#& their universe changing while existing is affecting everything else

[r0semultiverse]

FINN HAS A KID?!

4?!

Jake?! 👀

5?!

Finn's kid on the right looks a lot like the more human version of Huntress Wizard shown in the series trailer. 👀

[lostfracturess]

THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you. 

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions. 

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away. 

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence. 

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush. 

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased. 

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted. 

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years. 

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[alexlwrites]

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: OT7 x Plus Size! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?"

OR  

The one where seven campus princes who are used to getting everything they wanted get enchanted by your distrust and brattiness, climbing over each other to get a smile from you who could not be bothered to give them a single second of your day.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I wanna leave this here as sort of a trigger warning: this work features a plus size main character and throughout the story there will be mean comments from characters about her body and her journey dealing with said comments. A lot of it comes from my own experience as a (now ex-ish) plus size girl myself and my path to living peacefully within my body. And although this work is about Y/N's relationship with the boys, I like to think that she still would've continued to grow and blossom happily on her own. Let this be something you learn from this fic, as I say right on the first chapter: You don't have to love the way you look right away, you just can't let it stop you from doing the things you want and, in a greater scale, from being happy and treated with respect.

Thank you for reading <3

P.S: Red daisies, like many red flowers, represent love and romance. Florists often use them to communicate affection to someone who doesn’t know how beautiful they are—a.k.a. beauty unknown to the possessor. 

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

The pattern in your relationships - if you could call them that - was tiring, to say the least. Once, they might have been soul crushing, but time and repetition took away the novelty of your pain and now the endgame was a mild, resented disappointment.

It started with kindness and a gentle smile, mainly from your part. You treated anyone who gave you any smidgen of attention with the utmost sweetness, hoping your energy would be matched. And sometimes it was, for a while. Sometimes you got to be on the receiving end of a blinding smile or a casual touch and you allowed yourself to hope - no, pray -that that could be it. That someone, some modern day knight in shiny armor , saw through your looks and decided that you were deserving of love, despite societal norms,

But men had a way of setting you up for disappointment. A talent, truly.

You were tired, you decided that night. No, beyond that, you were exhausted, scarred, bitter, hopeless, resentful… You could keep going. You could list every bad feeling you had been carrying in your chest by alphabetical order or by how badly they hurt and honestly you just wanted it to stop.

Would you have to change everything about your body to be happy, you wondered watching the boy you had been seeing for a few weeks make fun of you in front of his circle of friends at the party you were both at. Would you never be allowed to be happy just the way you were?

Would you have to change everything about your body to be happy?

“Yeah, she’s nice” Junsuu said, winking suggestively at his giggling friends “if you know what I mean.” you felt your face heat up in humiliation at the renewed round of laughter “But we just don’t match, like, physically. You know, looks-wise.”

“Right” someone agreed way too enthusiastically, sending a spear through your heart “I really just can’t see you with someone like her.”

What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?

“You’re right” you said out loud, drawing attention to yourself. Filled with hatred (for him, the world, the circumstances), your heart had no room to be mortified when all eyes turned to you “we don’t match.”

You watched as Junsuu’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to hear, much less reply “I am a big girl” you continued, words dripping with rage “And I know for a fact that there’s nothing big about you.”

You turned around to leave the room, cringing at the petty comeback, ignoring the murmurs and Junsuu’s panicked calls of your name. Walking fast, you fled the scene of the last heartbreak you would allow yourself to go through, deciding that a change was needed, but not the change everyone wanted from  you.

Despite the rumors, you didn’t turn into a huge bitch overnight, didn’t start kicking puppies or spitting on the poor. Truly, the only thing you did was establish boundaries and reevaluate the amount of respect some people deserved, but very quickly people started seeing you as some sort of villain, especially when they realized how little you cared for how they saw you. How disrespectful of you to not allow yourself to be disrespected, right?

At first, there was still an air of uncertainty about you - years and years of non-reciprocal niceties drilled into your brain, habits hard to quit. But the more you let go of those things, these tiny acts of self-aggression disguised as pleasantries and altruism, the lighter you felt; Your days became easier to get through, existing within your body felt less and less like a punishment. You had yet to reach an Instagram-worthy level of body positivity, but you had become accustomed to body neutrality. You didn’t have to love the way you looked right away, you just couldn’t let it stop you from doing the things you wanted and, in a greater scale, from being happy and treated with respect.

And respect you started to demand and much happier you became, living in relative peace and solitude - safe by a few close friends - up until your days started being pestered by seven headaches you could not seem to shake away.

—-

Jungkook was the one that saw you first.

It was 3 weeks into the semester and he finally decided it was the perfect time to start going to classes, sitting in the back and only listening to about 25% of what was being said, mind floating towards more important subjects such as the package of ramen waiting for him at home. Only mildly interested in what the professor had to teach, he couldn’t help but to be startled when everyone started getting up from their seats to shuffle around the room. “What’s going on?” he asked the guy sitting next to him.

“Professor gave us a duo assignment.” the other man said, standing up “You're with Y/N.”

“Who?”

The guy just pointed towards you with his chin, redirecting Jungkook’s attention before leaving. You were sitting a couple rows further down, hunched over your little green IPad as you wrote something with impressive velocity. Jungkook walked over to you, already mentally going over what he would have to do to charm you into doing everything on your own “Y/N?” he called and you raised your head.

You were pretty, he noticed with satisfaction, all bright eyes and lovely features, curves everywhere he looked “Yes?”

“I’m Jungkook.” he extended his hand with a casual smirk “The professor put us together for this project.”

There had been a small, but pleasant and polite smile on your face up until he said those words, replaced by pursed lips and an arched brow. “Yes, I know. We’ve had classes together for over a year now and been partnered together before.”

Uh oh. “Right” he coughed awkwardly, fumbling under your hardened stare “so, about this project…”

“We will meet once a week,” you said, straightforward as you turned your eyes back to your sticker-filled IPad “I will go over the theme and split the work evenly, so give me your number and I can text you with what you’re supposed to do.”

“Woah, woah, asking for my number already?” he said in a flirting manner, sitting on top of your table so he could be directly in front of you.

“Would you prefer it if I emailed it to you?” you asked without looking up.

“Actually, I was thinking you could help me out a bit,” he placed his finger under your chin, raising your face towards him “you know I have soccer practice and…”

You pushed his hand away “Unless you’re playing at the World Cup, I can���t see how that would be more important than your studies, so you either do your part of the assignment or get an F in it, I don’t care. I won’t do all the work for you, Jeon. Not again.”

Again? Jungkook winced, trying to remember when you had met before. Surely he would remember getting his head bitten off by a snappy, pretty thing like you, wouldn’t he? Surely your attitude would stand out to him amongst all the sweetness and compliance he received just for existing and smiling.

“Here’s my number.” you gave him a piece of paper with your digits written in gel sparkly ink “Text me when you decide if you want to pass this class. Good day.” 

You looked down again, going back to your notes, signing that the conversation was over before he even had the chance to add anything more. He jumped off the desk and stepped away, looking back to see if you were looking at him, but there wasn’t a single glance from your part.

Shit. Shit. He actually did have to pass this class, otherwise his overbearing soccer coach would kick him off the team. He stared down at your number, wondering what he would have to do to get you to cut him a little slack and forgive him for absolutely forgetting about your existence. 

—

“Hey, this is Jungkook” the text from an unknown number said “looking forward to us working together. We should get dinner sometime, get to know each other better.”

You read over the text once more, willing your heart to slow down its beating. Sure, Jungkook was charming and handsome, but you had seen this dance before. He would talk his way into your good graces, making you laugh and giggle until you had a four thousand word essay done with both your names in it and your texts to him would go unanswered and unseen. 

This was not your first hurtful rodeo. You put your phone away, facing down, ignoring as the poor device vibrated itself off the table with the upcoming texts.

Meanwhile, across campus, Jungkook was fuming.

“Or breakfast. We should get breakfast. I know a great place.” he tried once again, but his message was left unread. Still, he persisted.

“I have a lot of great ideas for this assignment. Don’t you want to know them?” he texted, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea on what the assignment was even about.

“You know, it’s rude to leave a guy hanging.”

“How can we do this if you won’t even text me back?”

“I thought we were in this together.”

“You know, like High School Musical.”

He kept typing out absurdity after absurdity, hoping you would dignify one with an answer. He just needed one opportunity, one opening…

His text stopped going through.

“She blocked me!” he gasped out loud.

“Who?” his roommate, Taehyung asked from where he laid on their couch, feet up on the coffee table.

“This girl in my class. We have this project together and she blocked me!”

Taehyung sent a disbelieving look his way “Were you actually planning to do the work?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously not.”

His friend rolled his eyes “Obviously not. So what’s your plan here?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, too busy looking for alternative ways to contact you. After a few minutes of research, he found your Instagram. You were cute, he noticed again, scrolling through your few posts, all relatively recent. You had a very specific style, a tasteful mix or dark and edgy with splashes of pink and bows, tight corsets under leather jackets that he couldn’t help but stare appreciatively, the flattering material clinging to your waist line and pushing your breasts up, exposing the soft freckled top of cleavage to his always hungry eyes. In your pictures, your eyes shone brightly, crinkling at the sides from your ever present smile and he could not understand why you hadn’t directed one of those to him. 

It was unsettling, to say the least, but he could not allow his annoyance to take over. He needed your help if he wanted to pass that class and if he had to use unconventional ways to get your attention, he would. 

And so, much like a little boy pulling at a girl’s braids, he started liking and spamming the comments of every single post you had.

—

There were whispers all around you, your worst nightmare.

You were at the school library, getting work done while drinking from your fourth cup of coffee, hands shaking due to caffeine and anxiety, your ever present friends. You tried to focus on your books and carefully written notes, but every word you could barely hear and every look you felt over your shoulder seemed to dig claws into your skin. You knew what they were saying. You heard it all the way from your dorm to your classes and couldn’t seem to escape them. 

“Did you see Jungkook’s comments on her pictures? What’s that about?”

“It’s not like there’s a lot to comment, is there?” 

“Maybe he thought it was someone else?”

“It’s probably a prank.”

“I bet he was hacked.”

Of course, why else would someone like Jungkook - a campus prince, popular soccer player, heartthrob - show interest in you? 

It hurt, but a small part of you still agreed with those mean spirited whispers. You closed your eyes, trying to even your breathing and will those thoughts away. You knew better, had learned better than to measure your value by how interested some boy was in you.

When you opened your eyes again, Jungkook was in front of you.

You barely had time to process his presence when the voices picked up volume, your skin prickling and eyes aching to remain dry. 

“What’s Jungkook doing with Fat Y/N?”

That word shouldn’t be as hurtful as it was - after all, it was just an adjective, just the current state of your body that served only to carry your thinking mind, your feeling heart. But people always said it like a curse, wielding it like a sword.

You closed your eyes again and when you opened once more, Jungkook was still there. Looking furious.

“What are they saying?”

“What they always said” you shrugged, avoiding his eyes by looking down at your papers.

Jungkook didn’t move for a while, hearing people pretend to whisper around you but it was clear that the motherfuckers wanted you to hear. Was it always like this for you, he wondered, watching as you focused on whatever book you had in front of you, hunched over with tense shoulders, your face a far cry from the luminescent one he saw on your Instagram, not a hint of that smile he wanted directed at him so unreasonably.

He couldn’t just stand there and watch you struggle to keep your posture. 

You felt him standing up and leaving more than you saw him. Good, you thought. He should leave, like everyone did, scared away by that one word that followed you around like a brand. He was probably embarrassed to be seen with you, you assumed bitterly, and there was no place in your life for people who didn’t want you proudly by your side…

Jungkook sat back in the chair in front of you and you couldn’t help but gape at the impressive bouquet of red daisies he extended towards you.

“Take it” he said, but you couldn’t move, could barely hear the furious voices around you over the roaring beat of your heart.

You… You had never gotten flowers. 

“Take it” he repeated “I almost got run over because of this, the least you can do is accept it.”

“Jungkook” you whispered, dumbfoundedly accepting the bouquet “what’s this?”

“People keep doubting I could be interested in you” he said and there was an edge to his tone you did not expect “maybe this could help clear up some rumors.”

“This is not your battle to fight” you held the flowers close to your chest carefully, looking up at him with distrust, unable to understand his motives “I’m used to this sort of thing and I don’t care about those stupid rumors.”

You were used to it? That just made Jungkook angrier. How could you be used to that sort of treatment? 

Jungkook was a lot of things - spoiled, a little lazy, sometimes a dick. But he wasn’t a bigot and he wasn’t about to stand around and let you become used to being disrespected if there was something - anything! - he could do about it “I like picking up fights”.

“Is this just pity?” you asked and he could see walls around you that stood thousands of feet tall “Is this because of that stupid assignment? Because I’m not going to do all the work just because you got me some flowers…” 

He raised his hands and smiled at you “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll do my work” he said, a new goal in mind as he saw you recoil from him with eyes filled with wariness like a suspicious kitten “You said once a week, right? How’s friday for you?” 

You still clung to your bouquet like a lifeline “That works, I guess.”

“Great!” he clapped loudly, standing up and catching the eye of those around him “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart” you mumbled, but he pretended not to hear as he crossed the table around to your side, quickly leaving a kiss to your heated cheek before you had the chance to react.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll see you around” he said, making sure everyone in the library could hear him “do me a favor and unblock me, ok?”

You flipped him off, both for stealing a kiss and that stupid nickname, but he just laughed it off.

“That’s my girl” he said and the library erupted in renewed whispers.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

°•. ✿ .•°

[Red Daisies taglist: @purplelady85 ]

[Permanent taglist: @imknewattis ; @dreamamubarak ; @onlythebest-106 ; @betysotelo18 ; @havetaeminforbreakfast ; @uno7 ; @chimchimmarie ; @anaya123world ; @junecat18 ; @kayleefriedchicken ; @jkselcouth ; @ivrose21 ; @svnbangtansworld ]

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Poly! Kanej x gn! Reader - Always Darkness (PRIDE 2023)

A/n: Happy pride everyone! Enjoy the 3rd installment to the fics of pride 2023 with this poly fic!

Summary: After being captured during a job, you attempt to down play the effects it had on you.

Warnings: this was written a while ago, physiological torture, torture, haphephobia, temperature changes, claustrophobia, panic attacks, questionable sanity at certain points, mild violence, swearing, hallucinations, asylums, straight jacket, suicidal thoughts, ptsd, trauma, mild blood, this is a heavy one guys, I think that's it? You have been warned!

The 3 P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: romantic! kanej x reader, (mentioned, platonic!) crows x reader]

It was cold, it was dark, and it was wet.

Yet it was so warm it felt like your feet were frying off but at the same time, it felt like they were numb. The room was dark only that, never changed, it was always dark. The light could never reach in here, not even a sun summoner would be able to summon anything in that cell. It was damp, but maybe that was because of the blood pooling around you as everything else was dry.

Laying on your back you look up, your eyes widen and you barely blink five times a minute. The heat in the room is unbearable to you, so you try to sift your body, to relive some of it. Then all the heat leaves your cell, room, home? You weren't sure anymore, but it was suddenly cold, so cold.

The room starts to spin and all you used to be able to see was darkness, but now you see different worlds and universes! The rational part of your brain knows it's not real, but the part that slowly submits to the mental pain and stress of everything starts to convince you otherwise. The only thing that keeps you grounded is

Them.

Then everything is falling and you don't know if you're screaming because you can't hear anything, and you can't flail your arms to wave around because you're stuck in some sort of jacket. A straight jacket you think is what Kaz called it, he said it was for the crazies.

But you weren't crazy! Yet why else would you be in one then? Maybe you were insane...

Oh, right the mission. You weren't crazy, you weren't crazy, you weren't crazy! You were just locked up because you fucked up on a job. Maybe you deserved to be in here then.

Then you were back to getting up and to hitting the walls. Perhaps to feel something, to have control, but you couldn't kill yourself on them no matter how hard you tried.

So you screamed, cried, and yelled. Eventually, you started babbling on about other things that made no sense entirely.

Or at least you thought you made a noise. You couldn't tell, because what really is reality?

You sit up from your bed preparing to kill someone.

The knife that is usually underneath your pillow is in your hand at all times now after that one job. Always ready to strike.

"Fuck." You mutter as your head falls into your hands as tears well up in your eyes. Again.

You thought after two weeks out of that asylum you would be over all the nightmares, but you weren't over anything. You couldn't have anyone touch you unless they made it very clear what they were doing, you couldn't sleep in complete darkness. Hell, you didn't even like going in a dark space anymore. Oh, there's more. The constant flashbacks, and the extreme claustrophobia, not being able to have your hands wounded together. The feeling that complete silence gives you. Always, always, having to remind yourself that you're not going crazy, it was just the lack of sleep, or the partially non-existent sleep.

All of that could be summed up into one word PTSD! But if you wanted to be even simpler the word would be trauma.

Nobody really knew how bad it affected you either, Nina did because you had to tell someone but other than that you just didn't tell anyone. You didn't want Kaz or Inej to take you off jobs so you downplayed what happened and told them it wasn't a real asylum really.

Probably you would never tell your boyfriend or girlfriend, they had their own problems to deal with.

The tears don't fall down your face, but they are pretty damn close as you stand up to take a walk... Somewhere.

Walking out of the safety of your room you don't know where you're going, all you know is that you have one goal in mind: Away.

You find yourself outside of Kaz's office door. The last place you wanted to be, but maybe the place you needed to be. Your hand grip's the doorknob as you close your eyes and try and come up with some sort of excuse so you could be close to your lovers.

You could hear their voices talking and scheming together about the next heists and jobs. It brought a smile to your face, and instead of opening the door your hand slips off the door handle and you slide down to the floor. The wall next to the door was cold, and incredibly wet.

"Subject number one." Your head snaps up to where you heard the voice from. You've haven't heard a real voice in what seemed like years, centuries even. But instead of seeing a real live person all you can see through the darkness is a blurry speaker and the one way glass.

"Stand up please."

You don't stand up, rather you do the exact opposite as you start rolling around the room muttering random things. Perhaps you really had gone insane, or maybe you were just defiant.

"You see now that subject number one is clinically insane. Tested by the royal ravkan grishas themselves!"

Ha! No one had tested you! They had just put you in here as a form of punishment for getting caught stealing... What was it again? Silly you, you must have forgotten!

So then how much time would it be until you would forget them?

"So now we're going to do the cold test. It's where we'll turn the temperature down drastically to see what a clinically insane person would do!"

And then suddenly everything was cold - so cold.

"No, no, no, no no..." You mutter as your knees come up to your chest as it starts heaving.

Fuck, a panic attack.

"Please stop, don't touch me!" You blubber, tears filling your eyes as you start to rock back and forward.

"Please make it stop! Make it stop!" You cry.

You hear some foot steps and you assumed the door to Kaz's office opened, but you couldn't really comprehend everything properly because you were trying to keep yourself from spiraling further.

"Y/n!" You hear Inej's voice call out to you but the other voices are just too strong, filling up your mind with vicious attacks, and daggers killing off the very little of your will left. You didn't even notice the blurry figures crouching in front of you.

Forget. Everything will be easier.

Maybe you are really a freak.

You fucked up, you deserve to be here.

You almost killed your lovers, what kind of sick monster would do that?

You. Are. Insane.

Insane, insane, insane!

"Breath L/n." Kaz places an ungloved hand on your shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" You push him backwards suddenly standing up and you start sprinting towards the steps.

"Y/n! Wait!" Inej takes hold of your wrist and her skin on your reminds you of touch too much. Too much pain.

Crack!

A crisp and cold crack was heard throughout the Slat as you snapped Inej's wrist. She screams in pain and Kaz catches up to you both, worried, and beyond terrified at what is playing out in front of him.

"I said don't touch me!" You sob, and once again your knees give out underneath you as you collapse with sobs clogging your throat on the floor.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry..." You whisper brokenly, the last bits of your mind coming back to you.

Inej and Kaz look down on you as Inej cradles her wrist in her hand and it finally gets to her.

"That was a real asylum wasn't it?"

And at the those words you sob harder as you nod because no words would be coming out of your mouth.

"Oh, saints Y/n." Kaz's voice comes over and calms you a bit, better than it did before anyways.

"We should have never have left you there."

With tremendous effort, Kaz crouched down beside you but he didn't come any closer. His hands are gloved now, so when he reaches out to brush a finger across your cheek you don't feel anything. Only the worry and love coming from Dirtyhands himself, he barely even touched you though. But maybe that was the point.

"Is this okay?" He questions, his hand dropping.

All you do is nod, you aren't in the right state of mind to be forming coherent words, the lack of sleep certainly wasn't helping.

Inej, probably from her standpoint, could see this and made eye contact with Brekker to see what they were going to do.

"You'll get them to the bed in your office. Unless you want me too, and that's fine I'll just have to wearing some gloves and some more clothes." Inej says - well you think she says that because every things starting to get really woozy, and the begins world spinning.

"Inej, Kaz." You whisper the words finally forming in your mouth bringing their attention to you right before you slip into unconsciousness.

"Help!" You scream. "Help!"

"No one can help you here." The sharp, villain-like, voice comes through the speakers into your cell.

You ignore what the person said and you try and bang on the walls with your body, because you had a fucking straight jacket on.

"Help me! Please! Kaz! Inej! Help!"

The person just laughs through the speakers and it vibrates throughout the room making you stop in your tracks. Inej and Kaz had to be coming... Right?

"Even if they could come for you Y/n L/n, why would they? Who would come for someone who's insane?"

"I'm not crazy!" You holler at the one way glass, knowing there was a big chance that the person was looking at you through there.

"Maybe not yet, but-" The person pauses and their voice sends a chill up your spine.

Instantaneously, the walls on the room start moving towards you. No, no, no, no... They keep on moving and you can hear the person giggle wickedly as they keep on coming towards you. The walls are going to squish you, you were going to die here.

"No!" You shout, you couldn't die here!

Abruptly, the walls stop moving, but then the lights start to dim until it's pitch black. You feel something caging you in, it gets closer and it starts to squeeze on your body till it stops. Then, starts to move back. Wait... It must have been the walls from before.

"N-no." You manage choke out, as you start to weep.

"Please! Anyone, help!"

"You will be insane Y/n L/n. Just you wait."

Something brushes up against you and you realize that you're terrified that it could be the walls moving in on you and you would never know.

"INEJ! KAZ!" You shriek.

"Get me out! Please let me out! I'm not crazy I swear!"

"Kaz! Inej!"

"Y/n! Y/n!"

You sit up with a start, sweat dripping down your face as tears well in your eyes.

Glancing beside you, you realize it's Inej who woke you up. Her face looked mildly terrified and she looked like she was in pain.

"I didn't want to touch you, so all I could do was yell." She said brokenly shoving her face into her hands.

"I'm sorry, we left you there."

You sigh but you smile slightly at your girl.

"It's not your nor Kaz's fault, I also told basically everyone it wasn't real. Even if I was lying to you, the biggest person I was lying to was myself." You close your eyes trying to will the memories away.

As you open them you start to see Kaz starting to limp inside the room.

"We're-" He starts

"Don't finish that sentence Kaz, I know you both are." You cut him off with a small glare, today was not the day you wanted to see the bastard of the barrel apologize.

He sighs and he sits on the other end of the bed. Inej comes and sits by Kaz who she links her hands with. Then you sit up and you ghost your hand over theirs.

It wasn't okay, but it could be. One day, it wouldn't be always darkness.

Words 2050

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[simvanie]

Luxor Amata for Scarlett's love is embarrassing BC

Guess who is back (in an alternate timeline)? I totally forgot about the existence of bachelor challenges when I was playing with Luxor for the lust generation of my legacy, until he was old and already fully committed to his wife. I think doing a bachelor challenge with Luxor would have been really fun, but doing one myself with him now, even in an alternate timeline, wouldn't make sense for me since Luxor has already established his story and lore in my sims universe. So, when I saw @theosconfessions post for Scarlett's Love is Embarrassing BC I got this idea where Luxor can still participate in a BC in some way and let others have fun with him. I thought, what if I make an updated version of Luxor set in an alternate timeline where he hasn't met the love of his life yet and so it's entirely possible that he ends up with Scarlett? So, I gave Luxor a makeover and pitched this idea to Stacey (theosconfessions) and luckily she liked it!

Info about Luxor under the cut:

"Blondes have more fun, right?" That is what Luxor heard some of his co-stars say on the set of the upcoming series where he plays a role in. When he asked what they were talking about, they showed him Scarlett's bachelorette challenge call. Luxor's heart skipped a beat and suddenly it felt like his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen anymore. For a while now, Luxor really wants to find someone to grow old with and thinks that Scarlett might be the one. Luxor has had his fair share of official (and unofficial) relationships in the past and it's safe to say that this heartthrob already has a lot of experience in the dating field. One might attribute his need for love and affection to his childhood, in which his single mother, who tried to keep her head above water as a criminal, was often angry at him and didn't give him much attention until he was a little older. But don't get me wrong, Luxor is 100% capable of being fully committed when he finds the right person. He is charismatic, has a good heart and doesn't actually want to cause anyone heartbreak. Although his noncommittal trait caused him sometimes to suddenly jump from one relationship into the other or have multiple at once (and this 'multiple at once' can also be applied to a couple of in the bedroom activities he has had), he feels that it is finally time to settle down and find someone to build a future with. Luxor is currently a B-lister celebrity with a love for stand-up comedy and playing the guitar. He is romantically more interested in women but open to explore romantically, and has had woohoo experience with both men and women. His PR agency told him that it would be better for his public celebrity image to keep that last one under wraps for now. The life in the spotlight can sometimes be a bit hectic, and Luxor hopes that he can find in Scarlett someone to come home to, cuddle on the couch with, tell his new jokes to, go on dates with, play guitar for, have romantic dinners with, go on advetures with, visit the petting zoo with (he absolutely loves the little goats), make memories with, and to show him if it's true when they say that blondes have more fun (whatever fun for them may mean *wink wink*). And what better place to meet Scarlett than one of Luxor's favorite vacation locations, Tartosa!

Pronouns: He/him

Age: He's already nearing the end of his young adult years, but Luxor never minded an age gap in relationships and hopes Scarlett feels the same about it

Sexuality: Bisexual (currently closeted for the public image, but close friends and family know)

Traits: Noncommittal, outgoing, music lover (Luxor originally had the romantic trait here, but it's changed to music lover to make it more fair regarding the other contestants)

Career: Actor

Hometown: Del Sol Valley

I hope you like him! Can't wait to see how the drama, ✨the spice✨, and everything else unfolds in Scarlett's bachelorette challenge.

[iongsiyi]

normal people: marianne and connell

I would like to start this with a blog post I saw and really liked the other day.

“Normal people is about vulnerability and the importance of intimacy. It explores miscommunication and the power unsaid words have on people. Such a deeply emotional, sensitive, gentle and beautifully written and directed story about two young adults - who find such enormous solace in one another, that cannot be found within anyone else they meet throughout their lives. Connell and Marianne are two twin flames who fall in and out each other lives, mostly because of their lack of clearness and transparency which feels frustrating and even overwhelming at times. What often happens is that Connell and Marianne overthink almost everything, but don’t express their thoughts because they think they have the other person’s thoughts already figured out. But thinking is not the same as communicating. They get so caught up in their assumptions and thoughts that completely forget to do the simplest thing, which is - to ask. Although they have a lot of misunderstandings the love they feel for each other is terrifyingly unmatched. All throughout this novel it becomes clear that the two characters have a really unique and special spark, they and their relationship is complex, but between them exists a certain normalcy that cannot be understood by others. Connell and Marianne constantly try out things that make them feel weird or normal, but towards the conclusion of the novel it appears that they have accepted that their favorite version of normal is the version that exists within their relationship, when they’re with each other. This story explores perfectly but in a very realistic way, the importance of growing up and finding love within ourselves and the people around us. Normal People shows us how societal expectations and insecurities can affect us and our relationships forever.” @iwishyouroses

Very short paragraph yet sums up the novel so well. It gave me a sort of framework on understanding the novel better.

The major theme of the story is self discovery, is growing up, is changing, as a person and in life. One of the major thing that they focus on is the parallel between high school them and university them. The author created a stark contrast between the characters by creating a parallel between them in two different time periods. In high school, Connell was majorly popular while Marianne was widely hated. Connell constantly had a group of friends around him and Marianne did not. She was a loner, hated not only by her peers but also her family. But everything completely flipped in university. Marianne “got into college and got pretty”, she has a group of friends around her all the time and everyone found her so likable. Connell on the other hand, did not have many friends, he felt as though he had no one to talk to and constantly felt very lonely.

Despite everything, they have always been around one another. They always have each other. It seems as though they cannot stay away from each other and show up in each other’s lives no matter what. But throughout the story, even though they were extremely intimate with each other, and really only enjoyed each other’s companies, it feels as though they are not that close to each other. The major issue that exists between the both of them is the lack of communication. It shocks me how throughout their years together, the miscommunication has not frustrated them so much that they feel the need to kill each other, because I most certainly have, wanted to strangle the both of them.

We see so much of their individual thought processes throughout the story, but they have never communicated that to each other. It often feels as though we are the Gods, looking into their lives constantly, being able to understand what they were thinking, but somehow the two of them who are in each other’s lives do not know what the other is thinking. It’s so fucking frustrating.

My take on the reason behind their miscommunication, is the insecurity that is rooted in the both of them. They live in their heads most of the time and overthink everything.

Marianne’s insecurity is reflected in her crave for love and affection from Connell. Connell at one point in her life was the only person that could “stand” her and “love” her, she wants to please him and would do whatever she could to make him happy. My interpretation is that, she is so scared of Connell leaving her, literally so fucking terrified to the point where she would do anything in desperation to make him stay. She has on multiple occasions asked Connell to act violently towards her during intimate scenes, to which Connell refused. Even in other romantic relationships she was involved in, she wanted her partner to hit her during intimate scenes. It’s like giving others a sense of control over her body or a sense of dominancy makes Marianne feels safe, that they won’t leave her. It may be her coping mechanism for her deep rooted insecurity.

Connell has never connected deeply with anyone in his life. Even in high school, when he was surrounded by people, by friends, he never felt like he could talk to anyone. Until he started interacting with Marianne. Marianne became his dock, the person he could always go to whenever he wants, he knew she would always be waiting for him in the same place. But he was scared, he was scared that if people knew about them it would ruin his reputation. He asked Marianne to keep it a secret from the start, and Marianne obeyed, seeing that he was the only person that would actually talk to her. He was so scared of how people would see him and what people would talk about him. He felt safe with Marianne, safe as in he knew that no matter what he does, she wouldn’t leave, so even if he knew that he was hurting her feelings, he kept on doing it. When his friends told him that everyone knew he was romantically involved with her, he was shocked, but also surprised that no one called him out or treated him differently. It was then that he realized, no one really gives a shit about what he does. He felt especially lonely in college after the fallout with Marianne, because he is no longer in a familiar place with familiar people, and there is no pristine reputation to keep up, because no one knew who he was. Even though in college they reconciled, and Marianne was involved in his life again, his mental health kept deteriorating. His entire life he never had a clear sense of who he is, an identity, a mental image. He is confused with himself, this confusion only intensified in college, when he was away from his friends in high school, his mom in Sligo, everything that was familiar in his life away from him. He not only felt confused with himself, or lonely, he felt like he didn’t fit in with people, in his course or in college in general, all these factors piled on his mental burden and he couldn’t take it anymore, he went to a counselor, and was later diagnosed with depression.

The most beautiful and precious thing about this story is the “salvation” between them. How they both were in a way each other’s “anchor”, each other’s “light”, each other’s “safe place”, away from the messes that were Marianne’s family and her relationships, and Connell’s mental health. I would like to point out a view of mine, is that nobody should be anyone’s salvation in life, because depending on someone else to heal your trauma or wounds does not work and often leads to disasters. When I say that they are each other’s “salvation”, I mean that they make each other feel better, and that they somehow always end up with each other when they are at their lowest. For example, Connell was there when Marianne ended things horribly with Jamie, or near the end, when her brother broke her nose, and the first person Marianne could think of was Connell, and he came to her “rescue”. Or when Connell felt depressed and Marianne would be the only one there for him.

To end this, I would like to add one more point to the blog post I started this with, that there’s always a certain person in our lives that would change our lives forever. In this case, Marianne was the one in Connell’s life and Connell was the one in Marianne’s life. Though this person may not stay in our lives forever, they will leave a mark in our lives permanently and we will always think back to them at moments of our lives, how great they made us feel, how they broke our hearts at one point, or just reminiscing the times we spent together. We went through so many ups and downs with them, we flipped our hearts inside out and showed them our most vulnerable side, and most importantly, we loved them with every inch of our hearts. But as we grow up, we realize, some people just aren’t meant to stay in our lives. And we learn not only to let go of them, but ourselves as well because it’s only then that we can truly move on.

I'll go. And I'll stay. And we'll be okay

[theworldreturning]

Intro Post

Hello! I'm participating in @pkmoth's askapalooza event! So here's just some general stuff to know bout how this blog's gonna go!

Info under the cut!

About The AU:

Nothing too special about this AU, really, I think it's a concept everyone's come up with at some point. It's a post story AU after Mother 3's ending where the world is reformed after Lucas asks the dragon to give the planet and humanity another chance.

As a side effect, a good amount of people have come back and/or changed to be allowed that second chance (mainly those who had some form of regret in the old world). Some folks are very different to allow for this to happen, and as such have changed memories and lives, but most remain unchanged from how they were when the world ended and reformed.

The new world takes place in an alternate post Mother 2 universe, but now the Nowhere Islands exist alongside everything else (Though now on maps and such, they're known as the Dragon's Rest Isles). Due to this timeline change, while the folks from Mother 1 are here, they're older now.

So who can you ask?:

You can ask most anyone important from the games! Though if you want more specific people/groups you have:

Claus, Lucas, and Fuel. Who are currently still living in the Dragon's Rest Isles.

They all retain memories of the previous world, but mostly try to put it behind them. For now they're trying their best to retain some sense of normalcy and get used to how things are going to work in their new life (much like everyone else in New Tazmily).

As a point of note: Due to what physically happened to him in the previous world, Claus may not be fully able to answer some questions (may be beyond his scope of vocabulary, or too difficult to understand). In those cases, Fuel or Lucas will probably answer for him. ( Yes, Claus is still a chimera. Yes this affects his behavior.)

The Chosen 4 from Mother 2 (plus Pokey and Picky). Back at home after their journey.

Though the chosen 4 went their separate ways after their journey, they're still good friends and come to visit often. Also due to the world being given a second chance, Pokey is back to being Ness' neighbor, but this time has accepted friendship (mostly, he's still a bit of a prickly kid.)

As a huge note: While the chosen 4 remember the previous world, Pokey and his family DO NOT. Their memories are rewritten to have allowed for Pokey to get a second chance! (Their behaviors are still similar to the previous world though.)

Ninten (And the main party of Mother 1). Now grown up and living their lives in relative peace.

This cast is grown up now (they're in their 20s, minus teddy who is in his late 30s early 40s). While we'll mostly only see Ninten around, the others can answer asks! Also due to proximity (since he moved), Ninten and his cousin Ness can also answer some things together from time to time!

General Asking Rules:

For the most part, at least for now, the casts from the game are mostly separate. The only exceptions are the M1 and M2 casts, who either visit often or are in close enough proximity that they're semi-aware of each other. They'll all meet eventually (at least that's my hope), but for now they remain separate.

No NSFW asks, of course. Most of the casts are still minors. I'll also apply no shipping asks into this. It's not a main thing I wish to focus on, any ships that happen are just there and not the biggest focus.

Don't spam the same asks, it'll just lead me to not answering them. (This doesn't apply if you happen to ask the same question as someone else! If enough people ask the same thing, it may eventually make it to an OOC FAQ post!)

I will TRY to answer with at least a black and white sketch, but I am a working man, so my time is sometimes quite limited. I apologize in advanced.

Due to the above, I may also take a bit to answer some questions! Please do be patient, I will try my best to answer them all!

I will also answer RP-type asks, but they may remain short or more spread out in between normal asks as I'm not the best at roleplaying.

You can be mean to characters, but don't push it too far!! If you sent an ask that I found overly aggressive and you never see it answer, assume it was a bit too far.

Lastly, What About The Future of This Blog?:

If I have fun manning this blog through the month, and people still seem decently interested, I may continue it past the askapalooza! But that all depends on the future, so don't hold me to it! Just know that whatever the decision, I will have appreciated everyone taking the time to just look or even interact with these guys!

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏ��ʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ

❝ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇꜱ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4.7k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, questionable yoga poses, sexual fantasying, intimacy

↣ notes :: :) surprise :) the amount of sexual tension in this chapter makes me wanna smush their faces together and yell KISS ALREADY also JIN IS BACK JIN IS HOME WORLD WIDE HANDSOME HAS RETURNED 🥳 I was so happy to see our king of chaos return and spend some time with the rest of the boys!

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you're watching, I feel it. I know I shouldn't stare. I picture your hands on me. I think I wanna let it happen."

-liar, camilla cabello-

Amber eyes met with chocolate irises. After staring at each other with a widened gaze of disbelief, both pairs respectfully narrowed at each other.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Kiara dropped whatever stretch she was about to do, turning to face the blonde man who seemed equally, if not more, annoyed than the girl.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She whispered harshly so she wouldn't cause a scene.

Jimin couldn't help but tilt his head to the side curiously, switching arms to stretch the other one out. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

Her eyes burned a hole into him. "No shit! I meant here, at this studio, when there are hundreds, if not thousands, of other ones!"

The man shrugged, "This one was in the area. Technically, I should be asking you what you're doing here. Aren't you supposed to be in Long Island?"

Kiara opened her mouth and prepared for a slick response, but the words died on her tongue. He had a point, but she wouldn't let him know. All she wanted was to relax; with everything else going on in her life, this was the one place guaranteed to provide some tranquillity. But now that was tainted by the blonde's mere existence.

It was like the universe was playing some sick joke on the woman, interweaving her life with someone as insufferable as him. Her existence became a reality TV show for the gods above and below, making Kiara and Jimin the main characters. 

"What happened to your hair?" Jimin asked suddenly, filling the air of silence that grew between them. He had only checked out the woman because her hair caught his attention. So curly, wild, and free—he liked it, but it was Kiara's, so he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to pull on her curls strand by strand to watch them recoil back to the loose spring. Plus, Kiara had straight hair—she always had straight hair—she couldn't just suddenly change it on him.

"Fuck off," she quipped while she placed her hands on her hips for a moment. Kiara didn't wear her hair curly for this exact reason; someone always had something to say about it. Whether it was white women and children reaching out to touch it without her permission, black men insisting she was anything other than black when trying to talk to her, and random Hispanic people speaking straight Spanish to her as if she understood. Kiara didn't like the attention it brought her. That's why she kept it straight. The only thing people would do was compliment her hair. The less attention, the better.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to find the calmness she once had before Park Jimin had entered. If she couldn't, she would hightail it out of here and back to Little Latte to give Jeongguk an earful. She knew she should've stayed at his place and made his bed into a lovely, comfy depression nest. An overwhelming feeling sat in her gut as soon as Jeongguk mentioned the outside world. 

"Was it on purpose? Like you meant to walk outside like that?" Jimin started to lean side to side casually, hiding the smirk that desperately wanted to form on his lips. 

Kiara glared at the blonde, her fiery gaze meeting his playful one. So he thinks this is a joke? "Fuck you and ya motha."

"Oooh," Jimin chuckled, hiding his attraction to her accent. It was the first time he heard it so prominently. Did she know she had a voice that deserved to be in porn? He could listen to just her speaking with no direction at all and get off. "Insulting people's mother's now? Someone's a little feisty."

"You're right," she stepped off her mat and bent over, beginning to roll it up. Jimin's eyes lingered over the woman for more than what was appropriate. "Your mother is probably a wonderful lady. I bet she tried everything for you not to grow up a pretentious asshole, but unfortunately," she grabbed her mat and water bottle, "some thing's can't be helped."

Jimin's upper lip twitched, threatening to curl from the bold assumption that his mother was anything excellent. He should’ve told her off—let her know just how painfully wrong she was—but that little smirk playing on her lips stole the words from his tongue. All he could do was sigh deeply, exhaling all the words he wanted to say as he stared into those eyes of gold that threatened him as much as his own. Just as she stepped away from him, assuming the woman was going to leave so they both could have peace, a door opened. The duo turned their head towards the noise that interrupted their tension.

"Good morning, my blessed rays of sunshine and daring rainbows!" A short girl with wavy dark brown hair walked in, followed by a tall man with deep skin. With the amount of pep in her step, one would think she was skipping. She made her way to the front of the room, standing before the mirror on top of a mat. The woman was very petite, standing at 4'10 at most. In contrast, the man beside her had to be at least 6 feet tall. It was an odd couple, but Kiara didn't care as much as she wondered why there were two instructors instead of one.

The woman smiled brightly at the room as the chatting people from earlier slowly started to join the center. "It's an honor to have you join us for this couples class."

The duo's eyes widened with disbelief before releasing an aspirated sigh. "Ah, shit," they mumbled as they looked around the room. Everyone had a partner beside them, leaving them as the only pair. 

"Today's class is designed for you and your partner to sync until you are one."

Kiara quickly raised her hand, promptly grabbing the instructors' attention. They nodded towards her, prompting her to speak. "What if you don't have a partner?"

The room erupted in tiny giggles like she said a joke, but Kiara's face remained unchanged. She stared at the two instructors, jaw clenched with an unamused expression spread amongst her features. She folded her arms over her chest, waiting for whatever response the two would conjure up.

"Oh, you were serious?" The man asked before Kiara nodded. He pursed his lips briefly before his eyes landed on the man beside her. Jimin looked at Kiara, wondering where she expected this route to lead her. It was only until the overwhelming feeling of someone staring at you that he pulled his gaze away from the girl and looked at the male instructor. "Do you have a partner?"

The blonde's eyes went wide before he cleared his throat. "Well, no, but—"

"Ah! So problem solved!" The male grinned before looking off at the rest of the class.

"No!" Kiara's voice pipped up before the female instructor could speak. "Problem not solved! Problem far from solved!"

"You're welcome to walk out," the short woman stated. She stared at the other woman, her warm blue eyes freezing over suddenly. That didn't stop Kiara from bending over again, preparing to gather her things until the woman's voice cut through the air. "But we don't offer refunds here."

Kiara stopped and froze, debating for a moment before slowly standing up. She had to dip into her savings fund to pay for this class, and she didn't want to waste money she shouldn't have been spending in the first place. Her shoulders dropped in defeat as she realized she was not only going to be stuck in the same room with Park Jimin, sober, for a whole hour, but now she was also to be his partner.

"Problem solved?" The female instructor asked with a tone of impatience lingering behind her words. Kiara nodded silently. The woman's eyes then traveled to Jimin, who met her gaze with a glare. She raised a questioning brow, tempting him to take a chance and try her also. And Jimin would've. He didn't need the money, nor cared so much for the class. He could've left, found another class at a neighboring yoga studio, and pretended he never ran into Ms. Kiara. But that was the issue. All it took was one glance at the woman who seemed to shrink into herself from embarrassment.

Jimin tilted his head back as he shut his eyes, letting out a small sigh of defeat. He placed his hands on his hips, gathering all the positive energy lingering in his system. He looked at the instructor once more, offering her his charming smile. "Problem solved."

The instructors seemed pleased, going on to resume their introduction to the class. Kiara found herself slowly shuffling towards Jimin. She leaned in subtly towards him. "Just so you know," she whispered, "I'm going to hate every second of this."

Jimin stifled back a dry scoff. "Likewise."

After the introduction, the instructors started the class with a simple breathing exercise. They demonstrated the position, causing Kiara's eyes to widen before she glanced at the blonde man beside her, who did not react. Soon, everyone, including Jimin and Kiara, got onto their mats and copied their position.

Kiara stared at Jimin while he avoided her gaze completely before cautiously sliding into his lap. The instructor pulled the shades on the window down, blocking out the natural sunlight before dimming the fluorescent lights. Speakers quietly played calm notes of guitar strings plucking and wind instruments. Despite the elements around them, the duo was anything but relaxed. Kiara tensed at the feeling of Jimin's hands on her back while hers wrapped around his neck loosely. Jimin tried to steady his breathing, praying that she couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating. They don't like each other; they haven't liked each other for months, so why did he need to feel close to her?

Kiara inhaled deeply, letting her eyes shut as her breathing began to sync with Jimin's. It was fast at first and slightly concerning until her fingers absentmindedly found the little hairs on his nape. He seemed to relax at the feeling of her fingertips stroking his hair. For the first time today, Kiara felt some sort of peace.

She wanted to pretend it was Taehyung's arms wrapped around her. She wanted to pretend it was his hands gently rubbing against her cool skin, warming her. She wanted to pretend it was his incredibly addictive scent she was breathing in. The sweet smell of citrus and pineapple colliding with a slight spice of black pepper and juniper berries with a heavy hint of vanilla lingering in the background was comforting. Disrespectfully intoxicating. Soothing. She wanted to pretend, but she couldn't.

All of his qualities were opposite of Jimin's.

Taehyung was naturally rougher and more dominating. Slow moments like this didn't come often, and if they did, it would always end with a hand on her ass or boob, groping her and telling her how horny he is. Sometimes, she just wanted to be held, to feel skin against hers in the most innocent ways. She didn't want her body to only be touched for someone else's pleasure. 

Her boyfriend also smelled like a teenager who put on too much axe body spray. Kiara preferred something sweeter, more inviting, and easier on the nose, while Taehyung wanted people to smell him before he entered the room. His colognes contained more notes of cedar woods, bergamot, and various citruses—powerful and entirely too much for Kiara. Maybe that's why she found herself snuggling closer to Jimin, her nose pressing against the crook of his neck, causing the area to tense from her simple touch.

"Someone's close," Jimin whispered lowly, causing a pleasant chill to run down her spine. She didn't know his voice could get deeper, and it was a dangerous ability for him to have. His silk voice was already soothing on the ears, but this made it far more enjoyable.

"That's the whole point of the exercise," she mumbled, subconsciously pushing her body against his.

Jimin inhaled sharply, her curls tickling the tip of his nose. He couldn't slow his heart. He couldn't stop his mind, not while she was this close to him. All he could think about was how divine she smelled—a delicate mix of berries with hints of whipped vanilla. Sweetness seemed to be her signature, which he didn't mind. He just ran his fingers up and down her spine, instinctively pulling her closer by her hips. The woman couldn't help the gasp that escaped from her lips as her fingertips gripped his black shirt.

Kiara shouldn't be enjoying this. It was wrong on so many levels. Still, she couldn't help but let her eyes flutter close as she melted into his embrace. She imagined a world where the events leading to their distaste for each other didn't occur. A world where Jimin met her before Taehyung. A world where his gentle touch was normalized, yet still made goosebumps arise on her skin as if it was foreign.

The instructor's voice cut through their moment of peace, placing them back in the reality where they disliked each other. Their separation was slow, almost as if their bodies were rejecting the idea of it. Kiara's eyes met Jimin's briefly before she slid onto the floor and to the space beside him. 

The class continued with some regular solo poses before another couple exercise. Kiara sighed deeply, dreading the moment she had to feel Jimin's hands against her skin. This is what she should be feeling, right? Then why did it feel forced?

The class watched as the male instructor demonstrated the pose. It was relatively easy, like the first one, yet Kiara's face flushed with heat. This class was truly meant for couples. She wondered if Taehyung would be interested in attending one with her, but she already knew his answer would be no. The activity was too boring, and with the closeness he would convince them to ditch and never return.

"You nervous or something?" Jimin whispered, sounding almost genuine as he pulled her from her thoughts.

"No!" She snapped at him quietly.

His brows furrowed as he gestured towards the space in front of him. "Then get in position." His tone matched hers without a second thought. 

The woman glared at him despite being the one to start the trouble. Regardless, she did as she was told and stood before him. Sweat began to form in the palms of her hands as she felt his hand rest on her hip. She took a deep breath, slowly bending forward as the hand resting in the middle of her back guided her. She grasped her toes between her fingers while keeping her knees straight, causing the back of her legs to stretch. Typically, this was a very relaxing pose, and she usually would've gone a step further and wrapped her arms around her calves, almost pulling her head between her legs. Jimin's presence was a distraction—too significant not to notice—stopping her from stretching further. He wasn't doing much, but his hands gently persuaded her to continue the stretch by applying light pressure on her back while her other hand firmly kept her in place to ensure she didn't lose balance. It caused her face to flush, the feeling of his hands so gentle yet so commanding.

Curiosity flooded Kiara's mind briefly, leading her to glance at the mirror before them. And god, she wished she hadn't. It was enough that she found Jimin attractive—you'd have to be blind to say he wasn't—but with his dark eyes peering over her frame as he stood directly behind her and his brows somewhat furrowed with his head tilted to the side a bit, Kiara was surprised she didn't turn bright red at the sight. Her mind strolled to a dark area, wondering if this were the picture an onlooker would see if he was fucking her from behind. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she quickly looked away. She cursed at herself softly, knowing that specific scene would plague her thoughts for the next few nights.

Jimin inhaled deeply, trying to convince himself to remain calm. She was such a sight to see already, but bent over? It took every ounce of concentration he had not to allow blood to run opposite from his head. Despite wanting to fill the gap between them and press his hips against the woman, he stayed frozen in place. You know better, rang through his head like a mantra. Curse this class for being so sexually charged, as if couples couldn't also mean a pair of friends who like yoga as well. It felt as if the instructors were punishing the duo for speaking up against them. Although, he was pleasantly surprised with how flexible the woman was. He prayed for the moment when the instructors called for a new position, not wanting to deal with this level of torture any longer. And when they finally did, he only removed his hand from her back, allowing her to return to an upright position slowly. He watched Kiara through lowered lids. Why did it seem as if everything she did was purposely seductive? It was like the girl had lust running through her system, expressed through the way she moved and spoke. Jimin didn't back off until he got a face full of her sweet fragrance.

Kiara swiftly returned to her mat. She unzipped her hoodie, feeling as if the area just went up 20 degrees. The woman rid herself of the black fabric, leaving her in a cropped white camisole. She used her hand to fan herself, hoping that the lack of clothing and the cool air would allow her face to return to its usual shade. Jimin glanced at the girl, subtly doing a double take as her chest barely moved up and down to accommodate her breathing. He stared ahead, cursing himself mentally, as he felt he was just about to lose the fight between his head and dick. He made it through having the woman sit in his lap and bent over directly in front of him, but her standing in a camisole was what would do him in?

Fuck, he thought to himself as the instructors started to talk. Hopefully, the shrill voice of the fake-peppy woman could stop him at a chub so he could avoid the embarrassment. The sweatpants he decided to put on weren't necessarily boner-proof. Her curves were so noticeable, so divine, blessed by Aphrodite herself. He totally understood why Taehyung was drawn to her, but how he put up with her slick tongue every day during their relationship was beyond him.

The class resumed its regular poses once again, giving Jimin a break as he focused on his posture. Kiara couldn't help but glance at him now and again. The regular poses had them remain close, causing their limbs to brush each other occasionally. The slight touch was more than enough to cause goosebumps to rise on either party's skin. Almost touching each other should've burned. It should've made them recoil strongly like the heat of a nearing fire. Stolen glances between the two should've created flames fueled by disdain for the other.

But it didn't. For the first time since that fateful night when everything went to shit, they were coexisting. Neither decided to question it; instead, they just lived in the moment, considering it would be the last.

The instructors demonstrated another pose, prompting the duo and the rest of the class to follow. This one didn't seem as sexually charged. Jimin sat on the mat with his legs wide open, allowing Kiara to place herself between them. She leaned back into him, resting her head on the upper portion of his chest. The curly-haired woman tried her hardest to relax against him, knowing that this particular stretch could end with her pulling a very uncomfortable area if Kiara wasn't careful. She let her eyes flutter shut as she tilted her chin toward the ceiling. Her hands rested comfortably on Jimin as if this was just an everyday thing with him—like being comfortable with him was normal.

Jimin was utterly focused. Having Kiara this close to him again could cause some trouble for him. He had already proved to himself that his mind could go to that place easily regarding the woman. The blonde wished he could blame it on the lack of pleasurable activities, but that would be a lie. As Kiara sunk into him, her curls tickling the side of his neck, he reached forward to grab her ankles. He lifted her legs into the air, slowly but surely pulling her limbs to either side of her. Jimin's brows furrowed as he continued to pull farther than he expected her to handle. She let out a soft hum, sounding pleasant to the ears.

Jimin inhaled deeply. He had the girl spread eagle in his lap, pulling her legs back until the side of her head. He averted his eyes, looking anywhere besides the place where any other guy would gaze. He even caught the male instructor staring in her direction for too a little long. The blonde instantly narrowed his eyes at the other, jaw set and tongue ready to slit his throat if the gaze proceeded. Luckily, the man was smart. He was instantly unsettled by his gaze, looking elsewhere while pretending to help another couple. Jimin couldn't help but roll his eyes, lip curling at the thought of him possibly checking out another woman while seemingly in a relationship. Though it was an assumption, Jimin could usually tell taken men from single. The former seemed to move more cautiously or didn't care for anything else around them. The latter always had a wandering eye, interacting with the world's opportunities of the beauties bestowed on him.

Kiara opened her eyes, meeting with the ceiling before looking ahead. The way Jimin had pulled her legs, stretching her abductors pleasantly, felt amazing. She looked at their reflection, gazing at his surprisingly strong arms. Her mind traveled to a darker place where they sat in a similar position, in front of a mirror in the privacy of her home, with a lot less clothing. Kiara was so caught up in her imagination—something she definitely shouldn't be indulging in considering the state of her relationship status—that she didn't notice Jimin's gaze slowly fall upon her, their eyes meeting in the mirror once again. She seemed in a daze to him; eyes glazed over with developing lust. He only wished to get a peek inside of that mind of hers.

When she finally came to, noticing how her eyes locked with his, she glared at him and quickly averted his gaze. Her face flushed with heat, a tedious habit when it came to this man. Kiara hoped he wouldn't see the embarrassment hiding in her rose-stained cheeks, but Jimin only chuckled at the sight, and she was unsure if that infuriated her or granted her relief. She wasn't allowed to ponder her feelings as the instructors commenced wind down, consisting of the duo separating and laying next to each other on their mats. They were only a few inches apart. Jimin's finger twitched, craving an action he knew he very well shouldn't. An hour of grasping her soft skin in his hands should've sufficed him. Yet he was greedy, wanting more of her than they both knew she could give.

Kiara stared up at the dimmed, round light fixtures that hung from the ceiling until little flashes of color invaded her line of vision. She let out a deep sigh, letting her eyes shut. Her mind was a tsunami of thoughts when it was supposed to be a calm lake. Three men crashed like tidal waves on her beach of sanity, when she hoped this class would get rid of them only for a second. She didn't want to think about her annoying boyfriend, her best friend whose eyes seemed to cover hidden feelings or the blonde whose looks should match his ugly personality to make things easier on her. She attempted to drown them with silence—push them so below the surface that it would take days for them to reach the top of the wave again. 

The room became brighter as the fluorescent lights turned on, and the instructors raised the shades to let in natural lightning. Kiara heard the other occupants get up and retrieve their stuff, but she remained glued to the floor beneath her. It wasn't enough time. This class achieved the opposite of why she attended. She still felt tense, and on edge, waiting for someone to push her over.

"Well, that wasn't a total nightmare," said a voice above her. The smug tone wrapped around his words dropped like acid onto the girl's face. Opening one eye, she was graced by the image of Jimin slightly bent over, hands in his pockets, with golden hair loosely spreading out and around him like rays of the sun.

"Says who?" Kiara scoffed as she sat up, a cloud blocking his rays. Most of the class had packed their stuff, leaving a few chatty stragglers beside the duo. She gathered her things before standing up and looking at the blonde. Looking up at him, she never noticed how much she needed to tilt her head back. Why did he look like he was glowing under the fluorescent lighting? His honey-glazed skin was smooth and supple, with the faintest freckles on his cheeks. 

"Considering the fact that we've survived an hour of pretending we could tolerate being close to each other, let alone touching each other, I'll take that as a win," Jimin smirked while folding his arms over his chest.

"Fucking perv," Kiara grumbled. "You liked putting your grimy little fingers on me, didn't you?"

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it. I saw your face."

Kiara's eyes went wide for a moment before she unknowingly mirrored Jimin's stance by folding her arms over her chest as she shifted her weight to one foot. "I have not the slightest idea of what you're talking about."

The blonde couldn't help but smile as he watched her lips form into a subtle pout, her chin tilting upwards as she tried her hardest to appear snobby. Too bad she couldn't sell it. All she managed to do was look cute. "Yeah, OK, Kiara. Whatever will help you sleep better at night."

"Of course, you would think about how I sleep." Kiara quipped. She didn't know why she always dragged out conversations with Jimin. All she had to do was ignore him and walk away, but something about his little jabs made her want to fight.

Jimin let out a loud scoff. "Don't flatter yourself. You live far from my thoughts at night."

Kiara's brows furrowed, not understanding why that comment would leave her with an uncomfortable pit in her stomach instead of swelling with relief. "Yeah OK." She bent over to pack up her equipment, knowing Jimin's eyes were gazing upon her. She slowly stood up again, regaining control of the situation. She could see how Jimin's eyelids had lowered, plump lips ever so slightly agape as if he was trying to breathe out the lingering desire in his system. "So we're just gonna pretend like you weren't just staring at me, right?"

Jimin's face suddenly twitched, like he was snapping himself back to reality. Heat followed afterward, flushing his skin with a pretty pink. Kiara giggled softly, causing his lips to tug into a small smile despite the embarrassment swimming through him. How the woman managed to shut him up, not once, but twice now, was beyond him. Jimin was the king of clapbacks. There wasn't a soul that could escape his wicked tongue until he met the beautiful girl with wild hair and a smile that could light up even the darkest of nights. He could only sigh, feigning annoyance though he was rather impressed. 

"You really think I was staring at you?"

"I know it."

Jimin didn't bother testing his luck again. Something about her threw him off his game, which was not his proudest moment. The blonde couldn't do much but watched as she swayed her hips, strolling towards the door until she stopped suddenly.

"Guess you'll have something to think about at night now," Kiara said just as she walked out of the room. Jimin's jaw fell slightly before he collected himself, scoffing quietly. A part of him was tempted to follow after, to continue the banter they had fallen into.

But he knew better than that.

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[cyten0]

A Symphony In Crimson

The End of A World

𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞𝄞

Your name is Siffrin.

And you should never have existed.

But you are about to fix that.

▲ “Hey Sif. Nervous?”

You nod. This isn’t going to be easy.

After defeating the king, you started to look more into your home, as best as you could. Made counter wishes, dug up tomes, EVERYTHING.

And what you found shocked you. Your home wasn’t just forgotten. It was erased. You, and everything from there, are living typos in the script.

And it shows, if you look too long. Why you'd have such expensive clothing when living out of a seaside cabin. Why a child knew how to pilot a boat across open waters. Why no one helped you as a child, as you still barely existed at all. Why the star door in the house never actually had a question on it, just the idea of one. Why even after screaming yourself to death, your home's name couldn't be said, as there was nothing to scream.

As time went on, you found more and more. The inability to find any traces of the religion or culture beyond the surface. The technology falling apart into a useless mess if you try and take it apart. People sharing with you what tiny bits of history you've recovered almost exactly, with no deviation.

It took years after to find out what did it. You wanted to see if it was possible to do it again, in order to fix it. And by freak chance, it turned out you were the only one alive who could.

The last heir to a throne that doesn't exist.

◉ “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine! We’ve got everything planned out!”

Mirabelle sits at the dining table, cheerful. She’s really flourished since Dormont. Grew more confidant. Assured. The picture of the Revolutionary Housemaiden the tales came to paint her as.

𝄞 “Are you all. SURE. You are still Okay with this?”

✿ “Course Frin, especially myself! I know what’ll happen, but crab it.”

They are still cooking up food for you all. Biggest meal they’ve ever made, to fit the occasion. They’ve learned SO MANY recipes, that it took them a solid WEEK to figure out what to include, settling for at least only what can fit on the table. Fritters are, of course, included.

Bonnie has grown up into a fine adult. That wishcraft-made red hair and eyes looks good on them! They did mention they liked that you both match now.

𝄞 “I know, but still…”

✿ “Look, I know I’m gonna die, but it’ll only be for a bit! You just better meet back up with kid me as soon as you can, got it? And give them a list of my best recipes, while you’re at it!”

◆ “And let MY younger self know to get a Shattering cane earlier, OR ELSE. If I find out you knew about my leg and did NOTHING, I know I won’t be merciful.”

Odile meanders her way to the table. Last 20ish years plus the action at Dormont have not been kind to her, but she manages anyways. She struggles to walk, but you know if you tried helping her to the table she would still beat you senseless.

▲ “Yeah, you don't want to provoke the wrath of Odile!... Don't worry Sif, I know you won't have to. Still, Excited for my younger self to get to play with Fashion designs from your homeland. You better find me quick!"

He gives you a kiss. Hehe! It's been nice, being with him. Your bonding earrings turned out so pretty. As is everything else he's made since. He's been keeping you safe and sound, comfortable in your shared home.

◆ “That said, just to double check. I grabbed a sales report of that ‘bodycraft aid’. Even with the virus’s greatly reduced efficiency, the amount it’s distributed more then makes up for it.”

Right. It took ages to dig up that old virus, and while it’s baseline form as utterly horrifying, things changed when you realized it made those affected closer to the Universe, or specifically the Arcana. The Fool was very clear they are NOT the universe, just a part of it.

You had to reduce the Viruses effects SIGNIFICANTLY, but it still ended up as a net increase. And actually beneficial for people! Greatly eases healing crafts and of course, body craft!

◉ “On my front, think I’ve got blessings across the world, so we should be good on that front!”

Mirabelle used some of their savior popularity and leveraged rumors of their blessing to help seed star-stuff around the world. It DOES help crop growth, reduce disease, and increase peoples craft! People just accepted it was a divine blessing, and got to enjoy the perks. And since You and Bonnie were keeping yourselves safe, nobody knew about the caveat.

✿ “So, Fool, think it’s enough?”

The strange figure appears next to them on their command. A long tattered cloak, held closed with thousands of hands. A single, Red, floating eye for their face. A pale rose in one hand, and a walking staff in the other.

(✸) “For our own purposes? Not quite enough, but that is fine. It will still bring us closer together. We shall live again, if for but a moment. And with that time we shall be stitched ever so slightly tighter. May-hap next time shall be the last we need.”

It feels bad, but. You’ve done all you can. Short of causing an actual apocalypse, this is the best you can do for them.

Sure, everyone will die, but it’ll barely last a minute before they are all back. And none of them will remember. Odile even made sure it’d be painless, JUST in case. Enough they might not even realize they died at all if they do remember. Most importantly, It'll get all the Arcana summoned, and with that you can make things overall better.

(✸) “However, with your plan in mind, it should be enough for your own desires. It will not be easy, Lost King, even knowing your skill with time. We hope you are ready.”

✿ “Sure, but food first! I’m gonna enjoy my ‘last’ meal.”

The fool looks you all over, as you eat. It's hard to read them, but they seem... Happy?

(✸) “To think such a peaceful method of this was possible… And to fix our mistakes from before... We are grateful. And sorry, for the trouble.”

𝄞 “If it brings back my home, that’s enough. Consider us even.”

You all enjoy your meal. The Fool even shapes themselves into a human form to enjoy a little, on Bonnie's request.

You are glad for this. But, you know...

You’re going to miss them, for however long it takes to find your way back.

>>>

With full stomachs, and everyone ready, you all head to the room you set up. The view of the stars above, devices planted against the walls, specialized patterns to channel craft in the EXACT way you need it.

The Universe is watching. Time to heal a star.

Odile starts up the setup to make the needed modifications to the summoning rituals. Isabeau helps her out, running the numbers and double checking everything.

You stand in the center of the circle.

▲ “I think that’s everything! We’re ready as we’re gonna be.”

◆ “Indeed. Now remember, Siffrin, minimal changes! If this goes wrong, we need to leave the world mostly intact so we can meet up, get notes from you, and try again. And so you don’t unwrite yourself entirely, since you’ll be the only one to remember. Only act when you’re sure it’ll work.”

𝄞 “Gotcha! Alright, let’s do this.”

You lift your hand, and unleash the power in your blood. Rapidly, as quick as you can, you pull out each part! 3, 4, 5. One by one, you feel reality quake as you continue, but the setup holds strong. 18, 19, 20-

✿ “Hrg! YEP! That’s My cue! Okay, Painless sacrifice thing doesn’t work on me, That’s crabbing fun. Fair, I guess.”

You watch as Bonnie starts to dissolve into floating blood, as Judgment exacts their price. You nearly stop then and there, you don’t want to-!

✿ “I’ll be fine Frin! Finish it!”

You… You breathe In. And Out.

You call upon The World.

⋆｡°✩ “BY OUR HAND THE WORLD SHALL BE SACRIFICED” ✩°｡⋆

⋆｡°✩ “BY OUR HAND IT SHALL BE MADE ANEW” ✩°｡⋆

⋆｡°✩ “FOR WHAT DO YOU WISH FROM THIS WORLD” ✩°｡⋆

Alright. The curtains rise, time for your cue.

𝄞 “I wish for my home to be returned, and to have the life I was denied.”

⋆｡°✩ “A DIFFICULT REQUEST” ✩°｡⋆

𝄞 “But I know the path.”

⋆｡°✩ “THEN LEAD AND WE SHALL FOLLOW” ✩°｡⋆

You feel yourself get pulled into it’s embrace, to see things from it’s view.

As reality opens wide before you, you begin your journey.

First, you must reach when the island was lost.

《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

You rewind all the way through your life, to when you washed up on Vaugarde. Following the path your paradoxical existence lends.

The Arcana are weakened, by reaching outside the Fool’s gate. But you’ve ensured they can, and that's enough.

Now. It must be here.

You start to look into yourself, resting on the coast. You peel back the threads around you, finding traces and bits of the island. Digging, digging.

THERE.

The gate of the old summoning. The point mere seconds after they faded away the first time. But the gate is there.

You leap through.

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You are in an echo of the old world. A world that still has color. A world that still has your home.

Right at it’s end. But you don’t care about that.

No, you passed through via the gate. A gate unbound by time. Even if you've been weakened further, HERE is where you can make changes that MATTER.

You need to start at the beginning. See where it went wrong.

《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

You stare at the scene. A power-mad king, standing over the corpses of two. One you saw briefly before, performing the final summoning.

The other… is already dead. A woman with lightless hair like your own.

And the king, laughing above them, just started the cycle.

What to do. What to do. How can you fix things from here? You still have enough power to work miracles, but...

The fallen man’s quest started here, from what you presume is vengeance. But her life is already gone, you can’t bring her back. Even if you did, it wouldn’t stop this mad king. You can see in his eyes that if you leave him alive, he’ll ruin your home before you can live in it.

But with the blessing, you can’t kill him. Despite, right now, being essentially the being giving it to him, the nature of your time manipulation would make it too tricky. You need another angle...

Wait. What is.

You feel. Yourself. Nearby.

...Her womb. She… Is this your mother?

Your existence really is very tenuous. Perhaps this man’s subconscious hope on remaking the world is all that made you live. The only reason you live at all being a father's hope to see their unborn child. The only thread of truth in the Lie that was your life, held together by patchwork, coming apart if stared at too long.

Focus. Your other self is barely alive. And will die soon.

But. That might be your key.

You reach into this faint echo of you. And using them as the final thread, you-

《《《《《《

One week. You could only manage one week, with all you have. You are barely here at all.

But. That. Should be. Enough.

You search. Where is that man. The man who killed her. The man who started this all. The man who took EVERYTHING from you. From EVERYONE that stepped foot on this land!!!

You find him. He doesn’t have the blessing yet.

Perfect.

You pull your dagger from your hip. And with the last bit of your strength…

Dead.

The thread you made pulls taught, as all of reality spirals inwards towards this one single moment, dragging everything across the thread of time, inverting existence upon itself, blending both realities together in one cacophonous instant.

And you.

Fade from consciousness.

>>>>>>>>

You… you awaken. Where?….

A. Crib. A child’s crib.

You. You must be…

Did you merge with your other self?

...You did wish to have your life, you suppose.

HAH. Oh stars, this is gonna be WEIRD!!

But. Okay. It’s fine.

This means you're in the best position to make sure it doesn't happen again. That you don't lose this home again. It's fine.

You’re about 50 years late but. You got it.

Good luck Siffrin. You have a childhood to live.

[littledollll]

🕊️

Another prompt for you darling~

Prompt~ r needs to be little like showing their usual tales for it (maybe fidgeting, messing with their sleeves, starring at lucis wings and biting their lip in a need for a tether etc I trust you with the tales) and luci sees this and keeps asking if they need to be little. R says no because it’s not a good time for them to slip and they know that. R wants to stay big and do a good job for lucifer.

Later on R slips and comes up to luci and and goes “da!” And touches their wings. And luci is happy to see their little angel finally giving into their own needs and reminds them to trust “da” because luci only wants them to be happy.

~ shy anon🕊️

#shyanon🕊️

Babbles

(Little angel universe, side shot)

Lucifer x little!angel!reader

A/n: honestly have no idea why this took me so long but I love it sm u don’t understanddddd, excuse the awful amount of space at the end it’s the only way I can work around this new stupid character limit

Extra prompt: very tiny r curling up in lucis wings

No warnings I think

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

You’ve always been a fan of showing your affection, truly no matter the setting you’d have an arm linked with Lucifer’s or be content as long as you got to sit next to them, pda wasnt an issue for you and Lucifer, and anyone who cared enough to comment on it would be reprimanded.

Here’s the thing though, there’s different types of affection you showed, and Lucifer noticed the way you’d tug on their sleeve or poked them for their attention instead of just calling them. How you seemed to be talking less and less and when you did you’d jumble your words, and mostly how your eyes darted to their wings more than usual. All of these being things you do when you’re little.

“Love, do you need to slip?” You shook your head, parting from them again. After every message you’d come back, and seek out Lucifer’s warmth, only to be sent back out within minutes with another message or reply. “Come on pouty, off you go.”

______

Again a few hours later when you finally had done everything, and got a chance to simply exist with them, while they worked of course.

The fidgeting, how you’d absentmindedly bite your nails, how your wings seemed to be hiding uncomfortably against your back and you would cling around them every chance you’d get. They attempted to ask again only to be interrupted. “Nu-uh don’t even say it. not the time” but they were right, you needed to slip.

“You’re stressed, Angel your wings should not be this tense.” You thought you were good at hiding it but they’re not stupid, of course they’d notice.

“Don’t ignore your needs, my love. Other things can wait.” They tried convincing you, but your stubbornness was greater. “I can also wait, I’m fine! you have work to do and I happen to be a great distraction apparently.” You pouted.

“If you’ll excuse me I’m going to find mazikeen, since she won’t fight me and tell me to slip while you finish whatever that is!” You stormed out in faux anger, it’s always fun to be dramatic. Lucifer huffed out a laugh as your made your way out.

_______

Not twenty minutes later you were storming back into the room. “mm da!” you ran to Lucifer with open arms, practically crashing into their chest and meeting them with a bone crushing hug. “up up up!!”

Lucifer chuckled, picking you up and settling you on their hip. “hello there little dove, that was quite fast, did something change your mind?” your hands absentmindedly smoothed over their wings, of course, what else was Lucifer expecting?

They went unheard, you were busy messing up their hair, which made Lucifer playfully glare at you, you giggled and continued, there was really no threat in doing so and Lucifer could fix it in seconds when they needed to.

“No work?” They gave you a nod and you exited my kicked your legs. “we gos now?” Lucifer chuckled and wrapped both arms around you as they made their way out. “You really hate the office that much?”

“Mm! Taks away da!.” You huffed rubbing your eyes. “We’ll limit office time for my little love then, I think it’s time for a little rest no? Long day for such a tiny one.”

______________

All while complaining against sleep you made your way to the floor picking up one of your stuffies and poked luci for attention. “Yes, my dove?” “da!” “What’s wrong, tiny?” you babbled something Lucifer could not possibly understand, but it seemed to be in a happy tone, so Lucifer just agreed.

Your communication was reduced to differently energized kicks that they eventually figured out some meant anger and others giddiness, little hums with again different tones of approval and disapproval and then impossible to understand babbles that they interpreted just by energy what whatever body language you attempted to show.

Occasionally they’d get another poke, or the somehow still energized “da!” When you really required their attention, otherwise they settled for watching over you, just making sure you didn’t do anything unsafe or somehow get hurt.

________

Soon enough Lucifer noted how often you were rubbing your eyes, little yawns that you tried to hide escaping you and how you seemed to be a little extra cuddly, it’s time for bed. “Come on tiny I’ll help you up, it’s bed time.” You babbled out some type of complain before reluctantly making your way to the side of the bed.

You giggled when Lucifer effortlessly lifted you up and got you onto bed. You curled up to their side, hugging tightly your stuffie, your little kicks didn’t come to a stop nor did your babbles as you seemed to be having a super interesting conversation with your stuffie.

“da?” Not so energetic this time, barely above a mumble. Lucifer didn’t need to ask, pulling you into their chest, wings enveloping you, making it dark yet safe, and perfectly warm. You nuzzled closer to them with a satisfied hum, letting your eyes close and sleep take over.

“da?” Not so energetic this time, barely above a mumble. Lucifer didn’t need to ask, pulling you into their chest, wings enveloping you, making it dark yet safe, and perfectly warm. You nuzzled closer to them with a satisfied hum, letting your eyes close and sleep take over.

[thelunarfairy]

The theory of Yin and Yang

You may have already heard about this, right?

Maybe this image will help you remember

I've been thinking about the Joudais for a while now and I did some research, I found some very interesting things, from the literal and Japanese meaning of Hitodamas, to the association with Yin and Yang, we'll just talk about that in this post.

So let's get to the meaning

"What is the theory of Yin and Yang The theory of Yin and Yang is a Chinese philosophy that is based on the idea that everything in the universe is composed of two opposing but complementary forces, known as Yin and Yang. Yin relates to the feminine, dark, passive and cold, while Yang refers to the masculine, light, active and warm.

The idea is that these two forces must be in balance for them to operate correctly in the universe. In other words, the theory says that Yin and Yang are two opposing forces that complement each other, so they must be in balance to achieve a harmonious life.

What is Yin The Yin symbol is associated with the following meanings:

It represents feminine, passive and receptive energy. It relates to night, darkness and the moon. It represents humility, coldness and tranquility. It relates to nature, such as valleys and rivers. It is linked to emotions and the subconscious.

What is Yang The Yang symbol is related to these meanings:

It is associated with masculine, active and expansive energy. It has to do with the day, the light and the sun. Symbolizes heat, dryness and agitation. It has to do with mountains and rivers. Represents the mind and the conscious.

Keep in mind that Yin and Yang are complementary concepts and not opposites, and that both are necessary to achieve harmony in all things. In short, the symbolism of Yin and Yang represents the paradox without absolutism, freedom without limits and having the ability to adapt to change.

Yin and Yang Principles For Taoism, the theory of Yin and Yang is based on the following fundamental principles:

Complementarity: Yin and Yang complement each other and need each other to form a whole. Neither can exist without the other.

Interconnection: everything that exists in the universe is connected and affects the other part. Therefore, change in one part of the universe affects everything else.

Mutability: all things are constantly evolving. Therefore, Yin and Yang transform into each other. A Yang state can become a Yin state and vice versa.

Balance: The ultimate goal of the Yin and Yang theory is to achieve a proper balance between Yin and Yang. Excess of one or the other can cause imbalance and illness, which is why they must always be in harmony.

Opposition relationship: these elements oppose each other, but at the same time contain and complement each other. This oppositional relationship is what allows change and development." - internet research source: pisicologia online (the article is in Portuguese)

Ok, now that you know all this information about Yin and Yang, let's associate it with JSHK.

Firstly, let’s note the characteristics more broadly

Now, let's review the image of the moment when Tsukasa talks about himself and Amane. Here we see him representing the moon and Amane representing the sun.

So, let's make a small comparison between the Yin and Yang symbol and the Joudais.

Interesting, isn't it?

It's impressive that this meaning matches so well with the symbolism of flowers, which you can see in this post

Here I mention that Tsukasa is also related to Sakura flowers, which represents the feminine, equally to Yin, which also has this meaning and reinforces it even more.

In other words, Tsukasa is represented in a feminine way, while Hanako is represented as a masculine force. In my analysis of camellias, Hanako is always accompanied by red flowers, which represent passion, in the literal sense, first love.

Tsukasa represents the feminine + Hanako represents the masculine + first love =

Do you know what the result is?

Aidairo…..

[finallysafeawakepowerful]

“So if you're having trouble with manifesting, then the issue is not one of technique but rather self-concept. I've listened to over 200 of Neville's lectures after 1960, and not once does he mention SATS (state akin to sleep). It's because when you realize you are God, there is no longer any barrier between you and the creative power of the universe.

Techniques are only meant to get you to the feeling of already being or having said thing. This is why some people can imagine once and have it, while you're doing SATS every night without achieving your goal because you don't realize the thing is already done. You think that it's the technique that manifests when really it's the feeling.

So don't let anyone tell you that you need another technique. As Neville would say, simply ask yourself,

"How would it feel to be healthy, wealthy, or whatever it is you want?" Keep in mind that the feeling is imaginal, so there is no right or wrong answer. Just "simply extend your feelers, trust your touch, and enter fully into the spirit of what you are doing" (Neville).”

What you hold true in your minds eye. Whatever the subconscious truly believes and feels to be true. A feeling is imaginal. It’s all imaginal. Science proves consciousness is source. WHAT IS, then, to you? What is your feeling as to what is? What do you TRULY rest in? Science proves if things are not seen/ measured by consciousness, they do not appear in the 3D. Reality doesn’t exist until you observe it/ become aware of it / particles move in accordance to the observer. All particles are flashing in and out of probabilities / in super position of all possibilities there can be, but only become things and follow through to whatever state you’re in and that’s when they group-together by your consciousness. Your own neurons don’t even exist when they’re not perceived.. The only thing that can affect these particles / all life / everything - is consciousness- nothing else …. The only way anything happens is through consciousness. The only way things are changed is through consciousness. Without your consciousness the 3D does not exist.

[deserteye]

CHAPTER FIVE ;; The Zodiac

".. You know how I said I'm like a being of pure energy?"

He asked, pulling a nod from me.

"Well, like you already know, energy cannot be destroyed or created. So, I was never created, and I can never be destroyed. I've simply, always existed. The Zodiac is the same thing. Pure energy that was born into existence with me. Energy can be transferred, and the Zodiac and I, are simply two types of energies that affect each other. The Zodiac is sort of like my pentagram for Lucifer, Satan, or the Devil, or whatever. It is what controls how I present myself to your reality. The Zodiac can banish me from this realm, and invite me. Shooting Star and Pinetree, or how you know them as Mabel and Dipper, represent two of the ten symbols in the Zodiac, they resemble the Shooting Star and the Pinetree. For as long as the Zodiac and humanity have existed together, there have been randomly selected people who resemble each of the Zodiacs. When one of them dies, someone is born at the same time, and the Zodiac role transfers.

Bill explained, seemingly bored from having to explain everything to me, while I sat intrigued by everything. He looked at me while I was staring, star-struck and invested in his story.

"You alright there, kid?"

He asked, tapping my forehead with his cane, pulling me from my trance.

"Ah-! Ye-Yeah, I'm fine. Just a lot of information all at once, ya know?"

I laughed nervously, holding my cup of coffee in both my hands.

"Right! Well now that I've given you that information, it's time we work on extracting my power from ya!"

He exclaimed, standing up mid-air with his cane.

"Oh- Yeah, guess that seems fair.. What do I need to do?"

I set my cup of coffee down before asking and sitting up straight.

"Well, before your something-great grandmother, Mrs. Sphinx completely ruined me, I was twice as powerful as I was before! Not only could I change anything in reality, but I could also bend space and time of every dimension, realm, alternate reality and universe, every timeline! So basically, you can do everything I can do and more. What we'll need to do is extract that power, and the spirit of the Sphinx hidden within you."

He explained, sitting mid-air. I sat idly and silently, comprehending the fact I had the abilities of a being of pure energy and the freaking Sphinx. Like the giant lion-bird woman who fought in wars and protected millions of civilizations, Sphinx. That Sphinx.

"So! What we'll need to do first is make sure your body is physically capable of managing this power, or else your brain will probably melt from the knowledge, and the atoms that make up your body will physically start 'glitching' into a dream demon-sphinx god."

He continued to explain, which caused my brain to lag even more.

"Wait- I'm just processing- You're telling me. I have your abilities, and the Sphinx's abilities, and if I don't, what mentally prepare and physically train, trying to harness these abilities could kill me-?"

I asked for clarification, and the demon thought for a moment.

"Yes, basically! However, instead of mental preparation or physical training, I'm going to teach you how to navigate the mindscape, how to alter dreams, and how to make deals AKA summon your 'Demon Hand', which should be enough so you don't die summoning everything in you."

He explained, and I sighed in relief.

"Thank god I don't have to work out.."

"Of course, that's your worry."

Bill pouted and sighed, landing back on the ground.

"So! Shall we get started?"

He smirked, before I could respond there was a knock at the door.

· · ─────── ·⃤ ─────── · ·

Next Chapter | CHAPTER SIX ;; A Demon with Cooking Edicate

Last Chapter | CHAPTER FOUR ;; Knowledge from a Demon

[dots3a]

Day 170.

Israelis reject yet another ceasefire deal.

While they use bureaucracy to give world governments busy work, they are also indiscriminately slaughtering Palestinians, building on their land, committing unspeakable acts of violence against individuals who each have entire histories.

In Judaism, to murder one person is to murder an entire universe. We are asked to consider, in Jewish law, how each individual person represents an entire world, how each individual is a walking, living representative of their family as it exists now, how removing even one person from that family irreparably changes each individual person in that family, and how the changes in each of those individuals changes the other families and communities that they are a part of. One death, one trauma, is like a stone tossed into a puddle or a river or a sea, it sends out ripples that reach the very edges of that body of water. It affects every droplet of water in the puddle or river or sea, without them ever having to individually touch the stone.

How many universes have we allowed to be destroyed? How is it that we genuinely seem to be operating as those the ripples are not going to reach us? Do you know what happens when a star dies? It becomes a black hole, sucking in everything close to it, including light. Do you really think looking away from this bombardment of thrown stones is going to keep you dry?

You're already soaked. Wake up before we all drown.

How many more? How many more before we say "Enough."? Don't tell me the number, list for me their names. Recite for me the prayers their parents whispered into the night in the hope that they would be conceived. Tell me their stories. Explain to me why there are children whose entire lives are borne out to the sound of drones, screams, and gunfire. Tell me who made the bullets, who packaged them, which one your personal tax dollars went to. Which Monday work meeting subsidized which child murder?

How many more Khalids with martyred grandchildren? What else will you take and from whom?

[donnerpartyofone]

I have posted about this multiple times before but since tumblr's search won't cough any of it up, I'm just going to say it again so I can add my new thing to my thought process about trigger warnings:

Years ago a popular true crime blogger posted an ask from someone requesting that she tag for needles. I think she had posted that notorious x-ray of masochistic serial murderer Albert Fish's colon, which is admittedly disturbing, but she very politely declined on the basis that everything she posts tends to be violent and disturbing--you actually SHOULD find her blog upsetting--and users should manage their expectations around that general premise. Additionally, needles do not carry the specific traumatic weight of something like, say, racial violence or child abuse, for which a warning could be in order; needles are everyday objects that one might reasonably encounter in a store or a person's home, or practically anywhere. If you have such an aversion that it really affects your life to see a needle, you might want to pursue treatment and stop using a part of the internet that is essentially a giant random image generator.

My personal take on content/trigger warnings (are those different? If not then why do we have varying tags instead of one universal one to keep the system reliable?) is similar, that they're only important for material that could seriously upend someone's day. Is Thing X something you truly could not have expected where you encountered it? Would you need to leave work or school if you saw Thing X? Would you need to seek assistance or take a medication? Does Thing X cause significant social problems or affect your sense of safety? If not, you don't need a warning. I mean everyone can tag whatever they choose and of course some folks are happy to tag stuff just because someone might find it annoying or unpleasant, but you're not entitled to protection from strangers just to spare you casual discomfort.

One day I got this extremely angry anonymous message in all caps yelling at me for not tagging spiders. I had no idea what the person was talking about, but after a while I realized it had to be about a popular post I'd made years ago showing tarantulas in a Kids In the Hall sketch. This was especially funny to me because at the time I was posting a lot of explicit violence and sexual imagery that someone could reasonably object to, but this person felt that it was my job to help create the illusion of a spiderless world for their benefit. I know arachnaphobia is a real thing but I still think that if you suffer from it then it's your job to look after yourself and not everybody else's job to protect you from remembering that there are spiders.

This is kind of a tangent but I often think about how trypophobia is not technically a phobia because it isn't affecting anybody's ability to lead a normal daily existence. It's just a grossout thing, basically a matter of taste, but people love to try to elevate it to the level of a serious psychological vulnerability for some reason.

I'm thinking about this stuff (again) today because I just saw a post on one of the autism subreddits where someone linked to a scientific paper to answer a specific question, but they said it needed warnings for incidental use of the term "high-functioning" and advised that some people may not wish to read the paper at all so they wouldn't be triggered by it. That term is sometimes used to invalidate or deny care to people who give the outward appearance of less urgent needs, so it is indeed pretty tricky and needs work. But change is only going to come from attention; if you are concerned about the effects of that language then I think it behooves you to know how it is being used so you are able to argue about it and lobby for change. It's hard for me (a "high-functioning" person) to imagine a scenario in which I'm interested in reading about a condition I have, and then I refuse to do so because the phrase "high-functioning" is going to trigger a psychiatric episode so bad that it's better for me to just ignore information about my own health. I think an adult who is usually inclined to educate themselves should be able to handle occasionally seeing troublesome or outdated language.

Put more concisely than above, my criteria for warnings is just: when the questionable item relates to a real, reasonably common traumatic experience that would be unfair to spring on someone who could relate to it, and/or when the content would be legitimately surprising in its context. Like if you're in my corner of tumblr you should expect that you're going to see horror movie stuff, I'm not tagging anything like that unless it's miles over the line I typically draw. But on the other hand I was out at a restaurant one night and this spoiled egomaniac was practically shouting for a long time in graphic detail about episiotomies within earshot of everyone who was trying to eat. Honestly one of the staff should have told her to shut the fuck up. That's not a thing that people should be normally expected to put up with in a public dining situation, even though it regards a medical procedure that is not morally offensive.

It's probably obvious by now that I think that being uncomfortable and even offended, at least to some degree, has an important psychological and social function. It enables you to recognize and react to problems around you. Understanding what makes you uncomfortable is critical; dealing with discomfort builds character; and continuously avoiding everything you don't like keeps you infantile. It's actually not good to live in a world of only your favorite things.