#(I'd never really thought abt it from that direction before...)

[timmie-p]

Ivan Interview translation

Ivan, the Next CF Star

Just two months after his debut, Ivan was selected as an ambassador for the famous luxury brand Q. Ivan is the first non-native 'pet human' to become an ambassador for Q. "Ivan's stoic yet playful visuals are perfect for capturing the diverse appeal of Q," said Q's chief designer.

Ivan, who recently topped the Alien Stage live voting, is being touted as the next big CF star after Luca. He's been inundated with requests from designers all over the world who want to put ads on his outfits. He has already collaborated with nine brands, all of them big brands. The public's attention is focused on how his growing popularity will affect the Alien stage.

Interview

Since the third round aired, it’s become very popular. Are you feeling the buzz?

Alien Stage is growing in popularity every day. Did the crew recognise me during the CF shoot? It's funny because at the beginning of the show, there weren't many people in the world who recognized me, and now there are so many people that I can't get through the streets by myself. (Laughs)

You’re currently ranked #78, at this rate top 20 is possible, isn’t it?

Thank you for your kind words. I'd love to keep the momentum going and make it to the top 20, but I'll leave the choice up to the masses.

You have a lot of titles that describe you, right? Do you have a favourite?

My favorite is "Blocell's #1 Brand Reputation" from a recent article. It makes me feel like all those days of photo shoots and commercials weren't in vain.

What do you think makes you unique?

I can think of more bad things than good (laughs), but, um… I think the thing that fans talk about a lot is my partial fang. I think I have a normal face, but there are many people who remember me for my fang.

What’s your secret to getting the best shots?

The day before my schedule, I study the brand I'm going to shoot for so that I can clearly understand the directions on set. Knowing the brand in detail is fundamental as a model. I also think it's important to make it a habit to take care of my body.

What is your ideal girlfriend? Lots of girls around the world want to know!

I don’t have a specific dream girl, I’ve never really thought about it. If I were to choose one…. No, I don’t have one. (Laughs)

Are you close with Till?

What’s your definition of “close”? (Laughs)

We’re just okay. Mediocre at best.

Let me ask you straight up. Do you think you can beat Till?

I don’t know… If you could perform as wildly as him, you might win too, right?

Say something to Till, your next opponent!

…..Keep it up?

read it for your own here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/ivan-interview-99972496

also i’m sure an official english version will be out soon i just like doing these lol

okay!!! i feel like vivinos is dropping red flags here but idk 🥺 ive already been theorising that ivan will be the one to lose and the audience here seems to support him too much..

i translated “힘내” previously as “Come on” in the snippet where till punched ivan but i think it makes more sense here to translate it as “Keep it up” (it’s just generally words of uplifting encouragement)

also for the part about his fang my translator translated that as “false teeth” and boy when i tell you i was confused 💀

also following up the question abt his dream girl immediately with a question about his relationship with till.. real subtle there… kinda makes me go uueeugguh tho

[princema-k]

i would actually love to hear your thoughts on when layton would emote the ways you've drawn him! if you want! no pressure if not!

OH B OY HERE WE GO!!!!! again take everything with a grain of salt bc i Forgor bits of the series

BLANKET SPOILER FOR UNWOUND FUTURE/MIRACLE MASK MAYBE??/AZRAN LEGACY

(for reference we are talking abt this post)

SURPRISE: As we know in the PL series, it's very very hard to catch the professor off-guard in any way. Most of the things you would think would surprise him, he's already known for a long time and was just keeping quiet about it so that he could use that information at the right time.

With that being said, the times where he does seem to get somewhat surprised (or taken aback. he's so goddamn emotionally constipated) seem to be when the shocker in question has personal relation to him. Though in the series proper, none of the shocking personal factoids are ever presented in a way to make him jump. So theoretically, if any twists like Claire or Descole's reveal were presented much more aggressively, he might emote like how I've drawn him (though I kinda doubt it). Or just jumpscare him lmao

SADNESS: Obviously we know that Layton can feel sadness and cry, though even at the end of Unwound Future it's clear that he's still holding back with his crying. I'd wager that it's because he's out in public and around an impressionable individual (Luke) that he's not letting himself fully express his grief. After all, a true gentleman never makes a scene in public.

I'd say, if he were to cry like the way I've drawn him (that is, bawling his eyes out), it'd probably be at the end of UF when Luke leaves for America, and he'd have to be alone. And I mean completely alone. He'd be very careful about having anyone even remotely near him before he breaks down sobbing; he'd wait for Luke to go home, and wait a while to make sure that he hears no other footsteps around who could potentially walk in on him, before crying. And even then, he'd still repress it - trying to choke back sobs to make sure he isn't heard, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes and covering his eyes with his hand, the works. Because sadness/crying is weakness to him, and a true gentleman can never show weakness.

ANGER: Frankly, I feel like this is one of the emotions I've drawn that I actually could see him showing in the series proper. We've seen him in Unwound Future just barely holding back his anger at Clive when he endangered Flora/started wrecking havoc on London (obviously still restrained- yadda yadda yadda "true gentleman" blah blah blah).

To get him to unrestrain it, I'd say you would have to put a lot of people he cares about (particularly his wards - Luke and Flora would likely be excellent choices) in direct danger, as well as taunt him to a personal degree enough times. Because even the Professor has limits to how much mental strain he can take, and all limits can be broken. It's just a matter of pushing the right (or wrong!) buttons on him.

FEAR: This one's tough I think. As an adult who's seen a lot (including his own death), it's pretty hard to find something that would really scare him to that degree. Throughout the series the most he seems to show in terms of fear is either: a) surprise that he quickly recovers from, or b) the end of Unwound Future when he realizes that Claire can't stay with him.

I say that theoretically (and REALLY emphasize on the "theoretically"), you might be able to get him to emote the way I've drawn him... if you subject him to anything akin to his recently unrepressed memories of his childhood, and he's rendered helpless to do anything to help but watch. But like I said, only theoretically. I'd wager that he'd probably just be angry too.

LAUGHTER: ...I honestly have no good clue to how or when he'd emote like this. For him to laugh so heartily, he'd have to be in a state of extreme emotional vulnerability, which isn't often.

I'd say it'd be at a time where he's feeling very relieved, or elated (and they'd both have to be situations that connect to him personally too; outside events won't phase him). How he'd laugh to such an extent I'm not actually sure, BUT I could paint a bit of a scenario: It's the end of UF, but Claire could actually stay without dying, and she makes a sort of lighthearted joke in light of the events. Would he laugh wholeheartedly? I dunno. But judging on what we've seen of him, it's a maybe.

It's a shame we never get to see him emote so colourfully in the hexalogy proper, but as I've stated before in another long-winded half-legible ramble character analysis, he's SEVERELY repressing his emotions due to Claire's last words/"gentleman" values/positive reinforcements from his peers and environments for successfully hiding his emotions. Poor guy.

[daisymerollingg]

Witness me whole | Speed-o’-sound Sonic

Genre; fluff

Pairing: Speed-o'-sound sonic x reader

Synopsis; Sonic letting his guard down around you.

Side note: I wrote some hcs abt sonic and one of them was that he gets sleepy or drowsy whenever he's around his partner, yeah this is kind of an expansion on that hc. Also fuck me I wasted a lot of time writing/thinking about this fic and didn't finish studying and now its 1 am

Alert. Speed-of-sound Sonic had always been alert. Nothing slid past his watchful gaze. He was raised to never let his guard down, or it would cost him greatly. His senses were always on high vigilance, it didn't matter where he was or what he was doing. Even in his slumber, his ears were always sharp, picking up on any slight shift or tatter. Like a camouflaged cat, his eyes would be blown wide even if a mere leaf swayed and fell beside him, jolting him awake.

Allowing himself to rest would be a mark of disgrace to his dignity. He was a ninja like no other, tiredness never even dared to gawn on him.

Yet as he stepped off the window frame, his feet making soundless contact with the cool floor, he was engrossed by a beguiling aroma, enveloping his lean frame with tender endearment. It tugged at his soul, ushering him, and all of him, into the warmth of the silent abode. Like a scheming siren, lulling its victim into its unrelenting fangs.

The atmosphere slipped into his muscles, incasing around them, causing his figure to promptly tense at the burdening constriction, however, as soon as he expelled a hurried breath through his lips, the sensation suffocating his being eased, and a newfound sense of soothing tranquility settled upon its departure. 

He could hear the soft hum of his inhales against the midnight silence. 

As he guided himself further into the apartment, already familiar with its parameters, the sounds of shuffling and clinking of trinkets escorted him in the direction of the bathroom. 

The door was open, light illuminating from the bathroom and into the dimly lit room. He stepped closer, his movement weary, slow, and deliberate, with the intention of not startling you.

"(Y/n)." He spoke, assiduously eyeing your back. You stood before the sink as you gazed at yourself through the mirror, lined with a thin layer of fog, whilst you patted your damp hair with a warm towel. Your skin was moist with the reminisce of your shower. Sonic's eyes scanned your outfit, a casual shirt paired with sweatpants. His gaze lingered as disappointment instilled in him. 

It would've been nicer if you were just in a towel...

An alert hum vibrated in your chest, your brows perking up as you blinked in the mirror, staring at the blurred reflection of your lover. For a few moments, you blinked at the unmoving, black blotch on your mirror, then your hand hauled up to wipe the mist off his reflection, your lips morphing into a grin as his form cleared.

"Breaking in, again?" Your smile turned smug as you glanced back at your reflection. 

Something akin to gravity pulled at him as your voice hung in the air, a heavy weight suddenly materializing in his core. His body moved to lean on the doorframe, using it as a means to support himself. He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips "You should really lock those windows."

"I'd get an alarm system if I thought they'd actually keep you out." You tossed the towel into a wooden basket beside the counter as you turned to face him.

As soon as your gazes locked, Sonic's eyelids felt like they were being pulled at by an unrelenting force. He pushed himself off the frame, pushing his hands into his pockets as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room briefly for no apparent reason

"You're quiet tonight," You stated with a raised eyebrow. He shrugged again, avoiding your gaze. You bit the inside of your cheek, inspecting his form curiously. You didn't push for answers and simply turned back to the mirror, combing your fingers through your now-dry hair. "What? You're not gonna say anything?" He rolled his eyes and gave a half-hearted scoff at the snarkiness in your tone. 

"Not much to say."

"That's new."

You observed him through the mirror, his heavy gaze fixated on your feet. His posture was laced with unfamiliar tension, but you knew better than to pry. Still, a small frown settled on your face. You didn't like knowing there might be something weighing on him whilst being unable to somehow lend him any sort of reassurance. You inhaled sharply and eased away the wrinkles on your face.

"Well, you could at least make yourself useful if you're not gonna entertain me." You grinned. then grabbed a strand of your hair. "grab me a comb or something, my hair's a mess..."

Sonic didn't respond to your quip, but instead stepped forward and closer to you, his limbs growing heavy. You caught the small action through the mirror. A faint frown crossed your features, but you continued to hold your smile.

"You wouldn't mind brushing my hair like last time, no? I'm kinda tired from..." The tilt in your lips slowly wilted as you continued to peer over at Sonic, watching him step even closer. His dull, downcast eyes indicate that your words went unheard, you could hardly make out his grey hues through his bangs. 

His presence was unmistakable as he stood tall behind you, your posture straightening slightly in response. The hair on your nape pricked up as you felt a chill of tension course through you. Your brows furrowed further the longer your eyes lingered on him.

"Hey,-" Your sentence was cut short when his arms slowly enclosed around your waist, his chest leaning into your back. You slightly tensed and pressed your lips to form a thin line.

His head fell against your shoulder. You could feel his hot breath scatter on your bare skin, causing a slight shiver to run down your spine. You glanced to the side to stare at his head, your expression softening as he shifted and nuzzled his nose further into the crook of your neck.

The silence was peaceful around you, allowing you to savor this ephemeral moment. The air was embued with an undeniable sense of tenderness as you carefully listened to Sonic's soft, yet deep breaths. You noticed how his inhales grew slower. Steadier.

His arms loosened and then wrapped tighter around you, his body leaning further into your radiant warmth. You felt a smile stretch across your face, hands lightly resting on his arms.

"Now this is new." You teased with a cheeky grin. Sonic let out a soft groan.

"Just shut up..." His voice was low as he spoke, as if he had no energy left in him to bite back like he usually did. You let out a soft exhale through your nose and eased into his embrace.

He could feel the tides of drowsiness wash over him as he held you, his limbs growing more leaden with every passing second. The feeling wasn't completely new to him. Whenever he was in your presence, tiredness always found a way to creep into his consciousness, something he thought he was utterly immune to. He would fight the feeling every time, refusing to go completely vulnerable, even if you were the only one who would witness it. 

For whatever odd reason, however, he had no desire to battle the bothersome sensation this fateful night, letting it consume him. His guard down, and his eyes weighed down by the adoration you encased to him. And only him.

You held onto the sink and readjusted your stance when Sonic's weight abruptly slumped onto you. You blinked. You still felt his arms slightly grasp you.

Your hand trailed up to gently caress his silky locks. At the contact, his head jerked slightly as his eyes fluttered open, pulling him out of his momentary stupor before his mind dove into a deep sleep.

"Come on," You murmured, gently tugging his arms to unwrap from around you. "Let's go to bed."

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

ofmd s2e1 rewatch where i pause to jot down my thoughts and other random shit

not quite a reaction post bc i've already watched the whole thing. not quite a liveblog bc it's one post and it's probably gonna take me a full hour to get through a 28 minute episode at the rate of pausing and typing i'll be doing

s2e1, s2e2, s2e3, s2e4, s2e5, s2e6, s2e7, s2e8

anyway, pirate time:

i love how much fun con is having choking on his own blood

dream!stede's extremely teary face right before he takes off running down the beach is doing psychic damage to me

also dream!stede's stupid ridiculous outfit with all the long ribbons and shit...

ed and stede make contact so hard shjfkhsgjkfd the loud OUGH sounds from both of them

also the return of ed's old beard! i didnt expect to see her at all this season, so that was a surprise.

"babe" "love" im tearing out my own hair

stede has yet to learn that ripping ass near your beloved can be a love language

stede is a terrible fucking roommate just deal with wee john's gas in silence like the rest of them. goddamn.

WHO HAS THE OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH TRAMP STAMP. WHO IS THAT.

i like when the background OST is familiar to me lol the little strings when stede starts his letter throwing me back to s1

olu: that–that's the swede the swede: Im the swede roach: he's single ;) me: *pissing my pants with laughter*

also the direct confirmation that the swede literally doesn't have a name. incredible

shjkfhdhfkj the crew encouraging him. stede's "it's okay" and roach "be brave" im CRYINGGGGG

stede doing customer service is something that can be so personal. "reservation?" "eat my fuckin' shit" "right! walk-ins, then" average restaurant experience

the random background guy saying "my favorite hand!" abt getting stabbed in the hand is making me giggle. i love the humor on this show

why does stede have so much shoulder movement going on when he's walking through the bar. whore behavior.

"this is for mom!" sorry but i want to know more abt whatever's going on there

also the purple mohawk. dope.

buttons is so distressed LET HIM RETURN TO THE SEA THESE CONDITIONS ARE INHUMANE

"i know the odds of you finding this are slim but so were the odds of us finding each other in the first place" IM RIPPING OFF MY OWN SKIN

also stede's lil sad hopeful smile after throwing the bottle... i care him

i love how they make this wedding fucking suck so we don't feel too bad abt the whole massacre thing. "the natural condition of humanity is base and vile. it is the obligation of people of standing, such as yourselves, to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony" if i was at a wedding and the officiant said that i'd also start killing people probably

yayy murder montage :)

FANG BREAKING THAT GUY'S SPINE OVER HIS KNEE

the whole cake scene is so fucking funny im sorry. i love u jim drawing the line at attacking a shitty wedding. i love u archie who wasn't here for the good old days so you dont really see a problem with how things are. i love u frenchie with ur box in ur brain that u never open again. i love u fang it's gonna get better i swear. i love u frenchie again bc u just took the cake right out of fang's hands while he was fucking sobbing hfjhgkjhdkjkf

I MISS IVAN JUSTICE FOR IVAN. wish they could've said he'd just fucked off somewhere instead of dying but i think that would've raised the question of why hasn't anyone else fucked off since they all seem so miserable

very relieved that stede isn't taking the racist/antisemitic caricature drawings of ed to make like a boyfriend scrapbook like some people were theorizing. would've been overkill if after episode 4 from last season stede still didn't realize that ed hated these sorts of depictions of him.

INTERESTING DETAIL THO the background music in this scene is "a pirate's life" aka the song frenchie sang in the pilot. it's an instrumental version obviously but yeah i recognize that tune

also more cool background ppl with dyed hair man i love this show

zheng yi sao flirting with olu is so good. he deserves it.

how nice of ed to offer his drugs to the crew. sharing is caring.

also it's so funny to me that the thing izzy is tormented by is ed saying "you can't do the job, someone else will" the toe thing's happened three times and apparently that was fine but the thing the show edits together right before izzy breaks down into the most pathetic aheemheem whimpers isn't any of that it's ed threatening to fire him

also they cut ed throwing knives at izzy!! what the hell.

releasing the clip of izzy crying kinda ruined it for me when it came time to watch it in the show bc i watched it several times since it dropped and now seeing it in context i was like "ok i've seen this already fast forward." i mean i didnt fast forward through it but i did kinda zone out bc i've seen this bit already. this post kinda sums up my thoughts on it

"trifling ingrate plan" dshkjfshgdskhfjkhgkjh

"SEMI-CLEAN WATER"

JACKIE CALLING THE SWEDE "BOO CAKES"

"i know that guy we had breakfast together!" "you'll be having a lot of breakfasts-es together" "oh, okay" i fucking love this whole dynamic like i can tell they're writing the swede out of most of the episodes for budget reasons (sorry nat faxon) but by god do they give him such an excellent fucking send-off. can't wait to see him again when he's in his trophy husband number 20 era

roach is upset abt not being able to cook, buttons is tied up so he doesn't go running back to the sea (i assume). stede you are not giving your crew the environment they need to thrive.

olu being an optimist :)

buttons opens his mouth to drink the rain and in the background u can see roach yanking the rope around buttons back fhdjskgfjhgkjfh STEDE YOUR SEA WITCH CANNOT THRIVE IN THESE CONDITIONS

stede tries to make things sound good in his bottle letters to ed but out loud he says his actual insecurities... it's so fucking tasty tho that he thinks ed could be doing better without him and THAT'S why he's been stalling so much. not afraid for his life even a little bit he just assumes he's not wanted. brb i have to cry now

"im sorry if that's a little bit creepy" "you are creepy" in this scene where they're soaked from the rain. ofmd said this prince ricky guys is creepy and wet.

stede's fucking FACE when prince ricky says "you're my hero" his fucking "clearly you dont own an air fryer" face I CANT STAND HIMMMMMM (affectionate)

prince ricky "these rubes" "men of our standing" yeah i cant fucking stand this guy (derogatory) i love how he's barely even in this episode

stede's face when the swede is talking abt how happy he is with jackie... my man believes in love so much im gonna cry

also in what fucking way does the swede owe them a life debt. roach and buttons literally tried to eat him

izzy's "you know me better than anyone knows me and i daresay the same about you" this is literally so false i dont even know where to begin. izzy in e6 being like "if i didnt know any better i'd think maybe ed might possibly maybe be actually enjoying bonnet's company" while ed and stede are giggling and making each other friendship bracelets. this guy doesn't know ed at all.

also i cant get over how izzy wont make eye contact he's like staring blankly into the middle distance delivering these lines so flatly until he goes to say "i have... love for you" and in that moment he looks like he'd rather ed were feeding him more toes.

"im worried about you, we all are" not gonna lie my dude you've had a weird way of showing it thus far. where was all that worry when you told him he was better off dead than wearing a robe and singing songs?? where was that fucking love then?

and NOW izzy wants to talk it through. izzy literally voted to make blackbeard great again and now he wants to give open communication a chance???

lmao there's a limit to how many characters can be in a bulleted list so here's fucking. part two. on the same post:

ed asking everyone if the vibe is poisonous and fang cant stop crying and ed's face is just like "eh good enough" im fdhksgfkjtdkh

anyway ed with a loaded gun under his chin talking to himself is hurting me so fucking much actually. ed my beloved babygirl for whom i would die. this poor traumatized man. yes he is making this workplace toxic as hell but god. GOD. im gonna throw up.

the way ed is so fucking casual about shooting izzy in the leg. just calm and jovial as he promotes frenchie to first mate. stepping over izzy all crumpled on the floor. everything about this is so fucking good. i mean it's horrible for ed and everyone around him but for me watching the show this shit is DELICIOUS. i love when the pirates get violent and unhinged i love when this shit gets fucked up. ed's mental state is so bad right now and it is causing me severe anguish but also it is so tasty. fuck.

anyway frenchie trying to turn down the promotion fhjkghdfjkhf

the cut to the swede performing the husbandly duties is INSANE. COMPLETE TONAL WHIPLASH. I LOVE THIS SHOW.

"fuck those hammies up!" spanish jackie i love you

black pete why are you so fucking loud AND WHY WOULD YOU JIX IT LIKE THAT???

why is prince ricky so small. he's like a full head shorter than stede. also this guy is insufferable i love how stede just fucking abandons him fhjkgdhkdfghkj

"the calf muscle is the most mysterious of alllll the muscles" what the FUCK does that even mean. oh swede i will miss you

NOSE REMOVAL FUCK YES. I LOVE THIS SHOW.

obsessed with the swede playing dumb. the dramatic gasp. "wow, so bad!" fhjsghdkjf

"aint you that soup bitch?" "im the money bitch" i love women.

sfdsjkh spanish jackie being into double-crossing. and slapping the swede's ass on the way out. i love this show

i love how zheng says "this much indigo is worth three times what i paid" while spanish jackie and the husbands are still like, right there. and they just don't hear that bit. incredible.

OUGH the back of jim's weird rope armor looks like a ribcage that's so cool

i love how jim is so fucking bad at telling this story. i love how the monkey's paw comes into it. i love fang asking them to do the voice. i love archie trying to hold back her laughter i love jim and fang giggling together I LOVE THIS SHOW

ed's fucking voice breaking through his whole convo with frenchie. im tearing out my own teeth

HEY DID YOU GUYS KNOW THEY HAVE POST-CREDITS SCENES IN THIS SEASON?????????? WHAT THE HELL

i take back what i said about jim being bad at telling this story their version is so much fucking better. squeaky voice "I pray to you, Dark Lord, to make me real flesh! I want to be real flesh!" IM FUCKING OBSESSED. JIM I WOULD DIE FOR YOU

[inkameswetrust]

We all know the post season 2 characterizations are just a case of flanderization going off the rails but it would interesting to interpret the change in character as a result of just… the guys getting too famous too young/fast and not noticing as it snowballs? The tour bus episode where Kendall is inexplicably upset when reading hate comments (when that exactly the sort of thing season 1 Kendall would make a speech about and call it LA changing them) and James fully blowing him off to complain about Logan comes to mind. Then you get stuff like Carlos getting sillier and more stupid which could be from not being expected to really grow up the way celebrities are/the way they’re tolerated for being irresponsible or Logan becoming increasingly impulsive as the show goes on. Idk, just an idea and a heavy dose of copium

Pass me that copium brother bc I'm right there with you 😭

Honestly, I've never thought abt it like that before, but it just makes sm sense when you put everything together. Especially the thing abt Kendall freaking out over hate comments in Big Time Tour Bus. If anyone was to react the way he did, I would've thought it'd be James. Then Kendall would be the one telling him not to engage and just ignore the haters.

And if anyone was to be impulsive and irresponsible, I'd think it'd be Carlos. Then Logan would be the one to steer him in the right direction and be the voice of reason, as he usually is (at least when it's just them). Whether he'd listen to Logan or not is pretty much a coin toss depending on the severity of the situation.

But yeah, a lot to think about. I guess it (unfortunately) makes a lot of sense that they turned out the way they did given the fact that they started their career in their mid-teens. Sucks that they didn't really stay all that true to their pact, though. But ig no one ever really stays the same.

Thanks for sharing your awesome interpretation! I really got a kick outta this.

[random-vore-blog]

hello again,, I am absolutely pogging over Gyokko because HES A BIG FISHYYYY I LOEV HIMMMMM

So do you uh

Wanna write Abt him

Probably eating random humans and just. Keeping them alive in there for fun OR a friend he messes with and plays with a lot cause he's silly like that

Also a few sea creatures have multiple stomachs :D so that's really awesome

And here he is. The big giant hungry fishy

Look at that big boi. You can't resist fishy

(FR I LOVE THE LIL HYO SOUND HE MAKES ITS LIKE WHEN I RANDOMLY SAY THE WORD "MEOW" OR "FIVE HUNDRED CIGARETTES")

Sure! Sorry for the long wait! I was on writer's block!

Fishy antics

Although the forest was quiet, I knew better than to find it peaceful. I knew that it meant that something was on the prowl, hunting and waiting. It didn't help with the fact thag I felt like being watched.

The Swordsmith Village was supposed to be a secret, but with a demon roaming around and consuming innocent lives in the village, it felt like they were not so secret anymore. They were supposed to be sacret, hidden and never be known of by demons.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, demons somehow found the sanctuary of where the nichirin blades were crafted. And it was my mission, a dangerous mission I knew would either claim my life or I'd see another day.

I halted immediately, staring at the quiet village. It was quiet, way too quiet for my liking. I had never been here before, but I knew when something was amiss. This was one of those rare cases.

This place looked normal, if the silence wasn't the paid actor to give it an eerie vibe. This, I knew, set it apart from being normal. I took a step, and immediately approached one of the villagers as soon as I spotted one.

" Where's the demon?"

I whispered upon grabbing the villager by the shoulder.

" And are you alright?"

They could only nod, clearly shaken from the events that unfolded befpre their very eyes. I could not determine the emotion or expression they had, but I guessed it was on of fear. I couldn't blame them if I were to be in their shoes.

" Do you know where it went?"

" That way."

They shakily pointed in the direction of where they last saw the demon heading. I thanked them and approached the path, hand on the hilt of my nichirin blade.

I was ready to unsheath it if need be, not that I doubted my theory of the demon still present. I had concluded that it left. But it would not be possible if it was an upper rank.

Upper ranks tended to be tedious and extremely good at hiding their tracks. Not to mention make a slayer or Hashira doubt that they were gone when they were very much still present.

As I had slightly slipped in my own thoughts, I had failed to stay alert and also failed to notice the white tail of a creature I had never seen before. But I was quick to come back to reality when I heard something slither somewhere.

It didn't sound normal, nor did it make the familiar scales on beanches or ground. It sounded more... disgusting with the slight squelches that followed. Like a fish out of water.

" Show yourself, demon. Your movement gave you away."

I couldn't help but shiver at the disgusting sound of the movement of the demon. It disgusted me, and made my skin crawl with unease. The squelching was what made it worse.

" Your movement disgusts me too."

" Smart one. Very smart."

I twirled my body around, facing the demon. And it was far larger than I would've liked. Far larger than what I had imagined, to be honest.

The snake-like body looked like an eel without fins, and the upper body had a man's torso bit without the arms. The head had two mouths for eyes- the lips green in colour, where the mouth would be was an eye. Another eye was located on its forehead, and four purple bands decorated its scalp. As if they were hair. Next to its head were small arms that writhed.

I felt like throwing up.

But I held my ground, was prepared to attack and behead this- this monstrosity! But- in the blink of an eye- it was in front of my and had used its tail to slam into a tree. It hurt a lot.

" But very weak for a slayer. Hyo! I have fought slayers stronger than you! And they lasted longer!"

I felt sick. This bastard was the reason some low ranked slayers went missing, crunched their bones and ate them like they were nothing, that an innocent life that fought for the safety of others meant nothing and was anything but pathetic.

I glared, body sore from the impact, but I pressed on. If I exerted myself to the point of being on the brink of death fighting this bastard, I would be a happy human.

It kept boasting about itself, how its pottery had been crafted by its own disgusting hands. I preferred demons fighting and yelling in frustration than some demon bpasting about itself. And I regretted looking at the eyes.

' Upper rank Four.'

I cursed at myself under my breath, but moved, attempting to slash it from behind, but it had read my movements. I was instantly flung to the otherside of where I had crashed previously from my flight.

My mind raced, and I felt myself doubt my own capabilities, my strengths and even achievements. I was below the rank Hashira, and yet, I was being weak against an upper rank.

" Tch. You are anything but a craftsman. You are a disgusting creature that doesn't deserve to be on this planet."

I spoke each word with venom, letting my anger be evident to the demon. I was ready to die trying.

" You are vile and a monster."

It was pissed at my words, and honestly? I was proud to have angered a demon so easily. It was short-tempered, and immediately inched closer towards me, trapping me in its slippery and slimy coils.

" YOU BRAT! MY CRAFTSMANSHIP IS BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE'S!"

I just grinned, all while glaring.

" Doesn't seem like it to me."

I said smugly, too tired from the lack of oxygen reaching my brain from how tightly this demon had squeezed my poor ribcage. I saw darkness begin to eat its way in my vision.

A ringing had filled my ears, voice of the demon anything but muffled and worsened the ringing.

And then, I felt warmth. And wetness. I cringed, and began to move as I was pulled in further. I was disoriented, of course, and I knew that this kind of humid air was not normal. It was stale and smelt of... fish?

My nose wrinkled as I finally entered a more roomy area. The smell the only thing I could focus on in my new environment. And then, I realized what had happened.

" Bitch-"

I breathed out, glaring at the inky black walls. The slimy and, dare I say it, comfortable walls. I was trapped, inside the belly of the beast that I had fought. Well... more like I got knocked around twice and got slapped across the face with the lack of oxygen and then eaten.

" I hate this."

" Not my fault you were aggrivating me."

" Wanna play something?"

" What the f- are you serious?! Another one?!"

I stared at the slayer that had apparently been here in this space with me. They were insane if they thought that I would play a game inside the stomach of a demon.

" I mean-"

I was at a loss for words. This stupid fish and his fishy antics!

The End

[qulizalfos]

liza i have an inquiry regarding your beautiful contrapuntal poem from earlier...how on earth did you format it so both pieces fit together like that? i've been wanting to write one of those poems myself but cannot for the fucking life of me figure out how to get it to Align like that 😭 also ily 🥹❤️

BEEEEE my beloved you are so kind thank you sm oh my godddd🥹🥹💛💛 to be really honest i wasn't sure what i was doing for most of it LMAOO which has just sort of become a fact of life for me in drawing and writing so i'm assuming it's the same with poetry for me <33

also this got SOO fuckign long so i'll put it under a cut :]

🫶🫶🫶👋👋👋

generally, usual poetry rules apply, which is to say as far as i'm concerned there are none bar what you personally like to use/what u find helpful/writing with the style you're using in mind/etc !!!!

at first i wrote it linearly, i was used to that approach with prose anyway + i found it easier to keep the endings consistent that way, but as i went on it was helpful to go back and put in elaborations or other extra lines that would make sense in certain parts <33 just having the main bit fleshed out beforehand was nice though

conjunction words and articles are a GODSENDDDD yay!!!! and the this but My Favs Forever Fr

i had a couple ways of actually Organizing the lines themselves and i kind of mashed both together in an amalgamation LMAO.

first i just used a few lines as normal! because i have a Lot of random snippets in my never ending cache of random thoughts i wanna write about some day😭so i'd take a line like "warble your pretty need to be rid of this death wish" which is on its own longer than i'd use in other poetry formats and kind of clunky to say all at once, and split it where i thought it made sense (@ pretty/need) and then just brought death wish under the left line. to be honest i did that a lot, just rearranging on a whim (fun as hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

i wrote with the gap between them and titles there the whole time, it doesn't have to be formatted neatly while you're still writing it, but it helps to visualize i think<3333

then at that point i'd improvise💛yk, take a look at both ends and think of a logical continuation for them. i thought "while you're still alive to do it" worked so i ended the line there, stuff like that. laying it out now it sounds pretty orderly but it took a lot of tweaking in terms of phrasing

just now remembering i changed this whole thing into the first person around draft 291032189859. if i say you then just assume i mean i/me etc 💛💛💛OKKK dhjsbvhjdjhfdsj. onward<3

honestly, for the most part i repeated that process--- take a line, chop it up and fill in the blanks until it ends, then go back and add on lines u think work and adjust phrasing here and there!!

there's lots of points where u reach an opportunity to go in a different direction with a statement; absolutely lean into this!!!!!!!!!! i used this for after "the truth i know already:" and a couple other places, it's something you don't usually get a chance to experiment with most forms of verse and is SO cool <3333333

Editing. So Much Editing😭😭😭😭just saying lines in your head or out loud in the 3 different ways, trying to improve the flow, taking out things that make it awkward or that you think would belong better if they had a different word at the end or even another line before it. i am in fact STILL EDITINGGG lmao. i put in "for you," before "i'm sure i could have been". this poem will never end maybe. laughing at my phone. ANYWAYSSS

HJFGJDKNSVFJVBFHJVJHF. i hope that helps💛💛💛💛💛ILYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. let me know if u have any more questions abt any of this, i love talking about things i write YAY FOREVER mwah mwah mwah

[punkiio]

I'm so obsessed with your characters Julius and Gemi... their dynamic is so interesting to me!! and julius' character especially! do you have any fun facts or random lore about them?? :3

LOTS AND LOTSSS

Ok so something I'd like to say about both of them and their story in general is. They're very much a representation of my traumas, mental problems, insecurities, etc. I try to be very transparent that they aren't supposed to be "good" representation of anything, especially Julius. I understand it it makes others uncomfortable but that is just how I cope with my problems and such. They both have some "demonizing" traits because they're things that have been pushed onto me because of my mental problems (example being Julius coming off as creepy and unsettling bc of his autism and being creepy and obsessive because of his BPD). Again, this is just my way of coping

(LONG AF RAMBLE ABT THEM UNDER THA CUT)

I always kinda have a hard time explaining the way Julius feels abt other people, and usually I just say that he feels like the only REAL person. Like everyone else around him is soulless. He has a very hard time viewing others the same way he views himself. Bc of this he doesn't really care about others, but not with any ill intent and it's not like hates everyone else. He just has a hard time seeing people as individuals with their own mind and their own lives. He suffers from some kind of derealization and/or solipsism. Has never really felt any sort of sonder for anyone that isn't Gemi. Julius learns about Gemi and his story and his feelings and is sort of like "Oh this is like me, I'm not alone in this". Julius has always been extremely isolated. He had never become close to someone, so he was never able to really experience another persons individuality, making it hard to believe anyone's. But living with Gemi and having him open up to him was the first time, and they're similar. I don't think Julius realizes how lonely of an existence he has. First time he has felt a connection to another person, causing him to not know what to do with these emotions and so he develops the obsessive behavior.

Reason Julius became a funeral director. He did this so he could direct the funerals of the people he had killed but treats it more like a personal celebration for himself. He celebrates the death of the horrible ppl that he kills. Another name for this job is "funeral celebrant", which is what I use as the title of their story. Direct correlation to his profession and the way he feels abt his job. He is a funeral celebrant that celebrates the funerals he is hosting. Ofc, if it's not a bad person who had died, he doesn't view it that way and he wouldn't be celebrating it. It is purely just the people he kills, because he views it as a reward for doing something good.

As for some info about Gemi... I've mentioned before that Gemi has some really bad pent up anger issues that he tries really hard to repress. He has violent thoughts and he can't really tell if they're intrusive thoughts or daydreams/things he wishes he could do to others when they upset him. He absolutely HATESS his anger issues because it makes him feel guilty and he believes he is a bad person because of them, even though he hasn't really acted out on them (yet).

However, Gemi has put in much more effort to regulate his thoughts and emotions than Julius (which is kind of saying a lot.) Gemi is actively trying to become a better person because he hates being an angry and hateful person because of his trauma, while Julius just doesn't even rlly see it as a problem. He doesn't think there's anything TO fix about him. Julius views himself as a good person, while Gemi views himself as a bad person. When in reality it's the other way around. But I think Julius just has a corrupt idea of what being a good person really is because he was not shown many examples in his childhood of what a normal, kind person is. But he believes that what he does is being caring and thoughtful and good. Like at the end of the day Julius truly does think he does the right thing and thinks he is a good person and that everyone else just doesn't see things his way. Gemi just feels guilty about his negative emotions all the time and he just wishes he was a "good" and "kind" person but feels as if his anger issues could never let him. He doesn't realize that his anger issues =/= being a bad person. He can still be a good person while having those issues. This is kinda where this weird area with Julius comes in, because all this time Gemi feels so horrible about these feelings, but now he has Julius encouraging it and telling him it's ok to be so hateful and he should be allowed to express that hate if he wants to or needs to... I think part of Gemi likes that Julius does this because it justifies his thoughts in his mind. Like oh I'm not being shunned for this...? Maybe its actually ok....?

[wof-reworked]

12, 13, 15 and 28 for the ask game

hiiiii :} . Thank you for the ask my dear, and for fueling my addiction to saying my opinions loudly.

| 12. One thing you'd add to an arc/ book?

I mean the obvious is having Darkstalker actually take the strawberry, but I'd also just wildly rework the second arc to not have Qibli be the final POV character, or at least not split the book between his backstory plot/resolving the contrived prophecy and the larger, more interesting story of Darkstalker. There's a LOT of tiny things I would add to every fuckign book if we're being honest- if I had the freedom, I'd make the overarching plot a lot less direct and a bit more subtler (less of the dragons thinking the same thoughts over n over again abt the prophecy or war) and more focus on character moments and dialogue. Similarly for worldbuilding I'd like subtler bits of storytelling abt what dragon society looks like, so we can get a better look at the characters as a result (it not only helps the DoD feel more isolated from their homes, but then gives the resulting arc 2 characters more depth by having them be from the cultures we only learned abt superficially before).

| 13. One thing you'd take from an arc/ book?

NO MORE JERBOA ANIMUS REMOVAL. YOU KEEP YOUR DUMB DECISIONS IN OR I'LL FIGHT. That said, I'd also remove the "it doesn't steal your soul at all" plot twist of arc 2- I think I'd change it somewhat still to not be directly abt souls, but about livelihood/life potential- the more you use animus magic, the less you feel like you can live your own life/the more you take from your own life (which also gives Stonemover much more justification in how he acts and explains Anemone feeling "wooden" after using animus magic). It keeps the Darkstalker soul twist too- he is obsessed w not dying and w staying powerful, but fails to realize he is still removing his own livelihood- starting with his alienation from his friends and his pursuit of power over them, like a self fulfilling prophecy inherent to animus magic. Plus the scroll is a cool twist. Tbh, removing the soul removing aspect of animus magic makes that element of Darkstalker even weaker: he didn't need to do that, and it's more interesting if he did, but it didn't save him. Animus magic being a powerful but ultimately self destructive tool would still make Darkstalkers attempt to subvert it good, and even add an extra juicy twist to the hourglass- it's true, he's never going to die or lose himself in it, but it's because he would stay asleep for 20 thousand years, like a monkey paw type wish where it's technically true but not really. I can't tell if I'm cooking or not, but I like it >:).

| 15. Any design headcanons?

I have a big soft spot for Clay with tusks :}. I just think Mudwings should have tusks. Also Tsunami with a beard/barbels like a beard, bc my girl deserves it. A lot of my design HCs are from fanart- so like, when I see Sunny with Nightwing elements in her design, I cheer and holler, but I never thought of that stuff myself. A design element I don't see in drawings tho is I always HC Qibli as having a scar from Winter frostbreathing his leg- that should've honestly had more consequences than it did, it's weird that they just brushed it off bc it could've been some juicy character drama.

| 18. Favorite tribe?

I'm kind of inclined to steal @pidgetyy's answer of Skywings, bc other ppl caring abt tribes is what makes me like them more than my own strong preferences (bc I like whatever tribe inspires me the most, and pidget comes up w some really cool Skywings) (you should follow them) (go do it now). Buuuuut,,,,,, I also really like Sandwings :}. I think they're silly and cute and their little tails are funny

Link to the original Ask Game

[sapphire-weapon]

Hi again! I'm the RE6 anon. Thank you so much for providing such a lengthy and detailed explanation; I really appreciate it. And as expected you're totally right and you schooled me lol that's why I came to you anyway. I have to say I've had those thoughts for a while, Aeon giving married couple vibes in RE6 for a while now, partly due to popular opinion in the fandom and also because I watched Damnation before playing RE6 a few months back, so I do admit I went into the game with my Aeon glasses on lol BUT sth about it just felt wrong to me, like I wasn't analyzing this the right way, and you filled in the gaps perfectly.

Looking back at it, Damnation has this playful, intimate undercurrent between Leon and Ada, and it's all fun and games but then here comes that ending omg. It's so depressing. You have Ada being Ada on one side and Leon drowning his sorrows on the other. But instead of being like "ok this is the major conflict between them, he knows she's out there doing mercenary stuff but he doesnt seem to care but he's also tired of this life and Ada perpetuates it with her actions SO WHY ISN'T HE DOING STH ABT IT, WHEN IS HE GONNA STOP BEING SO FUCKING STUPID???", I went into RE6 focusing on the rest of their interactions, the flirting, that night, the game they always play. But like I said, it felt wrong. So I guess I should've listened to my gut.

Bc even when I was playing and trying to be all like uwu look how Leon's standing up for her, I always went back to the Damnation ending in my mind. Like nothing had changed since then. The conflict reached a boiling point, and Leon was even more fucking stupid. And there was another little voice in my head saying yeah of course he wants to save her, it's Leon, he wants to save everyone, and this is Ada of all people, he really cares about her... but where does it go from there? Does he trust her? like 100% trust her? He's doing the most for her but does he ever stop to wonder what she did to get into this mess? does he know her at all? And the answer was immediately fuck no. But I was so used to the fandom opinion and the Aeon dynamic, so used on focusing on the big shiny things when it came to them, that I thought those were the only things that mattered. I was honestly holding onto Aeon as hard as Leon was lmao. But when Ada sends him the message I was like oh ok she really doesn't give a fuck kfjdjd and I felt like a sense of closure bc Leon seems very resolute after that.

Still, I focused on him having her number, her calling him hun, him saving her, Helena implying he will see her again, big shiny things like that, so that's why I was unsure.

Those doubts wouldn't leave my mind tho, and I know nothing is accidental in writing, so that's why I thought I'd bring it up to you bc you just know your stuff.

Thank you so much, that was truly an eye opener 🧡

I think that part of the nuance that's lost is that, like.

Leon is also working for people who perpetuate the problem of bioterrorism. It's not like he's on one side of the fight and she's on the other. Morally, in his mind and his heart, Leon is on one side of the fight. But he can't act on that, because he's trapped by the government.

That was the whole point of his fight with Claire at the end of ID. She knows that Leon feels and thinks a certain way, and she knows that his actions are in direct opposition of those feelings and thoughts. That's the point of the "that suit doesn't suit you" line.

But there's nothing he can do about it. So when Helena gives him the opening to disappear with his legally dead status and run away with Ada, he declines not just because he realizes that he never knew Ada -- but also because nothing in his life would change if he did. He'd still be on "the wrong side" of things. That's another part of the reason he asks "Why are you helping us?"

So like. What we really see at the end of Damnation is Leon and Ada's reactions to fighting the same fight. Ada's thriving and happy to live a life on silk sheets stuffed with money. Leon can't cope with what he's doing, morally. Ada has a choice. Leon doesn't. And so, at the end of RE6, when he's given a choice, he makes sure he makes the one that actually does some good. He can still save Helena if he stays, but running off with Ada would just keep him trapped in place while stripping him of what little power he does have.

And then he won't be able to save anybody.

But when people lose sight of the broader picture of Leon's character because they're so laser-focused on Ada, they miss all of this.

[psychewritesbs]

Question I have BC I love your opinion and I think you have a great understanding of these characters (and jjk as a whole) what do you think about yuji and megumi's relationship and the parallels between them and suguru and gojo?? BC personally I think it's EVIL and hurts me so bad but also just.....idk I'm terrible with words so I can't exactly express why I think it's done so well but i do so just curious on what (if you even do) you think abt it?? I think parallels in jjk are honestly crafted so well in general and gege truly has such a clear idea and understanding of what and where he wants the story to go. Apologies if you've been asked smth like this before there's a very good chance I've missed it but I hope you have a good day and I hope megumi comes home soon bc it's getting pretty dark out 😞😞😞

HOLA anon. Thanks! I appreciate the vote of confidence 🫡

So I feel like your ask needs a thorough re-read of jjk, which I am unable to do at this time.

I also have to admit that I had never paid much attention to "parallels" in general, so that makes it a little harder to look back and pinpoint exact moments for a proper analysis of Megumi/Geto parallels. But I HAVE thought about this in passing before.

So, while I don't think I can do your ask justice, YES! I think aside from parallels, I'd also say that it feels like Geto's story is also meant to be a cautionary tale for Megumi.

Let's taco'bout it under the cut...

I'll start by saying that jjk has been exploring the idea of "intergenerational trauma that is passed down from generation to generation". So there's something that feels extremely cyclical about jjk right now--like a cog.

That said, the Megumi/Geto parallels are most likely meant to underscore how, due to the nature of the work they do, the same tragedy keeps happening time and time again.

If I were to pull a quote by Jung that encapsulates this, its the idea that "until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate."

Now, jjk has also felt like an exploration of the "corruption and redemption of the self" for some time now. To me, this means that a sorcerer is often confronted with the question of what is aspirational about his human nature and what isn't, but more importantly, the choices they make as a result of being confronted with this question.

In Geto's case, the aspirational values he chose were actually quite twisted. After all, he chose to justify committing genocide with his love for sorcerers. Similarly, Megumi had no qualms killing indiscriminately if it meant protecting Tsumiki.

They have both made a choice where protecting someone (aspirational value) justifies something not aspirational as a necessity (killing others is a turning away from aspirational values). In other words, you could say they have both "sinned" for lack of a better word.

This is where "saving" others who are ready and willing to be saved comes into play. Gojo couldn't save Geto because Geto wasn't asking to be saved; on the other hand, Yuji is trying to save Megumi because Megumi asked to be saved.

Megumi asking to be saved is relevant af because it means Megumi acknowledged something Geto couldn't or didn't acknowledge about himself.

The thing is that Yuji also had to be receptive to the idea of saving Megumi. As of ch143, Yuji had had his sense of self bruised and battered by Sukuna's rampage in Shibuya for which he felt responsible for. And now Megumi is asking him, a mass murderer, to save him.

It's almost like Megumi is absolving Yuji of his sins by asking to be saved. This is Megumi validating Yuji's desire to save others. So, who's saving who, really?

On the other hand, while Geto was descending into a corrupted state, Gojo had his head so far up his ass with the whole "The Strongest" identity, that the best he could do was ask Geto if he had lost weight.

So I feel like this is where the parallels turn into a sort of continuation of what could have been possible if Geto would have come to Gojo and asked for help, and if Gojo was emotionally available to this bid for connection when it could have made a difference.

In retrospect, given the emotional state Megumi was in during the Yorozu reveal and how anxious he appeared to be during his fights inside the colony, I think that in asking to be saved, Megumi was asking for a lifeline from the bottom of his heart. He was asking Yuji for the strength and unwavering conviction that he was missing in himself.

I like to think Megumi knew he would have to kill others, and that he would be willing to do it if it came down to it. This meant Megumi might have been aware that he'd have to set aside his humanity and any aspirational values he might still be hanging onto.

So who better to ask than the one person he knows to have unwavering humanity?

Geto never asked the same of Gojo.

So I am not sure whether Gege is trying to say that because Megumi asked to be saved it is more likely that he can be saved.

But here's the thing...

And I am very much aware that this is my personal preference, but I believe that Megumi (and Geto since we're on the topic of parallels) has to save himself.

While I LOVE the religious symbolism behind the idea of Yuji "saving" Megumi and think it's super bromantic, waiting to be saved absolves Megumi of responsibility for himself. And right now, at the core of Megumi's arc, is the idea that his sense of self was suppressed by Sukuna precisely because there was a hole in Megumi's sense of self that Sukuna could exploit, therefore arresting Megumi's development. To continue that development, Megumi has to choose himself.

So I am curious of where Gege takes it from here.

Now, on the topic of saving others, there's actually REALLY juicy symbolism around the idea of "saving" in chapter 236 and 238 where Sukuna is technically absolving characters in their last moments.

So that's a nice parallel and commentary on the idea of saving others.

Anyways, did this make any sense? lol. I read and re-read this thing several times and I kept making edits so I hope I was able to express my thoughts properly.

Hopefully the tangent made sense.

I think parallels in jjk are honestly crafted so well in general and gege truly has such a clear idea and understanding of what and where he wants the story to go.

Thank you for sharing your jjk-love. Yes, I couldn't agree more that, not only does Gege know where he's taking his story, his attention to detail on how he wants to execute these themes is fantastic.

Thank you for stopping by anon :)

[sugar-omi]

honestly all that was sooo what i needed to hear rn bc a girls been STRESSED so thank you <3 😭

i'm gonna major in biotechnology! i went to a votech and that was my trade there and i loved it so i wanna continue studying it. not totally sure what job i want yet so i don't know how much schooling i'll do but yeah! :D

BIOTECH??? THAT SOUNDS SO COOL N SO COMPLICATED please i literally had to google that shit bc idk what it entails but this is some big brain shit, n all i gotta say is good luck n i am cheering you ON!!🎉🫶🫶

although i think you got this in the bag already. anyone with the balls to do something so advanced. is a very smart n strong person. from what im reading on google this is some really cool shit, no matter what direction you go with it. n you have your work cut out for you, but i know you got this!!

so don't doubt yourself!! you got this!!! your brain is huge n you are powerful!!!!

n of course!!! i figured saying something like that would help with anyones anxiety, because really, its the pressure (even if they're not actually pressuring you) and the overwhelm of questions and expectations that make the future so stressfullll

*ramble utc because i... cannot help yapping i guess LOL and while i'd usually be embarrassed and delete my ramble n word vomit, but i figure someone else readding this may appreciate the relatability of what i have to say about my fams reaction to my plan after hs, and find some comfort in my word, if thats not to presumptuous

because i decided to take a gap year (it's been a year since i graduated, for reference), and everyone freaked out. my mom n uncles first reaction was "yeah well, you won't go if you do..." before they came around n agreed with my reasoning. and my dad was all "if i had it my way, you'd go full time--" (mind u, he likes to brag that he worked n went to school full time AND partied.... he did not finish college LMAO) and when i graduated, said to me a MONTH. AFTER MY GRADUATION. "if you're not going to college any time soon, go into the air force."

and when my extended family would ask my plans, and i only had a short "i'm just gonna take a break right now, figure some things out, work... and by then i'll have come to a decision." because i was tossing around the thought of art school, and then i thought abt getting an english degree to be either a teacher or go into writing/editing, journaling or whatever... but was also tossing around the thought of psychology and even real estate. my ideas for my future were absolutely jumbled, and i was torn between what would make money, what i loved, and what i was interested in that i thought could be a career.

it's tough. especially depending on your financial situation yknow, so your thought process always leads towards something profitable but also wanting to do something you enjoy, maybe even love, but not wanting to burn out and tarnish your beloved hobby/hobbies.

like while i did have people who supported me upfront, and never doubted my plan, it's the small things too yknow. because for months my dad's words haunted me, i felt like i wasn't doing enough. or when i met family, and they asked how it was going, or what i was doing now, i felt disappointed that my answer was always "i haven't been doing anything. just been sleeping, drawing, writing..." or eventually that and "practiced driving.. n that's about it."

or when i'd talk to close family members, and i admitted i was going through a hard time, my mental state finally falling on me now that i didn't have to be strong n power through school. i even got sick a couple times, because my body was finally feeling the stress. even now, i feel a mental lag, a fog. but i feel clearer, a bit.

but yknow, the looks and the "you said that last time" or "i think you're lying" is tough.

but at the end of the day, if not working for the summer, or not going to college for a semester, or 2, or 3, or a whole year. or if going part time, or whatever you're doing... and it benefits you, and it benefits your mental health. then do it, don't listen too much, don't feel too guilty.

because if you need it, just like i needed the time to rejuvenate, then don't listen to anyone else. don't force yourself to do anything. because if you have the ability to take a break now, do it. you're not doing this because you're lazy, or selfish, or unambitious. or anything like that. you're taking that break, you're taking this break right now, for future you.

because if you don't take it now, when will you take it? and when you do take a break... will it be at the cost of your health? will it be at the cost of something greater? when the break comes, will it come when you're being handed the gold medal you've been fighting for.. and then it slips out of your hand just like that.

anyway.. do whats best for you. what you need. don't worry about figuring things out too fast either, because in fact, i've been plotting this moment of my life for about 10 years, genuinely, and i still had to revise it. still had to come to a conclusion because even with all that plotting, it doesn't plan for the hard times. or the 'you' you are right now. you will be someone else next week. and you will be someone entirely different 2 months from now.

take your time. because if you jump into something, and are unsatisfied, or "waste" time doing something other than what you "should be doing", the time still passes.

if you "waste time" anyway, waste it on yourself. not others expectations. or wishes. or their dreams.

and once enough time passes as well, no matter what you do by then. the questions do stop coming. the weight of the future, once you get there, is suddenly not so... big. intimidating.

you do not need a grandiose plan. if you are content with the future in your mind, that is enough. because at the end of your life, who will sit in that chair and ponder the life you lived, and weight it's satisfaction, if not you?

[standobie]

bn thinkin abt KTE stuff

i got into the BH and KTE in general thru fandom when i was like, 15? the space back then was very adult-oriented (despite being actively populated by many minors!) and most of the stuff was so overtly problematic its actually impossible to read without wincing

it took me a long time to transition away from the BH in my own fan-canon bc they were a cornerstone of my interest in sonic for years. when i began rping privately, i struggled to contextualise the BH existing outside of pndrs crappy writing. thats always been the problem. i knew all my time of writing those canon characters that i was 'writing around' the more glaring issues with pndrs canon - trying to make them more coherent and sensical. thats one thing with smaller issues like characterisation or like particular events, but the whole thing falls apart when u try and remove it from the shitty foundation pndrs laid under it. it really just doesnt work.

soon after i tried to incorporate the bh into my own canon i found myself simply not paying attention to anyone above athair. so they were scrapped. this was easy bc i scrapped the dark legion as well, which just removes much of the point those older guardians served anyway. reworking the remaining characters is mandatory at that point because of the significant changes to their setting and history!

thats why i so strongly dissociate my guardian ocs from all of that - besides the stuff with athair opting out of the guardian post and his son taking it up in future, none of the pndrs stuff has survived as far as i see it. before the nocturnus burst onto the scene in our canon, the guardian post was more ceremonial than anything else. there wasnt any direct threat to the emerald until robotnik's war. so the guardians werent a fraction of as strong as knuckles is, and largely served a diplomatic purpose. i absolutely do not see my ocs as interchangable with pndrs stuff or other BH renditions at all

there's been a surge in BH related fandom seemingly in the past five yrs, which i would have once loved. but now i actually block those accounts, because seeing that stuff elicits a weird feeling in me. i would never have thought i'd feel this way, and im actually so glad that interest in the BH was minimal back before i changed things for our canon, bc otherwise i would never have developed my ocs as they stand and would still be struggling to write around pndrs plot holes 🫥

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

hiii could u do the scene where xavier tackles wednesday out of the way when she was abt to die but could u make wednesday reader and reader and xavier are enemies

yess!!!

WHY?

pairings: Xavier thorpe x Fem!reader Summary: ^^^^ warnings: none.

you were walking walking around the school, bored out of your mind until you heard a noise. you looked up seeing a gargoyle falling from above

"Y/N!" someone yelled before you passed out

----

you woke up in a bed with a bad headache. you opened you eyes seeing him towering over you

you screamed in fright before he calmed you down

"welcome back" he smirked

you sat up on the bed, looking at him weirdly

"hey, hey. take it easy. The nurse said you don't have a concussion but you probably have a nasty bump, yeah?" he said as he sat down in a chair beside the bed

"that gargoyle was going to kill me but you pushed me out of the way. why?" you asked, needing an answer

hy shrugged "call it instinct"

"even when you hate me?" you questioned

"you know hating someone doesn't really come down to when it's a life or death situation" he chuckled lowly

"so you did it out of the kindness of your heart?" you huffed "what if I wanted to die?"

"Mm-Hmm, you know, most people just say thank you" he stated softly

"I didn't want to be rescued"

"so I should've just let that thing smash you to mush?" he asked

"it would've been better for the both of us" you whispered

"it was either I let you die and risk someone see me not help and get in trouble, or I save your life to never hear the end of it" he pointed out

"if it were me I would've let you die. this cruel world isn't good for anybody, I'd be doing you a favour" you smiled

"see that's why we're different, it's because you have no empathy or feelings" he scoffed

"I have feelings" you spat

"right, yeah, sorry it was my mistake. I won't save you next time" he rolled his eyes

"I know that if there is a next time, it might not be a coincidence that you would be there again, and if you were you would totally save me, every. single. time" you smirked

"what are you implying?" he quizzed

"what do you think I'm implying?" you replied

"that I have some sort of feelings for you" he said

"oh. that would be ridiculous" you muttered

"I know"

it was silent for a moment, where neither of you spoke

"thank you" you murmured, hoping he wouldn't hear even if it was directed to him

"pardon?" his eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at you confused

"are you seriously going to make me say it again?" you groaned

"oh absolutely" he grinned

"I said... thank...you" you paused, taking a breath as you regret saying it aloud "thank you" you repeated

"I thought you said you didn't want to be rescued, no you say thank you. what changed your mind?" he smirked

"nothing. my mind never changes"

"so it's always this dull? shocker" he joked

"what's that supposed to mean?" you questioned, offended

"it means I think you could show more feelings and emotions" he shrugged

"I have feelings and I show emotions!" you scoffed

"right" he laughed

"I'm serious" you stated "if I weren't then why do I think you have pretty eyes"

"you think my eyes are pretty?" he smiled

"no"

Xavier smiled and sunk in his chair

"No. I mean I do. I think you have nice hair too" you confessed lightly

"thank you?" he whispered

"I still hate you" you lied

"I wouldn't doubt it" he said with a cheeky smile on his face.

[seiwas]

oh my GOD midi 😭 your comments and reactions to this im SOBBING

where do i even begin!!! omg i'll try to respond as orderly as i can!!!

i as well!! am such a sucker for a 5+1 trope 🥺 i feel like i have to do it for each of my faves at some point & was reaaallly looking forward to doing it for col 🥹

and ur reaction photos never not gET TO ME omg they're always so funny i LOVE THEM 🥹

PRE-SCENE

col gojo is truly neck deep in this and there's no escape!!!! (not like he wants to.....) and your prediction!! omg 🤭 kinda true??? wUHWHAUHau

SCENE 1

i looove using the sky to describe gojo's eyes!!! apart from colour, just the fact that it can transition from cloudy to clear, dark to bright leaves so much creative room with it!!

AND THE FLIPPING OVER SCENE OMG writing this scene was a challenge bc i don't normally write action scenes (i focus a lot more on feelings) so figuring out the logistics of how to describe flipping someone over was A Bit. but i'm happy w how it turned out eventually 🥹

am so happy u enjoyed this lil scene!!! honestly i think it might be one of my favourites out of this bunch, just bc i put so much mental effort into it LMAO i'm so glad u caught some of my favourite bits of it too!!

SCENE 2

writing this was so fun omg i think cos writing reader kinda tipsy left a lot of room for them to be more vocal and straightforward abt their feelings 🥺 i think they've always considered gojo's feelings first when talking to him that their own feelings tend to be a bit overshadowed 🥺

and i am SOOOO happy that you felt the yearning in this scene bc i was really trying hard to drive that home 🥺 U CAN REALLY TELL I PUT MY WHOLE SOUL INTO THIS HELP 😭 i think!! bc!! the feeling is too familiar to me and i was figuring out how to convey that!!

the lil lines u noticed too!!! omg those are some of my faves as well i think... aaaah sdhfsdf this scene holds a special place in my heart fr!!

SCENE 3

this one was rlly tough to write!!! i'm not sure why... i think bc the initial outline wasn't how it turned out to be at all!! so i was struggling with the direction of it bUT am so glad u enjoyed it nonetheless 🥺

SCENE 4

pls omg he secretly loves that apron i just knOW it and omg yes megs is rlly only helping bc he loves col reader 🥺 AND THE BROWSER TAB OMG THIS GUY DOESNT GIVE A FLYING FUCK RLLY 😭 he's leaving his laptop out in the open he doesnt CAAAREEE

megs is a menace deep in his core i feel it in my BONES (you drawing them with cutesy headbands would be SOOOO cute 🥺) + your reaction miDI OMG DSBGHSD PLS ICB U HAD TO STAND AND PACE AROUND READING IT 😭 AAAAH UR FRIEND IS SO REALSDABSD it's so interesting!! seeing which parts u liked best omg sdhjbfsd this makes me so happy 🥺

SMACKA SMACKA IM LAUGHIGNSDBASD i wanted to reference stuff from the other col fics and thought this would be neat ! esp since the lingerie fic takes place along this timeframe !!! so having it featured here kind of informs the sequence of events too!! (that the lingerie fic happened before this) and you knoWWWW am not an explicit writer omg but am glad u felt the intimacy in it 🥹 i am slowly !!! warming up to more intimate scenes the more i write it 🥹

SCENE 5

FULL SMACKA SMACKA HELP 😭

and omg that is the sweetest thing u can say abt this scene midi 🥹 thank u sm and am so glad that my kinda nsfw way of writing scenes like this still hits some way 🥹 i get flustered myself when writing intimate scenes like lowkey i feel like i'd have to detach and blackout just to write it explicitly buT YEA 🥹 im so happy u like it!! esp since u do read smut on the regular omg 🥹

SCENE +1

AAAAAHH he really is 🥹 i sometimes worry that bc col isnt a super strict series, more like vignettes of their relationship, that, even if someone can pick this up without the context of the other fics, my characterisation of satoru might be a bit off?? mainly bc i think col satoru atp is a product of how he was in the earlier pieces of col 🥹 and i am soOOOO glad that u've been here to witness his growth from the start!!!

gsdgsdu i reaLLY wanted to write that breakup miscomm bc i think its so siLLy and SO FUNNY dsbfsjadf but AAH am so glad u felt the tension... i was so unsure if it was felt hELp

and to answer your prediction!! of it being a proposal!! i will say!!!! that i turned over the idea in my head quite a few times, and i won't say my current thoughts on the col couple and a marriage proposal just bc it's still open to change for me but!! this is a step towards a kind of permanence—a forever, like you said!! it's not a marriage proposal, but it is a proposal to move in together 🥹 i was just thinking of a way he could say it that felt a bit more weighted!! and less conventional?? bc i do think they're a bit unconventional (esp gojo)

UR REACTION PHOTOS ARE SO CUTE AND I AM BEYOND FLATTERED AND TOUCHED THAT U TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS FR MIDI 😭 i cant even imagine the amt of time it took 😭 i appreciate this and you so much!!!!

TAGS

AAAH to hear that this is ur fave fic so far??? omg 🥹 i was expecting it wouldn't do as well bc the fics i tend to enjoy writing/like don't really end up as people's favourites too!! but i did thoroughly enjoy the pre-writing and writing process for this 🥺 my whole gojussy indeed 🥺

and i translated ur indonesian and omg that'S SO SWEET SJDFBJSD IM so glad the second read is just as good as the first 😭😭 srsly midi i am sososo flattered and this means sososo much ilysm thank u so much AS ALways

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours. 

contains: f!reader, uses pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), vague allusion to symptoms similar to synesthesia, mentions of reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, use of pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (there are lots of callbacks and references, and you’ll get better context!), used lots of songs as inspo for this (would gladly share if you’re curious!), food names are in japanese, so i’ll add explanations in the a/n at the bottom!, hope you enjoy! from conceptualisation to actual writing, this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +4 (extra). take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out. 

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity. 

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish. 

He paces around the room. 

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday. 

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming. 

To him, this could change everything with you. 

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you. 

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours. 

.

.

.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine. 

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice. 

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.  

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them. 

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength. 

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with. 

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down. 

You only ever get like this sparring against him. 

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you. 

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to. 

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you. 

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out. 

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute? 

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred. 

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?” 

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?” 

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling. 

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding. 

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway. 

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you. 

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs. 

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right. 

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…” 

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies. 

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him. 

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze. 

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it. 

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric. 

You reach for him. 

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly. 

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear. 

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do. 

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds. 

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally. 

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too. 

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief. 

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely. 

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it. 

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room. 

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all. 

“Just like old times,” he nudges you. 

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out. 

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it. 

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it. 

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking. 

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on. 

It was never supposed to be important to him. 

Until you. 

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach. 

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random. 

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference. 

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him. 

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you. 

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it. 

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were. 

.

.

.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight. 

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon. 

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty. 

He misses you. 

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.” 

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub. 

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe. 

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels. 

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left. 

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you. 

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even. 

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes. 

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates. 

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to. 

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute. 

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling. 

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear. 

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot. 

“‘Nside.” you slur. 

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already. 

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen. 

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.” 

Another ache. 

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit. 

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is. 

“Just miss you.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable. 

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.” 

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one. 

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment. 

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility. 

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space. 

But right now, it feels so empty. 

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches. 

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint. 

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?” 

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover. 

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over. 

You giggle again. 

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’” 

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him). 

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite? 

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight. 

“Sweet-talker.” 

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids. 

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing. 

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.” 

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips. 

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious. 

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening). 

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool. 

“Listening.” 

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully. 

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way. 

How can you even think that? 

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him. 

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear. 

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.” 

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating. 

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?” 

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids. 

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool. 

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday. 

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try). 

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home. 

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now. 

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants. 

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence. 

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you. 

“Satoru,” you call him softly. 

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is. 

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling. 

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you. 

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable. 

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too. 

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows. 

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time). 

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone. 

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to. 

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version. 

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.  

.

.

.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?” 

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology. 

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night. 

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis. 

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out. 

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.” 

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you. 

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this. 

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you. 

. 

Or not. 

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened. 

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else. 

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything). 

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed. 

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it. 

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes. 

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain). 

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.” 

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines. 

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being. 

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable. 

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.  

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him. 

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him. 

The bed as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him. 

Who is he to say no?  

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down. 

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside. 

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist. 

“Have you eaten?” 

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.” 

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,” 

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.” 

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising. 

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed. 

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer. 

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin. 

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.” 

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes. 

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it. 

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.” 

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami. 

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you. 

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach. 

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you. 

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.” 

You shoot him a look, then pout. 

“Satoru.” 

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already). 

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—” 

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.” 

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek. 

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. 

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely. 

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you. 

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do. 

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?” 

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little. 

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go. 

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.” 

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter. 

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—” 

He gets kicked in the thigh. 

.

.

.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way. 

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way). 

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking. 

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all. 

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps. 

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin. 

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one. 

He has to get this right. 

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other. 

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes. 

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to. 

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt. 

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies. 

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later. 

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter. 

“Megumi!” 

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?” 

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.” 

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove. 

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!” 

Megumi stares. 

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.” 

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be. 

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.” 

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears. 

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you. 

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair. 

.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup. 

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent. 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that). 

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all. 

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove. 

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers. 

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs. 

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?” 

It’s a simple question. Innocent. 

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).   

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. 

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.” 

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it. 

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him. 

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating. 

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds. 

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?” 

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips. 

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan. 

“No, it’s okay.” 

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.” 

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up. 

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest cook continues: he heats up the skillet to cook the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it. 

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway. 

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after. 

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay. 

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—-the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside. 

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction. 

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking. 

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it. 

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks. 

All his hard work? Shattered. 

Gojo is dumbfounded. 

It’s too late to change everything now. 

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout? 

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed because there were no more aprons. 

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.  

. 

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready. 

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely. 

All he told you was to wear something nice. 

And, by god you did. 

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now. 

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing. 

He reaches for you. 

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight. 

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?” 

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.” 

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest. 

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss. 

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding lower to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk. 

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating. 

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating. 

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?” 

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly? 

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him? 

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing. 

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying. 

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently. 

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously. 

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.” 

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him. 

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—-has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes. 

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t. 

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates. 

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you. 

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space. 

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly. 

He holds your gaze.  

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.” 

You say it again—how you call him that so casually. 

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life? 

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress. 

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves. 

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier. 

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say. 

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingled with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. 

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck. 

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat. 

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie. 

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—-blood rushing, ears ringing. 

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt. 

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.” 

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

.

.

.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription. 

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately. 

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day. 

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep. 

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing. 

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom. 

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away). 

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—-how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink. 

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you. 

As long as it’s with you. 

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel. 

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.” 

.

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are. 

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else. 

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now. 

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.” 

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling. 

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom. 

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like you’re right there, everywhere he goes). 

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry. 

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and found a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his. 

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white is too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 

And thing is, he never asked you to do any of this. 

You just… did. 

Because that’s you. 

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances. 

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully. 

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed. 

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time. 

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry, lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm. 

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory. 

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile you always give him, the hands that always reach for him, first thing. 

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it. 

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying. 

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities. 

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you. 

.

.

.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you. 

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick. 

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes. 

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it. 

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale. 

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves. 

If you were here—-

—-the door opens, and you step into the room. 

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say. 

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17. 

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?” 

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat. 

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter. 

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.” 

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch. 

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say. 

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you. 

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too. 

He practiced this, damn it. 

Why can’t he remember a single thing? 

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you. 

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying,

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’ 

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.” 

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?” 

His heart is pounding. 

“I stay over at yours too much.” 

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add. 

“I think we need more space.” 

Your hand on his knee slides off as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now. 

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—” 

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?” 

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach. 

It’s not like that at all. 

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now. 

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands. 

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.” 

He blinks. 

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you. 

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it. 

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.” 

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper. 

“You ran yourself dry because of me.” 

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty. 

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility. 

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.” 

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more. 

Do you still think he wants to do this without you? 

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely. 

You blink. 

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him. 

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?” 

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…” 

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning. 

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts. 

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means. 

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—” 

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely. 

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[enjennie]

[12:38 pm]

"So, who are you taking to the party this Friday?"

Your ears couldn't help but perk up at Jaemin's question directed at Jeno who sat between the two of you. The boy was in deep thought though, missing what his best friend had said completely before Jaemin started snapping his fingers in front of him to get his attention.

"Huh? Oh– Actually, I'm not really sure yet," Jeno snaps out of his trance and shrugs, relaxing against the chair. He peers over at what you're doing; math homework.

"We know it's just gonna be Y/N," Jaemin teases, getting back to his own textbook.

"What? Well, yeah. We always go to parties together," Jeno says nonchalantly.

At this point, you had already lost yourself in the equation and have to redo the whole thing. You cross everything off and flip to a new page. Maybe you were a little frustrated with how Jeno responded. But you had no right, not even a little bit.

Because you were best friends. And you have been since you were in diapers.

It sucked, because you also had the biggest crush on your supposed best friend, and everybody knew except him.

"What if I want to take her this time?" Jaemin asks, and you finally turn your head to the two boys.

"No, because–" Jeno starts.

"I think that would be nice. I'll see you at 8, Jaemin?" you interrupt Jeno. He looks at you in surprise as Jaemin grins widely.

"It's a date," the grinning boy winks.

"But Y/N, we always go together," pouts Jeno, but you don't spare him a second glance.

"Get a date, loser," you mutter.

Ask me out next time maybe, you thought. Seriously, you don't know how you maintained this crush for so long when he's never even probably thought of you in that light.

"But Y/N," Jeno surprises you when his hand lays on top of yours, dodging the pencil out of your grip and then giving your hand a squeeze. "You've always been my date to the parties,"

Date? More like pal. Dude, buddy, mate, sidekick.

"Hey! That's my date," Jaemin interferes dramatically, slapping Jeno's hand away from yours.

"And that's my best friend. Back off," Jeno growls, and for one moment you thought he was really mad. You don't care, though. Your heart was beating a thousand beats per second now and all the blood is rushing to your ears and face. This was Jeno's effect on you. Oh, your stupid heart.

"Sure it's not more than that?" Jaemin taunts, smirking.

Jeno pulls his hand back from yours and starts collecting his stuff. "Don't be stupid. That's Y/N, I'd never," He then walks out of the cafeteria without another word.

Just like that, your heart smashes to the floor and you go deaf, there's a ringing in your ear.

It's silent between you and Jaemin for a few minutes, the boy knowing he'd messed up and got you hurt. It wasn't his intention. But boy, his best friend was stupid. If only, he thought. If only you'd fallen for me instead. You wouldn't be bearing this pain right now.

"Sorry–" he starts quietly.

"Don't worry about it. You would know better than anyone, Jaemin. You're his best friend, after all. He'd never date me," you repeat Jeno's words before doing the same as him and taking your leave after gathering your things.

Jaemin watches you leave with wistful eyes, dejected and torn. He wanted you for himself, but he knew your heart wouldn't be as happy than if you were with his best friend.

If only you'd fallen for him instead.

hi! omg okay so i wrote this just to dip my feet a little in the water of writing again. also this may or may not be what i feel sometimes with jeno jdhfjsjd BOY i am falling for jaemin slowly but surely pls do something abt it /j. hope u liked it! see u :>