#Insidious Domestic Spaces

[ngdrb]

The Curse of Seraphina's Dollhouse

My latest book

A child receives a beautiful dollhouse that mimics her shown home, but the miniature versions of her family start to behave increasingly ominously.

[mononijikayu]

dearest, darling, my universe — gojo satoru.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did." The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

GENRE: post shinjiku showdown (spoilers for jjk chapter 268)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 11k words.

NOTE: my brothers caught a cold so i caught it too because that's just how it sometimes goes when you're always together. i've been writing a bunch of stuff in the mean time, cause i'm strong enough at least. but i hope you enjoy this. it took me a while to write this, but it's finally done. also, listen to iu's song love wins all while reading this. love you all!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED. The world feels quiet now, almost unnaturally so, as if it is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next. The grounds are empty, unlike how they used to be. The sky is heavy and dulled gray and the wind carries a strange stillness that presses against your skin. 

Everything seems suspended, caught in a moment that refuses to pass, a calm that feels more like a warning than a relief. It’s the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm — not the peace that follows resolution, but the heavy, fragile silence that comes when everything has been ripped apart, and nothing has been put back together.

Your gaze searches for someone as you look towards the horizon. It takes you a while, but you smile when you find that figure again. You sighed, he’s been there awhile. But you don't blame him. You think that Fushiguro Megumi feels like he’d find peace, if he sits there to wonder what had been before. You find him sitting on the bench your husband had loved to sit on years ago, his back turned to you. He is still, his head lowered, shoulders slumped, and you can see the way his body trembles with each ragged breath.

He’s still recovering, as most are after the battle with Sukuna. But for Megumi, the wounds are deeper, more insidious. After being imprisoned by Sukuna, after having his body and mind twisted and torn apart from the inside out, he’s struggling to find his footing again. His physical scars may heal with time, but the ones etched into his soul are a different story.

You approach slowly, hesitant to break the fragile stillness that surrounds him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the slight shift of his head as if he’s listening, waiting. You move closer until you’re standing beside him, close enough to see the bandaged bruises that still darken his skin, the way his hands are clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.

“Megumi.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his blue green eyes shadowed and hollow. You can’t tell if he’s looking at the ruins or something beyond them, something only he can see. You wait, giving him the time he needs, the space to decide whether he wants to speak or remain silent.

Finally, he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, his shoulders sagging further. “I couldn’t sleep.” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “I could still feel it. Like he’s still here… in my head… in my body. And then my dreams…. My hands and Gojo–sensei’s eyes….”

The words hang in the air, raw and unsteady, as if they barely have the strength to escape his lips. You hear the tremor in his voice, the way it quivers with each syllable. It’s a sound you haven’t heard from him before, a vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, so broken and raw, a far cry from the stoic, determined young man you’ve known for so long.

You can see it in the way his eyes stare ahead, unfocused, as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. The way his hands tremble slightly, even though they’re clenched tightly on his knees. He sounds lost, like he’s still fighting a battle that has no end, still trying to claw his way out of a darkness that clings to him like a second skin. His whole body seems to sag under the weight of it, the invisible chains that bind him to a past he can’t escape.

“I see.” you whisper, your voice gentle, but firm. You reach out, hesitantly, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the tension that coils beneath his skin, the way his muscles are taut and ready to snap. “I’m sorry for that, Megumi.”

He flinches at your touch, just a little, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief second before darting away again. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s torn between wanting to believe you and the insidious doubt that’s been planted deep inside him. There’s a flicker of shame, of fear, as if he’s afraid of admitting just how much he’s struggling, how much of himself he feels he’s lost.

“It’s going to take some time for all of this to go and change.” he finally admits, his voice low, almost inaudible. “It feels like… like he’s still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for a chance to come back. And then Gojo–sensei’s voice echoes sometimes, whispering… and Sukuna just….It’s like he’s a part of me now, and I don’t know how to make him leave.”

His words are laced with a quiet desperation, a plea for some kind of reassurance that you’re not sure you can give. How do you tell someone that the ghost in their mind will eventually fade when you know that kind of pain never truly leaves? How do you promise a tomorrow free of shadows when the past clings so fiercely to the present?

You tighten your grip on his arm, just a little, enough to ground him, to let him know you’re here. “He won’t win. Satoru knew that too.” you say, your voice is firmer now, more certain. “Not while you’re still fighting. And I know you, Megumi. You’ve fought through worse. You’re stronger than you think, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you can see the doubt there, the fear. But beneath it, there’s a spark of something else, something fragile and faint, but alive — hope, maybe. A glimmer of belief that he can pull through this, that he can find himself again. His lips part, but he seems to hesitate, as if afraid of saying something he can’t take back.

“I’m tired.” he confesses, and it feels like the weight of the world is in those two words. “I’m so tired of fighting. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. “I know." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know you are. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to be tired, to need a break. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Megumi. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky breath that trembles with all the emotions he’s been holding in, and for a moment, he looks like he might break, like the walls he’s built around himself might finally come crashing down. His shoulders slump further, and he leans forward, just a fraction, as if testing the waters, as if trying to decide if it’s safe to fall.

“I….” he starts, his voice breaking, “I keep thinking about him… and about everyone we lost. And I wonder if it’s even worth it, to keep going… if I’m even worth it. I…I helped cause all this pain.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You tighten your grip on his arm, leaning closer, your heart breaking for him, for everything he’s endured, for everything he’s still enduring.

“Megumi.” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You are worth it. You’re worth every fight, every tear, every moment of pain. You’re worth it because you’re here, and you’re trying, and you haven’t given up. And that… that’s everything.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to find the truth in your words, as if he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. His lips tremble, and for a moment, he seems like he might speak, might say something that could change everything.

But then he just closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he lets out a breath, long and shuddering. “I don’t know.” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. He stays there, his body tense but close, and you know that for now, that’s enough.

You feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fights to keep himself together, and you wonder how many times he’s had to do this — how many times he’s been forced to stand tall when everything inside him was falling apart. You can see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’s so young, but he looks older now, like the weight of the world has been pressing down on him for too long.

You don’t say anything, just keep your hand on his arm, feeling the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You know that words won’t fix this, won’t make the shadows in his eyes disappear. But you want him to know he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans into you, just a little, his head bowing as if the strength he’s been holding onto is slipping away. You don’t move, don’t flinch, just let him take whatever he needs from you, let him find some solace in the contact, in the warmth of another human being who understands, who has lost as much as he has.

“I’m scared.” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m scared that I’ll never be… me again. That I’ll never be whole. That I’ll always feel… like this.”

Your heart aches at the confession, at the way his voice breaks, the way his words tremble with an uncertainty that shakes you to your core. You feel a tear slip down your own cheek, and you quickly brush it away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to his pain.

“It’s okay to be scared.” you whisper back, your voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared too, Megumi. Every day. But you don’t have to do this alone. You have people who care about you, who love you. And we’ll get through this… somehow. Together.”

He nods, just barely, and you can feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from his frame, as if your words have given him something to hold onto, even if just for a moment. His tired eyes remain closed, and he takes another deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows furrowing like he’s trying to muster some strength from within.

“I miss him.” he confesses, almost like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “I miss Gojo–sensei. Tsumiki, I…I still can’t…”

Silence engulfs you, heavy and unrelenting, settling like a thick fog between you and Megumi. He opens his eyes. You couldn’t help but see the light of devastation in his eyes, a light that flickers and fades like a dying star. It’s a look you’ve seen before, a look you’ve felt etched into your own reflection every time you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The eyes that have stared back at you have been hollowed out, drained of their usual spark, carrying the same weight that now rests in Megumi’s.

You see it in the way he looks down, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, as if he’s afraid that meeting your eyes might shatter whatever fragile composure he’s managed to hold onto. The devastation is so clear in his expression, so raw and exposed, like an open wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

But you share the same look, you think. Because you’ve both lost the dearest people in your lives. The ones who held you together, who gave you strength when you needed it most. You knew that too well — the pain, the grief that seems to expand with every breath you take, filling the space around you, making it harder and harder to breathe. Tsumiki, taken from him so suddenly, so cruelly. And now Satoru, your husband, the man who was everything — your light, your laughter, your reason to keep fighting even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How much more can you both bear?

It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest, an invisible force squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart aches with a pain that’s deep and unyielding, a pain that you’ve grown accustomed to, but that never seems too dull. It’s the kind of pain that lingers, that finds its way into every corner of your being, that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try.

You think of Satoru — his smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he could light up a room just by being in it. You think of Tsumiki — her quiet strength, her gentle kindness, the way she could make Megumi laugh even when he didn’t want to. You think of how much they meant to you, to both of you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to go on without them. How do you keep moving forward when the ground beneath you has been ripped away? How do you find the strength to keep fighting when the people who gave you that strength are gone?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, hot and heavy, and you quickly brush it away. You don’t want Megumi to see, don’t want him to think that you’re breaking, that you’re crumbling under the weight of your own grief. But maybe he already knows. Maybe he can see it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your shoulders sag just a little, in the way your breath catches in your throat like you’re fighting to keep from sobbing.

Megumi finally looks up, and when his eyes meet yours, you see the reflection of your own sorrow staring back at you. His eyes are tired, so very tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. There’s a hollowness in them, a void where there used to be determination and fire. He looks older than he is, worn down by the battles he fought, by the losses he’s endured. And you wonder how much more he can take, how much more you can ask of him when he’s already given so much.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to do this.” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, his words trembling on the edge of breaking. “I don’t know how to… keep going.”

Your heart tightens, and you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you, cold and sharp like a blade. You want to tell him that it will get easier, that the pain will fade, but you know it’s not true. You know that some losses never heal, that some wounds never close. All you can do is reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently, letting him know that you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere.

“I don’t know how either.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “But we have to try… for them. For ourselves.”

He nods, but it’s a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s still not sure if he believes you, if he believes in anything anymore. His grip tightens around your hand, almost desperate, like he’s holding on for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are, trying to keep each other afloat in a sea of loss and uncertainty, trying to find something solid to cling to when everything else has been swept away.

For a long moment, you stand there in silence, feeling the weight of everything you’ve lost, everything you’re still losing. And you realize that there’s no easy answer, no simple path forward. There’s only this — the two of you, standing together in the midst of all the broken pieces, trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels whole. And maybe that’s enough. For now, maybe that’s enough.

"I… I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door too, you know?" you finally manage to say, your voice catching on the last word. "With that grin of his, like it's all been a bad dream."

Megumi’s gaze drops to the ground. “Me too.” he whispers. "I keep hearing his voice, like he's about to make another joke… or ruffle my hair." His hands curl into fists, and he swallows hard. "I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream."

You reach out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. "It feels wrong, doesn't it? For him to be gone."

He nods, his shoulders slumping further. "I hated how he made everything a joke, how he never took things seriously… but I’d give anything to hear him laugh again." His voice cracks, and you see the tears he's been holding back start to gather in his eyes.

Your own tears brim over, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "I don’t know what to do." you admit. "I feel lost without him. I thought we’d have more time… that we could…"

"To live together?" Megumi finishes for you, and you nod, grateful that he understands.

For a moment, you both stand there in your shared grief, the silence punctuated by the distant sounds of the wind moving through the ruins. Finally, Megumi reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn and slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled many times. You look at him and then to the paper. You could feel the air knocked from your lungs. 

"He… he left this for you." he says, handing it over. “Ieiri–san gave this to me. He told Ieiri–san to give it to you.....if something happened, you’d be the one to need it most.”

You take the letter with trembling hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to open it, terrified of what it might say, of the finality it represents. But then you unfold it, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting dancing across the page, and his little drawing of himself on the side. You don’t know whether you were going to laugh or cry. Because, almost immediately, you can almost hear his voice speaking the words.

𝑯𝒆𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆,  

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕… 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.  

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓… 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝑻𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 — 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒚. 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?  

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕… 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚.   

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 — 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕,  𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖.

The tears spill over again, as they have these past few weeks and you clutch the letter to your chest, your heart aching with a mix of love and pain. You look over at Megumi, who’s watching you with a mix of understanding and his own quiet grief. He didn’t say a word for a while. He just let you cry, to let out the grief that you had been holding in for so long. 

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did."

The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

Megumi shifts beside you, his gaze distant. You sense he’s been wrestling with his own demons, carrying a grief he doesn’t quite know how to articulate. You remember the nights Satoru would tease him, ruffle his hair, and declare with exaggerated fondness that he was the son he never had. And you remember how Megumi would roll his eyes, always with that begrudging smile, the one that said he was secretly happy to have someone who cared so much.

"I don’t know what to do." you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t even know where to begin."

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening in understanding. "Neither do I." he admits. "But… I think Gojo–sensei would want us to keep going. He’d hate seeing us like this, stuck in the past."

You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "He was always moving forward, wasn’t he? Never stopping, not even for a second."

Megumi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. "Yeah, always dragging everyone else along for the ride." He hesitates, and then adds, "But… it wasn’t just him. You kept him grounded. You gave him a reason to slow down, even if just a little."

Your breath catches in your throat. You never thought of it that way — always felt like you were the one chasing after him, trying to keep up with his boundless energy and insatiable curiosity. But maybe, in your own way, you had been his anchor.

Megumi takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, as if unsure whether to reach out. "He always talked about you, a lot. Even when you weren't around." he says softly. "Not in the way you'd expect. He’d get this look in his eyes, like… like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you."

You nod, finding some solace in his words. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you, a cocoon of shared understanding. Then, with a deep breath, you fold Satoru’s letter carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and tuck it into your pocket.

“I know.” you say gently, a faint smile on your lips. “I was the luckiest person alive too. To have loved him. To have been with him. To…To have a life with him.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of something there — a mix of pain and doubt, hope and fear. He looks exhausted, like every breath, every moment, is a battle in itself. His hands unclench slowly, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know if I can ever be what I was.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

"That's okay." You whisper back. "You don't need to be whole to be yourself, Megumi. It's...enough. Being like this, for now."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s still so young, you think, still so young to have been through so much, to carry so many burdens on his shoulders. You didn’t want this from him. You don’t want him to live with this for the rest of his life. 

“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a plea.

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t know.” you admit honestly. “I think… I think it might always hurt a little. But I also think that one day, the pain won’t be the first thing you feel. One day, you’ll wake up, and it’ll be a little easier to breathe. And then another day, and another… and eventually, you’ll find a way to live with it. To carry it without letting it crush you.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb your words, to find some semblance of comfort in them. “I hope so.” he says quietly. “I really hope so.”

As you purse your lips into a tight line, Fushiguro Megumi turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain in his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve known for years, dark and brooding, yet now they seem dimmed by a weight too heavy for any young man to bear. His expression is weary, etched with the lines of battles fought not just against enemies but against the relentless tide of grief and responsibility that threatens to swallow him whole. 

You pause, taking in the sight of him. Megumi, who has always seemed so strong, so unyielding, now stands with his shoulders hunched, his frame pulled inward like a fragile fortress protecting a fragile heart. His hands, usually so sure and steady, are clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy. 

The boy who faced curses without flinching now looks lost, as if he’s unsure of where to place his feet or how to hold himself together. You notice how his posture has shrunk into itself, his form smaller, more fragile than you remember. For a fleeting moment, he is not the stoic young man who bears the weight of the Zen’in name, but the boy you raised, the one who used to look up at you with a defiance softened by hope. 

Memories rush in, unbidden and raw. You remember the first time you took his hand, how tiny it seemed in yours, and the way he stiffened, wary of your touch. It took time for him to trust you, to accept the safety you offered in a world that had been anything but kind. He was so guarded, so determined to prove that he didn’t need anyone, but you had seen through the cracks in his armor, glimpsed the boy beneath who craved comfort and understanding.

Now, as you stand before him, you see that boy again. The boy who hid his hurt behind curt words and narrowed eyes, who watched the world with suspicion, waiting for it to turn on him. You see the boy who wanted to be strong, not just for himself but for those he cared about, who believed that if he could shoulder enough pain, he might somehow spare others from it. That same boy stands before you now, but the weight he carries has only grown heavier, pressing down on his shoulders until they sag with exhaustion.

You move closer, slowly, careful not to startle him. Megumi’s gaze flickers to you, and for a moment, something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. He looks at you as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat, stuck behind the fear of vulnerability. You can see the battle waging within him — the need to be strong, to keep it all together, and the desperate longing to let someone in, to share the burden that’s breaking him apart.

“I…I’m sorry for putting you through what I did.” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it. His voice is thick, strained with the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was hard seeing Megumi this way, you think. If anything, you still weren’t prepared to seek him out. You felt ashamed that you couldn’t do much for him. As much as you were also worried that he’d put himself at your feet, kneeling and in tears. Now your worst fear came to pass, that he would be apologizing to you for something that was not his fault. And so, you took that time — a long time, to just be alone and grieve. To let your husband’s soul rest in peace.

So your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. At first, he resists, his body stiff and unyielding, but you hold firm, refusing to let go. Slowly, he relents, and he collapses against you, his head resting against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your clothes, and you feel the tremble in his fingers, the suppressed sobs caught in his chest.

“It’s okay, Megumi.” you murmur, stroking his back in soothing circles. “You silly boy. Why are you apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

His shoulders shake, and you feel the tears that he’s fought so hard to hold back finally spill over. He buries his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, each one tearing at your heart. You hold him tighter, as if you could somehow shield him from the pain, as if you could gather all the shattered pieces of him and put them back together.

He cries quietly, like he doesn’t want to be heard, like he’s afraid of what his grief might sound like if he lets it out. You just hold him, letting him take the time he needs, giving him the space to be the child you know he still is, beneath all that strength and stubbornness. 

And for that moment, you are back in time, comforting a boy who tried so hard to be brave, to stand tall in a world that felt too big and too cruel. You feel the years slip away, and you whisper to him like you did then, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s loved. 

Slowly, the tremors in his body begin to ease, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes are red, and there’s a vulnerability there that you haven’t seen in years. “I’m sorry, Gen–san.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I….It must be harder on you.”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek with one hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you say firmly. “You’ve been so strong, Megumi. But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. “I just… I miss him, Gen–san.” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss them. Tsumiki…..I…I miss them both. And it’s…It’s my fault. If I had…”

“I know you do.” you whisper back. “I miss them too. And it’s okay to feel that way. But it was never your fault. You understand? This is not your cross to bear, hm?”

He looked at you, as though he was still unsure. But he nods again, and this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s a spark of something new there, a flicker of resolve. “Thank you.” he murmurs. “For… for being here.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Always.” you promise. “I’ll always be here for you, Megumi.”

And as he leans into your touch, you realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. That he has a family, even in the darkest of times, and that you’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. When he finally calms down, you look at him with a tender gaze. You rub the small of his back and coo towards him. You tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay. 

THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THESE MANY YEARS. But all the same, you were still just trying to get by without your husband. Just as you have done in the past fourteen years. Sometimes you can’t believe that it has been that long. Fourteen long years without his voice, his laughter, his warmth beside you in the dark of the night. Fourteen years of waking up every morning and remembering all over again that he’s gone.

Some days, it feels like he was just here, like you can still hear his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his voice calling your name, teasing you with that easy smile that could always make your heart skip a beat. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed, like his memory is slipping further away with each breath you take, each step you take forward.

And sometimes, all you have to do is look at the world around you and see how much it has changed, even without Satoru. The world didn’t stop for his absence — it kept moving, kept spinning, kept evolving. The streets are filled with new faces, new buildings rise where old ones once stood. The skyline of the city looks different, the energy of the people has shifted, and even the quiet corners where you used to find solace now feel foreign and unfamiliar.

You think about the way he would have laughed at the way the world has moved on without him, how he would have been amused at the thought of being left behind by time itself. “Can’t keep up with me, huh?” he would’ve jokes, that mischievous grin spreading across his face, his bright eyes twinkling with that endless, boundless spirit of his.

But he isn’t here to see it — he isn’t here to laugh or joke or comment on the little changes that make up this new reality. And that’s what hurts the most, you think. The small moments that go unnoticed, the daily routines that feel emptier without him, the tiny, insignificant details that made life with him so full.

You were certain that today was one of those days — a day where the past and present seemed to blur, where the weight of what came before felt particularly heavy. The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the table. You watch as the young clan leader, Gojo Satoshi, sits across from you, his posture a mix of youthful excitement and a hint of nervousness that he tries to hide. His eighteenth birthday has finally arrived — a day you’ve both been anticipating with a blend of joy and bittersweetness. 

For years, you’ve marked this date on the calendar, circled it with a smiley face as Satoru used to do. You remember the way he’d talk about this day like it was a grand milestone, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he imagined all the things Satoshi would accomplish. And now, here it is — the day that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach, yet somehow arrived faster than you ever thought it would.

Your son had taken some time off from his responsibilities, from the pressures of the Gojo clan, just to be here with you. He’d insisted on it, saying he didn’t want to spend this day anywhere else. There’s a maturity in him that catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet strength that reminds you so much of Satoru, and yet he’s entirely his own person, shaped by all the experiences and lessons that life has thrown at him. 

At times, you catch yourself taking a moment to look at him. He was the spitting image of his father. Every bit of him was Satoru. From the way his eyes gazed at you, to the way he laughs. Everything was him. You think if your husband would be here now, it would have been hard to tell them apart. But, he was all you have of Satoru. And you were still grateful for it, even if it makes you cry sometimes.

“Mom.” he begins, and there’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that he doesn’t show often. “I… I’m glad I could be here today. I know it’s… a lot. For both of us.”

You smile, a warm, gentle smile that you hope hides the ache in your chest. “I’m glad too, Satoshi. I’ve been waiting for this day. Your father would have wanted it to be special.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — a shadow of the loss you both carry, the empty space that Satoru left behind. You know this day is as much about celebrating as it is about remembering, about honoring the promise that Satoru made to him, to all of you.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in your hand — a letter you’ve kept safe for years, one with Satoru’s handwriting on the envelope, his familiar scrawl that brings a sting of tears to your eyes. The letter he wrote for Satoshi to open on his eighteenth birthday, a letter he wrote knowing he might not be here to read it himself.

You hold it out to him, your fingers trembling slightly, and Satoshi’s eyes widen. He recognizes it immediately, having seen it once before when he was a child, when you tucked it away with a promise that it was for another day, a day when he was older, stronger.

“Is this…?” he asks, his voice trailing off, almost afraid to finish the question.

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “It’s from your father.” you say softly. “Megumi found it cleaning your father's office. It seems....your father wanted you to have something special when you're older."

For a moment, Satoshi just stares at the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges, tracing the curve of his father’s handwriting. You can see the emotions flicker across his face — curiosity, sadness, a deep, yearning love. He looks up at you, and there’s a silent question in his eyes, one that asks if you’re okay, if you’re ready for this.

You give him a small nod, even though your heart feels like it might break all over again. “Go on.” you encourage. “Open it.”

With a deep breath, Satoshi carefully tears open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor you know he must feel. He pulls out the folded paper inside, and as he begins to read, you watch his face, the way his expression changes, softens, as he takes in the words that his father left for him.

There’s a chuckle, soft and low, that escapes his lips, and for a brief moment, it’s like Gojo Satoru is in the room with you both, his presence lingering in the air, his laughter echoing in the corners. Satoshi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, murmuring, “Of course he’d say that…” under his breath.

You can’t help but smile, a tear slipping down your cheek as you remember Satoru’s sense of humor, his way of making light of even the heaviest moments. You wonder what he wrote, what silly remark he must have made, what words he left behind to make his son laugh on this day.

But then, the laughter fades, replaced by a softer look, a look of longing. Satoshi’s eyes grow misty, and his smile wavers, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands clutch the letter a little tighter, his fingers pressing into the paper like he’s holding onto a lifeline.

“I miss him, a lot.” he whispers, his voice breaking, and in that moment, he looks like the little boy he used to be, the one who would climb into your lap and ask when his father was coming home. “I miss him so much.”

Your heart breaks all over again, and you reach across the table, pulling him into your arms. He doesn’t resist, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel his tears soak through your shirt, hot and heavy. You hold him close, your hand running through his hair, whispering soothing words even as your own tears fall.

“I know, Satoshi.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “I miss him too… every day.”

He clings to you, his body shaking with quiet sobs, and you let him cry, let him mourn, let him feel all the things he needs to feel. You know that this pain will never truly go away, that there will always be a part of both of you that aches for the man who isn’t here, for the father and husband who left too soon.

But in this moment, you also feel a deep, abiding love — a love that stretches across time and space, that binds you together even in the face of loss. You know that Satoru is with you, in every laugh, in every tear, in every beat of your hearts. And as you hold your son, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his love, you know that Satoru’s spirit lives on, in him, in you, in all the days to come.

You feel Satoshi’s grip tighten around you, his shoulders still trembling with the force of his emotions. You hold him closer, pressing your cheek against the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar and comforting. He’s grown so much, become a young man with so much of his father’s spirit, and yet so much of his own unique strength.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, little dawn.” you whisper into his hair, feeling your voice catch in your throat. “Every day, he would’ve been so proud. I know he is… wherever he is.”

Satoshi pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears, but there’s a light in them — a spark of resilience, of determination, of love. “I hope so, mom.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope I’m making him proud… and you, too.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his damp cheeks. “You are, Satoshi. You’re everything he could have hoped for… everything I could have hoped for.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you can see the way his expression softens, some of the tension easing from his features. “I just… I wish he were here,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “I wish he could see this… see me now.”

You nod, swallowing back your own tears, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. “Me too.” you confess. “Every day, I wish for that. But he’s still with us, Satoshi. In you, in me, in all the love he left behind. And as long as we remember him, he’ll never truly be gone.”

Satoshi nods slowly, taking in your words, letting them settle in the quiet space between you. You know it’s not enough to fill the emptiness, to ease the pain that sits heavy in both of your hearts, but it’s something — a small comfort, a small truth that you can hold on to.

“Happy birthday, Satoshi.” You greeted him with a small smile on your face. “You and your papa. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, mom.”

And so, you sit together in the soft morning light, holding onto each other, holding onto the memory of the man you both loved so dearly, trying to find your way in a world that has changed so much without him. You know it won’t be easy — it never has been — but you also know that you have each other, that you have the love he left behind, and maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep moving forward.

Just as you have for the past fourteen years.

Just as you will for the years to come.

YOU DECIDED TO VISIT THAT AFTERNOON. The pond is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft murmurs of the water lapping against its edges. You stand at the edge, looking out at the calm surface, watching as the light dances across the ripples. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, and there’s a serenity here that you haven’t felt in a long time — a stillness that settles into your bones, grounding you in the moment.

This was land that Satoru bought a long time ago, back when the world was still full of possibility, when dreams felt tangible and within reach. You remember the day he brought you here for the first time, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked about the future, about all the things he wanted to build, all the memories he hoped to create. 

He’d stood right where you’re standing now, his hands on his hips, looking out at the same pond with a boyish grin on his face. “This is it.” he’d said, his voice full of conviction. “This is where I’d be glad to build a family… a place to call home when everything’s said and done.”

You could hear the hope in his words, the unspoken promise of a life filled with love and laughter. He had dreams of children playing by the water’s edge, of long summer evenings spent under the stars, of a sanctuary away from the battles, away from the chaos.

And you had made that happen. For a while, you had built that family, that life, just as he’d wanted. You shared quiet mornings and loud, joyous evenings. You laughed, you loved, you lived. The memories still linger in every corner of this place, like echoes of a time that now feels so distant, so far away.

This is the place where you buried your husband — here, by the pond where he once stood dreaming of the future. It felt right, felt like honoring that dream of his, of giving him the home he’d always wanted, even in death. You wanted him to be where he’d always hoped to be, to rest in the place he had chosen for his family, his sanctuary. So you laid him to rest here, in the earth he once walked upon, beneath the trees that whisper his name in the wind. 

But you chose this spot for a reason. So that he’ll always be home, so that he’ll never be far from the place he loved most. You wanted him to have peace, to feel the tranquility of the land he cherished so much. And maybe, in some way, you wanted him close, wanted to be able to visit, to sit by his side and feel his presence, even if it’s just in the whispers of the wind or the quiet ripple of the pond.

You sit back, closing your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, and you imagine his laughter, his voice, his hand in yours. You can almost hear him now, teasing you about being sentimental, about spending so much time talking to a patch of earth. But you know he’d understand. He always understood you, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

You look out over the pond, the way the water reflects the sky, and you wonder what he would think of the world now, of all the things that have changed. You wonder if he’d still choose this place, if he’d still find it as beautiful as he once did. You like to think he would, that he’d still smile and say, “Yeah, this is home.”

One day, you think. One day, maybe you’ll be here too, resting beside him, sharing this place forever. Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to him, and you’ll get to hear his voice again, feel his arms around you, and you’ll be whole again. Until then, you’ll keep coming back, keep whispering to the wind, keep holding onto the memories that this place holds.

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the water, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Because here, in this quiet place, he is still with you. Here, by the pond he loved so much, he is still home.

You’ve walked this path more times than you can count, but today feels different. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words and memories that cling to you like shadows. It has been fourteen years now, and in a few days, it will be official. But it was your husband’s birthday today too, and you think that maybe that’s why. Satoshi is eighteen and your husband isn’t here to see it. 

When you reach their graves, you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air is cool, the wind gentle against your skin, but there is a weight in your chest that feels heavier than any burden you’ve ever carried. 

Two simple stones lie before you, side by side, as if they were always meant to be together — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Their names etched in the granite are stark against the soft earth, the bold characters cutting through the silence of the space around you. The sight is almost too real, too final, as if the reality of their absence is etched into the stone itself.

It was what Satoru wanted, you remember. He had told you that a long time ago, in a quiet moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading. “Promise me, if anything ever happens… that Suguru will be laid to rest too. That he’ll have peace.”

You’d nodded then, not thinking much of it, not wanting to entertain the thought of losing him. But now, standing here, you understand why. You understand why it mattered to him, why it was so important that they be reunited in the end.

They were best friends once — closer than brothers, bound by a shared past, by dreams of changing the world together. Even when their paths diverged, even when they became enemies in the eyes of the world, there was always something unbreakable between them, something that tied them together beyond the choices they made, beyond the mistakes and the betrayals. They were always two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin that could never be separated.

And now, in death, they are together again. You think it fitting, think it poetic in a way that only Satoru could have imagined. They both found their peace here, in this quiet place, far from the chaos and conflict that shaped their lives. And maybe, just maybe, they have found each other again, wherever they are.

You kneel down, your knees pressing into the soft grass, feeling the dampness seep through your clothes, grounding you, connecting you to the earth, to this place where they both now rest. You reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the characters of their names etched into the cold granite. The letters feel rough under your fingertips, each line a reminder of what was lost, of the lives that were lived with so much intensity, so much passion, so much pain.

“Satoru.” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to speak to him as if he could still hear you. But you hope he can. You hope he’s listening, somewhere out there. “I’m back, my dearest.”

“I miss you… so much. Every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.” Your fingers move to Suguru’s name next, tracing the familiar curves and lines, remembering the way Satoru used to talk about him, the fondness in his voice even after everything that happened.

“And Suguru.” you add softly, “I hope you found peace too. I hope… wherever you are, you’ve found each other again. That you’re not alone. Stay together, hm?”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you, and for a moment, you almost think you hear their voices — Satoru’s light and teasing, Suguru’s deeper, quieter, both of them laughing together like they did in the old days, when things were simpler, when the world hadn’t yet shown its darker side. It’s a sound that cuts through the quiet, a memory that tugs at your heart, bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

You press your palms flat against the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath your hands, grounding yourself in the present, in the reality of this moment. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… either of you. I’m sorry it came to this.”

But then you take a breath, slow and steady, and you remember what Satoru always said — that life goes on, that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like it’s falling apart. And you know he wouldn’t want you to stay here forever, trapped in the past, in the grief that feels like it might swallow you whole. He would want you to keep going, to keep living, to find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now.

You sit back on your heels, wiping at your eyes, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. “I’ll keep going.” you promise, your voice is stronger now, more certain. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. For all of us. But… one day, I hope I get to see you again. I hope we can be together again, somehow.”

The wind blows softly, carrying your words away, and you imagine them reaching Satoru, reaching Suguru, wherever they are. You imagine them smiling, together at last, watching over you, waiting for the day when you’ll be reunited. And in that thought, you find a small measure of comfort, a small piece of hope to hold on to.

So you stay a little longer, just sitting there in the quiet, in the space between what was and what is, letting the memories wash over you, letting yourself feel everything — the love, the loss, the longing. Because here, in this place, they are still with you. Here, by their graves, you are not alone.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard. The memories rush back all at once — the sound of Satoru’s laughter, always so full and carefree; Suguru’s quiet, thoughtful gaze as he watches you both, always the more grounded of the two. You close your eyes for a moment, letting those memories wash over you, trying to hold on to the feeling of them, even as it brings a fresh ache to your heart.

“I miss you.” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. “Gods, I miss you both so much.”

Your hand drops to your lap, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears spill over, hot against your skin, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of holding back the grief that’s been eating away at you ever since you lost them.

“I still can’t believe you’re gone, Satoru.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking… I keep waiting for you to walk through the door with that ridiculous grin on your face, like this was all just some terrible joke. I keep thinking I’ll hear your voice, calling out to me, asking me if I’ve missed you. Fourteen years and I still think like this.”

Your shoulders shake with a quiet sob, and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound. You feel the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that’s been there since the day he died. Every day without him feels like a wound that won’t heal, a pain that won’t lessen, no matter how much time passes.

“I miss you so much.” you repeat, your voice raw and broken. “I miss the way you used to make me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. I miss the way you’d wrap your arms around me, like you could protect me from everything. I miss your voice, your smile… I miss everything.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if to ground yourself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know how to keep going.” you admit quietly. “I don’t know how to keep living in a world where you’re not here.”

Your gaze drifts to Suguru’s grave, and you feel another pang of sorrow. “I miss you too, Suguru.” you murmur. “I know you and Satoru are probably driving each other crazy up there… but I wish… I wish you were both here with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling more freely now. “I’m trying to be strong, to be the person you both believed I could be.” you say, your voice trembling. “But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard to keep going when all I want to do is just… just give up.”

You close your eyes, bowing your head, and let the tears fall, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief feels like it’s drowning you, pulling you under, and for a moment, you don’t know if you have the strength to keep swimming.

But then, through the haze of your tears, you feel a small flicker of warmth — a memory, a feeling, a sense of Satoru’s presence. You can almost hear his voice, playful and light, telling you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living. And you know, deep down, that he wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep smiling, to keep finding joy, even in a world without him.

You lift your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “I promise I’ll keep going.” you whisper. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. But… one day…”

Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “One day, I can’t wait to see you again.” you say, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t wait to be with you again, Satoru. I can’t wait to hold you and tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his headstone, your fingers trembling. “Until then… I’ll keep you in my heart.” you whisper. “I’ll keep you both in my heart.”

The wind picks up once more, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of peace, as if they’re both there with you, watching over you, telling you that it’s okay to grieve, to cry, to miss them. And as you sit there, letting the tears flow, you realize that they’re not really gone. They’re still with you, in every memory, every laugh, every tear. 

“I love you so much.” you whisper, your voice carried away in the wind. “I always will, my love. Happy birthday.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile thing, but there nonetheless. A hope that one day, you’ll see them again, that one day, this ache will be replaced by the joy of being with them once more. Until then, you’ll carry them with you, every step of the way, until your paths cross again.

epilogue 

In the ethereal expanse of the afterlife, Gojo Satoru was causing a celestial commotion that even the most seasoned spirits couldn’t ignore. The gates of heaven, grand and imposing, were currently the scene of an unusual spectacle. Satoru was, quite literally, throwing himself against them, trying to push his way through the ornate barriers with a determination that bordered on absurd.

Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Haibara Yuta were standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Suguru was leaning against a nearby pillar, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Nanami was rubbing his temples in frustration, and Haibara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"How long has he been at this?" Nanami asked.

"Since yesterday." Haibara snickered in response.

"I haven't had peace these past two days." Suguru sighed.

Satoru, his face pressed against the gates, was shouting, “GAH!? Let me out! I need to get back to Earth! They need me! I can’t just sit here while they’re struggling!”

Nanami, stepping forward with a calm yet firm tone, said, “Satoru, this is not a joke. You’re dead. You’re not supposed to go back. We’ve been over this.”

Satoru turned his head, giving them a pleading look. “But they’re my family! They need me! Can’t you see? I’ve got to be there for them!”

Haibara, trying to defuse the tension, added with a smirk, “Gojo–senpai, you know you can’t just break the rules. Besides, you have to admit, your dramatic exit would probably cause a cosmic mess.”

Suguru, barely containing his grin, stepped forward with a more practical suggestion. “Look, Satoru, there’s a much better way to be there for them without causing a ruckus. You can appear in their dreams. It’s a lot less disruptive and doesn’t require you to break through any divine gates.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up with realization. “Wait, really? I do that? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to listen to me at all. Plus, you were too busy trying to create a celestial catastrophe.”

Satoru paused, considering the idea. “I suppose appearing in their dreams is a bit more civilized. But—” he added, frowning, “—can’t I just pop back in for a quick hug or something? A kiss, more preferably.”

Nanami shook his head, still trying to keep his composure. “No, Gojo. That’s not how it works. You’ve got to accept that you can't do what you want now that you're dead.”

Satoru, with a resigned sigh and the roll of his eyes, finally stepped back from the gates. He still looks like a child when he pouts. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the dream thing. But I want to make sure they know I’m there for them.”

Haibara chuckled. “Great. Just try not to turn their dreams into a circus act. They need comfort, not more chaos, Gojo–senpai!”

Satoru grinned, his spirits lifting as he envisioned his new plan. “Got it. I’ll keep it heartfelt and fun. And maybe I’ll sneak in a few tricks here and there. You know, just to keep things interesting.”

As Satoru prepared to set off on his new celestial mission, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara exchanged looks of weary amusement. They knew that, despite his antics, Satoru’s heart was in the right place.

“Good luck,” Nanami said dryly. “And remember, no cosmic disasters.”

Satoru gave them a thumbs-up. “You got it! And thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ll make sure they feel my love, even if it’s just in their dreams.”

With that, Satoru faded into a swirl of ethereal light, heading toward the dreamscape to reach out to you and Satoshi. Meanwhile, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara watched him go, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

“Do you think he’ll actually follow through?” Haibara asked, still grinning.

Suguru smirked. “If anyone can turn a dream into a grand spectacle, it’s Satoru. But I have no doubt he’ll manage to bring some comfort, too. Well, somewhat."

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least we’ve managed to keep him out of trouble, for now. Let’s hope he sticks to the plan.”

And with that, the trio returned to their celestial duties, knowing that despite Satoru’s chaotic tendencies, his heart was always in the right place.

And just as promised, Gojo Satoru did indeed make his grand reappearance in your dreams and Satoshi's, weaving a spectral thread through the fabric of your nightly slumbers. The dreams, much like Satoru himself, were a mix of whimsical chaos and heartwarming moments.

In your dream, the scene was set in a familiar place — a cozy, moonlit garden that felt both nostalgic and surreal. There, amidst the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle rustling of leaves, was Satoru, his usual nonchalant demeanor softened by a warm, affectionate grin. He was seated on a bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with the same mischievous gleam you remembered so well.

"Soooo." he began, stretching out the word as if he were about to launch into one of his signature lectures. "Miss me much? I bet you didn't expect me to show up like this."

You could only laugh, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. "Satoru... this is incredible. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come."

Satoru’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know me, always keeping my promises, even from beyond. Besides, I couldn’t let you and Satoshi have all the fun without me."

He gestured to the garden around you, which seemed to glow with a gentle, ethereal light, transforming it into a place of comfort and tranquility. It was as if he had crafted this dreamscape himself, blending his penchant for the whimsical with the tenderness of his love.

As you sat together, talking and laughing, the conversation flowed effortlessly. He shared stories from the afterlife, which he portrayed with his characteristic humor and flair, recounting celestial mishaps and the amusing antics of his fellow spirits. It was just like old times, but with a surreal twist — his jokes seemed to float in the air like bubbles, and his laughter was a melody that danced through the night. And then when it was time, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into an embrace and a kiss.

Satoshi’s dream was equally enchanting. He found himself in a fantastical setting, a blend of his own memories and Satoru's imaginative touch. The scene was a vibrant carnival, full of colors and laughter. Satoru was there, dressed in an elaborate magician’s costume, complete with a top hat and a flowing cape. He was performing tricks, pulling stars out of a hat and making cosmic confetti rain down on the crowd.

Satoshi watched in awe as Satoru performed, a look of wonder on his face. When Satoru finally noticed him, he winked and gave him a grandiose bow. "Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me? Hope you're enjoying the show!"

Satoshi’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing. He approached Satoru, who enveloped him in a hug that felt strangely warm despite being a dream. Satoshi felt tears well up in his eyes, but he laughed, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t experienced in years. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”

Satoru ruffled his hair affectionately, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “I know, kiddo. I’ve missed you too. But you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. And I know your mom is too. You both are doing great.”

The dream continued with a playful sense of magic and wonder, filled with laughter and joy. Satoru’s presence, though fleeting, was a gift — a reminder that his love and spirit continued to be a part of your lives, even if only in the realm of dreams.

As the night drew to a close and the dreams began to fade, Satoru gave one last, heartfelt wave. “Remember, I’m always with you. In every laugh, every moment, and every starry night. I’ll be cheering you on from here.”

When you and Satoshi woke up, you immediately texted each other about the dream. And back in heaven, Gojo Satoru was pleased.

[radfemsiren]

A big reason why I don’t take “what about male victims🥺” seriously is because men consistently define “abuse” and “violence” as any boundary that blocks access to women’s bodies. It’s insidious and a manipulation tactic I don’t fall for.

I was arguing with this bisexual guy that told me women were far more homophobic than men. “How is that so? Describe the exact situation.” I said.

“Well the second they find out I’m bi, they don’t want to keep dating me! Or have sex! Like I’m unclean!”

I had to laugh in his face. This isn’t the only ridiculous time an interaction went like this, where a man demands access to women’s bodies, domestic labor, emotional labor, etc… and labels the upholding of a boundary on our own bodies, time, and spaces as “abuse” “manipulation” “homophobia” or “transphobia”

Like that woman that went on strike in her home and refused to clean, since she was the only one doing so. All these men came out of the wooodwork to say this is domestic abuse. Really? For letting her husband pick up his own dirty underwear ??

Or this man, for example, who is a well known sexual predator (whose crimes have been documented on YouTube) that has been on TikTok live for weeks now spouting this rhetoric:

Maybe we would take “male victims” seriously if you didn’t call every time you didn’t get your way and threw a tantrum about it “abuse” or “bigotry” lmao.

Actual male victims of actual crimes like rape and murder are done almost entirely by other men. Male on male crime is not ever going to be of concern to me, figure it out amongst yourselves. If you actually gave a shit about male victims, you would point the finger at the number one rapist, killers, and abusers of men and boys: MEN!

[sleepyfan-blog]

Window Conversation

Author’s Note: This is the next in Cedric’s adventures in Ancient Terra. First. Previous.

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @kit-williams

Warnings: none? Ask me to tag, if something makes you uncomfortable

Summary: Cedric is grounded from exploring the human city he’s in, so he is content to look out a window and people watch. He’s approached by a Salamander Scout Captain and they chat.

Cedric stared longingly out of the window of the base that he'd been confined to for the past week and a half, as part of his punishment for dealing with the heretics... Allied Heretics, rudely. The fact that there were allied heretics was... It was wrong. It was against much of what he had been taught.  It had been the forces of chaos that had killed untold trillions of innocents and corrupting ten times as many during the Horus Heresy, and the many Black Crusades that had followed. Chaos had created the Cicatrix Maledictum that split the galaxy in half, corrupted half of the Holy Primarchs and killing all but one of the Loyal Primarchs. Those Chaos-tainted Primarchs were some of the most dangerous threats still existing against the Imperium.

He had been reminded by one of the Chaplains he was working under to Atone for his rudeness of how few Marines were on Ancient Terra, of the few resources that any of them had, and the fractious nature of the human nation-states who ruled Ancient Terra. He'd been shown proof of all of this, and that even the most chaos-corrupted Marines who were allied with the Loyalists on Ancient Tera had a better grip of their unholy instincts and bastardized natures... Particularly after they had been Bonded with a human. No one would give him a good explanation as to what a Bond was, only that he would Know when or if he would find his human to bond with.. That these bonds domesticated the twisted parodies that the chaos marines had become. 

Cedric couldn't muster up the Faith to believe that all of that was possible. That all of the groxshit that had been so earnestly fed to him by several Loyal older brothers wasn't some insidious Chaotic plot to get them to lower their guard in order to fuck them over and slaughter them all while taking over Ancient Terra... To ensure that the Imperium of Man never rose, or if it did, The Imperium would be a bastion of Chaos and misery, rather than of Order and the Emperor's Light. He didn't want to believe that the loyalists had been fooled so completely...

But to try to begin to believe all of this - that the chaos astartes who had allied with the loyalists weren't plotting to stab them all in the back the moment that they felt that they had gotten everything that they wanted out of this arrangement made his head and his hearts hurt.  The very thought that loyalist and chaos astartes could peacefully coexist with one another... It was almost enough to drive Cedric to madness.

Or to incredible, bloody violence. 

Especially against those smug, prancing, gaudy purple Slaaneshi bastards. Cedric could see several of them dancing around the humans who were walking amongst them, fearless. Unaware that they were being exposed to beings whose very presence was corrosive and toxic and -

"Cedric, are you glaring at random people out the window and growling again?" Ash'val asked, the Salamander looking at him in a very judgmental manner when Cedric managed to drag his eyes away from the Slaaneshi Bastards.

Rude. Not that the young Apothecary would speak up against the well-loved and deeply respected Scout captain. He blinked at the other and took a breath, realizing that he had been making a low, rumbling sound in his chest and stopped the sound from continuing before he managed out "I... Uhm... I didn't mean to growl? I... I just..." Fuck, where did his words go? He had a perfectly reasonable explanation for his vigilant watchfulness moments ago... Cedric found himself unable to look the older space marine in the eye, bowing his head a little to avoid the other's gaze.

"You seem to have a particular problem with Slaaneshi Marines." Ash'val noted. The scout captain reached out slowly and placed a reassuring hand on one of Cedric's shoulders "You've gone through a lot of changes in a very short period of time and been given a lot of information that would... Be seen as impossible at best, or heretical nonsense worthy of execution after a visit from the Inquisition at worst. But shoving your nose to a window and growling at random marines wandering by isn't going to help you adjust to all of these changes. And I imagine that you're starting to get pretty restless being stuck inside all day with little to do, other than training and chores."

"I... I understand why I've been confined to base, sir." Cedric answered, shuffling his feet a little. The stern reprimand that he'd gotten from his rude behavior towards both chaos marines and how his hostility could put the tentative alliance between the loyalists and the chaos warbands at risk still rung in his ears a week and a half later.... And one of the last things he wanted to do while planetside on a beautiful and peaceful day like this was stay inside and do fuck-all when there was a forest an easy three-hour jog from here where Cedric was pretty sure he could go hunting and foraging for fresh food, rather than the nutrient pastes that while nutritious, weren't nearly as satisfying as a meal made with fresh ingredients. But until he could prove that he could handle interacting with Filthy Chaotic Traitors without resorting to unprovoked violence within five minutes... Not just that, but he could not show any outward sings of hostility when interacting with Filthy Chaotic Traitors, including a change in scent. "... I am still fairly certain that I was being... Cordial. At least to the World Eater. I didn't threaten him or his human once, nor did I try to harm either of them - not that I would have struck out at the child unless forced to... I do admit that I did restrain the Slaaneshi sc-... Marine, but that was for the health and safety of everyone in the building. The poison he was dripping from his hands is incredibly dangerous and corruptive at a soul-deep level."

Ash'val hummed a little before lifting the hand on Cedric's shoulder to ruffle his hair "This is true, however you should have explained to Elam why you were taping jars to his hands... What you did was tackle him to the ground and tape jars to his hands while refusing to explain until one of the other Apothecaries asked you why you'd done it. And you kept Elam in a headlock until directly ordered to let him go by our head apothecary. Emperor's Children - and Elam in particular - tend to be cooperative with Apothecaries and he was being on his best behavior."

"The last time before I met this... Elam, where Slaaneshi worshippers were wielding that particularly potent poison, I lost a squad brother, and my chapter lost dozens of Battle Brother to that poison. And we were fighting against baseline human Slaaneshi worshippers. I shudder to think how much damage an Astartes Slaaneshi worshipper with a possibly endless supply of The Poison of Vainglory could do. He was a clear and present threat and even then, I used a minimal amount of force in containment of such a threat." Cedric huffed, scowling at the floor, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He knew that if he... Capitulated to... Apologizing to the Slaaneshi Marine for the way he had handled him, his time grounded in the base would be halved - or at least, that is what he had been promised.

But the very thought of doing so, of betraying his brothers' memories like that... Comiting such a sin against the God Emperor and the Imperium was more than what the Primaris Black Templar could bear. He'd been told that things her on ancient Terra were very different... But the very thought of apologizing was enough to make him physically ill. So he was going to patiently and penitently wait out the time that he had been sentenced to in the base without complained. He trained when allowed, helped keep things tidy (It was part of his punishment, actually. To aid in the maintenance of the base and the cleanliness... To cook in the kitchens, as well as other similar tasks. He wasn't sure why they were part of his punishment, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He was surprised that he hadn't been beaten or whipped, for the amount of lecturing he'd gotten for his misconduct against allied chaos Space marines. It felt strange, and like an oversight, but Cedric wasn't going to complain about it, either).

"How would you feel if someone tackled and pined you to the floor because of the very health symptom you were seeking treatment for?" The Salamander Scout Captain prodded.

Cedric tilted his head a little in confusion. He was baffled by this. The young apothecary had heard that Firstborn Salamanders were soft-touches, but this was one of the questions that had One Correct Answer, and to misspeak was a trap. He answered earnestly "I would submit to anything that was being done to me without struggle or complaint, sir, as whoever did that has good reasoning to do as what they are doing, and to struggle would mean that I am fighting treatment, sir." Which means long hours of repentance at best, after the treatment was concluded at best... At worst fighting treatment - especially when one was clearly tainted by Chaos meant that he would be culled and sent to the Emperor's side before the Chaos could corrupt his soul further. The Mechanicum - and his older Black Templar brothers had both made that very clear during his training with them. "Provided, of course, the person doing the tackling and treatment is a loyalist, of course. Otherwise I would fight to free myself."

"Even if you were worried that this other loyalist may be tryign to hurt or kill you?" Ash'val asked, a complicated series of emotions flashing across the older marine's face before settling on concern for reasons Cedric couldn't begin to guess.

"If I have committed a sin, or breach of conduct, or was exposed to something that was corrupting me, or could potentially corrupt me, yes. I would still submit to treatment, if I was in full command of my senses. The Slaaneshi poisons alter one's mind, as well as body, as well as certain Nurglite diseases and Tzeenchian curses. And of course, The Infectious Rages of Khorne." Cedric responded, knowing the Correct Response to this question as well. Not that he didn't mean what he was saying as well. "Even if I was unaware of what crime or sin I committed, or if I did not know what I had recently encountered was so corrupting."

"I... I see. A large part of your training involved adherence to orders, I am guessing? apart from your combat and medical training." The scout captain asked. The older marine's face was free of emotion, but his voice was strangely shaky.

"Yes sir. Obeying orders is important, no matter one's personal feelings on the orders given to them." Cedric answered earnestly. Orders were to be obeyed, though were also subject to change. Especially on the battlefield where preliminary orders - like plans - went to die as soon as contact with the enemy was made.

:"Oh. Okay. I've got another question for you: are you a Primaris Marine?" The Salamander Scout captain asked, looking oddly intense as he asked it. "You're one of a handful of known Primaris Marines in this era, if you are. And by whom were you trained?"

"As with all Primaris Marines so far in my tie period, I was strictly trained by the Adeptus Mechanicus. They told me that I trained on Mars, specifically in their Astartes gene-labs." Cedric answered honestly. Disobedience had been harshly punished by both the Mechanicus and his Black Templar older brothers, though in different ways. The punishments here were much lighter and easier to handle. Not that Cedric intended on misbehaving to the point of testing their mercy He wasn't trying to cause problems... Though that never mattered to the Mechanicus or the Black Templars... And the Astartes here had given him more leeway than he'd ever been given. It was making Cedric nervous as to what might happen if he found the end of these marines' patience for misconduct.

"Ah. The... The mechanicus operates in a very specific way, and though what they do works for them... As for we Astartes... We are supposed to be trained in a different matter. Not that you're wrong for behaving for how you've been taught, given that I'm guessing that no one's really gone over our expectations for marines staying with us." Ash'val mused, looking Cedric over assessingly. "Follow me to my office. We're going to talk about what expectations you've been working under, and I'll explain in detail the rules of the base and for allied astartes, that way you're not tripped up by anything."

"Yes sir." Cedric responded, giving the Salamander a salute, obediently following after him.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

"What Pusey's case suggests is that the re-establishment of confession provoked as much gender trouble as it did anti-Catholic anxiety, an idea voiced by Charles James Blomfield, Bishop of London, in his declaration that confession was 'the source of unspeakable abominations'. These 'abominations' were thought to have the potential to damage two dominant nineteenth-century institutions: first, the Church of England, threatened by the spread of Catholic ideology; and secondly, the Victorian family unit, inexcusably invaded by the questioning priest. Confessing one's sins to God through the medium of a human agent in the space of a confessional box threatened Victorian sensibility because it forced one to broadcast sin outside of the family space to a priest portrayed as perversely eager to listen. The seeping of Rome into Britain's domestic corners was considered more threatening still to women, the narrator of Charles Maurice Davies's Tractarian love story, Philip Paternoster (1858), claiming: 'It would be a fatal day for England if ever England's wives and daughters were led to deem the confessional a more sacred place than the home.' The notion of male confessors cajoling female penitents to betray their sins and sexual secrets induced far-fetched anti-Catholic propaganda, verifying the fear that priests might usurp the control husbands and fathers held over the female members of their household. This paranoia was further excited by anecdotes such as that narrated by Sir William Harcourt in a letter to The Times, in which he quoted the Catholic confessor of the King of Spain bragging to his penitent: 'I hold your God in my hand, and I have your wife at my feet.' As Miss Cusack attests in recounting her liaisons with Pusey, 'few men went to Confession' with the 'Doctor', and Walsh's chapter, 'Ritualistic Sisterhoods', implicates Pusey as an insidious meddler intent on diffusing Catholicism through Britain by way of kidnapping women for his conventual establishments."

-- Mark Knight and Emma Mason, Nineteenth-Century Religion and Literature: An Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.

[heartlurch]

hello heart! how are you ?? i was wondering with the bakaneko ryokan au… if nene was to go into cat heat like normal cats do.. how would she act?? would she temporarily just stay in a room until it goes away.. or would amane tempt her into getting rid of it?

mfw I get this ask and I get to talk about Bakeneko Ryokan AU and also hananene cat sex~ 😇 Heehoo...

Let's start out with, I do genuinely think Nene-chan experiences heat cycles in this world. My overall HC for the bakeneko is that they're behaviorally identical to normal cats, as a bakeneko starts their life as ordinary cats before essentially aging into a proper yokai. For a lot of Nene's life, she was a normal domestic girlie, eating kibbles, playing with her touys. I think the transition into bakeneko status grants more human-level sapience, magical qualities, kind of elevating them.

This creates an interesting creature, as I do not think bakeneko themselves identify as humans, but they are now a bit different from their fellow cats. I imagine they feel a sort of superiority above both species, basically like if a cat had access to human commodities and magic, feeling beyond the capabilities of both. Yet able to still indulge in batting a toy mouse around or eating treats from squeeze-tube. A funny life, in that way. Best of both worlds?

Soo, I do not think Nene is ashamed of her heat cycle, as it's something she's lived with for years by now. Though I think it is perhaps inconvenient, and potentially a little embarrassing at times, as she IS seeking to be famous, draw in ikeman toms. Ideally, Nene would want to come off as cool, mature, elegant. A seductress... Maybe it is hard to feel that way when dealing with the urge to yowl and scrabble along the ground. Confidence takes time. Perhaps in her wildest fantasies, she's at the center of a frenzy, with toms circling around her and taking turns, but I don't think she's close to achieving anything like that yet lol. She just got here. All in due time, she might think. (Not quite, sweetie.) But in the meantime...

Sakura is an experienced bakeneko and has long run this establishment. There seems to be a casual mix of regular cats (?) and bakeneko... I think she is quite aware of her species predilections, is generous about time off. Nene could request that within reason and just be granted some time to, do whatever she has to. So the next step is to hole herself up and try to ride it out. Being a bakeneko might lend enough self-control to isolate and take precautions, not wanting to get entangled with just anyone.

Now the devil in the room here is 1. heat makes you crazy and just want to have sex whatever the cost 2. you have a pervert coworker that is explicitly interested in you, hovering within your vicinity.

IMO Amane's personality works heinously well as a tomcat, wielding a sort of terrible charm along with being jealous and clingy, the type to harass... More unleashed than canon boy, able to express himself in things such as marking territory. Doesn't help that Amane seems to be a nekomata, something more powerful and insidious than the bakeneko — easy to think he imagines himself really controlling this space. (Much like he is the leader of the mysteries.) I really think of him obsessively patrolling, spraying against all sorts of features of the ryokan, fences, the rocks, trees, out and about. High tail as he trots around in feral form.

As is often the case with HanaNene I feel as though Amane being some. Scrappy, scraggly little black cat, with such a shitty demeanor is like, not, what Nene envisions as 'her type'. He's not quite, impressive or gentlemanly enough to make her want to give in to his flirting. A bit kimochi warui... But ultimately she does like him, they have their little joint routines to welcome guests, doing dances, they can roll around and play with toys together, heh.

It's emphasized Nene is a new hostess here, in-training, likely with Amane himself overseeing her integration into the ryokan. I don't get the impression they've known each other very long. We're seeing a girl pretty early on in the wear-down arc that Iro-sensei likes to write (lol.) So I feel as though their closeness is progressing at a steady rate... It's a playful dynamic, currently, but hasn't escalated to something more intimate. Perhaps they are on the cusp of 'something more'...

Beyond that though there's a weird contingency in this AU where Amane is fanning Nene-chan's bloodlust for humans. Psychologically this is madness because he has a secret human 'brother' here. It makes me feel like Nene is being messed with, unbeknownst to her... Whatever his motives are, they are bad. She sounds impatient, needy and demanding, wanting to eat a human, and Amane is there like rubbing her shoulders about it, IDK, this is really weird. I do not think this is quite the same as wanting to eat food, I think it is perhaps more comparable to a supernatural, magnetic pull, the way a vampire craves human blood for example. (At least, that's more likely to be depicted as an affinity beyond liking, sushi, yk?)

How to say... Amane feels like he is 'in charge' of Nene, guiding her, mentoring her, and kind of predatory about it... He is a more powerful, long-lived entity, and has more experience than she does with things. I feel as though he regards her as something he will eventually conquer — it's not about 'if' she'll have him, just When. He's also just a nasty guy so I do think he is very keyed into her physical status, awaiting her heat, intending to to intercept her once it commences. Certainly, Amane isn't going to let anyone else make a move... A guy with a plan.

Right before Nene would take time off, I think Amane would kind of catch wind of something, just ah, attuned to a shift in scent. (He smells her frequently, rudely.) This is like ✔Amane will remember that. Bookmarks you in my mind. Once informed she will not be working for a while it's like naruhodo... Now a smarter girlie would perhaps leave the premises, to not be accessible by This Guy Specifically, but alas. I don't think it occurs to her... So I think it's really easy for Amane to swoop in. Whether he directly knocks on her door, or stakes out her room until she leaves it, follows her on her way to the mess hall or the baths... Anything like that. (Though amusingly enough, if he was at her door, I feel like Nene would hide under a cabinet all wide-eyed. N-no, not him... *licks lips nervously*) Once she actually comes into contact with him, it's a quick descent — not able to meaningfully resist... You know, suddenly that smooth, low purr of a voice is hypnotic, the invasive touches on her shoulder prickle heat. Mrrarhhh...

Now what I like about ♀️cats is their fussiness, how they're attitude gets like... [yowls] [running up against, tail pushed to the side invitingly] [but like HISSES... SLAPS!!] As needy as Nene is, I think she will not like being messed with too long, like don't play with my hair and make eyes at me, this is serious-!! She'll be like ONEGAI!! I'm... CAN'T TAKE IT!! Cries!! Baps your face. Which only fuels Amane's condescension, now it's like oooh she's got it bad, poor thing clicks tongue... You really need my help... Well, OK, even when you act like that, I can be nice to you. ❤ He would just enjoy feeling so in control, here to alleviate a girl, shh shhh... You can rely on me. ❤ I'll treat you reeeeal nice...❤❤

For first times I like to think about human forms, almost for the most finesse, Amane fingering her a lil, penetrating, messing with loosening her yukata and undoing her hair, all these things he's wanted to do but hasn't been able to. Show, me your boobs, thanks... Rarar. But I think there's a basic satisfaction in feral sex that they'd both enjoy, alternating between sex, grooming, rolling around, flirting. Hissing, slap slap slap, purr purr...

I also like thinking about interactions between feral and human form, but that would take more trust in their dynamic. I think Nene has a little bit of dignity, if Amane holds her as a kittycat she like is difficult about it lol, I can imagine like. Letting you touch her pussy like that, is kinda, off-limits, but when accessed it's quite blissful... Able to lounge in lap, get massaged across her body, smackled a bit on her sides. I THINK her size even means some penetration can happen in this state, get a fingertip in, bump sheath against. (I'm INDULGENCE, I like to think of cat pp even in human form...) On the flip side I think Amane is quite open to being messed with as a cat, though honestly because I feel as though he's soo comfortable with Tsukasa and they are already interspecies freaks doing god knows what. Amane perhaps far too ready to hump your face, like this. Hm... Well whenever you're ready, Nene.

Naturally they'd tend to be inclined to have sex in short bursts, taking breaks between, which I think they'd enjoy, but I also think there'd be a point of wanting to push past the simple biological imperative. I kind of think of Amane as a fetishistic weirdo, too used to his human and into human behaviors... Doesn't want to only mess with Nene when she is heat, it'd actually be sad to him, if she always needed like, a biological trigger. Can be FUN, enjoy interfacing with it, but definitely intends to go beyond that, as they get closer. As a result I think Nene will be really taken on a ride, it'd feel like marathon sex with this creep. The event horizon is Tsukasa gets involved and that's... going to be weird, what with the prey-drive firing of. ? Food ? Sex ? At once ? ?? ? How strange... (All subconscious though, I think Nene would be kept in the dark for a while. And she is like not so, smart, in this world, I thinks.)

And those are... my little thoughts. :3c

[a-typical]

Excerpts or letters that Carl Sagan received regarding aliens in the early 90s from his Book The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark (Ch 10).

I for one will be sleeping with my Polaroid from now on, in hopes that the next time I'm abducted I can provide the proof needed... Why should it be up to the abductees to prove what's happening?

In AD 2001 Starships from the 33 planets of the Interplanetary Confederation will land on earth carrying 33,000 Brothers! They are extraterrestrial teachers and scientists who will help to expand our understanding of interplanetary life, as our own earth planet will become the 33rd member of the Confederation!

This is a grotesquely challenging arena... I studied UFOs for over 20 years. Finally, I became quite disenchanted by the cult and the cult fringe groups.

[Several readers wrote to say that aliens were demons sent by Satan, who is able to cloud our minds. One proposes that the insidious Satanic purpose is to make us worried about an alien invasion, so that when Jesus and his angels appear over Jerusalem we will be frightened rather than glad.] I do hope you will not dismiss me as another religious crackpot. I am quite normal and well-known in my own little community.

UFOs don't exist. I think that requires an external energy source, and this doesn't exist... I have spoken with Jesus.

The commentary on the Parade magazine is very destructive, and it enjoys scaring society. I beg you to think more openly because our intelligent beings from outer spaces do exist and they are our creators... I too was an abductee. To be honest, these dear beings have done me more good than bad. They have saved my life... The trouble with Earth beings is that they want proof, proof, and proof!

In the Bible it talks about terrestrial and celestial bodies. This is not to say that God is out for sexual abuse on people or that we're crazy.

I have been strongly telepathic for twenty-seven years now. I do not receive - I transmit... Waves are coming from outer space somewhere - beaming through my head and transmitting thoughts, words, and images into the heads of anybody within range... Images will pop into my head that I did not put there, and vanish just as suddenly. Dreams are not dreams anymore - they are more like Hollywood productions... They are smart critters and they won't give up... Maybe all these little guys want to do is communicate... If I finally go psychotic from all this pressure - or have another heart attack - there goes your last sure evidence that there is life in space.

Homo sapiens was genetically fashioned, created initially to be substitute laborers and domestics for the SKY-LORDS (DINGIRS/ELOHIM/ANUNNAKI).

Hypnosis prepares the mind for the invasion of demons, devils, and little gray men. God wants us to be clothed and in our right minds... Anything your little gray men can do, Christ can do better!

A hallucination might account for 99%, but can it ever account for 100%?

I have extensive experience in therapeutic energy work, which involves removing grid patterns, negative memory cords, and alien implants from human bodies and their surrounding energy fields. My work is primarily utilized as an adjunctive aide to psychotherapy. My clients range from businessmen, homemakers, professional artists, therapists, and children... The alien energy is very fluid, both within the body and after it is removed, and must be contained as soon as possible. The energy grids are most often locked around the heart or in a triangular formation across the shoulders.

Who is really in charge of this planet?

[bettyist]

It really is so fascinating to see how tiktok users and tiktok user adjacents have really just looped back around to misogyny in multiple ways in queer spaces like its so strange and so sick as a lesbian like wow okay. I thought we were on the same teams but apparently not! Like whether it's conscious or not this loop around of wlw=cottagecore domestic labor frilly impractical clean aesthetics or like. Bimboism (literally comes from porn terminology and plays into stupid woman stereotype) is so insidious . What are we doing. As a lesbian even though I am nonbinary I personally still have a connection to womanhood and even if I didn't I'd still be saying this we need to be sticking up for women&bi women&lesbians and seeing women&bi women&lesbians as whole complex individuals instead of being reduced to girl in red domestic labor cottagecore mushroom aesthetic

[blackrebelphotographyclub]

Not to be all CLS-lawyer-on-main, but there are larger and larger portions of my day during which I realise I may have hit a wall with genocide denialism. And maybe the answer to that lies in history, so painfully recent, and what we should have learned from it (and clearly failed).

I was thinking particularly about two things. One being the role of media in and around genocide, and how we should be more careful about what, how and why we consume certain media. The other was about prevention as a focus but punishment as a consequence.

Let’s staff with press, or media in general. There is no separating genocide from the propaganda surrounding it. Propaganda is not necessarily a Soviet-era ads for weapon factories on state media; it can be much more insidious, much more easily, largely due to how technology evolves.

When we talk about media and genocide, we talk about how the former influenced and/or incited the latter. That’s the before. We do not talk necessarily about the during, and the after. During, the crime of crimes only allows us two options: we resist or we deny. There is no neutral space.

(I don’t care if you try to carve one; you can’t empty the ocean with a spoon and you can’t be neutral on genocide.)

This extreme polarization we see now, not just in the media but in our streets and in our governments, is however entirely predictable because it is a by-product of genocide, a crime so abhorrent, many have equated it to the phenomenon described by some indigenous tribes as “soul loss”.

The side that denies is not in a position to modify (genocide is ongoing) its position and cannot soften it (there is no gray zone on genocide). Therefore an entire machinery of erasure must take place in order to sustain this absence of reality.

Erasure takes so, so, so many forms, many sometimes we are by and large oblivious to. We think of erasure as direct (mass extermination) or indirect (loss of history due to the absence of elders). Indirect is so much. It means the collective memory of the people and the place is also gone.

Think of genocide as a collective memory hole. There is a reason the crime is drafted as beyond mass murder, in both physical and mental element. You don’t just wipe out people; you end language, history, culture, traditions, stories, religions, myths. An entire apparatus.

If you really study Rafael Lemkin and understand his approach (and that of the father of crimes against humanity, Lauterpacht), you see genocide in the past (incitement) present (extermination) and future (erasure). Children, grand children, endless generations will never see, experience, or know.

This is relevant to journalism because the profession doesn’t just provide you with evidence, it also has a duty to preserve it. This is even more true these days considering the internet is, well, forever. Mass denial in papers of record doesn’t mean it isn’t at play. It means you can’t access it.

Remember to be critical of any and all media you consume at any time. Nothing is acci- or inci-dental. It doesn’t mean that any of that is inherently good or bad. That those factors exist are not because of the genocide, it is the ecosystem of genocide and has always been.

Radio Milles Collines was extremely popular at a place and time when most families would never have access to a TV, and under a regime that controlled the media. The incitement was crude and unambiguous, but it was lodged between popular pop songs, and was swallowed like a pill with no edges.

Denial is the same, especially in places close to the perpetrators of the genocide. The domestic conversation must be moved away; but if it becomes impossible to avoid, everyone is responsible for staying on message. You dilute (they’re not dead, just displaced). You congratulate (aren’t we safer?)

So everyone claiming that genocide requires a certain number of civilian deaths to be determined (absolutely not true, quantity has no bearing) or that extermination has to be total (also not a thing) just reminds me that it is excruciatingly stereotypical.

Let’s talk about prevention, because that has never worked now has it? But this was the spirit in which the Convention was drafted, its main goal. The entire world came together in ‘48 and said never again. By the time it entered into force at the tail end of 1951, wars of decolonization had started.

The world believed with all its might that with the end of turn of the century imperialism so would the impetus to commit atrocity crimes. They would not know that the coming decades would extend the list of crimes against humanity, not make them relics of an obsolete society.

And so, we fail to prevent, because no matter how much jurisprudence and history scholarship there is out there all the signs of Rwanda, all the signs of Srebrenica, all the signs of Darfur were there, and are there now, and we’re under the sad exceptionalist belief that somehow, this is different.

It is not different. It is a genocide we have decided not to acknowledge. We are neck-deep inside campaigns of dehumanization - of trans people, of any migrant - that we are somehow either blind or jaded to the very same being perpetrated and live-streamed.

I say this all the time: human absence wears very heavy. I also say that genocide prevention is a collective responsibility. You have a duty to stop genocidal speech and you have a responsibility to stop incitement speech as well as denial speech. You must know, and you must remember. /end

[rowanisawriter]

Hi Rowan! How about 20, 10, and 5? (Because I’d love to know more about Mira!!)

HI AD thank you!!!!!!!! i’m writing my 4th mira story right now which is insane for someone who doesn’t usually write too much oc in fic (i think i have petra in like 2 or 3?) so that’s the level of brainrot we are currently operating under 😭

wip asks here!

5. are there any OCs in this chapter/fic? Who’s your favorite?

so… mira is my oc for bg3, she’s a cleric of mystra, and mystra just so happens to be the goddess gale was romantically involved with before the events of the game… very messy very dramatic… basically perfect for me lol she’s kinda a self insert? i see my religious trauma in her 👀 so in this story, she and gale are living their happily ever after but mystra is everywhere in memory and space and is getting in the way…

10. what is the last line of dialogue you’ve written?

“I know,” she says quietly, although her voice will always be audible to the goddess no matter how low she keeps it. “Come, kiss me.”

20. share 3 images that would fit to a mood board for this chapter/fic.

man i spent TOO much time looking at stock photos to find these lol it was fun!! basically wine, cooking, and lounging are a big part of this story of picture perfect domesticity.. but actually with an insidious presence lurking underneath that stock photos just can’t capture lmao..

[aeshnalacrymosa]

Zootopia: a love letter

Judy & Nick w/ unnamed OC, colored pencil on white paper, June 2018

Zootopia is an important movie for me. While I live in a largely monocultural nation, my country’s colonial past and the millennials’ online exposure has made me conscious of the racial tensions dividing the world, and Zootopia has helped me navigate the nuances of racial conflict. Judy Hopps’s journey through Zootopia is a story that resonates with ethnic minorities in the age of globalization. Her diminutive size and nature as a prey animal has put her in a secondary status against the predators and larger mammals of the city, but her efforts to prove herself reveals prejudice in herself.

I know many fans from various other cultural backgrounds see themselves in Judy (I’ve seen fanart of Judy in a hijab or kimono, etc.), but to me, as a Filipino, I saw through Judy the millions of Filipinos—mostly nurses and domestic helpers—seeking greener pastures in first world countries for their families at home. I have yet to follow in their footsteps, but I also have ambitions of pursuing work abroad, preferably in North America like some of my relatives. But for the longest time, especially in my youth, I had qualms about going to America because of myths and horror stories about how the wider world sees us. As a child, I’ve heard stories of Americans still believing that “Filipinos live in trees” as recently as the ‘90s, or the backhanded praise of having “good English” or “no accent,” disregarding that most of us are bilingual or even trilingual from childhood. I became wary of how I’m going to be perceived. But going with Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde on their wild otter chase, it occurred to me that those stories and myths were also indicative of self-destructive victim mentality. The movie cemented in me something that I already learned from my first (and so far only) visit to California in 2011, when I didn’t feel unwelcome at all, and the locals were friendly and didn’t seem to notice or care that I’m a foreigner.

Similarly, by immersing herself fully into the life of the city, Judy discovers that nobody is what they seem. Chief Bogo is a prey animal, but he is the physically imposing leader of Precinct One in the Zootopia Police Department and is a big softie inside. Mr. Big is a vicious mob boss but also a doting father. Benjamin Clawhauser is a predator, but he is the first friendly individual that Judy meets at work. Finnick is a tiny, adorable little fox with a deep voice and a mean streak. He and Nick become con artists because foxes are seen as untrustworthy and unemployable. Dawn Bellwether seems like a sweet and harmless sheep because her boss bullies her all the time, but she is a mastermind of an insidious attack against predators. And Judy herself, having grown up being warned against predators, has unknowingly internalized some prejudice and discovers herself to be not as progressive as she thought herself to be. By rekindling her friendship with Nick Wilde, Judy Hopps overcomes her prejudice and goes on to make the world a better place with her new partner.

I am currently very active in the Encanto fandom on Tumblr now that much of the Zootopia fandom has migrated to other platforms ever since the great porn purge of 2018. I was primarily a lurker around the Zootopia fandom, happily consuming content, commenting as much as I liked but contributing barely a handful because 2016-2019 was not my most creative period. I regret not interacting then as much as I do now with the Encanto fandom, but I do bring into the current space something I learned from Zootopia and its fandom: A common love for something and having similar values can overcome any differences you might have, even racial differences. An artwork as meaningful as Zootopia or Encanto brings out the best in a lot of people. With hope in my heart and creativity in my hands, I intend to someday explore the world and leave prejudice behind.

[beebles22]

Okay, this is actually quite insidious misinformation and it’s going to get someone hurt.

That egg is very clearly a domesticated chicken egg. Probably afopted from a supermarket. That’s not a wild egg, that’s not an ostritch or turtle egg, it’s a tame animal that would have been put down before reaching store shelves if it was prone to biting. It’s like saying ‘my cat doesn’t bite me, so it’s safe to climb into the tiger enclosure.

Yes, domesticated eggs are almost always safe, even the ones that do bite can’t really hurt you(as long as they’re properly vaccinated). But wild eggs can be very dangerous. And, like any wild animal, should be treated with caution and given plenty of space.

[rainbowsag52]

I know the authors. They have a violent message for men and women who believe in Love. They missed the boat and we're expected to pay for it. GO TO HELL "Kerala Taylor".

How Mothers Unwittingly Perpetuate Patriarchal Gender Norms | by Kerala Taylor | Aug, 2024 | Medium

How Mothers Unwittingly Perpetuate Patriarchal Gender Norms

And how we can interrupt these deeply ingrained assumptions and behaviors

Kerala Taylor

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4 days ago

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We often talk about The Patriarchy as though it’s its own self-contained entity that exists in its own self-contained space. Many of us would like to smash it, or at least methodically dismantle it. Sounds nice, but here’s the thing — the patriarchy is in the very air we breathe. It’s insidious. Conniving. Sly.

Even those of us, like me, who would very much like to destroy the patriarchy often end up perpetuating it.

The Women’s Liberation Movement, for instance, did succeed in liberating college-educated women from their homes. But in the process, these newly minted career women merely transferred portions of their unpaid, undervalued domestic and caregiving labor to other women, then continued to take on most of the rest of it during their second shifts. Yes, the Women’s Liberation Movement disrupted gender norms in some economic sectors, but career feminists continued, and continue, to perpetuate the patriarchy in more ways than one.

There was a time when I embraced the “lean in” approach, when I just wanted to see women kicking ass in superhero movies and board rooms alike. But like many of my fellow feminist mothers on Substack, I’ve realized…

[creating-jaemi-nonprofit]

Company values

## The Need to End the Stigma of Domestic Violence

Domestic violence casts a dark shadow over countless lives, leaving behind a trail of devastation that extends far beyond the physical wounds. Yet, alongside the visible scars, there exists an insidious stigma that further compounds the suffering of survivors. This stigma, rooted in societal beliefs and misconceptions, often serves as a barrier to seeking help and support. It is imperative to address this stigma head-on, challenging the prevailing narratives that perpetuate victim-blaming and misunderstanding.

### Breaking the Silence

One of the most significant challenges in combating domestic violence lies in breaking the silence that shrouds this pervasive issue. The stigma surrounding domestic violence creates a culture of shame and secrecy, making it difficult for survivors to speak out and seek assistance. By shining a light on these hidden truths and fostering open dialogue, we can create a safe space for survivors to share their stories and access the support they need to heal.

### Empowering Survivors

Central to dismantling the stigma of domestic violence is the empowerment of survivors. Society's misconceptions and stereotypes often lead to victim-blaming and a lack of empathy towards those who have experienced abuse. By championing the voices of survivors and validating their experiences, we can counteract these harmful attitudes and foster a culture of understanding and support. Empowering survivors to speak their truth is essential in challenging the stigma that surrounds domestic violence.

### Fostering Compassion and Support

At the heart of ending the stigma of domestic violence lies the need to cultivate compassion and support for those affected by abuse. Stigma thrives in an environment of ignorance and apathy, perpetuating harmful beliefs and hindering efforts to create change. By fostering a community of empathy and understanding, we can create a more inclusive and supportive society for survivors. It is through this collective effort that we can challenge societal attitudes, break down barriers, and ultimately end the stigma of domestic violence.

[6ofwandz]

The reality of codependency..

I find it interesting that I was always warned of the type of man that wouldn't allow me to have outside friends out of fear that it would mean I would have less time to serve him, the type that lived in fear of me developing outside influences and then waking up to the misery he forced me to live in while we were together, a man that would isolate me so severely from being able to be myself. I think when we imagine what it must be like to be in an domestically abusive relationship, it's so easy to think that it's just one way, that it can only be someone isolating us so severely that we have no friends, but I'm here to tell you that there is a very specific brand of abuser that will do everything in their power to consume so much of your brain space that after a while, in order to escape their grip, you will have to go to great lengths to sever their bond.

With my last partner, the abuse was far more insidious than my ex husband. My husband used to scream at me, make jokes about how much I talked and that he was never listening. My ex-boyfriend rarely screamed at me but spent every single day making me feel like if I wasn't constantly scanning the room or his messages for his mood that I would then have to pay for it later. He constantly encouraged me to get out and make friends but the moment I broke up with him he didn't want to leave me alone.

There's something so dark about a man who cannot be bothered to give you any amount of mental space to be alone, always making you feel like if you aren't monitoring his emotions for him then there would be consequences to pay, a suffering under his inability to control his own mood. It's downright exhausting because truth be told he spent the entirety of our relationship running from my affection and shutting me down whenever I tried to get close and the moment I would pull away he would come running and beg me to notice his suffering.

I had no comprehension that my codependency left the door wide open for all kinds of abuse to occur. I imagined that if a man was head over heels for you it would be this healthy obsession, this desire to always make sure you were tended to and taken care of. I believed that because he gave me things like my favorite candy when he returned home from the gas station, this meant that he loved me. I thought that his enjoyment when we went out and his desire to show me off to others was enough for me, that this is what it felt like to be in a healthy relationship. After we broke up is when I was finally able to comprehend that the reason he couldn't ever give me the kind of affection I needed was because he wasn't just obsessed with me because he loved who I am, he was obsessed with me because he wanted what I had; he wanted my light and couldn't figure out how to have it for himself.

While I'm sure there are some who are capable of being a little entranced by their partners and yet still able to maintain a level of healthy engagement, this was someone who desperately wanted to date me in high school and was over the moon that as adults he finally had the chance to sweep me off of my feet. The truth is, he had no comprehension of how to treat me because he had spent so long lusting over me, drooling in envy at the way I carried myself. When we reconnected and he admitted feelings he had been carrying for over a decade, it was hard not to get swept up in the emotion of it all, to not believe that maybe because this man had been desiring me for so long he had any comprehension on how to treat me. Unfortunately, I was wrong. While I had been in a ten year long term relationship, he had been galavanting around town exploring himself in a series of brief encounters with others. I was about to become his first long-term relationship.

I think there's something to be said about the appeal someone like that can have on a person. Something to be said about how I, at one point, felt like I was just a "girl" hoping to be noticed by someone who wanted to treat me right, in ways I had never experienced as a kid. He, on the other hand, saw someone he had been lusting over for decades and was so overwhelmed with the knowledge that he was finally presented with the chance at swooning me and he had no idea what he had to do to keep me. The problem was, he had no comprehension of how good I was for him and he wasn't ready for the blessing. The more I tried to emotionally pull him closer, the further he ran and the more mysterious he became. It got to the point that rather than be able to have a simple conversation with me about anything, he expected me to take the time to come up with questions he could answer about himself or us so that I might be presented with an opportunity to understand him better.

As the relationship continued, more and more of the responsibilities became mine, including taking the time to ponder if I felt like I was satisfied by remaining with him. He'd consistently tell me that he was interested in taking the time to regularly sit down and discuss where we were and what we needed moving forward as a couple, but then he would never actually take the initiative to sit down and ponder what he wanted or address the issues he felt existed between us. Soon it felt like it was my job and my job alone to be managing his emotions, finding the time for myself to cope with mine amidst his constant interruptions, all while acknowledging that I was incapable of actually having to a conversation with him about how I felt because he couldn't be be bothered to make the time for me. Every single time I desperately needed the space to be able to express how I felt, he would be drunk.

As time progressed, there became less and less time for me to have the chance to even think for myself. This was evident in how at the beginning of the relationship he had a full time job where he worked a decent amount of hours and brought home a good paycheck. After he lost his job (from drinking no doubt) he seemed perfectly content in working a part time job at the bar bringing home pitiful amounts of money that was left over from whatever he hadn't spent on drinking the night before. He started spending more and more time drinking during the day, constantly itching to go to the gas station and get himself another tall boy, always slurring his words and going somewhere emotionally that I had no way of getting to. He became more and more distant, continuously giving me just enough to keep my around, filling me up with empty promises in an attempt to get me to stick around when he knew it would be best if things ended.

The truth is, he didn't want to let go. I was comfortable. I was the person he had dreamed about for over a decade and finally got to fuck at night. I was something he had spent forever manifesting and when I finally arrived, ready to make a life and a future and a family with him he realized he was way outside of his league. He knew that I had already been working intensely on myself for four years and he hadn't even taken the time to sit with himself for a single second, yet he didn't let this stop him. He knew what he wanted and he did whatever it took to keep me around no matter how bad things got. The more time that progressed the more and more he found ways to keep himself around me and in my orbit to keep him afloat. He didn't love me, he loved the way my light make him feel warm. He couldn't care for me because he was too busy being so obsessed that he became envious of what I had. He fumbled the bag because he spent four years doing everything he wanted with me and to me without ever caring about the repercussions of his actions. The more I distanced myself from the pain he caused me, the more he did everything in his power to make sure that he took up my entire brain space until there was nothing left for me besides the ruins he had left in his wake.

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Dust Mites Unveiled The Invisible Threat

The Silent Peril Dust Mites in Disguise

In the unnoticed recesses of your home, hidden from plain view, tiny adversaries dwell—undetectable to the naked eye but capable of inflicting substantial harm.

 Revealing the Covert Menace

Let us introduce dust mites, the cunning culprits posing a significant health risk within Australian households.

Exposing the Minuscule Intruders

Measuring a mere quarter of a millimetre, dust mites belong to the arthropod family, akin to spiders and ticks. Despite their petite stature, their impact is anything but small.

Australia's Fertile Breeding Ground

The Australian climate offers an ideal breeding habitat for these pesky dust mites. Thriving in warm, humid conditions, they find sanctuary in various regions of our nation, particularly in the north, where humidity prevails.

Unmasking the Health Hazards

Now that we've revealed the identity of these microcosmic infiltrators let's delve into why they transcend the role of a mere domestic nuisance in Australia

1.  Factories of Allergens

Although dust mites do not engage in biting or stinging, they excel at generating allergens. Their feces and body fragments harbour potent proteins that incite allergies in many. When disturbed, these allergens become airborne, triggering allergic reactions upon inhalation.

2.  Aggravating Asthma

For those wrestling with asthma, dust mite allergens can exacerbate their condition. Inhaling these allergens inflames airways, intensifying asthma symptoms. Remarkably, up to 85% of asthmatics are allergic to dust mites.

3.  The Allergic Rhinitis Enigma

Dust mite allergens frequently induce allergic rhinitis or hay fever, marked by sneezing, a runny or congested nose, and itchy, watery eyes. These allergies can persist year-round in Australia due to the constant presence of these mites.

4.  Eczema's Aggravation

Individuals grappling with eczema, characterized by red, itchy rashes, may experience exacerbated symptoms when exposed to dust mite allergens, intensifying skin inflammation.

5.  Vulnerable Young Ones

Children are particularly vulnerable to dust mite allergies. Early exposure may pave the way for lifelong allergies, with dust mite allergens linked to the development of childhood asthma.

 Omnipresent Yet Invisible

The most confounding aspect of dust mite infestations lies in their near-invisibility. Although undetectable without a microscope, they permeate our living spaces, thriving on the daily shedding of our skin cells.

Metaphorical Intrigues

These unseen infiltrators weave their webs like covert agents, infiltrating our homes unnoticed.

Seeking Reprieve from the Invaders

Explore our comprehensive guide for effective strategies to shield your home from these insidious assailants.

Concluding Thoughts

As conscientious Australians, it is vital to recognize these concealed intruders taking the necessary measures to minimize their presence within our living spaces. Understanding their perils is the initial step toward cultivating a healthier, allergy-free haven for yourself and your cherished ones.