#but when i actually am faced with a real person i lose interest

[phoebebuggers]

me at 14 wondering why i love alice oseman books sm:

me at almost 18 faced with the terrifying reality that i might be ace/possibly aro: ..

[orcelito]

God I don't wanna go to therapy tomorrow. Sick of talking about my feelings in a clinical setting. I do enough psychoanalysis just by myself, and now I gotta sit through it with someone else??? Come on.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 

and then satoru wins. 

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

[dumblebumblebee]

no i genuinely think james wilson is insane and i will prove it right now. be amazed at my deductive reasoning.

in season two when wilson is temporarily staying with house as he looks for a new apartment, house ends up deleting a message from a realtor involving information regarding an available apartment wilson was interested in. we're led to believe that this is because house has realized that wilson staying with him means a cleaner environment and real food to eat, and he doesn't want to lose those perks.

but tbqfh i am almost positive that wilson did that on purpose. this man has his OWN phone, so why would he give out house's number for information that only pertains to him? he was 100% trying to gauge house's tolerance of him living there.

i mean, even in episode one it's explicitly stated that house shows affection through actions, rather than words. based on his actions, wilson knows that house cares about him, and also house likes to feel as though he is mischievous and one step ahead of everyone else at all times.

if house, for some reason (say, idk, delicious meals), changed his mind about wanting wilson to move out, would he really swallow his pride and ask wilson to stay? no he fucking would not. he could never admit that he actually is obsessed with wilson's cooking, because that is essentially saying that he's become dependent on something that someone who is NOT himself can provide.

so, instead of having a conversation like a sane person, wilson gave out house's number for information regarding his moving. This way, if house really wanted him to move out, he could shove the message in wilson's face. But, if not, he could start scheming like a cartoon villain for a devious little way to make sure wilson didn't have the opportunity. which is what happened.

wilson 100% orchestrated that entire interaction i am fucking positive

[elodieunderglass]

I'm not as familiar with LOTR as you are, so I wondered if you could tell me if my wild theory is completely off-base.

No one knows where the Hobbits came from, except that at some point they diverged from the line of men. No one knows much about the Entwives' appearance, but we do know that they fucked off a long time ago.

Could the Entwives have been dryad-ish and hooked up with the hobbits' ancestors and so be the foremothers of the hobbits?

Ah I think I saw that post! The concept has a lot of charm, and when the Tolkien estate loses its corpse-grip on the property in 2050 or so, I think you should write it and sell it 😤 I’ve definitely read some good takes on entwives in fanfiction that both leaned into canon and moved away, and I think that sounds like good fun to explore. A common theme in the fandom is playing with Yavanna, the Green Lady, being the mother or patron of hobbits. This isn’t canonical, but she’s a “green goddess” archetype and is married to Mahal/Aulë, the father of dwarves, which shippers often leverage to their advantage. You could do something quite charming there with Yavanna if you wanted to. We also know that Entwives loved gardens and orchards rather than forests.

Some things I would explore with this include:

what is going on with all these consistent ideas of people, races, women disappearing. We know that a lot of it is how Tolkien processed an almost OCD-like Catholic framing of “the fallen world is getting worse and can never be repaired”, war experiences, romanticism and other stuff stewing in his old man head. What are some ways you could show what’s stewing in your head? What does “people disappearing” mean to you? and why is it especially healing that they disappeared in order to make new families?

I think “they disappeared from their old kin and made new kin” is an interesting and weird thing worth wondering about!

- this would possibly make hobbits a more recent race than is implied. What does that mean to you?

- why are hobbits teeny tiny?

A very good starting point, that Terry Pratchett used a lot, is taking some grand statement in fantasy fiction, and making it reflect a different political reality. “Most dwarves are girls actually.” “Wizards parody academia, but, like, FOR REAL.”

I personally have a different take because of my own political feelings and framings! I have a lot of complex feelings about Tolkien chickening out of hobbits. For various political reasons I personally have to take the stance that they are fully human, fully indigenous, and have their own native language. and that their disappearance is less “teehee we lost them” or “O, the Catholic guilt of the Fallen World, how far we have fallen from the light of the two trees God’s sinless light” and a lot more “oh yeah I’ve seen THAT pattern before.”

If you have a political sort of lens on, someone telling you “yeah… hobbits came from nowhere 🤭 and then disappeared 🤷‍♀️ sad!” is a story that can also invite the response of “OHhhhh you wanted their LAND real bad, huh.” Like, we know what that means, right.

It’s a political stance for me. Hobbits have to be close enough to us to touch, and we have to be able to face that, and the fact that 5,000 media properties will chew on tolkienelves and sell them to you before even admitting to the 🤭 just makes it even more of a 🤨. To me.

…But I have literally just been elbow deep in my own demented fanfic thing that involves inventing a language just to swear in, to enable my standing on a box shouting HOBBITS OUGHT TO RESIST GOING EXTINCT ACTUALLY, based entirely on, I think, spite. Why do multiple authors publish orc football games (Terry Pratchett) and orc coffeeshops (Legends and Lattes guy) and do every damned thing with every bit of Tolkien’s corpse but refuse to look directly at hobbits. I am feral over this and wrote 59k words so far to damage and harm my friends

In conclusion I see a great story shape there about kindred and I think you should explore it and it should be about evolutionary biology and women and divorce and nobody being wrong.

And if anyone argues you with some podcast boy “well actually”, just bite them and do more character work and sit on their heads

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

I have gotten so many messages from folks who see what's happening to Jews right now, how literally any statement from us that isn't straight up "death to Israel!" "tear it down!" "river to the sea!" etc. - no matter how tempered in other ways or critical of the Israeli government it is - anything even mildly supportive of the terrorism victims/their families in their grief and/or Israelis deserving to live is getting dog piled to an absurd degree. And yes, that primarily targets Jews (because we're the ones primarily speaking on it) but it definitely is also hitting anyone not Jewish who says this as well. Immediately, overnight, the left has made any position that respects everyone's human rights and allows Jews room to grieve our murdered and missing family and friends without telling us they deserved to die in terrible ways completely radioactive. Like literally even the most milquetoaste statement attracts numerous hysterical commentators. And because it's so toxic, people are afraid to speak up.

And I've now heard from a lot of gentiles that they had no idea how deep the rot of leftist antisemitism went, how they've been seeing this unfold with horror, and are afraid to speak up.

Here's what I'll say: those messages give me a lot of strength, because they help me remember that I'm not insane, that this is horrendous, and we are seeing in real time exactly who would have helped the Gestapo find us if they were sufficiently convinced that this is "decolonization." That yes, the backlash really *is* that bad. I hear that affirmation and I appreciate it, and I understand your fear, because it was mine too. I myself strongly considered at the beginning not saying anything about this until I could do so without being harassed. (I decided against that because I am physically incapable of shutting up when it pertains to my people, but I understand the sentiment.)

Here's the thing: this is never going to end - those people who take seriously the question "are Jews people?" are going to be the vocal minority unless and until we all speak out. Jews are 2% of the US population and 0.2% of the world's population - there are literally more self-identified Nazis in America than there are Jews. I would honestly be surprised if there weren't more horseshoe theory leftists in the world than Jews also.

That being the case, we really do need our allies to speak up with us. I think if we all spoke up at once, it might be enough to break the silence-taken-as-agreement and shame everyone but the avowed antisemites (rather than the thoughtless and opportunistic ones) back into keeping their antisemitism under wraps. Which does have the effect of bringing the mob under control. Jews have faced a ton of mob violence in the form of pogroms throughout our history and backlash to Jewish victimhood. (Tl;dr - "How dare you make me consider how I might have benefited from or been complicit in hurting Jews? This is actually the fault of the Jews." is a disturbingly common thought process.) (You may also be wondering what I mean by "opportunistic;" I can explain in another post if people are interested.)

I know it's scary. I am well aware that you might lose friends from this. I personally decided that if those "friends" valued Jewish lives so little, they were never my friends to begin with, but it's different for non-Jews. They may genuinely be your friends. I'm not demanding you do this for me or my community, but I am asking you to consider what your line is for your friends. And if you are able to talk to them, to ask them what makes this group different from all other groups in terms of deserving compassion and human rights, it may just help us to quiet the mob.

And, if nothing else, just privately reminding those of us who are speaking about it that we are grounded in reality and compassion helps combat the mass gaslighting going on.

[missyandthemisfits]

Obi/Hinawa x Reserved!Fem! Reader 

A/N Requested a whiiile ago, I'm so sorry for the wait *cries in procrastination*

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Akitaru Obi

- Obi likes to think he's a nice cross between a serious, strong willed leader and a fun guy to be around - and he'd be correct in his assumptions.

- He doesn't take himself too terribly seriously but also knows when and how to command authority and as such, has experience handling all sorts of personality types; so meeting someone as even tempered and reserved as (Name)?

- Truthfully, it's almost like a breath of fresh air .

- He approaches her like he approaches anyone; with kindness and a warm smile, careful not to startle her out of her book but speaking just loud enough for her to know he's addressing her. 

- Somehow, she's still a bit jumpy despite his approach but he makes sure not to draw any attention to it, introducing himself with an outstretched hand, patiently waiting for her to take it. They're pretty fast friends and from then on, it's like they lean towards the other's company more than they realize.

- It's subconsciously grained into them a few months after meeting; Anytime they're in a room together one will gravitate toward the other, sitting or standing, exchange glances and smiles all the while, even during team meetings. 

- She just feels... really seen with him. And very safe. 

- And she's always incredibly attentive, able to scope out his emotional state with pinpoint accuracy, even when he's trying not to make a spectacle of it.

- In fact, they soon realize how much emotional support the other provides, mere seconds later realizing just how much the other means.

- He wastes no time confessing his feelings.

- "-And I know this might be sudden, but I'd very much like to take you out to lunch some time. Honestly, I think you're a real catch (Name), and I'd hate to miss out on the opportunity. Life's too short." 

- The confession is so forward yet well meaning it sends (Name) into shock; a blushing, stuttering shock.

- But he waits patiently, albeit slightly nervous, for her reply; it's a yes, of course. 

Takehisa Hinawa 

- Hinawa is...a very no-nonsense individual, one could take a single look at him and tell.

- It's because of this fact that he actually strongly prefers someone a little more reserved than most. That said upon meeting (Name), he was convinced that if the infernals didn't eat her alive, the rigorous Fire Force training would. To his surprise, he was dead wrong. In fact, she excelled.

- She was capable of taking out swarms of Infernals in seconds with expert offensive abilities partnered with spot on defensive capabilities. She was tactical and focused, something he noticed many of his peers lacked even on the battlefield. He grew to respect her prowess, honestly. 

- "Excellent work out there, (Name)."

- "!!!"

- She gasped loudly, startled at the approach of the man and his seemingly random compliment. 

- He watched in disbelief as she subconsciously backs into a wall, facing him, face reddened. 

- He doesn't necessarily lose respect for her, but he certainly thinks twice before approaching her unexpectedly again - not hard for him at all, but she does feel pretty bad for overreacting.

- Works up the nerve to apologize but also stumbles into a very unexpected confession. 

- "...Th-that is to say... I respect you as a Lieutenant and-,"

- "So am I wrong to assume you want a pursue a romantic relationship?" 

- "Um...!"

- (Name) is at war with herself for a few more moments and he sighs, running a hand through his hair with the tiniest blush, gaze averted somewhere to the side. 

- "...I only ask because I myself might be interested..."

- It's... less than romantic but (Name) can tell it took him a lot to say it. She could tell they'd be taking their time in this thing, together. 

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[recurring-polynya]

In the years since I've been running this blog, I've made a lot of jokes about Renji's seemingly ill-thought-out plan of:

Beat Captain Kuchiki

???

Profit Be with Rukia again

but I was looking at his volume poem the other day, and I think that I am an idiot, and beating Byakuya has never been connected to seeing Rukia again. It's a smokescreen. He does have an actual, actionable plan of training and working hard enough to become a vice-captain (specifically Byakuya's vice-captain), and then approaching Rukia again as her social equal. We know that beating Byakuya wasn't a key component of that, because he was planning to do it as soon as she got back from her mission.

The thing about defeating Byakuya is that Renji is purposely setting his sights a few degrees to the left of the truth to keep from falling into depression and despair. Trying to get Rukia back is a thing that he can try to do and fail, and in fact, he very well may. Beating Byakuya is impossible. No one believes he can really do it, least of all himself, which means, paradoxically, he can't lose. When you fail to do the impossible, you can shrug and say, "well, it was impossible, what did you expect?

I mean, it's right there in the poem: "I am going to focus on reaching the unreachable because if I think about Rukia, I am going to kill myself." And I don't think Renji is a guy who has a suicidal bent--the fact that he pursues this line of thinking is proof of that. But what is the difference between a person who thinks about killing themself and someone actively works to not to...? I don't know. It's complicated.

One of the most fundamental themes of Bleach is the idea that Hollows are fallen souls who lose their hearts and eat other souls in order to ease their pain, but they only end up creating more Hollows in the process except that we see examples again and again of shinigami pulling this exact shit (Byakuya, I am looking at you). I cannot figure out if Renji's drive to distract himself from the pain of losing Rukia is a play to avoid falling into monstrosity, or if it's pretty much a direct route. I mean, this is basically exactly the path that Gin and Tousen take--which makes it all the more interesting to me that Aizen rejects Renji as unsuitable for his conspiracy.

I can't put my finger on any particular thing that separates Renji from other characters in this respect, aside from maybe his fundamental Renji-ness-- the fact that he has other friends and connections? That he has hope, no matter how dim, that he may actually reunite with Rukia some day? That he's just a guy who reaches for life instead of death? (Mildly off-topic, but if there is one other character that this is also true of, I think it might be...Matsumoto???)

Anyway, another thing I like about setting himself against an impossible goalpost is that this would be a terrible idea for a human with a finite lifespan, but shinigami have all the time in the world. Go ahead, pal, pursue your impossible tasks, live your truth! I read a lot of stories about semi-immortal beings, and I love love love it when they seem very human and then they do some batshit insane thing that makes you realize, oh, they very much are not.

My favorite way to break my own heart is re-reading the "Fate is a Millstone" chapter, where we learn that Renji was a hair's-breadth away achieving his real goal of talking to Rukia again, only to have Fate throw him a face-full of pocket sand. I think it's extra salt in the wound, to be honest, if he's been pursuing the impossible goal of beating Byakuya as a distraction for all these years, only to arrive at a place where Rukia's life literally hinges on him beating Byakuya, a thing which is not just theoretically impossible, but something Renji has spent 40 years becoming intimately familiar with just how impossible it is.

[antianakin]

Number 9 for the ask game! For both disneycanon and legends :)

9. worst part of canon

Man, this is a hard question to answer, mostly because there's so many things I could answer.

So I am assuming here that when you say "Legends" you actually just mean Lucas canon that existed pre Disney canon since "Legends" has never been and will never be canon in and of itself. If you were hoping to hear me speak about something that was ACTUALLY from Legends, I'm very sorry, but I'm not familiar enough with it and I don't think it works for the prompt anyway, so all of my answers are going to be from Disney Canon or Lucas Canon.

Some of these will land more in the realm of "the concept is fine/good, the execution was bad" and some will be more "the concept in and of itself is awful regardless of whether it was executed well or not."

In the Ahsoka show, the concept of Ahsoka facing her past with Anakin and how that's impacted who she's become is a great idea and it's really the only way to move her character forward, but the execution of it was so badly done that I wish it had never happened and we'd just never seen Ahsoka again or ever learned what she felt about Anakin. I've spoken enough about this show for anyone more familiar with me to know why I feel that way. If you haven't read my posts about it and want to hear more of them, you can search under the tags "ahsoka show" and "anti ahsoka show."

Turning the Darksaber into Mandalorian Excalibur is, perhaps controversially, a bad concept. It's introduced in the hands of a Mandalorian, sure, but it's also introduced specifically as a stolen Jedi relic. And between those two things, somehow the fact that it was in the hands of a Mandalorian got considered the more important part of it rather than the fact that it was a JEDI relic that got stolen from them.

And unfortunately turning the Darksaber into Mandalorian Excalibur has made the Mandos even more boring than they already were. It forces everything that was established about them in TCW to be basically erased and ignored. The whole aspect of them having a government of any kind, having a Council and a Prime Minister, is gone, and leaders are chosen by who can wield a stolen relic real good (or, more accurately, who can wield a DIFFERENT WEAPON well enough to defeat the person who IS wielding the stolen relic) rather than chosen more democratically by the people themselves.

The Darksaber also just isn't even being used very well in the narrative. It got handed to Sabine and we went through an entire lovely arc for her to earn it both the Jedi way and the Mandalorian way only for her to hand it off the very next season to someone who hadn't earned it at all. Then that person loses it and it somehow ends up in the hands of Din Djarin who seems to START an arc about earning it only for that to just get completely dropped so he can hand it right back to the same person Sabine handed it to last time and then it gets destroyed a few episodes later. There's not been any point to the Darksaber at all since it first showed up in Pre Viszla's hands in TCW. It should've stayed a fancy-looking stolen Jedi relic (and arguably should've just been handed back to the Jedi) if they weren't going to do a single interesting thing with any of the Mandos who ended up with it.

Moving on from the Darksaber, and looking at the Sequels, I think killing off all of Luke's Jedi students and destroying Leia's New Republic was a terrible terrible idea as a concept. I understand the idea of like... "Darkness always comes back, the fight is never completely over" but destroying ALL OF THE PROGRESS made in the last trilogy by the main characters just to force the new characters to do the exact same thing all over again is stupid. There are ways to do "darkness always comes back" as a theme without making Luke, Leia, and Han's arcs completely irrelevant. It doesn't feel hopeful by the end anymore, it just feels a little pointless because if everything is always going to be destroyed over and over again then why try to build anything at all? What's the fucking point of it all if none of the triumphs last long enough to mean anything?

And adding onto that, making the New Republic completely incompetent and also so horrible that they're basically the Empire in all but name feels equally frustrating as a concept because now not only were they destroyed before anything meaningful could be done with them, but it's not even a bad thing that they were destroyed because Leia failed long before Starkiller blew up those five planets. The New Republic was a failure from the moment of its inception because it's just filled with and run by cowards and greedy assholes who won't help anyone or do anything useful at all apparently.

I won't touch on R*ylo much because plenty of other people have, but everything about that was awful and it never should've been made canon.

While we're on romantic failures, I don't think Obi-Wan has ever needed a romantic interest, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be done well. But Obitine just wasn't it. Obitine was executed so incredibly poorly that it just made both characters radically less interesting and if I didn't already enjoy Obi-Wan as a character, his relationship with Satine would probably turn me off of Obi-Wan entirely given that he's literally a sexist asshole to her. Obitine never should've happened and if they HAD to do it, they should've gotten better writers to handle it so that it didn't ruin a beloved character as a result.

I'm sure there's more I could complain about, but that's what's coming to mind right now.

[naurimastaur]

Seeing them for the first time, again

Summary: losing a lung and your friends to wkcd meant Gally had a pretty shit year. What’s the harm however, in seeing a familiar face?

Pairing: Gally (maze runner) x nb!reader

A/N: this is so cringe but I’m so obsessed with him Idc if this flops with the dying tmr fandom// also this is my first attempt at angst so go easy on me

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“Hey everybody relax, we’re all on the same side here,” Gally called out amongst the chaos. The faces of his old friends turning towards him in apprehension. The familiarity of his voice momentarily pausing their act of rebellion, the concealment of his face enhancing their confusion.

“What do you mean, we’re all on the same side? Who the hell are you?” Thomas, ever the skeptic, interrogated.

Gally’s eyes weren’t focused on him however, for lingering in the back was the reason he joined the right arm to begin with; y/n. Wretched and messy but all in one piece, they stood in front of him.

It was like seeing them for the first time, all over again.

———————————————————————

Gally had heard the familiar siren of the box’s arrival. He wasn’t remotely interested most of the time on seeing who came up with it. On this day however Gally had overworked himself, and the idea of joyfully revelling in a greenie’s newfound terror seemed like a treat.

Towering over the box he spotted a figure hiding amongst the supplies, crouched like a caged animal, eyes wild and ferocious. He had to admit his curiosity was peaked, most greenies were crying at this point. This one however had looked at him in rage, a hand lingered behind their back.

“Where the hell am I?” They snarled, chest slightly heaving, the only real indicator of their fear.

“Your new home,” Gally had replied, a sarcastic smile on his face. His gaze never left the greenie, whose eyes had regarded each and every teen boy in front of them with predatory caution.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” They questioned, eyes never focused on one person.

“All part of the glade’s charm,” Gally said, before he had reached out an arm for them to take. His admiration controlled his limbs before his brain did.

The greenie considered his offer before they had hauled themselves up, and bolted towards the maze doors. Gally hadn’t bothered to run after them, leaving the job to someone who actually cared like Newt. He had however returned his gaze to the supplies, noticing one of the crates was missing a shard of wood, no doubt a fault of the greenie’s.

He had to admit he was enamoured from that point onwards.

———————————————————————

Now they stood adjacent, mirroring their first encounter. Y/n was looking at him with rekindled fury, this time paired with their tainted memories. Their gally had died back in the maze, physically and figuratively. This version was a stranger; a defying act against fate.

The fire within them was awakening once again, where it was quieted by the nature of the glade, it now burned with the raw desire for revenge.

Their wrath was overcoming their joy. For where their heart was aching for the comfort of Gally, for the ease of his embrace, the overbearing rage was all-consuming.

Wkcd had taken Gally, that much they were certain of. This was a trick, a taunting illusion created from the depths of their imagination and wkcd’s tampering. Their time confined within wkcd’s laboratories meant they were forever trapped in their own mind, never knowing for certain what was real.

What was real was that there was a time when Gally had been theirs, when his company mellowed their temper and gave them faith. But those feelings had died with him, things were different now. They were both different; no longer two sides of the same coin but two puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit anymore.

( why did I write this cringe corny ass ending)

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A/n: might write a part 2 if I’m feeling silly. Also, why did I describe y/n so animalistic? Bc I’m so crazy and quirky and I can do what I want!!!! If you’d like to leave a request for any character for me to write, feel free I’m open to any! To my Weasley twin enthusiasts I will write them again don’t sweat it, I’m going through a phase<3

@thescrunkler despite you not being in a tmr phase, you’re getting tagged anyways x

[draco-after-dark]

Feral JD!!! I love this kinda stuff, and you already got some awesome art for it! I’ve been appreciating John Dory more and more lately, so it’s cool to find all the AUs

Got any specific scenarios you’ve been thinking about for him? Love to hear anything about it.

I also wonder about when he discovered he couldn’t read anymore, was he nonplussed? Disappointed? Didn’t realize it happened? How’d his brother figure it out and would they go about teaching him again?

I appreciate you! ✨💜👍 have a good day!

OOOOOOOOH I HAVE SO MANY ACUALLY

I'm having so much fun building his world out

I actually have a few scenarios in the works now and some mini comic ideas too, Just gotta finish them :]

The reading thing is actually an interesting point. To be honest it wasn't something I initial thought to hard about but now that you brought it up. Here are some thoughts I had on it.

(Also sorry this kinda long I got a bit carried away woops)

not being able to read does come as a shock to JD when he first realizes, It takes him a bit to come to terms with it and when he does realize its a "Shit, I really am a failure." kind of mentality.

Since he was just out in the wilderness reading and writing wasn't something he need to do, it was all about survival for him so something so simple as that never crossed his mind as a skill he could lose.

Not being able to sing/talk just sort of sprouted from when he turned grey and fully integrated himself to being alone, Truly alone. Just being by himself he never had a reason to speak, so eventual the years added up and he just couldn't figure out how to speak.

So I always figured Clay would be the first one to figure out that JD can't read. For some context JD has been away from any type of society for several years if not a whole decade at this point. just by himself out in the wilderness wander around from place to place. So loneness has set in hard and he hasn't had a conversation with someone since being on his own.

JD tends to approach his brothers when their on there own or hanging out with each other. He tends to avoid large crowds and sticks to the outskirts of pop village unless there is immediate danger within the village. They had a spider incident a week ago but JD dealt with that real quick. The village still has pretty mixed options on allowing him to stay but considering the brothers haven't even been able to get JD to come inside branch's bunker yet. It's not something the they have really considered or cared about yet.

Also for Clay figuring out JD cant read it would probably go something like this...

Being in a book club Clay can often be found reading books around pop village. So when its a beautiful sunny day. He decides that it's the perfect time to catchup on his latest book. That quickly becomes wishful thinking however when he feels the brush of fur against his arm. He's surprised to see John Dory crouched next to him head tilted leaning into his personal space. Just sort of staring at his book with a curious look on his face. He's not interacted this close to JD yet on his own, usually he only makes an appearance if Floyd or Branch are around. So being on his own with John so close makes him pretty nervous. Especially since previous interacts between the two of them haven't been the best. John may or may not have tried to attack him and Bruce at their first interaction. It was quite a shock to all the brothers when they discovered that not only Floyd but also John Dory had been kidnapped by the pop star wannabes. If Clay's being honest he didn't believe Floyd when he first told them that John Dory was still trapped some where in the dressing rooms. It didn't make any sense to him. Why would they keep leave John backstage for their big performance. Unless they had already sucked him dry of his talent. What they actually discovered Clay could have never seen coming. Their brother, their oldest brother was practically unrecognizable, In both behavior and colour. He still thinks about when they found him in that room huddled in the corner. The terrify snarl that came from him when they tried to get close. Heck. he didn't even know a troll could make such a noise. So what was he doing here with him now?

"Uh . . . hi?" Clay asked curiously his voice wavering slightly.

He could see John's ear tilt towards him so he must have heard him and was at least listening. Hopefully.

"what uh . . . what brings you here today?"

A low deep rumbled sounded out from John's throat has he lifted his hand nearest to the book and brought it closer to himself. Eyes flickering across the page. To Clay it looked as if he was trying to read the pages so without a word he tilted the book more towards JD and waited. Just watching him. As seconds turned into minutes he could feel the frustration growing inside his brother, from the way his brows knitted together, to the way he kept getting closer to the book. Like if he looked harder, tried harder it would all make sense. That was when it clicked.

He cant read. Clay thought.

He can barely talk, if grumbling even counts as talking. Can't read and chances are he cant write anymore ether.

With a scoff John shoves the book away from himself slides down from the rock to sit on the grassy earth below.

Clay felt odd. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Pity? Hurt? No that wasn't quite right. Emptiness? A sense of loss? A mix of everything he guessed.

He never really considered how John must be feel. That it must be . . . frustrating. Not just being alone for so long that he unconsciously forgot things that always seemed so, basic. Normal to everyone. That writing and singing songs came so natural to all of them. That the once self-proclaimed leader of Brozone couldn't even read his own lyrics anymore. He could never imagine not being able to read again. Being left unable to communicate even the simplest of things, but here John was. Going through all that. Practically alone. Clay frowned well he stared down at his once proud brother and then a flicker of hope flashed through his eyes.

". . ."

"Do you want to read again?"

His ear perked up at that and his head quickly flipped back to Clay. An unreadable look in his eyes.

"I could teach you, to read, write, to talk again?"

He see the thoughts swirling through his eyes, the hope, that became to spark but that quickly disappeared as he sank back down towards the grass. I look of sadness crossing over his face as he began to fiddle with his claws.

"Do you not want to learn how to read again?" Clay aske bewilders

John huffed and stared at him with an unamused face

"well why then?"

John glanced to the side and gestured in way "carry on" sort of way.

"I don't understand."

John gave him a deadpan stare and flung his head to the side letting out a deep sigh.

Clay was thoroughly confused. what was he missing, what wasn't ne understanding. This was his brother, his older, former bossy, arrogant, obsessed older brother. So Clay wanted to try something. Something he had done in years.

"What, are you still to cocky to let your little brother teach you a thing or two?"

He huffed again, but this time it sounded more like a light chuckle followed by a quick eyeroll and after a few seconds John stared at him, one eyebrow raised like he was saying "are you serious right now?"

"So your telling me you'd rather sit on grass and feel sorry for yourself rather then spend time with your younger brother?"

Oh ya, That hit a nerve. If there was one thing John cared about it was his family, Family was apart of him and it always had been. His greatness strength and weakness. Something Clay figured out real quick when they were younger trollings. John must have felt as offended as he looked because next thing clay new he had already stood up and hoped right back up on the rock beside him.

"Same old Dory"

To which John responded by giving his brothers shoulder a shove and jerked his head towards the book down in Clay's hands.

"okay okay, will start with the basics . . ."

Don't know how in character this is for Clay but I tried guys. So yeah that's my thoughts so hopefully this makes sense.

Also if any Fanfic people out there stumble across this and start thinking they want to give try at writing some stuff for the Feral boi please do I would LOVE to read it. Like tag me please so I can read it and draw it.

Anyway imma go to bed byeeeeeee

[ketterdamskaelishprince]

ada's spectre, and why i'll likely always feel sad about it

here is the promised analysis/talk about ada's spectre. going to preface this by saying i obviously don't know the true intent behind everything and her design, i just like to look, giggle and then make sad little observations which just help me love this silly webcomic even more. so if you disagree with me on something– totally ok! i love to learn and i love to see different interpretations.

there's also a few bits i missed out because i wrote this all last night in a bit of a haze, and i cannot be bothered to expand on some of my ideas, especially when it's just stuff like "BROS SO PARANOID AND RAW RIGHT NOW".

anyways, here we go :) @mugcereal this one's for u pookie <3

so i think with ada's spectre, we first need to look at the instance as to how she gets it, because that always makes things way more sad!

to specify, she turns into her spectre at episode 69, and i think it's really sad how she does it. she basically gets a string of roasts from prospero that go along the lines of calling her "conceited" "twadry" and "... and stupid!" – effectively throwing back in ada's face what she believes everyone thinks of her.

(obviously, as a very big and glaring sidenote, i believe prospero is aro/ace or just aromantic so OBVIOUSLY i am not bashing him for this. bros told her so many times that he doesn't want to be with her, let alone to be touched. that is a flaw in ada's character and is a reminder to us on the importance of boundaries!!!!)

so, ada is basically there, collapsed on the floor in a robe– effectively showing the most intimate and private part of herself as an insecure and lonely girl. and that's when she transforms.

i think it's interesting to understand how this most likely links to her life and how she died. so we know she was killed with an axe, most likely by the man she fell in love with and worked for, and how prospero's words in this situation, hurt her just the same as the words before her death. why?

because they remind ada of what she knows and fears she is: just a stupid, fake and cheap person who will never have the same status and respect as the people she pretends to be and surrounds herself by.

i think it's also interesting that she's clutching her stomach/torso here, and correct me if i'm wrong but that could be a potential signal to the part of her that was axed to death (?). no idea if that's a good shout or not but it's what i first thought!

anyways! now we move onto her spectre design!

first of all, her spectre design eats. like just a personal side note, i love it. it's just so gorgeous and i don't care if she's terrifying to some because to ME? to me, she's my gorgeous little pookie who can scream and show people their worst fears and she looks amazing whilst she does it <3

ok anyways, actual design.

to first understand her design, i thought i'd show you what banshee's traditionally in folklore look like!

typically, they are described in two ways. the first way is a youthful women with long black hair, blue eyes and just super pale. this description could also lose the blue eyes and just keep the black hair– either way the first depiction of a banshee is a super young woman.

this is not the one we're focussing on today folks!

we're going to focus on the second depiction. a hag/ old woman, with red cheeks, a grey cloak and a green dress, often seen to be combing her hair. banshee's throughout folklore are known to wail, scream and cry when a family member had died. to most, the banshee was a sign that death was coming to your household and they are known in myths and folklore as a predictor of death.

now, hold onto the green dress and look at ada's design real quick for me.

here we see a lot of green, which yay! definitely shows signs it comes from the second depiction. i think, on top of it being a nod to the second depiction, i think it could also be an allusion to something else: jealousy.

green symbolism in media can often vary, from meaning new life, luck and also jealousy. and i think if we take in the things ada screams whilst in her spectre form, such as this from episode 82:

you see there definitely is some sort of jealousy there, but this isn't something i necessarily want to focus on, it's just an observation i made that may or may not be true!

anyways, to continue, i want to look at ada's outfit when she's a banshee. i'm going to basically be making my notes i took last night look nicer.

(keep in mind that when i wrote these, my ideas were literally bouncing off my brain and sometimes they're a bit contradictory, but i think that's the beauty of my crack theory analysis!)

i think the act of almost showing her bones to the outside, there's a level of rawness to ada we don't usually see. her spectre form essentially gives her the power to scream out her anger, and by seeing her bones it's almost as if to say this is the ada she doesn't show people. this is the ada that she keeps to herself because god forbid anybody love her (because in life and death it's become abundantly apparent to her that nobody does seem to love that ada).

but then, what i thought was also a super cool thing as how the bones almost act like a corset!

then i got sad because i looked at the bows, and because something dawned on me and it made me start to frown. there was a sad realization to me as i looked at ada's spectre design that even in this all powerful form, she hasn't lost her insecurities, they just become more prevellant. because for all of the traditional wrinkles, hag-like appearance a banshee is meant to have, ada barely has any.

obviously this could be in part to character design and stuff, and yeah probably– but let me be sad!

because ada carries her frills and bows from life here because she doesn't want to be ugly, she doesn't want to be this creeping monster who rips apart people. because if she's not got her intelligence or status or anything going for her, she has her appearance and by god she's not going to let that go to waste. so here her spectre form is, a banshee.

so what must ada do? she must takes her frills and keep her insecurities, her fears and her crippling need to be loved.

another aspect which is super interesting is the stitching on her body. one one hand, it could be an allusion to her violent death, suggesting the man she fell in love with didn't just stop at axing her once, but just kept on fucking going (which, you know: fuck you, whoever you are).

but on the other hand, it could be a metaphor for ada's thinly veiled facade she puts on of being a prim and proper lady (which we actually, interestingly enough, see she looses a lot the more time she spends with montresor– opting to take parts of his language like "ain't" and "beggin'". this sort of leads on from previous ideas people have made of ada willing to change herself to be loved. she swaps civility for the wild wild west all for a bit of love).

ada offers up parts of herself in this metaphor. that's what she always does. she offers herself to the rich man she fell in love with, she offers herself up to prospero (again, look at the. side note. bro wasn't wrong for rejecting her he literally can't like her) and she offers herself up to the acolytes and she fucking barks for them (because i'm not over that).

piece by piece, she strips away everything she is until she literally is just skin and bone. and once she's torn herself apart, she needs to stitch herself back together– because it's against the facade she's put on to look so broken and messy. and so she repeats the cycle again, giving more and more until she is literally hanging on by a thread.

her powers are also super cool. traditionally, as i said, banshees wail when a family member is soon to die/has died, and is often like an omen/predictor of death. so yeah, ada having a banshee scream makes sense. but the whole 'fear itself' is also super cool. i kind of like that she has this– because its sort of satisfying for her, the girl who's been pushed over but still comes running back, to watch as people become paralysed with fear. idk, retribution or whatever.

i'm going to leave you with this not very profound thing i wrote last night (and then just some other mumblings):

i think that although spectres are super powerful and also just a very fantastic concept, they're also fragile. spectres are quite literally the monster inside of you. yet here ada's monster is, and with all her bows and revamped dress of a banshee (or potentially an allusion to her life as a maid) she tries desperately to be anything but that. because to here it's ugly and it's too much of her on display. and with some much of you on display comes the very fear that if you are hated, disliked or something repulsive, you no longer have anything to blame on anybody else. you just have yourself to blame.

(as morella says here in episode 88).

i'm not saying ada isn't deeply flawed, because she is. she has so much fucking baggage and insecurities that they literally forbid her from doing the right thing sometimes. i don't think she's a good person, but i also think that she has the opportunity to be a good person/ do a semi-good/ non-bad thing, and all she has to do is take it. but i also think it's nice how that's shown in her spectre design.

and, you know, if none of this makes sense, that's also fine!

anyways, yeah. somebody tell me never to make a random analysis at night again because it's a bit of a bitch to translate in the morning.

[mdhwrites]

You said the arcs of certain characters in TOH have an 'Us vs. Them mentality.' I take it that's because, as you say, the narrative pins the bad qualities of certain characters on separate parties (e.g. "Amity's flaws are only because of her mom"), but would you care to elaborate further on said mentality and how it sticks out to you in TOH?

So shockingly, not really. It plays into it but I am actually inherently talking about the same sort of mentality that Belos perpetuates but back onto Luz. After all, if you look at the main cast by even mid season 2 we have a problem forming. Eda: Has lost her criminal edge, has no personal interests, is defined by being nice in a way befitting Luz's worldview. Momma Eda.

Amity: No longer is studious and hard working but instead focuses more on her girlfriend and her nerdy interests. Is also now just nice. Was only shown genuine care by Luz, instead of just trying to fulfill her nerdy desires, once she finds out Amity is into Azura.

Lilith: Has turned into a nerd and given up on any ambitions that had led to her previous actions, becoming a nice cool aunt. Only now has Luz tried to form any relationship with her (admittedly, she didn't get many chances before now).

Hunter: Has only been being given kindness because he has shown a capacity for kindness that Luz only really started showing him, beyond not wanting him to die, once he showed he had a nerdy interest in wild magic.

Gus: Was a nerd from go and always nice, even if he could be slightly selfish.

Willow: By mid S2, is essentially out of the show for the past half season, has never had a strong personality and is just nice. Yes, she'll start her jock stuff soon... And never have a real conversation with Luz again, at least not until S3 maybe? So a full season where Luz and Willow, after Willow might have stopped being nerdy/an outcast, where Luz doesn't have an interest in her anymore.

And uh, just as a reminder to S3, Hunter gains a scifi interest post redemption and Luz explicitly listens to NOTHING her mother says to her during her big speech in For the Future until she reveals herself to be a secret nerd. At that point, suddenly Luz dials in.

For TOH, a show supposedly about the individual and self expression, characters either lose their personality and/or gain the personality that matches LUZ. There is less character variety in interests and personalities than even 90s cartoons much of the time by the end of TOH because these characters all lose so much of themselves fitting in with the good guys, especially the redeemed ones.

This is where your argument for this does come into play. I'll frame it as the fandom likes to with Amity: "She didn't have Luz in her life yet."

Amity is only a bitch while she is hanging out with the wrong crowd. Socialites, those with ambition and jocks. The Luz enters her life and despite the fact that the ONE time Luz ever calls Amity out for being a bitch being when Amity is being a bully to King and clearly trying to get a rise out of Luz, making that moment meaningless, that simple fact starts warping Amity. Starts making her turn back to her good, nerdy side. And because this is such an inherently good thing, there is no difficulty in doing this. She needs no motivation, no calling out, nothing. She just needs to desire to be like Luz/liked by Luz. She can discard her entire friend group and do things that should get her disowned with how evil Odalia is and face zero consequences because... I guess that's the power of becoming a nerd.

You are beyond reproach. You can only do good. Same goes for Hunter. Despite YEARS of potential propaganda and the like, Luz just getting into his life and admittedly jabbing at Belos/him a little, is all it takes for him to embrace the inherent goodness, displayed by his nerdiness about wild magic, and start becoming a better person. For this, he loses his home but that is only seen as a positive because indeed, he got away from those hostile that made him a bad person. He could now be a good person because he no longer had those influences and could embrace Luz's way of life.

With the show's themes, why is this the case? Shouldn't their base personalities be allowed to exist? Shouldn't a wide range of ideologies and the like be allowed since that is a part of self expression? Instead, when people don't like Luz approves, they are disapproved by Luz and either need to get the fuck out or conform.

And this is all without getting into how she becomes Jesus in the last episode...

None of this is intentional but if someone told me that the show felt hostile to them because they didn't consider themselves a nerd or because they tried to get somewhere in life, I wouldn't blame them. The show has a weirdly narrow belief in who is a good person. Who is allowed to exist in the main cast, a problem that cascades issues into a lot of its themes. I mean, this is the first show I've ever had to ask if character arcs are actually hurt the themes of the show because of this, a blog I sadly couldn't refind.

There is admittedly an element of this where I might not have thought about it without the fandom. Most people I know who are multi-fandom still agree that TOH is aggressive against others, even for a fandom. That it lashes out and blames others for its problems. Almost like a *gestures at the thesis*

And that doesn't help make any of this be less uncomfortable unfortunately. See you next tale.

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I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[antifranchaela]

Why I hate Male!Michael & why that's got NOTHING to do with Heterophobia.

I feel like it's important for me to make this post, so y'all understand WHY I've made this blog.

So, first off - the central theme of Francesca’s book is moving on from the love of her life.

You do need to actually wait for Francesca, Michaela, and John to have more than 1 minute of screen time together to know more about Francesca's feelings for John in contrast with the instant sexual attraction (or as some may say "letting her pussy drop") for Michaela

That's super interesting. & 2nd CHOOSING a partner she knows she can't have a kid with is entirely different from not being able to have a kid because 1) Queer people are also infertile and also choose to give up being able to have bio kids to be with their partners and 2) Francesca is literally able to have children in the end because of Julia Quinn Magic Dick???

Most of you are the making the case "oh, they can still do all that" which is TRUE

I'm a proud lesbian woman.

Using Francesca’s story for our issues is AWESOME

Also Eloise should be queer too.

She could have easily chosen not to have the kids she ends up having & be content raising Marina's children with Philip. She's a nonconformist already! It wouldn't have been a stretch for her to fall in love with Philip's sister, who's raising the kids after both Philip and Marina died. It wouldn't have been a stretch for her to move in with the lady who doesn't care about society, only for her studies and children.

It IS NOT a stretch for Francesca to marry a man after being raised her entire life with everyone telling her that marriage is her entire purpose, attempt to have a child with him, lose that pregnancy after the tragedy of losing said husband, while struggling to understand her confusing feelings for his cousin since she literally has no idea what they mean and has no idea queer women are even a thing. she may think she can never really be with michaela in the way she wants to when she decides to remarry in the books. she may think she can never have a family with michaela - the way she yearns to in the books. she may fear she won't ever be accepted as her partner in the society she grew up in ON THE SHOW! but since this is Bridgerton there will be a Happily Ever After ending based on REAL LIFE LESBIANS who were able to live together, raise families together, and even get approval DIRECTLY FROM THE REAL LIFE QUEEN

Doing this to Fran is AWESOME! because of the genderswap and the talented actresses Masali and Hannah and Victor!

[Excluding this section from my satirical repost because this is a serious part and I genuinely resonate with the OP here and wouldn't belittle their experience here]

Francesca's story always spoke to me on a personal level. & I love Michael's gender change and am excited to see how the relationship between John and Francesca is also handled

This was the way to do it!

Also - I feel like it's important to say this : Don't go harassing the actors over this. Don't start blogs where you say the actress isn't suited for the role and where your icon is literally her face with an X over it. If you have to - get a life and some hobbies instead of going after Jess, Shonda, Netflix & Julia.

[dreamwreaver]

When Vox and Charlie finally interact on screen, I hope to God we won't have another "deemed as a father figure by annoying fans" situation on our hands because I will lose it. They did it with Alastor and Charlie, they did it with Vox and Velvette, they did it with Carmilla and Zestial and I'm sick of it. I'm tired of the majority of the fandom being prone to infantilize the women that have a platonic relationship with an older man. Especially when said older man has beef or relations with another older man. I swear, most of the fandom seems to be allergic to the mere possibility of their favorite male character being with a female character that it makes me suspect they're slightly misogynistic sometimes given the way they would callously treat the female characters at times.

Besides, I personally don't think Vox and Charlie would have a father-daughter relationship because, well, Vox is the villain and really doesn't give off paternal vibes (neither does Alastor but that didn't really stop the RA shippers). Unfortunately, half of the Hellaverse fandom consists of immature people with no media literacy skills whatsoever so I'm not gonna be surprised if they begin to label the pathetic man-child of a television as Dad#3 to an adult woman.

All joking aside nonny, welcome back.

Yeah, this has been a very annoying trend across media, not unique to the hellaverse but incredibly rampant all the same. First I want to say that the Vees not being an actual polyamorous Vee is a missed opportunity.

Second, I really cannot see Vox being a father figure as anything more than a bit. Like he can't get to Charlie through being a romantic interest (canonically because of vaggie and possibly al?) so he'd try to pose himself as a shrewd businessman that makes exceptions for family or something. But much like Al's comments to Lucifer in Hell's greatest dad it would all be an act. I do "ship" Vox/Luci solely because the crackship name of AppleTv is too hilarious not too so I am for it. But I was the same of a certain other ship before a very loud segment of it ruined it by treating it like endgame canon instead of the absolute crackship it is.

As for one of your other remarks, it's a problem of fandom in general these days. You saw it when certain lumity shippers got pissy that people shipped Lunter, we saw the absolute war that was the reboot of a certain mech property that I will not name to save my sanity. Like, it's not the old days where canon queer rep was slim to none and easier to get away with portraying deeply emotionally impactful relationships with men and giving a token female love interest to say they were "straight" but then again homoeroticism in media is both a super long lived trope dating back to the gayest locales in history and a rant for another day. Canon queer ships are everywhere, not overwhelming or even equal to the ostensibly "straight" canon couples in all of literature but definitely not something you'd get burned at the stake for if you said it.

That being said, in that vacuum has arisen a sort of derision towards straight passing ships. The bisexual woman is with an asexual man? Straight. The lesbian gay man who dresses in drag on the regular who nonetheless share a deep emotional chemistry (and history of brainwashing/abuse/abandonment)? Straight. If they are not actively gay they are straight and it mirrors a lot of the real life issues people in these groups face. Because let's be honest; humans are complicated. Feelings are messy. How many queer people do we see before realizing their sexuality got married and had a straight partner and even kids? Did that mean they loved their spouse any less? Ngl one of the depictions of this I've seen is why women kill's Simone and Karl

Tell me they do not love each other. You can love someone and not be attracted to them.

Welp, that was a tangent lmao. Back to your question. My favorite interpretation of Vox in relation to Charlie and Alastor is basically Radiobelle Silence. Where vox attempts to get Charlie to love him to get back at Alastor only to fall for her himself and oh no now he likes them both and is making it everyone's problem. Like Chaz from helluva boss except with money and power to back it up. The ultimate third wheel.

I think one of my discord friends did a doodle that perfectly encapsulates my view on that dynamic and if it's publicly posted I'll let you know nonny. Thanks for your ask!

[fatherramiro]

I was thinking about 1899 and depictions of grief, and something kind of jumped out at me. In the first few episodes, we have a LOT of discussion of grief -- one of the key scenes is Eyk describing feeling stuck after his family died to Maura after he says he's taking the Prometheus back to Europe -- and obviously the entire simulation is a product of Maura being unable to process her grief of losing Elliot. And that got me thinking about the other characters and their reaction to the loss of their loved ones, which of course got me thinking about Ramiro. I know, big surprise.

There's a lot of death in season one, and a lot of characters lose their loved ones in horrible ways in front of them. Tove loses her entire family, Ling Yi loses her mother and Olek, Jérôme and Clémence lose Lucien, and Ramiro loses Ángel. But of all the death scenes, Ramiro is the only character who is given a moment to say goodbye to the person he loves most; you could argue that Tove is allowed to say goodbye to her parents, but I'd argue those scenes are very different. Even Maura isn't given a real goodbye scene with Eyk when he dies, even as she demands that Sebastian bring him back. But Ángel's death is an extended scene where he apologizes to Ramiro and Ramiro begs him not to go, where their affection for each other is re-affirmed. Depending on if you're watching the English dub (or using English subtitles on a foreign language dub), Ángel even tries to say he loves Ramiro as he dies.

And look, it's interesting to me that Ramiro and Ángel are the ones given this moment, because I think it puts the Ramiro/Ángel love story in the same sort of narrative importance conversation as the Eyk/Maura/Daniel triangle AND because of what it says about Ramiro. I've talked a bit about the framing of Ángel's death and Eyk's death before, but it's worth pointing out again! Ramiro's reaction isn't to beg Ángel to come back, he says "don't leave me" as Ángel is dying and accepts (however much it hurts) that he's gone when he's gone. And afterwards, Ramiro remains the only character who when faced with the spectre of a dead loved one actually questions it. No one else -- not Eyk, Clémence, Jérôme, Ling Yi, or Tove -- question when they see someone they loved and lost appear. Ramiro actually says "why are you alive" in shock. Now, he still goes chasing after Ángel's voice (twice) but he still seems confused as to how his dead boyfriend is talking to him. I talk a lot about Ramiro being main character coded, or that he's more important to the narrative than one might assume, but it is still important to point out that he's given this beat that no one else is allowed. In a show about grief, this matters. There's so much fun narrative importance or uniqueness given to Ramiro, which I am happy to list off if asked but that starts with him being a key player in every episode without fail, and I think this is just another example proving there's something going on with him as a character, and with the Ramiro/Ángel love story, that we just don't know. I'm not going to say we're never going to know, because I'm pretty sure we'll get some 1899 resolution some day, but for now it's unclear. But still, it's clear there's something going on with Ramiro that was going to be so, so interesting.