#but in my mind there was no other way to interpret that

[sgojoenthusiast]

scary? my god, you’re divine.

✧.* satoru gojo x reader.

summary:

a curse invades your home but you’re saved by none other than satoru gojo - who takes your breath away in the most beautiful way.

cw: descriptions of violence, blood, injury, psychological trauma & distress, hospitals, reader is a non-sorcerer, like one like where the reader wants to die, talks about death, not exactly love at first sight but can be interpreted as such. honestly i’m so in love with gojo so this is just me projecting. fuck 261. this may be more of me indulging in my need to write horror lol

word count: 4.4k

likes, comments & reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

The walls of your chest were closing in as your breathing gradually increased in its pace. One of your palms flew to your chest whilst the other searched for some sort of a grip on the wall beside you.

Stupidly, you had backed yourself into a corner, and now all you could do was feel the streams of tears cascade down your cheeks and land on your scrambling legs like waterfalls crashing down into the rocks below.

You tried everything you could for some sort of leverage. One hand scraped at the wall and the other at your heart whilst your legs pushed and pushed at the floor as if you could nudge yourself any further into the corner you were in.

Finding some rationality, you attempted to slow your breathing down, deciding that steady and stifled breaths would be better than attracting attention to yourself by making more noise. Though, there was nothing you could do about the sound of your heart beating erratically like it had more sense than you as it tried everything it could to escape.

At first, you had clawed your way through the halls of your home. Lights flickered, floorboards creaked, and you grunted and groaned as you fought your way through inescapable death. Yet, once you had realised every exit took you back to the entrance, and that you were in some sort of an endless maze within your own home, your mind sank into illogicality and you collapsed onto the floor as your legs gave in from fear.

It was the reverberating echo of several burly legs loitering outside the door that snapped some residue sense into your head and forced you to sit up.

There were tears staining your swollen face and it took every ounce of composure to bite your lip to muffle your cries. You wanted to scream. To wail and call for help. Yet you knew that would get you nowhere but trouble.

So for now, you hoped and prayed someone heard the sounds of slamming, glass shattering and your previous shouts and had the brilliant idea of calling the police.

But what would they do? You had seen that thing. It was horrifying. From the moment its wide, crooked smile appeared suddenly before you, a piece of you knew this would be the end. At first, you had thought you had finally gone insane. That some chord in your mind had snapped and now you had resorted to seeing things. However, when your back hit the wall across the room and you let out a shriek of agony, you knew that the monster before you was real, and so was the likelihood of certain death.

Your head suddenly raised at the splintering sound of wood snapping.

The unsettled beating of your heart ceased. The struggling of your limbs too. Each bone in your body abandoned life and shut down - refusing to move.

In front of you, the white frame of the door, decorated with faded and torn paint, had an oozing, inky smoke unfurling at a leisurely pace across the old frame, stopping shortly at the wall. In the space where the door used to conceal your existence, was one giant red eye that scanned across the entirety of the room before settling on its target - you. It blinked twice, before the door was ripped from its hinges and the wall had shrunk in size - replaced by a gigantic hole ripping through.

Soon enough the creature was crawling over to you, its legs widely shuffling across the room, scuttling closer and closer until one had slashed across your stomach, painting your top with a deep red. An agonised shout parted from your lips and your hand flew to the gash, yet you had no time to recover before another deformed limb was lifting you up against the wall by your neck.

Now, both of your hands coordinated an attack on the void-like limb, scratching and fighting at its hold around your throat in an attempt to get it off you. Your efforts were seemingly futile, however, evident by the way your vision was becoming a blur and each thought of freedom and survival was being crushed by the surface of its contorted leg.

You could only think thoughts of death, and how it wasn't coming soon enough.

Just when you thought it had ended, a radiating beam blinded your vision. The grip on your throat had been released, yet with both the ringing in your ears that muffled all other noise and the searing pain that tore through your entire body, you truly believed that you had already died. You fell to the floor once more and curled yourself up for whatever kind of familiar warmth you could acquire.

You shut your eyes tight, embracing the light they said would come to you in these final moments. But when nothing came, and the screaming wound lingered in your side, you delicately opened up one eye, moving your head slightly to look up.

There was no light. No God or unearthly being descending from above to take your hand and guide you to the afterlife. No, instead there was the back of a man. You couldn't see his face, but he was dressed from head to toe in a dark shade of blue like the hues of the night sky, and the more you stared, the more you believed you had been transported to a place you could only reach after death. However, when your eyes drifted upwards, they made out the sight of white strands of hair, and a slender hand reaching to the back of his head to undo the band of black that was wrapped firmly around it.

His hair fell down gracefully, as did one of his hands to his side, blindfold in tow, the opposite hand was raised to meet the height of his head. The sounds of his words were muffled, but you could make out an arrogant laugh and from the way the beast had halted all movements and instead opted for staring wide-eyed at the man standing in front of you, he had said something that injected fear through the monster's veins.

You could have sworn that you only closed your eyes for half a second. Yet, one blink later, and the monster's head had ceased to ever sit on its neck. The black fog that had clouded your senses and suffocated your lungs was dissipating, and there were remnants of its insides splattered on the walls and floor.

The white-haired man caught your fading gaze, and the moment his eyes connected with yours, you felt your heart slow and time stop.

His eyes.

They were angelic. Perhaps you were dead because there was nothing so heavenly like the shades of the sky in his eyes on Earth. There was nothing so remarkable, so flawless. You didn't want to blink, not even as your eyes watered and started to sting. Yet the frailty of your exhausted body refused to let you have this one thing, and so you broke the connection temporarily only to rebuild it back up again.

He began to make his way back over to you, yet you struggled to find the strength to move in order to meet him halfway. You couldn't even find the strength to move your aching body off the floor or your bruised hand of your throbbing wound. Still, with a pained wince you moved to a more comfortable position in between being flat on your back and straight on your arm.

You looked up at him from your tilted position and he kneeled down beside you. "You alright? Can you walk?"

You shook your head as best as you could, he simply stared down at you with a confusing look sparkling in the depth of his eyes - the ones you couldn't look away from.

"That's okay, sweetheart. Help is coming." He smiled at you.

Gojo was puzzled by the look on your face. For some reason, you hadn't stopped staring at him since he turned around. He assumed that perhaps it had something to do with the curse. Was it a response to the trauma you had endured? Had it cursed you? Was it him that you were afraid of? He certainly hoped not. From the moment he saw your face, albeit not in particularly amazing conditions considering you were being strangled and were halfway to death's doorstep, he felt a tingling sensation in his stomach and a pulling in his heart.

There was something about you, there had to have been for you to illicit such a reaction from every part of him within seconds of your meeting. Fuck, he prayed that he hadn't frightened you off.

"I hope I didn't scare you." He said softly, yet laughed humourlessly in a way for him to play it cool and demonstrate how you had nothing to be afraid of. With as much care and delicacy as he could muster, one hand went underneath your head, gently trying to lift you up as his other hand reached for your waist.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, as though the implications of him scaring you were nothing short of laughable. Though, as you read the thoughts behind his eyes, you could tell there was a hint of genuine concern laced within them.

This stranger, who you had never met before, felt concerned for you and had saved your life. Yet, he was anxious that he had scared you? It was a ridiculous insinuation.

"Scared me? No, it's just, that you're beautiful." Your voice was growing weaker, and just in time, you heard the sounds of more footsteps growing closer and closer. Yet your eyes focused on the way his eyes widened before he smiled, just as genuine as his concern.

"Oh yeah?" He provoked. "No need to fall for me this quickly, sweetheart. Plenty of time for that."

Ordinarily, if someone had been so bold as to suggest something like that, you would have scoffed in their face and walked away. Yet the deeper meaning of comfort he was trying to provide you with, the one that showed you that you weren't dying anytime soon, was all you needed to laugh and reply coarsely with, "We'll see about that."

The last thing you heard as you dozed off peacefully was the sound of his laugh and the feeling of his touch passing you onto someone else's.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

There was an overwhelming light above you, one that was strong enough to pierce through your eyes despite the fact they were shut tightly. The light surrounding you felt like a thousand blinding suns beaming down at you from above as though you were encased in a circle of light that was urging you awake. You groaned softly, shuffling your head to the side in an attempt to bury it in the pillow and escape from the natural, ringing alarms of the light.

A pillow? Had you been dreaming? All it took was for you to try shifting onto your side to alert you that, no, you hadn't been dreaming. You winced painfully as the realisation slapped you across the face. Everything was real. The fight, the struggle, the... the monster. A trail of goosebumps washed over your body and you screwed your eyes shut like doing so would erase the memories of what had happened.

However, once you realised that he was also real, your eyes softened and in all the darkness of what you had experienced that day, the idea that the man who had saved your life was really out there, and that monster wasn't. That realisation alone was enough to wash a sense of tranquillity and closure over you.

"I wouldn't try to move if I was you." A female voice rang out - one you didn't recognise. You had already assumed that you were in a hospital, so the unfamiliarity didn't scare or panic you. Simply, your eyes slowly opened to the sight of a brunette woman in a doctor's coat, and your suspicions had been confirmed. You wondered if she knew anything of what happened.

It dawned on you that perhaps, your situation wasn't original. The man that had saved you seemed to be experienced and knew what he was doing. However, surely you would've heard if there was a mass of monsters plaguing the Earth that you lived on.

"What happened?" You questioned tentatively, voice weak and dry. Although you could practically recall the events with no missing details, you wanted to know more about the thing that had attacked you and you hoped that the doctor would have some sort of a clue if she was the one treating you. She handed you a cup of water which you accepted eagerly, reaching your hands out and thanking her quickly before you immediately went to relinquish yourself of the dry throat that had been scratching and tormenting you since you had woken up.

You saw a pass clipped to her coat as a form of identification. The name on the pass flashed across your eyes as 'Shoko', to which you took a note of before quickly returning your gaze back to hers.

"You were attacked by a curse - and no I won't. explain what that is. You can ask Gojo." She was wandering around the room slowly, head down as she wrote down a few things. Occasionally, she would you a question in regards to your health. Her voice lowered to a tone barely above a whisper. "Sure he'd love to answer considering he's been not-so-subtly asking about you non-stop."

"What was that, sorry?" You asked sincerely, placing the cup down on the bedside table. Looking up at her, you could tell she had a tired look adorning her features, however, there was a slight smirk playing on her lips as well.

You thought more about her words. Gojo. Who was that? A curse? What does that even mean? Not long ago, you were oblivious to all of this, unaware that such creatures were roaming around.

Shoko waved a dismissive hand in your direction. "Nothing. Anyway, I'm only here to make sure that the curse left no lingering side effects that would need treatment. Luckily for you, you're in the clear. So when you're all healed up, you're a free woman."

'Free wasn't necessarily how you would describe it. You recall parts of your house being smashed up by the monster - or, curse, as Shoko had labelled it.

You had so many questions. Some in regards to the curse, others more personal and unanswerable that pertained to your future. You had no idea what you'd do once you left, and that scared you.

Shoko began to place her things into her bag, taking out a cigarette in the process and placing it between her lips as she held the lighter to her side ready for when she left.

"How long have I been here?"

She looked up at you from where she was focused packing her things. "A little under a week. You're very lucky Gojo had saved you when he did. Or else, you probably wouldn't be here."

So that's who Gojo was. You perked up a little at the mention of the man who had saved you. Even if it was just once, you wanted to see him. To thank him, at the very least. "You, uh...You mentioned something about me asking him about the curse. Does that mean he'll stop by?"

You looked down, fiddling with the sheet covering your injured body, wanting to avoid her questioning gaze that most certainly had a knowing glint in it.

She merely let out a small laugh and shook her head in something similar to disbelief. "Probably. Although, he doesn't usually find himself checking up on the people he saved." Picking up her bag, she reached for the door handle. "I've gotta head out. Feel better soon, okay?"

You thanked her once again, giving her a small wave as she headed out the door.

Truthfully, you didn't know whether or not to be discouraged by her words. On one hand, she had told you that he'd probably stop by. On the other, she mentioned that he doesn't usually. Deciding not to dwell on it too much, you closed your eyes once more as another nurse walked in to take the place of Shoko, beginning to do more check-ups.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

About a week had passed by when you were finally discharged from the hospital. During that time, your close friends and family had all come to check on you. Your best friend and co-worker had offered you her spare room whilst your house was having repairs done to it. It was a nice arrangement, considering the two of you owned a bakery together so that on the days you were feeling better you had someone who could take you down. You didn't actually start working again until about a month after you had been discharged and your injuries were mostly healed up.

There was only one thing missing. Gojo had never stopped by like the doctor had told you he might, which left you with a feeling of disappointment. You tried not to let it bother you too much, but it was difficult knowing you had never been able to thank him. Another man had stopped by, however. You assumed he had some sort of a connection to Gojo and Shoko, given that he had only stopped by to ask you to sign a form that would prevent you from being able to tell anyone about what had happened. He came very shortly after Shoko, meaning you had to lie to your friends and family by telling them it was another person who had broken into your home. You signed it anyway after he assured you it was for their safety and for the safety of others.

Now, a little over a month later, you were doing a lot better. You struggled to even close your eyes at night, sometimes, and often couldn't walk through the streets on your own. But other than that, your injuries had healed, you were far less paranoid than you were a month ago and your home was close to being ready.

You were sat at the counter of the bakery you shared with your best friend, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. It was quiet, today, only a few people wandering in and ordering something to go - with it being a Monday and all.

Unexpectedly, you heard the bell ring as the door opened. Immediately, you stood up and tucked your phone into your pocket, rushing to greet the customer. However, upon looking up to see the person who walked in, you stopped suddenly in your tracks. You blinked, yet he was still there.

You thought about him so often, your mind wandering whenever you were left alone with your thoughts for too long. You thought about the way his hair crashed across his features like waves when he took off his blindfold. You thought about how he turned to look at you with those eyes locked on yours. Those eyes - so entrancing. It was as though he had bewitched you and put you under a spell the moment he looked at you because you were so enamoured by him that you didn't dare to blink. You thought about how it was apparent that he never seemed to think about you - and that made you want to reach over the counter and slap him a little. Although, especially after he saved your life, what did he owe you? Absolutely nothing. So instead, you simply watched him walk over to you with a small smile on his face.

His coat was covered in snow from the outside rampage of white whisps and cold air. Though it wasn't incredibly obvious that there wasn't any, he shook his head slightly and a few remaining flakes of snow fell from the frozen tips of his hair. Although it was winter now, he sported a pair of sunglasses - to which you assumed it was for a reason related to why he was wearing that blindfold.

For the past month, you couldn't help but wonder whether or not his angelic presence was the result of your delirious and pain-stricken state. However, upon observing him now, you determined that he really was captivating in every way. And something was telling you that he was looking at you with the same impression, although you pushed the thought away, dismissing it as foolish hope.

You had no idea what to say to him. You had been waiting for this moment for so long, yet you never thought about what you might say. Thankfully, he decided to speak up first as he peaked over the edge of his glasses at you.

"I've been looking for you." He started, his voice seemingly breathless like he'd run a mile just to get here to you - like he was tired of looking, but his work had finally paid off. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner - when you've got a job like mine it's-"

"Thank you." You interrupted. The mention of his job had smacked some sense into you as you were reminded of what he had done for you. He looked slightly taken aback. It wasn't something he heard often, but when he did it was as though he was reminded why he did this in the first place - let alone hearing it from you. The girl he hadn't been able to shake out of his head since the moment he saw her, the one he yearned to see just one more time because she looked at him like she understood him and that was all he could ever ask for. "Can I get you something?"

Gojo smiled at that, taking you up on your offer as you grabbed him his order (on the house, of course) and finally sat down with the one you had wanted nothing more than to just sit and talk with - and you did. The two of you talked for hours, occasionally interrupted by a customer or two. You thanked him profusely to the point where he threatened to leave jokingly if you thanked him again. He explained everything to you and answered all of your silent questions for you that you had to keep close to your chest for the past month. Yet, most importantly, you talked about each other. And the more you talked, the more your heart raced and heat rushed over your entire body.

The all-powerful Satoru Gojo never expected to find himself so infatuated by somebody, yet when he saved you that day, there was an inexplicable fire that was lit from within him. He'd never seen anybody so beautiful, and he had never been recognised by anything other than he strength during moments like that. When you had complimented him, he knew from within that it wasn't solely his physical characteristics you appreciated, but also the person he was inside. He felt as though you saw inside of him just from that short interaction.

As you spoke, Gojo found himself digging around with both hands trying to find that smile you kept flashing him and when you did, he didn't so much as blink because it was so bewitching. And likewise, whenever he laughed at something you said, you couldn't prevent the satisfied smile that rested on your cheeks from the prideful feeling overtaking your mind.

Your hand wrapped around your mug, savouring the delightful warmth that radiated from it in contrast to the biting cold that howled away outside the building. The two of you were sat in a corner opposite each other, and as more time passed, the more your cheeks began to ache from your constant smile and laughter and the more you dreaded to get up when a customer walked through.

"I swear! I'm a busy man okay. I was out of town when you woke up." He sulked, his head resting on his hand with a pleading look in his eyes. You laughed at his effort of reason.

"And the month following, you were..." You prompted with a humourous tone laced into your words.

Before he could answer, his hand slipped forward slightly, grazing yours and sending shockwaves throughout your entire arm and body. Avoiding his stare, you turned away, unable to conceal your smile and the way he had your breathing speed up every second he spoke to you and touched your hand like he was. At this, he pouted, leaning to the side in an attempt to catch your eyes yet you turned even more with a laugh.

Sighing, he answered your previous question. "Shoko says I was nervous. I would argue that I was simply building tension for the plot."

You snorted at his absurdity, moving your hand back to take a sip of your drink. He sagged a bit in disappointment at your actions, yet when you placed your drink back and had your hand brushing against his just the same as before, he livened up a bit and grinned at you once more. You delighted in the way he looked at you over his glasses and smiled. It had been a while since you felt a connection like the one between the two of you, yet you had never experienced it so quickly. It was all-consuming and had you on the edge of your seat in anticipation as to what he woud say and do next.

Soon enough, the day had reached its end - and if it weren't for the sun barely peaking out over the window to the bakery, you wouldn't have believed that you had practically spent the day with Gojo with it feeling like just an hour since he first walked in. Though the amount of hours you had shared with him said differently, you felt like you hadn't seen enough of him.

After he put his coat back on, he turned to face you with a smile playing on his lips. "So... I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow night?"

You swore that if he hadn't invited you out to dinner when he had, you would've dragged him out later that night handcuffed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: if it wasn't entirely obvious i got a bit lazy towards the end (major character flaw of mine). i am an absolute SLUT for the non-sorcerer x sorcerer trope tho.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟsgojoenthusiast

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[salaimoi]

i wave goodbye to the end of beginning ˚. ✦.˳· ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader sypnosis: he wasn’t what you desired anymore, but he couldn’t let you go. months passed since your bitter breakup, and yet, he didn’t stop loving you for a second. cw: slow burn. angst for the sake of angst. falling out of love for no reason fr. unrequited love. alcohol consumption (gojo only) no happy ending me thinks, or maybe somewhat. who knows word count: 3.1k

author's notes: i’m mourning gojo and so should you! so here’s a piece of an angsty fic that’s been rotting, unfinished, in my drafts since march 29. i was only gonna post a sneak peek of this and suddenly the holy spirit took over me and drove me to finally finish it??? IF U EVER READ ANYTHING OF MINE PLEASE LET IT BE THIS😭😭i’m so in love with the reader crying scene u don’t get it. the metaphors?! i outdid myself. i am so terrified of the deep ocean, and the fact that i find myself writing about it during angsty hours says a lot about me. i can’t emphasize how much i adore this fic. i just love angst sm idkidkidk

also, this is my first time attempting angst for the sake of angst as well as slow burn (?) so idk if i’ll ever come back to this. not beta read.

Time and again, this mahogany dining table was the scene of numerous heartwarming interactions – mementos Satoru wouldn’t be able to replicate a second time, even if he spent a thousand lifetimes trying to do so. Sure, it was more than easy to recreate the scene, but not the genuine warmth the two of you felt in that moment. He could go to great lengths, such as hand-crafting every single piece of furniture in the room that bore witness – carving and polishing wood until his palms became more splinters than skin. But even then, he wouldn’t come close to reliving any of those gratifying sentiments from so long ago.

All the shared laughter at his trivial attempts at comedy had caught up to you; your smiles were forced lately, and he could tell. He possessed that diamond-blue, six-eyed gaze which consistently made you feel as if he could undeniably read your thoughts, but that wasn’t the case. Even a blind person could discern the unforeseen shift in your comportment toward him, and due to this, Satoru questioned himself relentlessly. 

What if he’d said something to offend you? What if he left the toilet seat up one too many times for your liking? What if he began snoring in bed but you were too considerate to say anything about it? What if he forgot a special date? What if he tried to offer you something you were allergic to? 

What if he stopped being the love of your life...? 

It seemed as if, in a fraction of a second, all the enjoyment you once felt had deserted you, and with it, your love for him. Had you forgotten how happy you were by his side all in the spawn of a few hours, or was this the universe’s twisted interpretation of a joke?

Even if it was, you weren’t laughing.

You told yourself it was fine, that it was a mere wave of sadness that would soon pass, but instead the harmless tide you paid no mind to had brutally swept your body into a sea of despair. Before you could process your predicament, the shoreline was well out of sight – blurring with the deep blue expanse of the oceanic abyss that enveloped your mind.

The longer you fought to stay afloat, the clearer the path became for the briny water to replace the oxygen in your lungs, giving you no choice but to drown as everything around you became a pitch-black, bottomless pit – devoid of any sense of worry for you. 

It was rather often that you were accused of abandoning the ship when things got bad, and yet, here you were – submerging along with it.  

How ironic.

Even he couldn’t save you now. The solace his mere presence bestowed upon you when you needed it most wasn’t there anymore. There was no more capability of initiating conversations with him when you were the only other person in the room, causing the once-upbeat and soothing environment to give way to one of silence and uncertainty; it was as thick as syrup.

Syrup. The sugary taste of it from when you consumed it during breakfast was all but replaced by a repugnant, sour one in your mouth. A persistent echo of those homemade fluffy pancakes you had turned down remained, even though he had made them just for you — his precious girl. 

You insisted you would eat later – an obvious white lie to mask your despondency and lack of appetite – but he spoon-fed you, because in his own words, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I allow my girlfriend to starve? No, that won’t do. I’ll take care of you even after I've exhaled my last breath.”

“And how would you do that if you’re no longer breathing, genius?” you asked, a wilting smile on your face that you had put on display for him. 

“Well, my dear," he retorts with a smug grin. "I've always believed that love has a way of transcending the boundaries of life and death. And as luck would have it, our love transcends the mortal realm. I will always be with you, in spirit if not in flesh.” he smiles, a twinkle of amusement behind his sapphire eyes before continuing.

“Once I've moved on to the afterlife, I'll find a way to send you sweet nothings and a box of chocolates from beyond the grave. Consider it an eternal gift.”

He declares in a complacent tone as he lounges back in his chair, head resting comfortably on the back of his hands. 

"But in all seriousness," he then adds, his tone becoming more genuine, "I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're taken care of – even if it means making sure my eternal resting place has a Wi-Fi connection for you to receive my messages.” 

Your thoughts were entirely silenced in that moment; white noise overtook the black space within your mind. How had he managed to say such heartfelt words as if they were second nature? This early in the morning, nonetheless.

Would he actually…?

You knew he would.

"But let’s not dwell on my demise just yet,” his words bring you back to the present conversation. “Until the day comes, I promise to make the most of our time together. Besides, knowing me, I’d probably haunt you just to ensure you have someone annoying to keep you company."

He finally remarked, going back to stuffing your face with the soggy pancakes that had been sitting in syrup for too long. 

And you were cognizant of the fact that you alone were privy to this side of Satoru Gojo: the mushy, gentle one who tended to his companion as if it were a god-given mandate. 

To the public, he was a stoic, impervious character who had no dread of others. To you, he was far more vulnerable than he would ever confess. 

But that wasn’t nearly enough to deter you from taking the disheartening decision made later that day.

“I can’t stay here anymore.” austere words you didn’t wish to speak, but needed to, in order to provide some semblance of closure for the both of you. “I can’t love you anymore.” 

A hushed supplication could be heard flying across the room at the speed of light once your hand reached out to turn the bitterly cold door knob, hitting against the back of your head – identical to an equally-cold shower.

“Please don’t leave me,” he immediately protested weakly. 

He approached you with cautious strides, every step causing fragmentation in his all-too-frail emotional state. Even if it was ephemeral, the mutual love between the two of you had already left a blazing watermark on his soul. His feelings for you transcended the nagging rationality that bound his mind, defying all sensible objections he had on the matter of permitting you to depart from his life. Having failed to quell the ardor her felt, it persisted apodictically until he was an arm’s length from your frame. 

And that was exactly it – the same frigid sensation your hand clinged onto emulated the one you felt in your wretched heart the moment he approached you. You’d already turned your back on him and expressed every afflicting anguish that tormented your soul, so why plead now? Now – when you already made the conscious decision to leave him behind. 

Tears neither you nor he could hold back began flowing down your features. A familiar hand lifted towards your cheek soon after, wiping the salty residue off your delicate face with his thumb. 

He never ceased to remind you how gorgeous you were when you cried, frankly because the manner in which your wispy eyelashes retained the saltine tears in your eyes resembled the delicate surface of a tranquil pond.

Every tear you shed would become the gentle water that tickled his skin as his body wafted about in your iris – an eternal reservoir he’d swim in without tiring if the heavens so permitted it.

However, this occasion differed from the rest; the once gentle waters he yearned to lay in became calamitous waves, which may lure him to the ocean’s most profound recesses in the blink of an eye – your blink of an eye. He would usually stay afloat among that innocent gaze of yours, but tonight it was ruthlessly drowning him with no lifeline in sight. 

Even after he implored that your crying would come to a halt, more pungent teardrops bled onto his fingers. An eroding desperation flowed through you, aching to hold onto something, anything, in order to cease the mental decay within your subconscious.

Thus, your own hand extended to hold his against your cheek, a glacial embrace overpowering the warmth of his skin; an identical chill tickled his spine when he absorbed the crispness of your graze, but he paid it no mind.

“Not you too…anyone but you,” he pleaded in a low voice, causing more accursed tears of yours to cascade mercilessly as he embraced you in an endeavor to sway your decision. His voice was gentle and soothing, mimicking a caress you’d never experience a second time. 

“I’m sorry.” you muttered.

Being unable to bring yourself to meet the sapphire eyes that imitated a midwinter sky so perfectly, your head lay low; the only thing visible to him was the top of it. 

It was unclear what you were sorry about. Perhaps you were sorry that you had to leave him behind. Or perhaps you were apologizing to yourself that he was no longer what you thought you wanted with every fiber in your body.

You desired more in this life, and on your game board, he wasn’t a playing piece who could frolic alongside you. It wasn’t because you didn’t fancy his company, rather it was the fact that his own strategy of playing was one that did not catch your eye anymore; it had become a monotonous rehearsal. Every move came to be a discernible one to you – even before he picked up his pawn, causing you to lose interest in the entire game itself.

That realization alone shattered his entire world.

Satoru’s head lay low all throughout as he sat on a wooden stool amidst the empty bar. It was 2 a.m. and he needed to go home, but why should he?

You wouldn’t be there to greet him – or even scold him for that matter. 

Colorless, almost lifeless, marbles stared vacantly at the picture of you on his lock screen; he consistently spoke to your picture as if he were having a conversation with it. At this point in time, it had become routine. Maybe one of these days the frozen-in-time frame would speak back to him for once?

Just once.

Where had that tender smile he’d fallen in love with gone?

Where had you gone?

On a nightly basis, the same detestable conversation from that night redounded from one end of Satoru’s mind to the other incessantly – akin to a religiously recited sermon. 

It was impractical to disregard the harsh reality that sooner or later every cherished individual he held dear to his heart willingly departed from his life – Suguru, and now you. 

If it entailed becoming a regular person, he’d give his life as a sorcerer to ensure the permanent presence of at least one individual in his life. Where was the value of possessing such prowess when one’s vulnerability in the realm of love was inescapable? 

What twisted transaction was that?

He'd even willingly forsake his divinely bestowed talents for the purpose of altering the passage of time, thereby reverting to a period where your presence was far from being nothing more than a diminishing recollection. 

Ijichi had been dealing with this side of his boss for months on end. Regardless of his efforts to encourage Gojo to put an end to this melancholic act of his, he never managed to convince him to do so. Ijichi attempted the compassionate approach, but to no avail. His optimism and patience were dwindling, fearing that this would continue on for eternity – and perhaps it would’ve if he hadn’t stepped in.

This had to end sooner or later, and for everyone involved’s sake, it had to be the former. So tonight, he opted for a sterner, and perhaps more unforgiving, path.

Your car was parked out front of the bar Ijichi had sent you the address to – forehead pressed against the steering wheel as an audible, exhausted sigh escaped your mouth. It was late and you knew this was nothing short of inane behavior. You weren’t doing this for you; you had to remind yourself that you were doing it for him, with the hope that he would ultimately find someone who would be there for him in a way that you were unable to. 

Weary, almost weak, legs lead you to enter the desolate bar. A knife prods at your chest when your eyes dart over to where Gojo was. He kept his head lowered; the only part of him you could clearly see from this angle was his back.

An overwhelming sea of emotions plagued your mind when you witnessed him in such a state. You could feel the knives twist the longer you stared at the back of his fluffy white locks. 

Months had passed since your split, and you realized Satoru’s grief and distress were indeed as dire as his assistant conveyed to you during the phone conversation. 

A tap on his shoulder was accompanied by a sweet voice that had vanished into the depths of his consciousness a long time ago. Perhaps because he didn't wish to recall the agonizing memories that came with your voice, or perhaps because he needed to maintain a pristine, untouched image of you in his psyche.

As you occupy a vacant stool one seat away from him, your attention is drawn to the half empty vodka bottle in his grasp. 

“You know, I talked to your therapist. He said you were getting sober.” 

What you said held true, except you didn’t hear it from his therapist directly; Ijichi was the one who was initially informed about that, and being the caring person he was, he relayed the details to you. Mostly because he felt as if, deep down, you still wanted to know about Gojo’s well-being.

"What are you doing here drowning yourself in alcohol?" you added, seemingly concerned for your ex-boyfriend.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and bleary from the drink. His body froze. Blue pupils dilated in a mixture of shock and happiness. It really was you. Had you come back for him after all this time? 

"What does it look like I’m doing?" he muttered, his voice bitter and angry.

Satoru detested alcohol; it always interfered with his abilities, and being the strongest meant being ready whenever – no questions asked.  After your departure, though, he grew fond of the bitter, burning feeling the liquid provided. That sweet poison was the sole substance capable of muffling the eternal pessimism plaguing his mind.

You approached him cautiously, taking the bottle from his hands and setting it aside. "Come on," you said firmly, "we need to get you home."

He wasted no time to speak what was really on his mind. Even if it was for a mere second, he had felt the sensation of your touch once more. That was more than he needed to vocalize the thoughts that tormented his sanity. Either that, or it was the alcohol he had consumed speaking. 

“Why won’t you love me back?” His words slurred, being far too drunk to care, though. 

“…You’re drunk, let’s get you home.”

“What home? The one I bought for us that YOU left me all alone in?” he deadpans, the silence following being as deafening as a scream.

Ouch. 

“My room feels so empty if you’re not there. I see your precious face and I don't know what to do.” His expression dampens with anguish before he continues – somewhat unclearly, ”whatever I do, I cam’t fubking get you out of my head amd it’s ruining me.” 

“I told you to move on a million times every time you drunk dialed me, Satoru.” 

“If that’s what you wanted, why did you continue to pick up the call?” He retaliates, eyes glazed with forbidden tears on the verge of cascading against his pale skin.

You knew perfectly well why. He knew perfectly well why. Everyone Satoru vented to about you knew why, so why continue to deny it? 

Attempting to keep your temper in check, you take a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth between the door and him. It was more than easy to run away from your problems, like you always did. But not this time.

You owed it to him to at least finally stick around long enough when things got tough. You wouldn’t put up an invisible wall between the two of you anymore, not today. 

You sigh, taking the empty seat right next to him. 

“We can’t go back to how things were. We broke up, remember?” 

“I know,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his beverage. He shook his head, his drunken state making it almost impossible to focus his thoughts or his vision. “But maybe drinking will make me forget that we ever did. Maybe tonight I can pretend we’re still together,” his voice and face etched with sorrow.

His voice trailed off, followed by another long sip of his drink. 

“You need to quit drinking yourself into a stupor, Satoru. This isn’t healthy,” you responded, voice softening out of concern. 

His eyes still clouded with alcohol, he looks at you before speaking. “I don’t know how to move on.” He admitted, voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to live without you. I loved you…and I still do.”

He silently weeps once and for all, crumbling before the love of his life. You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled on simply allowing his head to rest on your shoulder; you always were his favorite shoulder to cry on, after all. Wrapping an arm around him, you pet his head as you lull him. Instinctively, he envelops you into a warm embrace, face burying itself deeper into your chest. 

As he continued to sob like a baby, the sorcerer allowed his emotions to flow freely – months of bottling them up into liquor bottles had finally caught up to him. 

He was beyond ecstatic underneath all the melancholy; not only had you allowed him to get closer to you, but even went as far as hugging him too. He couldn't believe it. Just a few moments ago, you were talking about forcing him to move on, but now – you were actually back in his arms, where you belonged.

He felt relieved for a moment, almost to the point where he wasn't thinking properly anymore. You were finally back in his arms, where you needed to be; he refused to let go.

It felt like a fever dream, but this was all he needed. Even if you’re gone, morning come, he’ll live in this moment for the rest of eternity. 

#✰ gojodagoat is online #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru angst #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satorugojo

[bloompawz]

Some people can't seem to decide whether it's more stigmatized to get bottom surgery as a trans person or not get bottom surgery as a trans person. I'm here to say that both are incredibly stigmatized, because being trans is stigmatized, and there is no "right" way to do it. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Transphobes think that bottom surgery is mutilation. They think that it poses a threat to society. They think that it's horrific and disgusting. They think that it couldn't possibly be consensual, because trans people consenting to these surgeries apparently isn't enough, no matter how insistent or persistent we are. They think that it's medical malpractice. They think that post-op genitals "don't count" as real genitals. They think that post-op genitals are inherently inferior to natal genitals in both visual appeal and function.

Transphobes think that pre/non-op trans people are predatory, especially trans women and transfems. They think that trans people are trying to "force" people to touch their natal genitals. They weaponize other queer identities: "You're not a woman; what lesbian would want to touch a penis?" / "You're not a man; what gay man would want to touch a vagina?"

But above all, transphobes think that no matter what you do with your genitals, you're a freak. A monster. A predator. A danger to society. A sign of the end times. A subhuman thing which forfeited its right to respect when it decided to deviate from the norm.

A transphobic comic comes to mind, which demonstrates this pretty well. The comic featured a caricature of a gay transgender man, "invading" a space for gay men.

It was visually apparent that his arm had been used as a graft for phalloplasty; this was a clear dig at bottom surgery. Transphobes love pointing at trans men's post-op arms and going "Eww! Look at how mutilated that arm is! This is what the trans agenda is doing to our precious, innocent, confused young girls! And also trans men are evil and are grooming little girls into being like them! But let's call it the 'trans agenda' instead, so we can remove their humanity and pretend this is a feminist statement. I swear I loooove trans men they're my sisters, take pity on them xoxo they just need help :3"

But despite the caricature's phalloplasty, he still referred to himself as having a vagina, and insisted that the gay men in the room had to enjoy touching it. Clearly casting pre/non-op trans people as predators who just want to pressure people into touching their natal genitals. And, if we interpret the caricature being a Salmacian, that's just another added layer of stigma.

The caricature both had bottom surgery and didn't have bottom surgery, because they needed to demonstrate that both options are horrific. Because, it's not about the surgery. It's about being trans.

We need to destigmatize bottom surgery. We need to destigmatize pre/non-op trans bodies as well. We need to normalize bodily autonomy. We need trans rights and acceptance for all trans people.

#transphobia #transmisia #transmisogyny #trans #transgender #nonbinary #enby #bottom surgery #genderqueer #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #queer

[letters-adressed-to-the-fire]

so this is why i think peter is the one looking in people's windows

A few days ago, I saw a swiftie on TikTok talking about how I look in people’s windows could be taken as the other perspective of the same story narrated in Peter, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I decided to go in-depth and start a self-assigned quest to look for any clue that could interweave these two stories in a way that made sense.

I know this could sound a little absurd or could be taken as a stretch of some sort, but I believe, and I’m sure most of her fans would agree, that most of the beauty in Taylor’s writing comes from the countless different interpretations people bestow on her lyrics. I’m not asking you to take this analysis as absolute truth because I’m genuinely just having fun with it, and I hope you do too.

I’ll analyze “I look in people's windows” from Peter’s point of view and “peter” from the other character’s pov, whom we’ll call Wendy given the obvious parallelism to Peter Pan.

Well, the main and obvious connection is given by the “window” element. While Wendy is waiting for Peter by the window, Peter is looking for her from outside that window. If you look at this through very literal and rational eyes, I believe you’d think it doesn’t make sense that they were both looking for each other through the same window but never met again. So HERE is where I want to insert my interpretation.

There are two options I can think of that would explain the failed meeting. 

Peter intentionally avoided Wendy while still looking for her every day.

Every time they were looking for each other, it happened at different moments.

The first case presents a lot of questions, like, is the pledge to grow up what is stopping Peter because he knows he can’t do it? Or was he cruel enough to wait for Wendy to move on and then come back? Either way, the conclusion remains the same. In this scenario, Peter was a coward. If it was because he didn’t want to grow up, if it was because he just wanted Wendy to never move on, or if it was because he never gave her a real answer.

On the other hand, the second case talks about something that’s closer to a tragedy. They were always doomed by the narrative. While Wendy was waiting for him, Peter was looking for her, but Wendy never saw him—not when she waited or when Peter was looking for her. We would need to assume some things here tho. Either it all comes back to the first option and Peter had been avoiding her the entire time, or he thought she had already forgotten about him. The first option shows us, once again, that Peter is a coward, but the second one also tells us something important: he may be too scared to grow up, but he’s not selfish enough to stop her from moving on.

“Northbound I got carried away As you boarded your train South, south, south, south, south, south A feather taken by the wind blowing I'm afflicted by the not knowing so”

Based on this verse, we can design a new theory. He watched her leave and he was aching for her to come back to him. So he started looking for her in other people’s windows, wondering if one of them was gonna be her. Even when he had already said goodbye to her.

And here’s where another verse of peter will acquire significance:

“I thought it was just goodbye for now”

With both songs in mind, it sounds like he said goodbye to her, hoping they were gonna see each other again, but he also knew he had to let her go at the time and that he was condemned to miss her. But what Peter didn’t know was that Wendy was gonna go through the same thing, but she wouldn’t have the comfort of knowing what he did (wait for her).

“promises oceans deep, but never to keep”

This is why we get two completely different endings for both songs. While Peter is still addicted to the what-ifs, Wendy has turned off the light; the fantasies have expired for her. Wendy grew up; Peter didn’t. While I look in people's windows gives you the feeling of being running from house to house in a neighborhood you don’t recognize anymore, trying to fit into a routine you were used to in the past; peter reads like the last chapter of a book you’ll never touch again.

#taylor swift #peter #i look in people's windows #peter pan #wendy #ttpd #the tortured poets department #the anthology #ts ttpd #swifties #lyric analysis #fan theory #is it really a stretch? #i just love making connections between taylor's song #btw peter is the best song in ttpd

[polarisbibliotheque]

Can You Hear The Rumble? - Vergil x Reader

Music Inspired Fics (Devil May Music) - Cirice, by Ghost

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Everyone knew the kind of demon a hunter should be wary about is the one who plays with their victim's minds. You and Vergil were very proud on the outside - but how would it be when having to save each other on the inside for the first time?

TRIGGER WARNING: A lot of blood, cuts, bruises, scars and suffering on both Vergil and the reader's sides. The reader also struggles with perfection and self-loathing - in a "I'm never going to be a good person" kind of way, because I needed to get more intimate on the reader's part as well - and there are scenes with the reader covered in cuts and bleeding, though not self-imposed, it could be read like that. Those scenes are the reader's and Vergil's internal images of themselves. Reader and Vergil meet each other on their imperfections and the darkest parts of their souls, so BE WARNED. This might not be everyone's cup of tea and there are lots of potential triggers.

Author's Note: @tokkis-shelf asked me if Vergil's part of the Halloween special was inspired by Cirice, and here we are now. It is what kickstarted the song-fic requests! As with a lot of people, I think, Cirice is pretty personal to me.

In the video, it was so comforting to me seeing the black sheep being represented hahahaha and I guess that's why people love it so much. The part where they hold hands? I died, I'd never let go, I cry my soul out upon watching. (I did a very similar drawing to that scene when I was in school around 15 years ago, so it drop-kicked me out of my body xD)

Now, when writing this, I kept in mind that this song has a double meaning and can be quite comforting and quite manipulative at the same time - hence why I use the "can't you see that you're lost without me?" in two different situations, 'cause I think Cirice can be interpreted in so many ways and each person takes what they need from this song. I hope you guys like it!!

Plus, the song the reader and Dante sing at the end is The Power of Love, by Huey Lewis and The News

Cirice, by Ghost

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

It happened every time Vergil walked in the darkness.

That voice in the back of his head, silently taunting him, the hiss of a quiet viper in the hopes of taking him back to the darkest parts of his soul. Quiet, lurking, whispering… Mundus always there, somewhere in the folds of his consciousness, guiding him back into the void – luring Vergil back into his shackles.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

As if Vergil couldn’t belong anywhere else, as if his place was in Hell. After all he had been through, after all the sins he perpetrated, he believed wholeheartedly there was no hope for him at all – only a fool’s hope; only a glimmer of a wish he wasn’t as tainted as he was… A desire to not be such a monster as he was.

Pacing quietly through the empty cathedral, Vergil had already learned not to give in to those thoughts – to keep them at bay, as only a whisper in the darkness, of trickster voices that would always remind him of how inhuman he was.

It was times like this Vergil longed for the faint glimmer of the moon, or the warm ghostly light of a candle. It was easy to get lost in the dark, but a single ray of light could help through the direst of situations. That night, though, it seemed like the moon had fallen asleep behind the curtains of the clouds – Selene hiding her tears for her earthly lover in his eternal sleep.

None of you knew what that night entailed – you weren’t even certain what you were dealing with. That was the reason why Lady strutted in the Devil May Cry, not too fond of taking a job she didn’t know if it was up to her abilities.

“Well, looks like I have a new one for you to pay your debt, big guy!” Her singsong voice interrupted the ambience of the jukebox; Lady entering the shop with Kalina Ann and all.

“Eh, I’m never gonna be free of my debt, Lady, let’s be honest.” Dante sighed, putting his feet down and throwing his magazine across the table, shooting her a serious glare. “But things have been borin’ lately, so one of your odd jobs’ not gonna hurt. Whaddya have for me?”

“You talk as if I never help you enough to maintain this place.” She lifted one eyebrow, approaching the big desk at the middle of the shop.

“Gotta give the woman credit, Dante. Last month’s bills were on her.” You shrugged as you had finally come out of your shower, happy to see Lady around, still drying your hair with the towel as you went down the stairs.

“See? Someone who has a bit of common sense.” Her smile was nothing short of devilish as she gestured towards you.

“You know where you are, Lady. ‘Common sense’ isn’t much of a thing in this household.” You greeted her by quickly blowing her a kiss while passing by, making your way towards the couch where Vergil was quietly reading.

“Ey, you’re hurtin’ my feelings like that.” Dante put one of his hands over his heart, laughing alongside you as you kept on your way. “But fine. I’ll give ya that, Lady. So, what’s up? What job do you wanna throw at me this time?”

“I am not throwing it at you.” And there it was: you could always see when Dante stroke a nerve when Lady got defensive and with that fiery stare on her multicolored eyes. “If you wanna do it, great, if you don’t, I can deal with it myself just fine. I’m here to be a good friend since you can barely afford all that pizza you keep stuffing yourself with!”

As you sat by Vergil’s side, you both exchanged a telling glare. Just like you, Vergil was used to observing people. Granted, he didn’t know Lady as much as Dante or even you, but he did know her since he was very young. That fiery, easy-to-anger personality had been there since they first met at the Temen-ni-gru – and Vergil argued it was one of Lady’s traits that would never change.

Something he was quite pleased with, if he had to be honest with himself. It was a good trait for a human demon hunter like her. Dante always praised human’s hearts and particularly their love and empathy – Vergil praised their burning anger that made them unconquerable in the direst of circumstances.

“Jeez, alright, alright, don’t shoot me!” Dante raised his hands as if he was at gunpoint, making you wheeze quietly. Vergil side-eyed you for a while – half judging, half holding his own laugh. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

“Humpf.” Lady rolled her eyes and took a slice of pizza from the box resting on the desk, pointing at Dante with it right after. “You know I wouldn’t bring you something if it wasn’t important.”

“Actually, you would.” With those words, Dante rested his arms crossed on the table – all the while, you and Vergil watched it all as if it was a show. Who needed a TV when you had those two? “But you’re bein’ too dodgy ‘bout it, babe. What’s goin’ on?”

“I got a call from a priest in a city nearby.” Lady’s answer was uncharacteristically quiet, followed by a bite from the pizza while she seemed pensive and in any hurry to chew it. “I’ve done some jobs there, know the guy, he’s nice. All the times he called me, it was always a quick, good-paying job. He said some weird things have been happening at the cathedral for the last couple of weeks.”

“Not to sound mean, but there’s always somethin’ strange happenin’ at churches.” Dante’s eyes carried a bit of skepticism: ‘weird things’ didn’t always entail a job for the Devil May Cry – and it usually ended with all of you hunting a rogue raccoon or something.

“I know. But this guy, he doesn’t get scared easy, ok? He’s one of those types of priests who’ll try to shoot down a couple of demons with a shotgun and, if that doesn’t work, he gives me a call.” Those words, though, made you and the Spardas raise your eyebrows. Indeed, it was a rare type of priest, but a good one to keep as acquaintance. “He said the cathedral is increasingly quiet, even from noises outside, with occasional distant noises that are not done by any of those who live there. After it all started, the other priests reported having weird nightmares, of being chased by something in the dark, inside the cathedral – this thing whispering things they can’t understand. Alright if it happened to one or two, but soon all of them started waking up in the middle of the night with similar nightmares – and, catch this, the higher ups of the clergy didn’t tell the common priests about it, but they all reported the very same dream.” Those words caught everyone’s attention. Vergil finally closed his book and leaned forward, paying attention to Lady’s retelling of the priest’s misfortunes. “The priest has been trying to figure out what’s going on, but some old books appear to go missing from the library, only to re-appear as if nothing has happened. Some books are missing pages, something that never happened before. He also said the inside of the cathedral has been getting darker and darker as the weeks go by. As if something is approaching – his words, not mine.”

Vergil immediately furrowed his brows and seemed to turn into an ice sculpture right by your side. You risked a glance, finding him with his usual dark aura – pensive, somber and quiet; hunter’s eyes showing themselves in a matter of seconds.

“Rare are the creatures in Hell in search for knowledge…” He muttered loud enough for his brother and Lady to turn their attention to him. “But those who do, are usually among the worst. Haunting noises, torn books, nightmares, dead silence and total darkness…”

“What? You think those Hell Piranhas came out of their pit?” Dante’s question had a bit of fun in the words, but his eyes were serious and he didn’t allow his lips to smile.

“Could be. Could also be a demon trying to mimic them to hide something else.”

“Hell Piranhas?” You and Lady didn’t need a cue to ask at the very same time. Neither of you had ever heard of that – and both of you had heard of a lot.

“This is not their name, but it is how Dante calls them since we were kids.” Vergil almost sighed in response.

“How we both called ‘em. Mister smart-pants over here isn’t that much better than lil’ ol’ me.” Dante winked at both of you, making you giggle quietly in return. “They’re kinda like illusion demons, but they like stayin’ in the darkness and gatherin’ knowledge. Usually work for someone bigger, though.”

“And even if they don’t, they swallow up all their knowledge and that is dangerous in itself. Afterwards, they feed from the victims they have been toying for so long.” Vergil continued Dante’s thought, ignoring his brother’s previous words. The more you didn’t think about what Dante had said about him, the better – for Vergil couldn’t deny it. “They hunt in packs, and the more victims, the more powerful they become. Some call them the Pit Deceivers, others call them the Lie Weavers…”

“You call them Hell Piranhas.” You concluded bluntly, making Vergil stare at the horizon with emptiness in his eyes – he could say all he wanted, flex all his demonic knowledge, you heard the Piranhas and now you’d never forget it.

“I never heard of them.” Lady had her eyebrows furrowed, searching her memory for some story like that.

“They either don’t leave the pit that much or not many humans survive to tell the story. That’s why.” Dante pointed at a great, old book Vergil had left on one of the tables a long time ago and now it was its official resting place. “You can find it only in the likes of the Codex Daemonica.”

“So either we have them around, or it’s something else. Something bigger. Right?” As you asked, Vergil only agreed with his head as the attentions turned to you. “Or something mimicking the Piranhas.” And Vergil had to sigh at your addition. He would never have peace again. “The mimic or the master, what kind of demon would the Piranhas answer to? If they are that obscure, I take it their existence is more of a niche knowledge in Hell rather than a common information.”

“On that, you are correct…” Vergil murmured in response, falling back into his pensive demeanor. You knew he would be lost for a while.

“See? Good thing I brought this for you, then.” Lady waved dismissively at Dante, but you could sense a little edge in her playful voice. Dealing with big things was fine, same as dealing with cruel demons and the ones that played the big-scary-one persona. Unknown demons were another kind of monster – one only Dante and Vergil used to deal with. “Plus, they always pay well.”

“Eh, I won’t be seein’ much of that money, if I know ya well.” Dante scoffed, having a small smile hidden in the corner of his lips; his tone and demeanor, though, were quite somber and you knew the red devil was taking it seriously.

“If you don’t mind, Dante, I would like to take over this one.” Vergil finally declared while getting up from the couch. “I know some of the hellish creatures who might make use of the Weavers or mimic them.”

“Fine for me, I’m needin’ some time to rest.” Dante sighed, but looked right back at you while Vergil rested his book on the big Devil May Cry desk. “But I’m gonna feel a lot better with someone around to keep an eye on ‘im, pretty thing.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on letting you guys deal with this all by yourselves anyway.” You got up from the couch, immediately receiving a glare from Vergil. “I’m going, blue devil, whether you want it or not. I want to get acquainted with these Piranhas.”

Vergil only closed his eyes, letting out the longest and most regretful sigh you ever heard in your life.

And there you were – although Vergil lost track of you quite a while ago. He knew the stirrings rippling through his heart when you were in danger; and being the fierce human you were, Vergil wasn’t worried about having you search for the demons in the cathedral.

There was, though, a slight uneasiness. That voice echoing in the darkest parts of his soul, it always came as an omen – causing nothing but destruction, inside or outside of himself. Vergil never could really say which one would be, but both were devastating.

“Veeeeergil…”

His steps came to a dry halt in the middle of the cathedral. The night outside the colorful stained-glass windows was pitch black, robbing the colors of their warmth and light – the fire on the candles, long dead in that cold night. The whisper that crept to his ears, like stark chalk on a chalkboard, dragged itself through the marble floor and took a hold of his soul in its clutches.

It was a different kind of sound – different from the ones inside himself, calling him to the darkness. It was from the outside… The Lie Weavers. Slowly coming up, finding him as their next victim. He was close to one of the places they were certainly lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for someone they could consume.

Vergil never feared the darkness. Tightening his grip around Yamato, his steps resumed his way, approaching the places in the cathedral the faint light of the night could barely touch. Those demons should have known their end was near, and he was the harbinger of their demise – he expected all kinds of trickery, of resistance, of fight from them.

He did not expect to hear a familiar voice, filled with uncertainty.

“Vergil…?”

Halting his steps once more, this time his silvery eyes lost their predatorial gaze as his heart jumped in his chest – even if for a slight second.

“Mother?”

His answer was but a whisper before he was swallowed by darkness.

*

When engaging with illusion demons, one should be aware of not falling into their element: when engulfed by it, those demons were more powerful than expected, able to subdue even the strongest of foes. Breaking from their control required mental and emotional discipline rather than brute force.

It was a slight second – a foolish slip from his human soul, disarmed by the trickery of Eva’s voice – and Vergil was surrounded by a sea of darkness and turmoil. His heart stirred with anger towards himself for being such a child, a vulnerable stupid child, tricked by a puppet of something his heart missed so much.

Eva was long dead. There was no demon able to bring her back. And he would never see her again. All that logic was tossed aside in a spark of a second by his stupid human heart, trembling upon hearing her speak his name again. Granted, Vergil only heard his mother in his dreams, barely remembering how her voice sounded in reality, and this time he heard outside himself – but he should have seen it coming. Illusion demons, trickster demons, cruel demons… They all relied on the barely closed scars inside his damned human soul.

Vergil could always count on them to re-open those wounds, making him bleed as much as he did on the floor of that cursed cemetery so many years ago – and he was a fool to fall for it after he had been through so much.

“Vergil… Can you hear me…?”

“I can, you damned deceiver. You can stop these theatrics – mimicking my dead mother will not affect me.” His voice cut through the dark like the sharpest of ice, his predatorial gaze back into his silver eyes.

“I… Don’t understand you, son. I cannot find you.” Her voice had a tinge of sorrow and desperation – but it was exactly like Eva’s voice. Vergil remembered it with a tinge of gold, probably a result of the haze of nostalgia, but today it was grounded and melancholic – perhaps, that was how Eva had always sounded… He just didn’t remember it. “I can’t find you. You aren’t home.”

“I haven’t been home for a long while.” Vergil didn’t even try to hide the growl that raised from his chest as he argued with that creature. He was used to having a puppet of his mother parading in front of him to hurt his human soul even more, but that was already getting on his nerves. Taunting him about the fact his mother ran to find him that fateful night wasn’t part of the usual games those filthy demons played – and to say they were honing his wrath was an understatement. “And I will never be back.”

“I… I cannot see you, Vergil. Where are you…? Why…?” He could hear the weeping in her voice, faint sobbing while the desperation made her words tremble. Vergil raised his head in the darkness, holding his own heart not to quiver: she wasn’t real and it was all a gimmick to affect him. He would not be affected. He was stronger than that. “Why couldn’t I save you? Those demons they… They hurt you, didn’t they? Oh, my child! My son! They hurt you and I could do nothing! I couldn’t be your mother!”

“Enough with this, filthy, hellish creature!” His voice finally exploded from his chest, roaring in the dark and echoing through the void, finding only silence. “You have no right to desecrate my mother’s memory like this! Shut your putrid mouth and stop with your rancid lies!”

The glint of the Yamato being unsheathed made the darkness recoil for a split second, only to envelop the Dark Slayer once more. His grip was tight, his eyes fiercely looking for his first opponent to direct a very well-placed judgement cut that could end all those creatures with just one swing of his hand. Vergil had enough and all the patience he carried in his being wouldn’t be enough to stop him from overkilling those demons – he just had to know where to direct his wrath.

“Don’t say those words, Vergil… You are not… Not like this.” Her voice still trembled, and his hand was still certain around Yamato. Vergil knew quite well at that state he was a weapon of mass destruction, he just had to find his opponent. His soul was screaming for him to do that, to put a stop to all that mockery. “You are good… You are my son.”

Vergil would have sliced that demon into a thousand million pieces without flinching, even if it took the form of his mother – but his eyes widened as a soft, warm hand touched his face. In all those years being taunted by demons, being tricked and mocked, seeing so many puppets of Eva, Sparda and Dante, none of them had touched him… And none of them genuinely felt like them.

It had been so many lost years he hadn’t felt his mother’s touch – last time, she could cup his entire face, thumb lovingly caressing his innocent eyebrows, but now her thumb could only reach his cheekbones. Nevertheless, it felt like her: not like a golden, nostalgic lost memory of how she felt, but exactly like Eva’s hands, even with the slight roughness of her continuous gardening.

“It took me so long to find you… I am so sorry.”

“You are not my mother.”

“Don’t say that.” Her answer was a sorrowful whisper, her thumb now carefully caressing his sharp cheekbone. Vergil closed his eyes, unable to move, convincing himself all of that wasn’t real and not allowing his heart to sway – forcing his arms to remain frozen by his side, fighting the urge to embrace her. Reminding himself: his mother was dead, killed while trying to save him, a long time ago, and nothing could bring her back. “Your heart hasn’t hardened as much as not to recognize me. You…” Her voice once more became soft, as if trying to do the same with his soul. “You are not a monster… You are my son, my Vergil.”

With those words, Eva’s hand was finally met with a tear – melting the ice from those silvery eyes.

*

There was an impending storm rumbling inside your chest.

Whenever that turmoil took ahold of your heart, you knew Vergil was in trouble. You had just finished checking your side of the cathedral, finding some things out of the ordinary but no demons, when the waves became aggressive in your chest. Your steps were already taking you to meet him, but you found yourself walking even hastier – the sound, though, eaten by the shadows that seemed to only grow around you.

Neither of you had calm seas of feelings: they usually raged like a maelstrom of emotions you could barely get through without some destruction – be it internal or external. But there was a certain note of melancholy and desperation in your heart at that moment that made you know Vergil was hurting – and that hurting, you knew quite well.

It was almost ironic how you apparently despised each other at the beginning, but after a while you came to understand; that aversion was there because you, in a certain way, were a mirror of each other. You could see in him the traits in your soul you disliked the most, and Vergil did see in you the same thing – those traits, however, were the same ones that brought you together, and made both you and Vergil feel seen and understood for the first time in your lives.

He didn’t judge your sins, as you didn’t judge his. To your eyes, he was never a monster, and to his, you could never be as crooked as you thought you were. You found each other in imperfection and, in that, you managed to talk and feel on the same level – after that, every feeling of admiration, care and love was easy to blossom.

You understood that storm, that thunder rumbling inside your chest at that very moment. You could feel it exactly the way he felt – and you knew Vergil needed help… Even if he would never say so himself.

You couldn’t hear or see him, though. You found yourself exactly at his area of patrol in the cathedral, but there was no clue as where your blue devil had gone – and for him to completely disappear, imposing presence and all, was quite an achievement in itself. The air was stiff, heavy as if the windows had never been opened, eating up any sound from the inside and the outside. The darkness was heavier than the one you had previously patrolled, shadows allowing only a few glimpses of the opulent decoration and the path in front of you – although, you couldn’t see more than a few meters beyond your feet.

If you couldn’t trust your sight or your hearing to find him, you could trust your heart: the storm would guide you. Closing your eyes, you allowed your feelings to take over, following with your footsteps in the direction you could hear his soul calling.

Those shadow creatures wouldn’t be able to hide him from you: no matter what happened or where you found yourselves, you would always be able to feel Vergil’s presence and find him in the darkest of hours.

And as the thunder in your chest cracked violently, your feet came to a halt and you opened your eyes.

Right in front of you, there was only darkness. Not like in the shadows that took the cathedral little by little, but pitch-black darkness, that no light could cast aside. To enter it would mean to be completely bare: vulnerable, lost, without guidance, naked – but the screaming in your soul made it very clear Vergil was in there.

Contrary to your lover, you were afraid of the dark. You always preferred to have a little light by your side, for you never knew what could be lurking alongside you, ready to pounce and drag you to certain suffering and death. You protected yourself by being forever vigilant, as you always did – a trait that exhausted you, yes, but luckily, in the last few years, you had Vergil around to keep a light by you when your body started giving out.

For that reason, you would never fear entering the darkness for him.

And with a deep breath, your bold steps took you inside the dark.

*

Your feet were cold, bare, stumbling over a sticky floor. Even if your eyes could see only darkness, you felt the freezing air of that night slicing your skin: you were shirtless and something was hurting… Oozing. The cold wind mixed with a faint warmness that leaked from the open wounds on your skin.

Blood. You were bleeding.

Your arms immediately wrapped around you – those scars, they were showing. They never showed before.

Running your hands quickly over your body, you could feel the warm blood slipping through your fingers; some wounds barely holding themselves closed while others still poured as in the day they were created.

That was the version of yourself you used to fiercely hide. None of those wounds were physical, none of them could be seen… But whenever you looked in the mirror, you saw them there, under your skin, under your soul, quietly resting until you couldn’t hide them anymore.

“You are lost…”

It was always the same voice, of something dark, something inside you that could break your soul if you didn’t shove it back into the darkness like you always did. That was why you were afraid; that was why Vergil always kept a faint glow by your side whenever you couldn’t hold yourself together. The dark was dangerous to you – to both of you.

“You are lost without me…”

“I can survive quite well without you…!” You growled to the darkness, keeping that part of yourself at bay. The part that gave in to the pain, that bathed in the blood and didn’t want to get up… And the part that would bathe and rise in rage, making you survive at great cost to those around you.

You were past that. And you didn’t need that to survive. You didn’t have to survive, you could live.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

“Vergil!” Your scream was a roar in the dark, looking for the one you plunged into the darkness to find. You wouldn’t give in to the trickery of those Piranhas – and you would get Vergil out of there.

They would learn they shouldn’t fear only the son of Sparda: they should also fear you.

“You think you can find him…?” After the mischievous ethereal voice questioned, you heard a giggle rippling around your feet as you stumbled on the sticky floor to find your lover. “You think you are that good? You think you aren’t a monster?”

You furrowed your brows, doing your best to ignore the voices. You knew it was that part inside of you that always taunted how broken you were, how imperfect your soul was. For the longest time you believed there was nothing good in you, nothing to save you from a life of loneliness, until you crossed paths with Vergil.

He was broken too – and he would never judge the things you did to survive your lethal wounds.

“Vergil! Can you hear me?! I’m here to find you!”

“How chivalrous, how heroic! What are you trying to accomplish?” The giggles pooled around your feet, threatening to drag you inside that pool of viscous darkness. “Trying to prove yourself? You’re never going to be perfect. You’re a black sheep, an outcast, remember? The likes of you aren’t heroes.”

“Oh, I’m no hero…” You growled back, fighting against the things trying to pull you back; fighting against the pain of the freezing cold and warmness of blood. “I’m a fucking fighter. You’re messing with the wrong kind of monster, fucking Hell Piranhas.”

“Piranhas…?” A faint whisper in the dark broke whatever control those things were trying to have over your body, starting at your feet. It was Vergil’s whisper – followed by a louder speaking tone. “Y/n! I can feel you, where are you?!”

“Trying to find you!” You screamed back, immediately dragging your feet towards Vergil. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel where he was – and there was nothing those demons could do against that.

The darkness seemed to shift for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t understand what was happening, but you saw a faint, ghostly pale glow in the dark – almost imperceptible, but your heart knew, you could finally see Vergil.

And, in return, he could see you. Moving his feet, Vergil dragged heavy shackles through the floor, screeching in a horrid, soul scratching sound as he willed his body to move towards you. You could hear him grunting with the effort, another set of chains being dragged as Vergil moved his arms – slowly, but surely, wearing all of his strength to get to you.

You felt the viscous ripples of the floor creeping up your legs, almost on your knees, doing their best to pull you away – back into the darkness, back to the taunting voices, to the doubt, the hurt, the self-loathing.

“Vergil! Let me hear your voice! You’re still there, right?!”

“Yes. I am always here.” His answer came with grunts of effort, barely above the noise of the chains screeching around him.

The darkness shifted again, and his form became even more visible, as yours did to him – followed by a scream that rumbled in his chest, Vergil managed to get even closer. That made something spark inside yourself, that thundering storm breaking in your soul cracking in a scream that broke the insidious tentacles holding you back and making you lunge forward.

Once again, the glow you diffused only to each other seemed to get stronger as the darkness wavered.

“Y/n…” He growled once more, the shackles screaming on the floor as he reached out to you.

“Vergil…!” You reached out in return, barely making out the form of his fingers in the dark.

As you were almost touching each other’s hands, the heavy, muffling darkness faltered once more. You could finally see one another, as you were in that godforsaken place.

Vergil was shirtless, his body covered in wounds – new and old – bleeding profusely. His silvery eyes were red, sunken in deep shadow, surrounded by a deep purple mist on his dry skin. You could see his bones under his pale skin covered in so many lacerations you wouldn’t even know where to start healing him. His knuckles were battered, showing the flesh underneath, as well as his wrists covered by heavy iron shackles – wounds from fighting against them for so long. His hands were still long and elegant, but bony and covered in bruises.

You had never seen Vergil so hurt, so broken, so… Vulnerable.

In return, his eyes took in shock the vision of you: as shirtless as him, as battered and wounded as he was. Even if not locked in the shackles he wore for so long in Hell, you walked barefoot leaving a trail of blood behind you. Those scars, those wounds, those bruises… He knew they were there, but he had never seen those. You looked weak and tired, bloodshot eyes under dry skin, as if you hadn’t slept in ages… And those things you fought so much to conceal, now crystal clear in front of him.

Those were the scars you carried inside yourselves. The wounds you had to fight against every day – that you had to try to heal, even if sometimes it seemed impossible. The things you would never show, but, somehow, you managed to sense it in each other… Now you could see it, clear as a bright night.

And, even if you wouldn’t admit to yourselves, those were the very same breaking thunders that would keep you moving – fiercely fighting, fiercely surviving.

As you took in each other’s internal selves, Vergil’s silvery eyes finally found yours.

A loud thundering noise shook the floor underneath your feet twice, as your hearts rumbled alongside the devastating sound. You lunged forward, holding Vergil’s hand as if your life depended on it. Never breaking your eye contact, Vergil held your hand with the strength you would expect of the legendary Dark Slayer. You made each other stronger, and there was nothing that could come between you now.

His shackles immediately screeched back, pulling Vergil violently away from you. At the same time, you were grabbed by the viscous darkness – your knees, your legs, your abdomen, your arms. It pulled you back with vicious strength, doing its best to drag you away from him – back into the darkness.

“Don’t let me go!” You screamed back, tightening your grip around his bony hand.

“I will never let go!” He growled, doing the same, trying to drag his body forward – failing to notice you willed yourself towards him as he pulled you into his arms. Those silvery eyes never moved away from yours.

“You are lost…! Lost…!”

The voices chanted and screeched around you, doing their best to drag you apart. For a moment, your hand slipped and you let out a desperate scream, hurting your lungs as you were almost pulled back into the void. Vergil’s cry resembled a roar as he willed his body to move and tightened his grip in a way he didn’t hold even Yamato.

He hadn’t held his brother’s hand once. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, he would hold you even if that damned the both of you to the darkest pits of Hell.

“Can’t you see…? Can’t you see that…?”

“I am lost…!” You barked back to the voices, still staring into Vergil’s eyes, trying to catch your breath while your lungs stung as if you were inhaling a thousand knives.

As Vergil looked into your eyes, though, he knew exactly what you were going to say – and he could safely say it was the very same thing he struggled to find the words to.

“Without you.” His answer came in a dark tone, ragged from the effort he too made to be able to hold your hand.

The thunder rumbled twice again – the voices shrieked and you suddenly found yourselves being launched into each other’s arms as the forces that bind you broke into a million pieces.

Vergil’s arms wrapped around you, one of his hands holding your head close to his chest, as you wrapped yours around his waist, keeping him as close as you could. His head rested on top of yours, and you kept your eyes closed – washing away the blood above his heart with the tears that streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever hide from me.” Vergil’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky, somber but reassuring. You had never been so vulnerable in front of him – and even upon seeing you like that, his reaction was to take you in his arms, to welcome you. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“And I’m not afraid of your darkness.” You tightened your arms around his cold, bony body as you felt tears running through your hair. “I can see beyond your glimmer, and I’m not afraid of what’s in the dark.” Your voice shook as you took a deep breath and Vergil’s arms held you even closer – his body shaking with the tears falling from his eyes. “It’s you. And I’m never afraid of you.”

“Neither am I of you.”

His answer was but a whisper – a whisper enough to break the darkness into a memory to be kept away in the deepest pits of Hell.

I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart I can see through the scars inside you

*

*

*

*

“You killed the Piranhas from Hell with the power of love?”

Vergil wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Or die. Or both.

Probably both.

The whole crew was there as you and Vergil never came back from the job as quickly as expected – and when you did, it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

The priest was more than happy with the result of your work – even though you never discovered why the Weavers decided to come out of hiding nor what they wanted. The congregation was just happy they were gone and the whole reason behind it would be a long-term thing for the Devil May Cry to work on – or to keep an eye on; maybe something bigger was approaching.

You and Vergil didn’t feel like going back to the shop, though. When you were hurt physically, things were very much ok to deal with, but when the wounds were emotional… You needed time for yourselves.

Unlike his brother, Vergil was a little more responsible with his money – and you, a lot more than the two. You managed to find somewhere to spend a few nights… Which involved the both of you talking out everything you felt and saw. It was harrowing at first, something neither of you were versed in and honestly were terrified of, but it eventually brought you even closer together.

So, to say you had defeated the Lie Weavers with the power of love was something that killed Vergil inside.

And you could almost see his internal self, glaring at you with a ‘really, after all of this you say this kind of foolishness’ look in his sad, silvery eyes, as Lady stared at both of you and made the question everyone was thinking.

“Yep. Power of love, it’s a curious thing.” You shrugged, making Vergil physically groan by your side while Dante slapped his table with a huge grin on his face.

“Make a one man weep, make another man sing! Hell yeah, Back To The Future, babe!” He winked back at you as you smiled in response.

“Of all the people you could end up dating, Vergil…” Trish sat on Dante’s desk, crossing her long legs while sporting a devilish smile on her rosy lips. It was interesting how her voice could never really sound like Eva’s. “It had to be someone who references the same songs as your brother.”

“Alas, fate plays many games…” Vergil rolled his eyes, but as they rested on you, there was a vulnerability you saw only once in that pitch black darkness. “But it is kind enough to give us what we need.”

No one ever really understood what he meant, but Dante was the only one who managed to see something inside his brother’s silvery eyes that could only reflect in yours – and that made him genuinely smile.

Indeed, you would never be the romance of a fairy tale book or a romantic comedy – but you could see what lied beyond each other’s scars; taking a glimpse at the worst of each other without fear and finding whatever light was left inside. You could understand – and that was much more than most lovers in the world would ever have.

#devil may cry #devil may cry imagine #dmc #dmc imagine #vergil x reader #vergil imagine #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #devil may music #song fic requests #cirice #cirice ghost #there aaaaare a few references to other things sprinkled here and there #the nostalgia and haziness from secular haze and ghuleh/zombie queen #but the whole Eva thing was the zombie queen nostalgia #never let go? that's from Titanic #the two thundering noises being the thundering drums from the song #the holding hands from the video from the scene that killed me in Matrix and my drawing when I was 15 y/o #seriously it's a recurring imagery in my life and I'm always ??? so it's in here too #I won't suffer alone #for some reason I sometimes sing 'I can see through the stars inside you' #and that's where the reader's 'I can see beyond your glimmer and I don't fear the dark' comes from #and that silly little ending at the shop was just a thing to tie it all together #OH! THE HELL PIRANHAS! Totally inspired by those shadow piranhas from the library planet episode in Doctor Who #the whole concept of those things just creeps me out #if some lost soul from the Ghost fandom fell here by chance or mistake do apologize #I need to tag things properly in this blog to update my masterlist forgotten in the abyss so finding it by cirice will be easier #Youtube

[shakingparadigm]

Sooo, like I noticed something.

Ivan's Anakt Garden uniform seems to have a different design than all the other children there. Like his top has a collar on it, which I kind of find ironic since he doesn't even wear a collar (because he's a "good boy" they said). But anyways

The thing is, it goes same for Luka, while slightly similar to the standard Anakt Garden uniform (?), his has a slightly different design on the collar part, yet he's also wearing a collar.

So what's the deal with that, like, if it's based of behavior (y'know being a good pet and all) how come Sua doesn't also have a unique uniform? Or is it a way to Spoil Ivan because of good behavior by his owner, then how come Mizi doesn't also have one(we know she and her owner are on okay kind of terms)

I don't know, just kinda sus in a way.

I just really find it ironic how Ivan's uniform has a collar, whilst he doesn't even wear a collar like all the other children. Like sure, he doesn't wear the collar because of his 'goodboy behavior', yet somehow,

that collar part of his uniform, like somehow symbolizes that while he might not wear that collar like everyone else, he was still not entirely free.

I don't maybe I'm just feeling silly and delusional ahahaha (though I'm not entirely sure if there's a canon explanation for it, is there? Let me know muah muah)

The timing of this ask is impeccable actually I was in the middle of drawing my whole Anakt uniform thing and when I saw this pop up in my inbox I thought to myself: Huh!

Regarding the uniforms: overall, I don't think they're modified for any specific purposes, Ivan and Luka's uniforms are just special because, well, they're special, you know? When your Guardian has money and they really invest in you, it's not too hard for them to switch up your outfit a bit. Just to help you form an image. Maybe even coo at you a little bit and tell you how handsome you look. You know, embarassing shit.

That last paragraph though, wow. There's a lot of ways you can interpret Ivan's "collar". Ivan's shirt collar still technically being a collar, even though he's been gifted privilege (the illusion of free will, exceptionality) at the end of the day he will always remain a pet. I do think that's part of it. After all, how unsightly it would be to see a pet with a bare neck? Wild animal, unable to be restrained, uncivilized, a threat.

Ivan is well-behaved, but his place as a pet must be constantly be made clear, even if the humans may not recognize it that way. In this paradisiacal prison a collar is a collar, whether it fabric or metal. In a way, it seems almost belittling, almost mocking.

No wonder Till's outfits so often consist of wide, open necklines. It must be suffocating to be so restricted.

Moving forward, Sua's uniform is unaltered because although she has a wealthy guardian, they unfortunately don't care much about her. Definitely not enough to give her a special uniform. She's not the type to outwardly want for much, anyway. She's conditioned to wear whatever she's given. She has more pressing matters to worry about.

Mizi's outfit is unaltered too, but for a different reason. Mizi is most likely just satisfied with what she has already. The uniform isn't far from the dress she wore on her way to the Garden, and she's already been established to be a rather free-flowing person. Although her Guardian is more than capable of providing for her wishes and preferences, Mizi doesn't seem to mind simplicity at all. She's just happy to be here!

Anyway, back to Ivan. He forgoes his collar because of his good boy behavior, yes. While the high shirt collar could symbolize the aforementioned false trust, it's also quite in line with Ivan's personal style! He's usually seen with his neck covered, after all. It seems like his trademark. Ivan played himself as more of the mature reserved type (save for whenever he's around Till, apparently), so it makes sense for his owner to commission a uniform that further reinforces this proper and responsible persona. Or maybe it was Anakt Garden that directly issued that uniform to him, who knows. Either way, the uniform makes him stand out and immediately sends the message that he's a special pet.

(Fun fact! Many of Ivan's important outfits center around this theme of uniform, his performance outfit in ROUND 3 literally inspired by the key word uniform.)

I believe Luka's uniform is different because his guardian thought it would be cute. HAHA sorry. no but like genuinely. His collar is quite cutesy and fancy, lines up with Luka's overall trademark aesthetic of white frills and ribbons. Even his sleeves are puffed, like a posh little prince! I can't see a practical explanation for these, they seem purely decorative. And it checks out, because of course someone as influential and desperately prideful as Guardian Heperu would want to make his pet the specialest little boy in the Garden.

On a more serious note, though, I think it further hammers down just how much of a doll Luka is. Sua is described as a doll in her own right, but the difference is that her guardian only cares about her when the cameras are on. Guardian Heperu has his eyes on Luka almost 24/7, attending to his needs for success, ensuring that Luka must remain exceptional. I guess the outfit really helps get across that "little prince" kind of vibe.

There's a chance that the thicker, puffier sleeves of Luka's uniform help him stay warm? I'm not exactly sure about the other ways his heart condition can affect his body, but since he has several health issues I'd assume he has trouble regulating body temperature. And the shoes, isn't that one interesting addition? Luka is the only character sporting footwear in the Garden. It's not like the Garden is "dirty" by any means, as it's just simulation (unless they tried to make this simulation as realistic as possible). Maybe Luka wears shoes once again for health reasons. Perhaps Heperu is just extra protective of Luka.

(Side note: Luka's "shoes" MIGHT be socks. To me they seem more like shoes? But they could very well be socks.)

As far as I know, there's no official explanation for the Anakt uniform variations (honestly, I'd bet if they explained their reasoning Q and V would say they thought it just fit the characters, haha. To me it seems like the uniforms are meant to reflect the characters personalities rather than their circumstances, although just like with Ivan's it could definitely be read both ways).

This is just me speculating too! Thanks for the ask, I really enjoyed talking about this!

#alnst #alien stage #alien stage ivan #alien stage luka #asks

[wewerebornsextuplets]

recently i realized i havent given... any context, really, on kiru's family outside of her being yana's cousin, which is honestly a little shocking because i think about it a LOT and it provides a lot of context for why she presents herself the way she does, both in terms of physical appearance and in terms of actions/character as a whole. i also need to explain the nature of her relationship with yana, so this will be the tell-all on kiru's upbringing, as well as some elaboration on her general disposition! you know the drill! this one ended up being much longer than some of my other long winded posts, which is a little scary. but under the cut we go!

BEFORE I START i do want to disclaim: for the sake of canon compliance, assume anything i say about kiru's parents [particularly her mother] and grandparents' attitudes doesn't apply to yanagida's upbringing or family. as much as i love headcanons and speculating about background characters [theres a reason s1e9 is my favorite episode], i also want kiru's lore to be taken somewhat independently from those headcanons/interpretations if so desired :-)

In order to make things a little less confusing [mostly for myself, because im very scatterbrained], i have a little family tree graphic. thing. mostly to keep track of names + relations and all that! ill be referring to kiru's parents by name for that same reason. but uhhh tada 🎉

OKAY BUT FOR REAL. the actual timeline is like this: kiru's childhood was pretty normal to start. her mother [mayumi] was a bit strict, but it wasn't anything too crazy, though she did prefer spending time with her dad [kentaro] during this time. this was all upended around the time she was eight, though, when her family had to move into her grandparents' home after her dad fell ill. kentaro, a lifelong smoker, had developed lung cancer, and the costly nature of treatments for his condition meant that they could no longer afford to life in their old house. in addition, kentaro's condition meant that mayumi had to essentially take over as his caretaker at home during this time, leaving kiru's grandparents as the ones to raise her.

i imagine this side of her family had a decent amount of social power within the community [this may just be a thing in my town, but you know those families where it feels like theyre kind of everywhere, like the school staff, the local politicians, etc.? theyre like that], which led to her grandparents being quite strict, if not authoritarian to a degree, with a particular emphasis on what behaviors were considered "acceptable". as such, while kiru was greatly encouraged in her academic endeavors, there was near equal pressure on how she presented herself outside of her studies. while the physical aspect of "dress neatly and maintain good hygiene" was part of this presentation, it also included a HEAVY emphasis on her emotional regulation. It reached a point where she began to suppress nearly any strong emotions she had, because she felt that there was never a Right time to feel or express them.

^ it was kind of like this. not really any forceful or outright Mean enforcement of this ideal, but definitely a conditioning that was strong enough to impact kiru, especially at such a young age. past this i think they would be fairly normal as far as grandparents go, just not quite as nurturing.

even in the present day, kiru's calm demeanor is only really maintained because of her belief that sharing her feelings would disgust or embarrass the people around her. growing up, strong expression of any emotion was childish and unsightly, and she still conducts herself with this in mind; its not something she feels about others, but she doesnt extend the grace she gives others in this regard to herself.

BUT back to the timeline. after moving in with her grandparents, kiru got a bit closer to yanagida, who would often visit their home, since yknow. same city and all. during this time kiru was pretty lonely, since kentaro's illness meant she had to spend less time with him, and as a result her and yana spent much of that time together instead. yana particularly enjoyed kiru's knowledge of english, since kentaro primarily spoke bonin standard english in the home + taught kiru the language. in turn, kiru appreciated that yana didnt see her through the same lens of "respectable young girl" that everyone else in the family seemed to have picked up since moving, and they were able to meet each other on more of an equal level of just being friends.

this pattern continued up until kiru was 10, when kentaro passed away. aside from the obvious, this was a particularly stressful time for kiru and mayumi, since kentaro wanted to be buried in Chichijima + have his funeral procession held there. as a result, kiru spent about a month of that summer away from home, on the island with her father's side of the family. away from the eagle eye of her mother, she tried to make the most of the time, but found herself too distraught to enjoy any of it to the fullest. she was too ill-equipped to tell her relatives there how she was really feeling, so they mostly carried on with the impression that a young kiru was being "strong" in the face of kentaro's death and was taking it well, even though it was quite far from the truth. upon her return to mainland japan to start her new school year, most of her family carried on with the impression that all had returned to normal. that is, except for yanagida.

obviously, only being about thirteen at the time of kentaro's death and not really having a strong understanding of the expectations kiru was under at home [not to mention having the emotional intelligence typical of a boy his age-- that is to say, not much], he didn't really understand Why her behavior had changed so much since moving in with her grandparents, or why her demeanor had taken a near 180 in that time. but he didn't really need to understand the why to know that Something was wrong, even before kentaro had passed.

what he wasnt expecting, though, was her breaking down sobbing the second he asked her how she was doing after she got back from chichijima. since yana was Also a kid, and had never put on the same pressure that the rest of the family put on on her, kiru felt a bit safer talking to him with the confidence that he wouldnt berate her for feeling that way or be disappointed in her. he consoled her about as well as he could [or as well as any 13 year old boy could] and assured her she could come to him if she was ever feeling down, but instead she assured him she would be fine.

after this event, yana started worrying about her quite a bit, but he wasnt really sure how to go about Expressing this concern [either to her or anyone else], so he just kind of let it sit there. as time went on, and kiru started to return to a more cheery persona, he let go of that worry for the most part and they returned to their old routine fun for the time being.

yanagida wasnt the only person whose relationship with kiru changed after kentaro's death, though. mayumi, who was wholly unequipped to handle the intense grief that kentaro's passing brought her, was wracked with a mixture of guilt, anger, and resentment; she regretted having ever met and married him, now knowing the pain it would come to cause her, and she even began to regret kiru's birth. its a feeling she was deeply ashamed of. she loved her daughter, but every time she looked at kiru, every time she heard her name, mayumi was acutely aware of the fact that kentaro was no longer there to share these memories, that he wasn't going to be there to see her grow any further. ashamed as she was of this feeling, it never fully went away, even if she made efforts to ignore it. the gap left between them was never fully mended, and though kiru couldn't place it at the time she definitely got the sense that mayumi didn't really want her around. as a result, kiru began to spend a bit more time around her grandparents, whom she had grown closer to since they were the ones raising her for the past couple of years.

as junior high rolled around for kiru, and as yanagida was going into high school, the distance between them grew as well; yanagida was beginning to exercise more independence from his family and spend more time with friends, and kiru was doing the same. they still made time for one another, though, walking home together once in a while when yanagida wasn't in the mood for hanging out with his friends. most of the time, though, they just stuck to their new groups. it was a small period of respite and was actually pretty chill for kiru, all things considered

once it came time for kiru to start testing into different high schools, mayumi became a bit more involved with her daughter's life. more specifically, she became more involved in how kiru presents herself; if youre a daughter [or former daughter] youre probably familiar with the specific underhanded flavor of body shaming she experienced. kiru and yanagida also lost contact during this time, as yanagida was preparing to enter college and they were both too busy to keep up with one another too well. he was definitely a little concerned with all these changes regarding her appearance, though

now, to this point, i want to say that mayumi was NOT being intentionally malicious or even aware of her harm during this time. during her youth, mayumi was ridiculed and ostracized for a more unkempt appearance that came as a result of an intense focus on her academic endeavors and matters other than her looks. not wanting to see her daughter endure the same thing, she tried to encourage kiru to put more care into her appearance. even so, her tactless expression of this concern ended up hurting kiru more than anything else.

high school came and went, with kiru attending St. Hanagaoka's, a prestigious all-girls school in the city. nothing particularly bad happened during this time, but kiru regards this time in her life rather poorly, because she spent most of it trying to Appear a certain way, rather than living how she actually wanted to live. its during this time that kiru became more acutely aware of much of her desires and identity; as femininity began to feel more like a prison, she found herself looking at the boys her age a bit differently. she had a boyfriend or two during her time at school, sure, but she never really felt that it was any different from having a friend. slowly, she realized the feelings she thought were admiration, or crushes on boys, were really just a sense of longing; she longed to dress like them, to be able to cut her hair short like them, even to pursue love with girls the way that they did. though she was still quite confident that she was a woman, she knew she wasn't the kind of woman her family wanted her to be.

as such, when she finally got into college, kirumi cut contact with her mother and grandparents almost completely. her first year of college was a year of rebellion and experimentation; primarily with her appearance. at first she'd wondered if her discomfort for feminine clothing was the result of the KIND of femininity she was portraying, but quickly realized this wasnt the case. so the kirumi futch era was only about a semester long. after this, she started to present as more masculine, and this is around the time when she starts getting more concerned with fitness in terms of strength; she didn't manage to get built like yuko miyamoto just by standing around, after all! its during this time that kiru also began to make actual friends, though her problems with connecting to others emotionally made this a rather difficult endeavor when it came to maintaining those relationships.

during her second year of college, her grandparents both passed, roughly six months from one another, due to old age. while she had mixed feelings on the matter due to her strained relationship with them, she still attended both funerals. at the latter of the two, her and mayumi got into a bit of a fight because of a comment mayumi made about kiru "destroying" herself. this ended up pushing kiru, out of pure spite, to shave her head the second she got back on campus.

it ended up being a mistake.

not one without a silver lining, though! this drastic change in appearance ended up catching the eye of one of her acquaintances, who was a close friend of her roommate. you might know her as keiko :-)

during this time, keiko was just starting her transition, and was still getting a feel for the big city. the two initially bonded over a shared love of terrible movies [as one of kiru's biggest hobbies is watching shitty movies to laugh at them], and kiru gave keiko many of her old clothes + some tips for hair and makeup now that she no longer needed them. but over time, they became quite close. in particular, they bonded over the fact that they experienced pretty strong discomfort towards gender roles and expectations in their upbringing; while keiko's family was much more loving and supportive than kiru's, she still felt an intense obligation to be seen as ""man enough"", mainly to her peers, having been bullied quite intensely during her high school years for her transness.

i could probably write a whole separate post about kiru and keiko's relationship [not any time soon though. jesus.], but the long and short of it is that they became a couple during their third year together at college :-) this is also the year that kiru secured her job at the butcher's shop in akatsuka, having been a bit of a floater before then.

after graduating with her bachelor's, kiru began to attend a veterinary school in pursuit of a doctorate in the field. they lived separately, but visited one another's apartments about as frequently as could be managed.

one summer, when school was out and she was less busy, kiru began volunteering at a local animal shelter, wherein she met and fell in love with a little cat named kabosu. after adopting her that autumn, on one particularly busy night, kabosu broke out of the apartment, and... hey, i've told this part of the story before!

past that, uh... not really a lot to say! i have a whole storyline thought out about kiru and yanagida getting back into contact + how that intertwines with some other family drama on kiru's side of things, but thats an idea that i want to dedicate a different post to since i have. a LOOOOOT of thoughts on that whole arc. ill do that eventually but again, definitely not anytime soon. if i make another post like this too soon i think my brain will explode

BUT YEAH! if you managed to read this far, thank you!! i put a LOT of thought and consideration into kiru's background; i didnt want it to be like. senselessly edgy. since this IS a gag anime in the end. even still i am a sucker for complicated family dynamics so i tried my best to strike a good balance there

#larry time #ocs #kiru #long post #<- i dont usually use that tag but this ones a doozy. #i have a lot more thoughts about the nature of mayumi and kiru's relationship #as well as her relationship to her grandparents #i wouldnt say theyre particularly heinous or intentionally evil or anything like that because um. theyre people. #but i still wanted to show how like... misguided attempts/good intentions from an ill-equipped parent can still be really harmful #and that mixed with grief is especially damaging #but i dont know if i worded it well here and this post is already so long #so those thoughts will just stay in my mind. #anyways im starting to get scared of posting this so im just gonna throw it into the ether and hope for the best GOODBYEEEEE

[theamazingannie]

I really hated the whole rich girl storyline, not just because it was both dumb and an Owen storyline, but because there was absolutely no reason to believe that a check made out to a singular person after a date/one night stand was meant to be for a charity, and that a dog bone emoji was enough to convey it was meant for a dog charity. Maybe it’s the autism but that storyline really bugged me

#911 lone star #911 lone star spoilers #anti-Owen #even tho he was right this episode to be fair #it was a dumb plotline to push when we could’ve gotten a silly plot line from literally anyone else #but in my mind there was no other way to interpret that #and that rich bitch getting upset that he dared to think she was paying him for sex was so annoying #especially when she was all ‘boohoo all anybody sees in me is my money and what I can give them’ #when she never mentioned this was for charity and made it seem like a gift #it gave me so much anxiety imagining myself in that situation #especially since Owen didn’t need that money and has too much pride to accept it if it was a gift #but that money is life changing to me and I’ve accepted enough handouts in my life to immediately turn that down #id probably talk to her before cashing it just because money comes with strings and it would sound like a sugar mama situation #in which discussing the terms is important #but id be so mad if she got upset with me for the way I interpreted it #especially since everyone else saw it that way #girl is just dumb I hope she doesn’t come back #but considering it’s an Owen storyline she most definitely will #meanwhile Paul’s HR girl is nowhere to be found

[panncakes]

"You are obsessed with Tinn. You're obsessed with his world, with his thoughts. Are you sure you can win him over?" / "I'd like to know what kind of man can make our great lawyer so vunerable."

LAWS OF ATTRACTION (2023)

#laws of attraction #laws of attraction the series #loaedit #mine* #bledit #film thanapat #charntinn #tinncharn #he laughs when people appeal to his morals and agrees when they call him a bastard #but there's a part of him that's is so starved for someone to look at him and see goodness in him #that's begging tinn to see that this was the only way for him to survive #that's so hungry for love and recognition #and tinn is already so far under his skin; he's falling for his narrative foil and it's going to change him on a fundamental level!! #salvation through self-recognition through the other!!! #im losing my mind #also adding subtitles to this show is just me going between iqiyi and youtube and cherry picking which interpretations i like the most lmao

[highoncatfood]

whaaaat dooooo yoooooouuuu feeeeeel abooooouut vivilara. (slash twimare slash vivia x halara.)

i wish we got more of them honestlyyyy!! i dont rlly ship it that much bcuz they have like 3 interactions but theres sth abt them. theyre cute i call them nightlight

#dont mind the background hahaha #jk its moirails explained. #my image of them together is solely based on an over-interpretation of that one scene #i feel like halara could keep up with vivia the most #and the other way around #ah yes the 2 braincells of the nda #rain code #asks #they dont fit moirails PREFECTLY buuuut they have moirails potential i feel like #halara nightmare #vivia twilight #master detective archives: rain code #mdarc #catfood art

[whaliiwatching]

What if Deadpool and spider punk met?

(Not like in a romantic way I just picture pure chaos taking place)

aight i’ll give it a go..

something very Important To Me in the spider-man and deadpool relationship (gen) is the theme of voluntary change for the better. deadpool’s morals don’t match up with spidey’s, but spidey matters enough to him to want to be good. redemption arcs my beloved

in 616, deadpool is a mercenary, and that doesn’t jive with peter parker’s no-killing policy. hobie, however, has no such qualms, thus the flavor of 138 dp’s divergence must be altered; i’m thinking he might’ve been a retired/fired police officer, or he took government-sponsored merc jobs without caring who the target was—somethin a little fucked up like that idk

then he meets spider-punk. initially, deadpool is obsessed the way you’re obsessed with your friends’ favorite celebrities—loudly, annoyingly, facetiously. hobie at first dislikes him, but doesn’t consider him a big enough player to hate, and since punk’s core moral of radical kindness allows for second chances, he offers dp the opportunity to turn his back on the State. slowly deadpool acclimates to punk values and community, finds himself upholding core tenets of the revolution even when it means he loses out on big fat wads of fascist blood money, and becomes a scene kid

#spider man: across the spiderverse #spider punk #hobie brown #deadpool #wade wilson #sadly im not a multishipper lol this wouldnt have been romantic anyway #i love spideypool but Hobie Has Noir in my heart #i saw one or two other interpretations of 138 dp!! love em!!! #he’s a scene kid though and no one can change my mind #technically scene came around during the 2000s and was influenced by emo culture (1990s) #but fuck it. scene deadpool canon. he even time travels in the comics #or so the wikis tell me #btw he is STILL CANADIAN its just funnier that way <3 #drawing his scars was pretty difficult—i tried to model off of fresh burn scars #idk if i succeeded. but i tried my best :’) #cw eyestrain #scenecore #it hurts MY eyes and i DREW IT

[voxpraxis]

me before playing the game: i mean i get the appeal of sebastian x ominis but it's kinda tired how fandom will ship any two guys who happen to be friends even if their relationship is purely platonic

me after playing the game: oh these guys are actually literally fucking

#there's NO OTHER WAY some of these lines can be interpreted #like i'm losing my mind #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebinis #hogwarts legacy #gay #op

[moorishflower]

FWIW I've since been informed that the RAADS-R autism diagnostic test has known issues with accuracy linked at least partially to the vagueness of its questions, also any diagnostic test you take online is moot anyway because tests like that need to be taken in conjunction with conversations with a psychologist/psychiatrist/other trained professional. Self diagnosis is an important tool of medical self-advocacy in an age where mental health issues tend to be ignored or poorly understood, but you also have to keep in mind your own limitations and lack of training. It's fun to take a test and say maybe this is the reason I am the way I am but if it really bothers you you can't leave it at that, you gotta get therapied about it.

#also there's a huge overlap between autism adhd and ptsd #all of which can mimic each other in certain ways #so the chances of false positives is very high #a therapist interpreting my score would keep that in mind if they learned i have adhd and am unmedicated

[the-unconquered-queen]

Ngl I feel like the fortune teller's predictions back in ch 8 led me to believe b2 would be more dramatic than it was.

#playchoices #blades of light and shadow #also ik they want the friend in an unlikely person in an unlikely place to be Valax but I choose to not interpret it that way #because as someone who didn't get her scenes and who was mindful that she was helping them against her will #I feel like that 'friendship' was pretty forced in my pt but I get it for others #For me I like to think that it's Cherta because as far as unlikely places go I don't think MC would've expected to make a friend in jail #and she was more of a friend to my MC #also who was deceiving MC at the time? was it the Watcher because of the epilogue? I'm confused was he a bad guy or not

[thenixkat]

Still fascinating to me that there's people who truly think their experiences are universal, that because something is popular in the circles they run in means that everyone should know it and will insult and treat people like stupid uncultured swine for even perceived differences in experiences. or if folks disagree with them when they make overly broad generalizations on what 'everyone' knows or thinks.

(b/c it's not like poor people, people from different cultures/subcultures, and people with fundamentally different interests exist.)

Like? That's complete asshat behavior.

#nix meows #fandom fuckery #like i know for a fact that there's people out there who dont know pokemon at all and would not be interested in it if it was shown to/ #explained to them #and not even just old people #also yes this is about blackfilmmakers/afrophunk and their buddy stephanos-spaceopera #and the convo that lead to blackfilmmakers harassing me for daring to make a vent post about being gaslit by fuckers for not agreeing #with them about having to know tolkien b/c according to them all dnd and generic western fantasy settings are tolkien #and the *only* way to avoid antisemitism in fantasy writing is to know tolkien's trope #which is understandably an absurd assertion and the overly broad generalizations they made about other things to try and drive that point #home (regardless of my repeated statements of disinterest) that there was no way that i'd agree with #swinging a bat at a hornet's nest? maybe but the thought has been on my mind #especially given stephanos tried to 'own me' after i pointed out that i have no intrest in trying to convince them to read dungeon meshi #especially since they and blackfilmmakers have a very obvious and really funny bias against it and go out of their way to read every thing #as negatively as possible #by again infering that I'm stupid b/c they decided to interpret 'that term is used differently in this setting' as not knowing #what a dark elf is

[charmac]

i don't think people hcing charlie as transfem are trying to dismiss the transmasc charlie hc! i think it's more of a projection thing for a lot of people, since i know at least a few of the main people who enjoy the headcanon are transfem themselves!! i don't think you have much to worry about in terms of people dismissing the tmasc or other genderqueer charlie hc anyways, since it's already much more popular! i think you're perhaps being a bit too critical.

I've literally never said anything like this at all, I think you've either misinterpreted something else I've said or have the wrong blog.

All of my Charlie gender-based posts or reblogs I've stated/tagged that I think any interpretation of Charlie's gender can make sense, be it transmasculine, transfeminine, nonbinary, agender, whatever you want.

I am one of the ~3 blogs that has access to The Bathroom Problem script and who posted and pointed out that you can make out/slightly hear the Joyce cuts in the episode itself. I would not have excitedly shared that for open-interpretation if I was "worried" people are "dismissing" transmasc Charlie headcanons. (Which, again, I've literally never said, but in any case, I believe it's valid for anyone to dismiss a headcanon they don't agree with, fandom is a sandbox.)

What I personally don't care for are genderbends and, almost by extension, analysis/meta on canon scenes that rename/re-gender the characters with no basis (or, one that comes off wrong). Both topics I've literally never publicly spoken out against here, nor have I said anything bad/negative to everyone who personally enjoys these things, so there is no way for me to possibly be "too critical" in that regard. I keep most of my opinions to myself and my close mutuals, almost exactly for what you're saying: I personally don't want to harsh or dismiss anyone's headcanons.

I have never said, and have never meant to imply, that anyone interpreting Charlie as transfem is attempting to dismiss anyone else's headcanon (which again would be a non issue to me anyway).

#if youre coming here from a certain twitter post #which #mind you was a 3 deep reply to one specific mutual. aka not a public criticism #i believe you are incorrectly interpreting what my issue is #bc it is not about 'headcanon erasure' #and i did not post about it on this blog. never intended to. because im not trying to be critical or dismissive. im venting to mutuals #if youre saying i cant personally have an issue with something idk what to tell you lol. ok? #and if youre one of my mutuals who ive like #personally ranted to about these various things #idk that would be very random and kinda weird to come into my askbox on anon about this #my dms are always open to chat i like having critical and opposing conversations #anyway im not trying to win the charlie gender headcanon war i literally dgaf #i dont even talk about transmasc charlie much at all? so idk where that idea comes from #like im pretty seated in him being amab i just enjoy other peoples transmasc interpretations #im way too rooted in canon in actuality to care much about all this! #hence. why canon misinterpretation bugs me *personally* #ok im going to the back office to get drunk #ask