Malleus, if you want to talk about it he will listen. He'll also share his own experiences, as a general, a father, a servant, any part of his life to make you feel less alone.

He also gives you his tips for "staying young". Pranking young impressionable children is his favorite tip, but ask him about his diet plans. He promises you won't die 😊 only because you can't.

Ah, like his father. He can't really comprehend what that's like. But he has seen the exhaustion pass his father's eyes before, so he knows it must be a lot to handle.

He tries to imagine what it would be like if his own father passed his immortality on to him. How much would his heart break? How would he feel being all alone?

He doesn't really feel comfortable bringing it up himself. Knowing that he is human and will die one day, he tries not to think about his immortal family and friends who will be sad when he's gone. But if you want to talk about it yourself, he'll try to stay awake. It's not his fault and he's very sorry.

He'll make the most of the time he has with you. He'll give you lots of happy memories of him, so that when the time comes, letting go will be easier.

He is young, but he is fae. He sees his future in you.

He has also gained a lot of respect for you for living the life you've lived. Taking on a punishment that wasn't yours, living through wars, recessions, traumas, losses, and everything in between. You will never be a weak human in his mind ever again.

SHARE YOUR WISDOM, OH WISE HUMAN! TELL HIM TALES OF YOUR ADVENTURES SO THAT HE TOO MAY BE A GREAT ADVENTURER!

Sebek, they're not deaf.

He has people in his life that will fade with time. Can you give him advice? Can you be a hand to hold?

....

Tag list-@lleoll @shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0

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being-addie · 1 year

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Online aesthetics and the effects of social media trends

Let's talk about this.

How it can affect young teenagers

Open Tiktok or Instagram and everything on my For You Page now shows "How to achieve a Clean Girl Aesthetic"', "Old Money Aesthetic Hairstyles", "Cottagecore Hobbies", "How to be a Femme Fatale"

It never ends. Trends keep popping up left and right and it's inescapable.

As a young, impressionable teenager, I was, of course, naturally going to be influenced by these ever-changing trends. I'd constantly change my room aesthetic, buy new clothes, and I was never satisfied with my appearance. Why? Because I didn't look like the girls on screen.

News flash. You're never going to look like them. All that content they produce which gets 100k likes is done with excessive attention to detail, expensive lighting and sound equipment, and top-notch editing software. OF COURSE, you can't look like that. It's completely manufactured. It's heartbreaking to see young girls develop body image issues because of the constant bombarding of these "aesthetics" which are basically different beauty standards and stereotypes all wrapped up in a neat little package that is labelled "personality and style". I don't have anything against the concepts of aesthetics. I love how Dark and Light Academia is centred around learning, and how Cottagecore is all about relaxation and not conforming to being part of a 9-5 and just living life. I like how the Clean Girl is focused on being healthy and productive. What I don't like is how all these healthy things, which normal functioning humans should be doing are now turned into "trends" and you must "choose" between them.

Why it's so harmful

Fashion: Since aesthetics keep changing, you're going to find multiple that appeal to you. What happens when you discover you really like cottagecore, but your closet is filled with dark academia tweed? You turn to fast fashion. It's cheap and stylish. But it's horrible for the environment and that floral dress you're wearing was made by a woman in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, while fashion giants like Shein pocket the money.

Makeup: It's always there. Always. You cannot find a "how-to" post regarding aesthetics and makeup is not included. Its always how much blush to apply, why mascara is your best friend, blah blah blah. You know what I want to see? An aesthetic which promotes a clean, fresh face. I do wear makeup, not saying I'm perfect(yes, I wear lip tint and sometimes eyeliner), but it's the ridiculous notion that there's a specific makeup look for each aesthetic, and they say it's not very heavy, but really is concealer, foundation, blush, mascara and lipgloss light makeup?

Other: Then comes the things you should own, the bags, the shoes, the jewellery, the house decor. Did you notice to achieve the look, we're spending money bit by bit? Then you don't even realise it's made a dent in your savings.

Mentality: I hate this part about aesthetics so much. A while ago, I was really interested in Dark Academia and how it was centred around learning and studying. But everything was gloomy and dark and said I should be tired and bitter to achieve this. I'm not a serious person by nature in the first place, but here were blogs telling me to be "mysterious" and how I should be getting only 4 hours of sleep to be true Dark Academia? What is this dystopia? There's this weird obsession with how someone should behave if they like an aesthetic.

Online trends are all consumerism based. It's all to get you to blow your money on things that don't even benefit you.

There's a reason I never include and never will include tags like #clean girl or #pink pilates princess in my posts because it sort of reduces you to a certain aspect. Why confine yourself to these barriers? Wear what you want. Read what you like. The one "aesthetic" I believe in, is "that girl" which in reality is different for everyone, but boils down to being educated, well-mannered, and considerate. I will make a post on this. Being educated and kind is such a flex, not wearing one flowy white dress and "thinking" you're in a meadow. Break out of the pattern of being influenced by algorithms. Don't restrict your identity because of FOMO and the urge to be trendy. You've got this.

#self care #self improvement #self love #level up #level up journey #self love journey #glow up #college #tips and tricks #it girl #that girl #perfect #life #online aesthetics #online #social media #aesthetics

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megu-meow · 4 months

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Bulls**t - Gojo Satoru

gojo satoru x non-specified reader

I don’t think I used any gender specific pronouns or character descriptions, however, I have written this with female reader in mind.

Summary: Gojo Satoru is the king of making up stuff. There is one thing he keeps saying that is actually true tho.

Gojo Satoru is a knowledgeable guy, especially when it comes to Jujutsu sorcery and the history of it. He is also the type of person to have many interests. He spends hours learning about his favorite topics and has an opinion about everything. When people bring up stuff he doesn't know about he listens carefully and is deeply invested in the conversation, and once he has enough free time he will read and learn everything about the subject matter so that the next time he can be an active part of the conversation. That is the sole reason why people never question all the random shit he says. You see, Gojo Satoru enjoys messing with people more than anything. Hence, he makes up random facts and stories and he is insanely talented in delivering them with such confidence that they are easy to believe.

One time in high school he managed to convince Shoko that the famous J-Pop idol from the late 90s, Ayumi Hamasaki, was his half-sister. He spent 15 minutes explaining to the young healer that before his mother met his father, she had an affair with a man from Fukuoka named Netero Hamasaki and got pregnant. According to Gojo, his mother was young and had to give up on the child, but Hamasaki-san was more than willing to raise her with his wife who was unable to have children. The special grade sorcerer also explained to his classmate that his mother and Netero were not getting along, because after Ayumi became famous they started ignoring the rest of the family and they became too full of themselves. Shoko listened to Satoru's words in awe, eating up every single word leaving his lips. Two days later, a very excited Yu Haibara approached him, begging for an autograph from Ayumi, which resulted in Gojo telling everyone the truth, resulting in a deeply annoyed and humiliated Shoko.

In another instance, he made Megumi believe that he was supposed to have a pelican Shikigami right after he got his demon dogs. He also showed the young, impressionable boy a series of goofy hand gestures and dance moves that were "supposed to summon the pelican, the most powerful shikigami of the Zenin clan's ten shadows technique". Poor Megumi spent a week going around night and day, doing the insane moves taught by the special-grade idiot who was supposed to take care of him, but the pelican never appeared. However, Gojo enjoyed the situation way too much, bursting out in uncontrollable fits of laughter every time he caught the raven-haired boy while he was trying with all his might to summon his second Shikigami. Thankfully, Principal Yaga cleared the air one time he was taking care of the child while Gojo was out on a mission, however, Megumi never asked Satoru to help him with his technique again.

During their second year, as he and Geto were bored out of their minds with the recent missions they were sent to, the two convinced the higher-ups that they encountered a special-grade curse that injected them with some kind of venom that took away their cursed technique until further notice. This scheme included Shoko as well as she was the one to forge a medical report, claiming that a few days off in Okinawa or any beachy environment would make the toxins release from their bodies faster. The young healer made sure that she was included in the trip claiming that constant medical attention was an absolute must in the current situation. They spent a total of 10 days not doing anything on Jujutsu Tech's account.

Recently, as an assistant teacher, you witnessed how Gojo Satoru tried to convince the first years to do his chores, claiming that it would make them stronger. Yuji didn't question this ridiculous statement, given his circumstances of recently learning about the mere existence of the Jujutsu World, however, Nobara and Megumi knew better, instantly protesting doing his chores. Gojo Satoru is determined as fuck tho, so he managed to spend 30 minutes trying to change the stubborn children's minds until you intervened and dismissed them from class.

"Oh, c'mon sweetheart, I was about to break them." he whined, following you to the teacher's lounge like a lost puppy.

"You shouldn't lie to teenagers like that, Gojo. Especially not Yuji, he's in a vulnerable state, and he will believe everything you say. I know you like to come up with the most unhinged stuff, but one would think that your students were the limit of your idiotic shenanigans." you chastise.

"Everyone thinks my lies are funny though!" he exclaims, his voice laced with fake hurt.

"I doubt that." you whisper, your mind drifting towards all of the instances he claimed that he liked you and wanted to take you out on a date. You knew better than to believe anything coming out of his mouth, especially when he used the tone he always uses when he tries to sell one of his elaborate stories. You had to protect yourself from falling for him or his lies after all.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He recognizes a shift in your cursed energy, it falters and he knows you well enough to able to tell that it's because you're sad.

"Nothing, leave me alone, Gojo!"

"Nu-uh, you're the love of my life, I have to know who or what made you upset so that I can blast them across the universe with Hollow Purple."

"Stop lying, Gojo!"

"You think I'm lying??? I would never lie about my feelings for you!" he exclaims, now he's offended.

"Bullshit!"

"What do you mean bullshit?! I've liked you since day one, y/n!" he steps closer to you, lifting your chin up so that he can look you in your eyes. You are surprised to notice that his blindfold is lowered to sit around his neck, his cerulean eyes on full display. The two crystalline orbs reflect nothing but honesty and you even question how he was ever able to sell any of his lies when his eyes seem to be telling the truth at all times. Of course, he's always covering them when he's about to come up with his most unhinged stories, however, now he's confessing the most important truth of his life. "Do you believe me now, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice breaking, afraid of rejection. You nod shyly, blushing as you realize how close his pretty lips are to yours.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks enthusiastically and you don't answer, you just eliminate the small distance between you two, inviting his lips into a sweet dance with yours. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you closer, savoring the moment he's been dreaming about for years.

Gojo Satoru has many made-up stories and anecdotes to share, but none of them can compete with the story of your first kiss. That's one he'll be telling for a long time.

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #gojo imagine #gojo fluff #jjk x you #gojou satoru x you #gojo saturo

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short-honey-badger · 5 months

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Life Imitates Art

Heyy. So after a lil brainstorming and talking with @writingmysanity, this has been born. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Warnings! None yet!

You examine yourself in the mirror, your makeup looks good, but there is just something missing from the ensemble. You brighten when it hits you and you dip the brush into the red face paint. You lean in closer and then carefully begin to dab it on the very tip of your nose. When you are finished, you drop the brush and grin widely at your reflection.

Red has been artfully smeared across your mouth giving you a permanent smile while blue has been swiped vertically across both eyes. Crossed bones have been painstakingly painted on your forehead and your new red nose completes it. You braid your hair and then tie on the red and white striped bandana. All in all, you look like the man you admire, the man who saved your life so long ago, even if he didn't know it.

The Buggy Pirates and a group of Marines battled it out in the middle of a small town on an island in the East Blue. It was rumored that the island held riches, and that had been all that Buggy needed to hear before he and his crew had swooped in on the unsuspecting town. You, young and impressionable at the time, had watched in fascination as the pirates plundered the town.

The captain and his crew picked and marched their way through the poor district of the town, leaving the haggard weary townspeople be. You followed after them, quick on your feet after years of running from the men in the blue coats and black sticks. You followed them until they came to the Top City, where the horrible people spit at you and your hand-me-down clothes whenever you came near. You watched with rising awe as a lion of all things toppled the large doors that separated the two districts.

The raiding truly began now that the pirates were inside and chaos quickly began to consume the streets. They broke into the impressive housing and overpriced stores, stealing anything that caught their eyes. You followed the man with the bright red nose and the massive hat with blue hair? down the street until he arrived at the bank. He cackled as he demanded the owner pack their own cash and treasure up or else things would get Choppy.

Well, someone must have called the Navy because soon shots were being fired from all directions. Buggy laughed even louder and engaged in the fight, something he usually would not do, but you would come to find that out later. Turned out that not even Buggy the Clown would turn away from a fight when it would prove too advantageous to him.

The fighting didn't last long. While prosperous, the military presence on the island was small and soon the Buggy Pirates stood victorious in the streets. There were a few losses and so it was proposed that they would stay here for a while to heal and recoup. Things changed for you and everyone else on that tiny island in the month and a half that the pirates stayed. While a significant difference still remained between the two directs, the poor were not so poor anymore. Not when the pirates preferred to spend their money at the bars and shops in the harbor.

It was after Buggy left that you started to dress like him. People left you alone that way, thinking that you were a crew member left behind. You liked it, it gave you the freedom you needed, that you wanted so you could be yourself. So, you learned how to steal, how to pickpocket, and how to sail a ship. You interfered on his behalf when you could. Changing news articles and threatening reporters with your little lie about being part of the Clown's crew. You spewed lies and whispered in the right ears to throw the navy off of his trail. Buggy had set you free, and you needed to repay that debt, no matter how long it would take.

You huff. Years it would take. The longer you trailed after the Captain like some loyal puppy, the more you found out about him. Buggy the Clown was a paranoid bastard with self-esteem issues the size of the sun. He questioned anything and everyone unless they were part of his crew, and you learned that he could be cruel.

But you also see how can be kind. He frowns harshly at the state of a decaying village while the highborn nobles laugh in their high towers. How, like some fairytale antihero, Buggy gave back to the struggling outer cities all across the sea. You came to admire, maybe even love, you weren't really sure yet, the Bombastic Clown, and you would give anything to thank him. If only the paranoid pirate wasn't always one step ahead of you.

You had overheard that Buggy had left just that morning, and you cursed again for being literal hours behind him. You check your appearance one last time and then head out of the hotel room after shrugging on your long coat, ready to fish for rumors once more.

Unknown to you, this would be your lucky day, because Buggy had yet to leave. The Captain had heard about his little shadow, and boy was he eager to meet you.

#fanfic #reader insert #one piece #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #op buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece live action #fluff #smut

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recitedemise · 5 months

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𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 ��𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is very much advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own foul blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her, and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion; to the very quick of his bones, she lapped them up.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

#HEADCANON.#Oh... anyway. This. Was. A lot.#And it was a lot for me mentally and emotionally to write.#So much of this hit home.#Gale isn't perfect. He can be petty and immature—a byproduct of not being all too good at venting his frustrations when #it gets to a point. He has very bad self esteem. He is not forgiving of himself and is too forgiving of Mystra.#He endured FOR DECADES the cold indifference of a goddess he called his lover.#I know people dog on him because he's a grown man with these hurts and traumas and responses #but just because his trauma manifested in ways you don't find palatable or hot or sexy #doesn't mean they aren't scars left by trauma buddy!!!#And quite frankly that bit about God Gale sounding vindictive and angry #yeah! SOMETIMES people who have so cold and uncaring and belittling a partner #end up angry. You shoved someone into a corner and hounded them for SO LONG. Don't start crying when they rear back on you and bite #I have a deep connection with godhood Gale. But obviously a healed Gale that finds love and acceptance in himself is so much healthier.#I'm rooting for you Gale (always).#So much of this was typed up with a lot of first hand experience so... to say this was a Gale exploration #as much as a way to navigate my own trauma is an apt one.#No two tales of abuse are alike of course. Gale's experience isn't my experience. But I can sympathize a great deal.#TL;DR: This meta post means a lot to me. K. Thanks.

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