#i could go so much further into this theme

[is-this-ai-generated]

AI generated verdict: provable and confirmed

long post incoming. sorry (not actually sorry).

tells: this was a tough one, at first glance, to point out any one aspect that made me go "that's definitely genAI." chiefly, the subject matter was that special kind of uncanny that triggered my brain to look deeper.

i couldn't find the smoking gun on a cursory investigation with just my eyes. nothing like "that guy's got 7 fingers and an extra arm" here. as such, i speculated that it was done by a very proficient user of genAI, someone who has a lot of experience in crafting prompts and iterating on output.

but that didn't stop me because the uncanny feeling was pretty intense.

in the end, the major things that tipped me off were meta-contextual in nature, if we were to assume this was a real photograph: the practicality of the object, and, crucially, the presumed level of media coverage of the object, were it to exist in real life.

much like with the egg salad machine post from last year, it boils down to two questions: "would this object feasibly exist in the real world? and if so, would it cause media stir/considerable attention if it did?"

put it simply: if you see an image purporting itself to be a real photo and your immediate reaction is "wow! that's really cool, i've never seen anything like that before in my life! it's really impressive, even!" my tip is to reverse-image-search it, to be safe.*

(*if you care, that is. all my posts are written with the assumption that you're reading them because you want to avoid getting tricked by genAI.)

and if, by image-searching said image, you are unable to find any article, no matter how big or small, highlighting its existence, and yet it's somehow all over social media, you can allow yourself to feel suspicious. because it is.

so in my search, predictably, i could not find any such article anywhere about this supposed object. but i did find the inspiration that this image seems to be based around.

there appeared to be a set of arcade cabinets that were carved from marble mentioned in a handful of niche gaming publications and/or other dubiously verifiable outlets in 2023... except it wasn't actually carved from marble. it was an earlier instance of genAI images for proof of concept purposes.

on to the source of the image itself.

source: it required a bit of deep-diving in multiple reverse-image searching platforms to drill down to the original poster.

eventually, i was able to uncover the following account on twitter: https://twitter.com/goo_vision

further than that, i was able to find the original tweet in which they posted this image: https://twitter.com/goo_vision/status/1909308836143362139

this account is self-identified as an "artist and designer" and states that they use "generative AI tools" in their bio. the poster also appears to get a fair amount of AI haters in their comments, to which they've replied defending their use of genAI in their works. lastly, they also post multiple images that all share a very similar theme repeatedly within a short period of time (such as 20+ images of various types of "arcade or media cabinets made of unusual materials"), a hallmark of iterative genAI images.

why is that a hallmark? when you request a genAI create an image based on a text string/prompt, it will often produce multiple feasible images that it "thinks" match to what you asked for. the user can then rate each image, if they so choose, to help educate/train the algorithm to be more accurate in the future. it looks as though this user may be using midjourney (or something similar; i'm guessing midjourney because it's really good at replicating photorealism) to generate these images and are picking through the ones they like best. pretty standard stuff, nothing out of the ordinary there.

bottom line is that this is another example of someone on tumblr reposting something they found elsewhere and not only not giving appropriate backlinks to where they found it, but also failing to tag it appropriately as genAI.

alright, this post is long enough. if you have questions about this one, or any other posts in general, feel free to send me a message; asks are open.

and as always, my ever-present disclaimer for my blog: I do not make these posts to drum up drama, call for brigade-ing/trolling of any identified sources, or insinuate any sort of moral failing on anyone whatsoever for reblogging/liking these images. i also do not make these posts to "dunk on" genAI users or enjoyers.

I created this blog to educate those who want to learn about what to look out for when it comes to AI generated images, how I come to my conclusions, and the tells they can look out for in the future. I do not condone any measure of harassment, bullying, or hate mail sent to the originating artist(s) that may be identified in my posts. this should also not be used as a jumping off point to harass or send hate mail to any blog I reblog from, either.

please check my pinned post for more info on how I run this blog.

[yandere-yearnings]

Burn & Burn Again (Male Yandere!Writer x GN!Reader)

feat. Sun Vasileiou Nevrakis

♡ pt.6, approx. 1.3k words | prev. | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: implied forced isolation, implied (emotional) manipulation, beginnings of a stockholm-esque relationship, vv light suggestive dialogue at end | series warnings: yandere themes, reader is a horrendous flirt

♡ a/n: this part is dedicated to @/urprettylildoe bc it really wouldn't have been written if not for her sweet words!! thank you for everything doe <3 this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

Running water in the night woke you gentler than it used to, clock on your bedside table pooling neon into the backs of your eyes. Three in the morning — an hour earlier than usual for the steam swirling into your bedroom from the en suite. Sun always showered in the dark, temperature tipping over the edge into scalding, the only time the mellow, mellow vanilla of his body wash couldn’t lull you because the humidity was suffocating, and the sweat dried cold on you as you lay there.

There was no reason behind the anxiety that clawed your chest, in fact, ever since you��d moved in with him, Sun had been nothing but an angel. It was just that when he wasn’t in your line of sight, you could never shake the unplaceable feeling that lay low in your gut and began to manducate. Something in his eyes had always been different to everyone else’s. You thought you’d fall familiar to the gaze, but the months were dripping out your time like it was venous, and every day he looked a bit more distant from who he was when you had first met him.

You wanted to justify it for him, this strangeness that felt like a second skin forming — intangible, and yet still somehow stripping off of him in viscous strings whenever you tried to reach out and talk about it. Sun had only told you a little, after the casino; sitting on the stone steps that encircled the fountain in his garden and drunk out of his mind. His biggest fear was being left behind, and his biggest fear had cycled and cycled throughout his life so much so that Sun knew people’s backs better than he did their faces. You couldn’t hurt him anymore. You’d have rather not come into his life to begin with than do that, and who you were to him now could only be pinned on your advances alone.

You guessed he’d changed you, heart a little less selfish, and a lot more tired because of it. Even through the foreboding, you still couldn’t help but be pleasant to him; rationalise that nothing could go wrong if you treated your relationship with normalcy. Would that be enough to undo the weight of it?

In the palm of your hand, your phone felt foreign, as did the list of contacts you scrolled through. It had been weeks since you’d had a proper conversation with anyone else. Sun needed your attention more  — and you weren’t going to deny him. You knew intimately that there were cracks in the glass house he called out to you from.

Whether it was muscle memory or just that you were missing her, Bea’s name was the one that your thumb had been hovering over when you refocused. Not giving yourself a chance to think twice about it, you pressed dial and held it to your ear. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” her voice, as soft as ever, came in a groggy little whisper. Of course you’d woken her, of course she didn’t make anything of it. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” your head sunk a little further into your pillow, and the corners of the room faded from your vision until it was just the flat expanse of ceiling above you, “just wanted to hear your voice.”

The bubbly giggle that filtered through the speakers had the smile spreading on your lips. “In that case,” she said, “I should read you a bedtime story.”

“You really shouldn’t,” eyes crinkling, the breath you’d been holding cleared, “you’ve got an early morning at the bakery today, right?”

Bea hummed evasively. “Since when did you start remembering these things?”

“Since you added that cake to your menu that I can’t begin my day without,” you teased. “Really, you should go back to bed now. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay!” She was quick to refute, “you know I’ll never mind.” 

The shower had turned off a minute ago, and now it was just the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you as you blinked up. The yawn that Bea had undoubtedly tried to muffle reached you nevertheless, but she began to speak again before you could.

“I’ll call you soon, ‘kay? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah.” You thought about the secrets you’d been keeping from her — how even now, she didn’t know about Sun — you had more than a lot of explanations due. “Talk to you soon. I love you.”

The bathroom door opens and you cut the line before she can reciprocate, or hear the virulent tone your boyfriend takes as he pads over, plucks the phone right from your grasp. “Who do you love?”

His hair is dripping water like ink, saturating spots into the towel around his neck; face entirely unreadable even though you’re acutely aware of the fact that he’s filtering through your call log. In this variable darkness, you can make out the clench of his fist by his side.

“She’s my best friend.” Sitting up, you take his hand gently, unfurl his fingers from where they’re digging into his palm and tug him to the bed. “I’ve told you about her before.”

His shoulders seem to relax some as he settles, collarbones following a droop down that you can’t help but track. There’s a glassy clarity in his orbs when he leans closer, and he asks you with a furrow in his brow: “do you love her more than me?”

You would have begun to explain the difference between the love one could feel for a friend and the love one could feel for a partner — that they weren’t the same thing, that they could not be measured on the same scale — but Sun wouldn’t be able to understand that. He’d tilt his head at you, and think you were telling him he had competition, as he had done all the times before this.

“I could never.”

His cheek pressed to yours when you moved to wind your arms around him, cold, cold skin despite the hot currents he had been under just a heartbeat ago. His lips were soft against the shell of your ear, his voice even softer with a lacing vulnerability. “I don’t like it when you don’t pay attention to me.”

Your laugh came slightly cut from a bitterness you couldn’t pin the source of, and your digits tangled in his hair, tugged him back a bit. “Sun,” you said, “you don’t like it when I talk to anyone.”

When he blinked at you, you swallowed. Even if you had the saliva to wet your throat, you were sure it would just dry up again and your words would die trapped between the walls of your larynx. What compelled the shred of honesty you rasped out was tied to trust, to the credence that you could meet him at the same intensity as he met you. “Lately it’s like you’ve been caging me in.”

“I’ve thought about it,” he exhaled.

“What?”

Sun considers you, and then the corner of his mouth is twitching up by a fraction — the kindling heaviness dissipates just like that. “You could cage me up too,” he tips back, eyeing the exact spot up ahead that you had been focused on before, “we can make it a kink thing.”

Your brow raises. “Is it a kink thing?”

“No.” His smile drops, and then he turns away from you to shuffle through his side drawer; takes out a pen and a small notebook. “Still, you wouldn’t want otherwise,” he scribbles something down and you’re unable to catch it before the cover closes, “believe me.”

[a-simple-imagine]

Moonlight across the Windowsill

requested by anonymouses: "reader sneaking teen Van in through her window, and just trying to have her over without getting caught by reader’s parents"

combined with

" Teen Van Palmer thinking that reader and Tai are dating,(into each other) reader has to knock some sense into Van that she likes her"

pairing: teen!van palmer x fem!reader

words: 5.2k

A/N - I'm not sure about this one or maybe I'm just insecure about my writing rn idk. this is my 7th van palmer fic, you guys not getting sick of them yet??

WARNINGS - Swearing, vague allusion to a volatile home life, homophobia and confusion about feelings

Nine PM. That is what the clock says as you slump further down in your seat. An array of paper paired with the books you had borrowed from the library, scattered across the small desk space, illuminated by the harsh yellow of a desk lamp. It feels like you have been sitting here forever. Trapped in an endless discussion about the themes and symbolism within old Shakespearean plays and how best to present them. Taissa had always been very bossy regarding school projects, but it's outweighed by her innate desire to be right. Her opinion held more value than anyone else's. So, no matter what you suggest, the other will simply tell you that it is a good suggestion before explaining how her idea was superior. At this point, you would much rather escape to the comfort of your bed, but you had to finish your half of the work before tomorrow, or Taissa would have your head on a stick.

"I just don't think-" An abrupt bang against your window almost makes you drop the phone. Pausing the conversation to look around your otherwise empty bedroom.

"Think what?" Taissa questions.

"Sorry, uh," You turn back to your work, raising the phone to its correct position against your ear. "that we need to go into that much detail if we want-" Another bang makes your heart leap. "one sec," dropping the telephone down onto the desk, you cautiously approach the window. Peeking out slowly in case it was some weirdo or a mass murderer. Even more surprising, you find Van Palmer standing in your garden. Butterflies immediately start to flutter low in your stomach. This couldn't be real. Why would Van be at your house this late? She waves up as you push the window open, hands perched on the sill as you lean out.

"Van?"

"Hey," She whisper yells.

"What are you doing here?" You yell back, trying to be as loud as possible without disturbing your parents. The girl just shrugs. "How did you even find my house?"

"Asked Shauna." What? Was Shauna just giving out your address willy-nilly to the other girls on the team? "Can I come up?"

"I don't know- give me one second." You rush back to the phone, hauling it to your ear. "Tai?"

"Hello?"

"Can I call you back?"

"Why? What's happening?" She wonders. "We need to finish this project."

"I know- I'll be quick."

"You better call me back," Tai insists. "You know how easily distracted you can get."

"Alright- yep, bye,"

"Bye-" Words cut off as you drop the phone back down against the receiver. Going back to the window, you now find Van clinging to the windowsill for dear life. Did she climb up the wall to your room? Was she insane? You hadn't even said she could come in.

"Jesus, you're fast,"

"Can you... help me- up?" Reaching for her upper arms, you take some of her weight and awkwardly assist in her dumb decision to scale the side of your house. Hands slapping against the floor, legs dangling outside, she crawls slowly onto your bedroom floor. You take a few steps back to give her space, unable to hide the confusion on your face.

"What are you, Spider-Man?"

"Maybe," Van says, standing up and brushing herself off. "This would be the part where you patch me up and we ignore the unbridled sexual tension as you so lovingly take care of me."

A joke that makes your cheeks burn. "Are you hurt?" Her head shakes. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Oh, so if I were, you would take care of me?"

"I mean... yeah, probably." Was she expecting anything different? "Wouldn't want you bleeding out on my floor."

"Good to know,"

"What are you doing here?" You ask again. "What if my mom came to the window instead?"

"Your parents are downstairs. I could see them when I walked past," Van explains. "The light was on up here, so had to be you."

"What if it had been the wrong house?"

"But it wasn't," Van insists, a flash of her pearly whites. You search her face for some kind of explanation. Like her eyes would tell the story of why she was climbing through your window at nine at night. They were red around the rim, a little bloodshot. Puffy cheeks with a hint of a shine in the dim light.

"Have you been crying?" It was obvious she had been, but what was the cause? Your eyes narrow. Inspecting further, but the red head spins sharply on her heel, breaking your view.

"Can I... stay here tonight?" Your heart beats a tad faster. Ambushed by the question. Could you really say no to a girl who needs help? Someone, you just said you would help if she needed it? Smart. Sneaky.

"I don't- I'm not sure my mom will let you. It's so late and a school night, so..."

"She doesn't have to know." Van takes a few steps around your room. Eying the walls. Judging your space.

"Van-"

"I'll sleep on the floor and leave real early."

"Van." It was one thing to hide a person for a couple of minutes, but all night? That was work. You were never particularly sneaky. And if your parents asked, you weren't sure you could lie convincingly.

"Please, "A frantic plea with a sharp turn. She is no longer smiling. You see sorrow in her eyes. Sincerity. Desperation. "I can't..." You wait for her to continue, but she doesn't. She won't. Swallowing down any sort of confusion. You cannot send her away. It would be cruel.

"Okay," you nod a little. "But you have to be quiet." You don't know what your parents would do if they knew you were letting people sneak in through the window. They obviously wouldn't throw Van out on the street, or at least, you hope they wouldn't. You would probably be in trouble, though, and you didn't want that. The corner of her lips curl up ever so slightly.

"I can do that." Your gaze lingers on her as she continues her journey around your room. How long had she been wandering around? And why did she decide to come to your house, of all people? You weren't exactly super close. Not in the way she is with some of the other girls.

"Are you hungry?" You ask. It felt like the best way to help right now, but she just shrugged. "I'll go see what we have. You stay here. You can borrow some clothes if you want."

It's a relief to exit the room. Hesitating against your closed door like you've trapped some kind of monster inside. Your stomach is surely making it feel that way. Anxiety like an endless pit. Fuelling every step as you navigate the halls of your home as quietly as possible. It was weird to think of the girl upstairs. Van Palmer was in your house. In your bedroom. Admiring your possessions. Looking through your things. You had always found Van to be a particularly interesting case. She wasn't quite like the other girls you knew from the soccer team. She was clumsy; imperfect. No desire to hide the messy parts. With bright red hair and the style of a teenage boy, you've always admired her. Wasn't afraid to express herself. Make jokes. Tease the guys. Van was special, but being around her made you nervous. Perhaps that's why you weren't as close as you might like. She makes your stomach churn. Your cheeks flush. Your heart beats that little bit faster. As you enter the kitchen, you half expect to hear your mom's voice. Each slow step in anticipation of your inevitable capture. But all is well as you open the cupboards and search the fridge. You find a sandwich that was probably for your lunch tomorrow and decide to take it. You could just make another in the morning. Grabbing a plate before sneaking back up the stairs and into your room. Van is still wondering about although she seems to be particularly interested in your mirror.

"This you?" You find a space on your desk to place the sandwich as you walk over. Your mirror was decorated with decade-defining stickers of varying electability alongside different photographs. Van has honed in on one in particular and is offering it out. It shows two kids standing on the sidewalk at night. One was dressed as a blue and red robot. The other is a yellow robot. They both had jack-o'-lantern-shaped plastic buckets in their hands.

"Yeah, that is," you point to the little yellow one, "and that's Shauna, believe it or not."

"Shipman?" You nod, looking down at the picture. It's a really old photo, but adorable.

"Mhmm, don't ask why we're dressed as Transformers. Probably my dad's idea." You express fondness.

"I didn't know you two had been friends that long,"

"Oh yeah, for as long as I can remember," You and Shauna had a long history. Your parents, as far as you were aware, had been friends before you were even born, so it's no surprise that you two ended up friends. You spent a lot of time together growing up. Always at each other's houses. Holidays spent with each other's families. You weren't together as much as when you were little. Jackie Taylor probably played a part in that, but you were still close friends. Your moms were still friends. "My mom has whole albums of us together." You step forward to take the picture back up and admire the rest. They ranged from when you were small to the present day. Photographic evidence of your growth.

"Cute," Van comments. "Where's that from?" She points to a small strip you got from a photo booth. It had three photos in succession of you alongside Taissa. You were just messing around. Killing time. It was one of the more recent additions to your collection.

"A while ago. She was staying over, and my mom dragged us to the mall." You shrug. "We look cute. I really like how they came out."

"You have a lot of pictures." She declares, looking entirely around herself as if your entire room was just covered in photographs. It wasn't. But there were quite a few. You like having little moments of the past scattered about. They transport you back to a happy instant.

"I'm sentimental," You giggle a little.

"And yet none of me," Van adds casually. "Must not like me." A bold question as she takes the plate from your desk and sits on the edge of the bed. Placing it down in her lap.

"I- I wouldn't say that." You respond quickly. It wasn't a result of not liking Van. Quite the opposite in fact. You didn't really have any pictures together anyway.

"Seems like it," She takes a big bite

"Van,"

"I'm just messing with you," Mumbled out through a mouthful of bread. Thankfully, she swallows before continuing. "There's so many of you and Tai."

"Well, we're friends, so,"

"That's all?"

Your brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

Van shrugs, taking another bite. "Thanks for the food."

You debate inquiring further, but decide not to dwell on it. Some things were better left unknown, and maybe she did mean nothing by it. "No problem. Sorry, it's not more. I couldn't find much."

"This is fine." You let her enjoy tomorrow's lunch. Awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with no idea where to go from here. What does one do when a stranger seeks comfort in their room at what is now almost ten? Should you ask? Do you even have the right to? Her showing up like this surely gives you that right.

"So..." Hummed softly as you took a seat next to her on your bed. "Do you wanna tell me why you just showed up at my house?" Van's movement stops, dropping what's left of her sandwich onto the plate. You're looking at her, keep her head down.

"I was just wandering about." She eventually responds. Voice especially reserved.

"So late?" It was nineish when she arrived. Your parents trusted you, but they would never let you wander the streets alone at this time of night.

Van turns to you. "Sorry."

All you can do is sigh. Not exactly the answers you were looking for. "Don't apologise. I'm just worried about you." You watch Van finish off her food. They really were such a mystery to you. It's only now, as you sit in silence, do you notice the addition to her outfit. A navy blue hoody with the school mascot on it. You're pretty sure she was only in a T-shirt before. "Is this hoodie mine?"

"Yeah, you said I could borrow something, but nothing was really my style. Found this in the back." Must be an old hoody, you don't even remember ever wearing it. "That okay?" You nod, getting up, and you decide to return to your project. You had wasted about an hour dealing with Van. Valuable working time. "What are you working on?"

"Homework," You tell her. "Tai and I have a project due, and before you interrupted, we were discussing my part. I don't have much left."

"Oh, I will stop being a distraction then." Your eyes survey the work you left spread out, trying to recollect your thoughts from before. Trying to remember what you and Tai had been discussing. You should have been finished by now. Could have been in bed. It's harder to focus with another person in the room. It feels like you're being watched, but you get to work as best you can. You can hear van rustling about behind you like a restless puppy. You try to ignore her. Tai will be mad if you don't finish.

"Are these all yours?" You glance back to find Van leaning over the edge of your bed, rooting through a box she'd half dragged out from underneath. "You have so many." She has pulled out a black VHS tape. Most of them are probably your parents, you weren't much of a collector. Your parents bought you films you really liked.

"Some are my parents, they get mixed up easily- why are you under my bed?" She puts the tape back but continues looking through the others.

"Bored." Van declares.

"It's only been like five minutes," Maybe ten, but the point still stands that it hadn't been very long.

"That's basically forever." She pulls out another tape, opening the case briefly before examining the back. "Can we watch one?"

"It's a little late," You insist. Van drops the tape and pushes the box back under the bed. Dangling over the edge, you turn back to your work. "Can you stop?"

"Why? What are you hiding down here?"

"Nothing- I don't know- just stop." You hear her chuckle. Peeking back as she sits up.

"You're so silly," Van comments. You wonder if that's a compliment or not. "Can we do something fun?"

"You can sit quietly while I finish this." You propose. "That's fun."

"Boring," She sing songs loudly.

"Shush," You huff. "My parents are gonna hear us." Van sighs loudly this time and you do the same. "Van, I really need to finish this. Tai will kill me if I don't."

"Always about Tai." Van hums. "What about me?"

Gosh, she was relentless in her pursuit of disrupting your workflow. You glance back at her, sitting cross-legged in the middle of your bed. Why was she so bothered by your friendship with Tai? "I'd also like not to fail." You express. "Why don't you try going to sleep or something?"

"You hate me."

"I don't hate you,"

Van smiles playfully. "Can I have some paper or something?"

"Why?" You question. Knitted brows.

"Something to do while I wait," She shrugs. A piece of spare paper and a small pencil from your case, you offer them out. Van crawls across the bed to collect the items.

"Can you let me finish now?"

"Course," Thankfully, Van Palmer seems to be a woman of her word this time around. As quiet as a mouse as you flip through pages and scribble things down. You're tempted to call Tai, but it's late, and with Van here, it would just feel awkward. You manage to finish, but not before the clock shows eleven. You should probably head to bed. If your parents come upstairs and find your lights still on, they'd probably tell you off. Turning back to Van, she's now lying down on the bed with all her attention on whatever she is working on. You stand up and walk on over. Lying down on the bed right beside her. Looks like she was drawing a picture. You reach for the paper, and she stops, but doesn't stop you; you pull it away to inspect it. It was clearly a person or an attempt at one, at least. Rough lines of graphite intersect much softer strokes.

"Whose this?"

"You," answered plain and simple. Suddenly, the lines come together in your brain, creating an image as she describes. A picture of you. Messy and imperfect, but she still chose to draw you.

"Me?" You question quietly, although it was mostly rhetorical. "Why did you draw me?"

"You looked pretty." Heat rushes to your face. The thumping of your heart. Van rolls over onto her back, looking up at you now. "It's not very good. I was just messing about."

"I..." All the words you can think of die in your throat. A testament to the power of a compliment when it comes from the right the right person. Lucky for you, Van changes the subject.

"So you're done with your work?"

"Uh," You place her drawing down, looking over at her. "Think so."

"So now what?"

"Bed." Answered plainly. "We have school tomorrow, and my mom will probably come in at any minute."

"Boring," She groans, but at least it's quieter than before. You ignore her, grabbing a pillow off your bed and tossing it on the floor alongside your blanket.

"Sorry, you have to stay on the floor. I'm just worried about my parents seeing,"

"It's fine," The redhead rolls onto her front before getting off the bed.

"Do you need another pillow or more blankets? I probably have some somewhere." You offer. Van is already making herself comfortable on the floor. Fluffing up the pillow and wrapped herself up in the blanket. You watch her for a moment. The blanket was pulled all the way up to her shoulders. A soft smile on her lips. A bad feeling about the fact that you're making her sleep on the floor. It can't be very comfortable, but if your mother comes up and sees her, you'd be in a lot of trouble. Getting down, you switch off the light before climbing back into bed. An eerie stillness envelops the room as you lie snuggled up in your bed. This wasn't how you saw your night going. Didn't expect to have Van Palmer sleeping on your floor. You wanna know more. Worried about why she'd be walking the streets at night, but you also don't wanna force her to talk about it. It feels awkward having her down there. You wonder if she is feeling it too.

"Van?" Asked quietly. Cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"Yep, it's not so bad down here. I can see all the secrets you keep under the bed." She teases. Ever the jokester. It's off-putting to your true intentions.

"Did..." Was it even your place to ask? What if she takes it the wrong way? Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your duvet. Holding it like a protective shield around your body. "Did something happen at home?"

The silence that follows makes your stomach churn. Had you overstepped? Did she get you now? "Everything's fine." She bites. "We should sleep."

"Okay," You say quietly. Sinking further into the bed. "You... you can talk to me, y'know? If you ever want to." Van doesn't answer. You don't bother her with it anymore. But you can't help but peek over the side of the bed. She's turned away from you. A strip of moonlight made the deep red of her hair almost glow in the darkness. You really should have shut the curtains or something. You linger a moment. Admiring her in her calmness.

"Do you like Tai?" She questions abruptly. Catching you in the act of staring as she moves to lie on her back. Immediately, you retreat back to safety.

"W-What?"

"I won't tell anyone, I swear," Van declares rapidly. "Just kinda seems that way."

Does it? Is that the impression your friendship gives off? "No," said a little too defensively. Too sharp not to seem offended. "No. Why would you say that?"

"Tai is beautiful and cool? You have like a million photos of her and you're always around her," Van explains. "Like I get it. Better than anyone."

You table your suspected crush on Tai to pull the focus back to Van. "What do you mean better than anyone?"

"Are you serious? Half the school thinks I'm a dyke. I don't really try and hide it."

You'd be lying if you said you had never heard rumours about Van, but that was just childish gossip. This was Van actually confirming it.

"How did you..." You hesitate. Voice quieter. "Know?"

"I think I've always sorta known," Van replies. "Also, the first time I saw Jessica Rabbit was crazy," You laugh a little at the thought of a very young Van Palmer being in love with a cartoon. It was cute. "I've never really met anyone like me, though, but then I saw how you are with Tai. Got me thinking. I'm nothing like Tai."

"Van, I don't like Tai," You state. Tai was really great, but you've never really thought about her that way. It had never been crossed your mind. Then again, maybe that was more because you didn't like to think that way at all. It seemed almost shameful to think of girls that way. Like you're doing something wrong. The only time those thoughts seem to get loud is when you're around Van. She makes them harder to push down with her cute, stupid little face. Her stupid, infectious smile. Every time she makes a dumb joke or makes a clumsy mistake.

"My bad," Van interrupts your thoughts. A faint creak hits your ear. "I-"

"Wait," You shush her. A tense silence. Maybe you misheard? Your bedroom door creaks open a crack. Your parents must be heading to bed. They always check. Lucky for you, it's not a very thorough one tonight. Your door closes again, and you let out a relieved sigh. You had gotten away with it. Peering over the edge, Van's eyes are closed tight. "Van," You whisper. She doesn't respond. You wait. She doesn't respond. Guess the conversation is over. You don't want to continue probing. She looks so peaceful, but there's no way she was asleep yet. "I think... I might like you," You admit quietly, expecting some kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction. But she doesn't so much as flinch. So you move back and settle back into bed for a good night's sleep.

You wake up early the next morning, disturbed by the gentle pitter-patter of footsteps in your room. Rubbing at your sleepy eyes before they flicker open, squinting in the premature morning sun. "Van?" Her name is but a sigh from your lips.

"I should go before your parents wake up," Van insists. "Thanks for letting me stay."

It's too early. How was she so awake? She's lingering by your window, and you're suddenly worried about her falling. "You can use the front door, Spider-Man."

A noticeable smile. "You sure?"

"I'll walk you out." You push up, struggling to stifle a yawn.

"No, it's cool," She replies. "Sleep, I can see myself out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," She heads for the door. "I'll see you at school."

"Okay. The spare key should be on the hook, just make sure you put it back."

"Will do, MJ." And with that, she exits the room. It's not hard to fall back asleep after Van leaves. You were plenty tired after last night.

The morning is relatively uneventful. You keep expecting your parents to bring up the secret girl you had in your room, but they don't. Everything progresses normally. You even manage to arrive at school with plenty of time to spare. The minute you step through the door it feels like you're immediately greeted by a very intense Taissa Turner. Bright-eyed and ready for a full day of school before the weekend.

"So?"

"Good morning to you too, Tai," You mumble sarcastically. She falls into step as you walk through the building.

"Did you finish or not?"

Of course, that's her main concern. "Yes, it's done."

"And it's actually good?"

"Tai," you groan loudly, an abrupt stop as you turn to face her. "Can we do this later? It's too early."

"What even happened? You never called me back," Her eyes search yours for an explanation, you sigh and continue walking.

"Yeah, sorry,"

"You're the one who wanted to call," She follows, now a step behind. "said it'd help you work better, then you just hang up on me."

"Gotcha." An arm flung over your shoulder drags you flush against another person. Its Van. She's caught Tai in the other.

"I just had something come up," You tell Tai, offering Van a little smile.

"You're here early," Tai comments. You know it's aimed at Van as she steps out of her grip. You pat Van's hand before removing yourself, too.

"Yeah, I was ready early, so I walked today." You eye her suspiciously. "You coming to homeroom?"

"Yes," You agree eagerly. You just wanted to get away from Tai, honestly. She was easier to handle after the first period. "I need to go to my locker first. I'll see you later, Tai."

"It better be done," Tai urges. You just roll your eyes, paths diverging down different corridors. Now you walk alongside Van.

"So did you actually go home or just wander about and come to school?"

"I went home,"

"Van," Stated firmly. A warning to tell the truth.

"I went home," She urges, a little more defensively. "I grabbed some stuff and came here. She shows you her backpack as proof.

"Okay," You're reassured by her bag. She didn't have that last night, so she must have gotten it from somewhere. "If you need somewhere to stay over the weekend, I'm sure my mom won't mind if I actually ask this time,"

"Nah, it's cool," she waves away your concern like it's unwarranted. Like she didn't show up at your window last night. You approach your locker. "Maybe we can do something, though?"

"Oh," Such a blunt question. You purse your lips, turning to unlock the metal door.

"No pressure," Van adds sharply. "I didn't mean like..." Her words trail off, but you know exactly what she meant. Her inability to finish her sentence confirmed that. She was asking you out like on a date. Twisting on your heel, you find her eyes cast down. Part of you knew she was awake when you confessed, but the other part hoped she wasn't. That you could just continue on like you didn't have a conversation at all.

"Should we... do we talk about it?" Her eyes flicker up to yours and you turn away, shoving books into your locker.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Van wonders cautiously. Did you want to talk about it? Talking about it would make it real. " I can pretend I was asleep- didn't hear a thing. I'm good with that."

Somehow, that makes you feel worse. Like leaving her with a secret she should never have known. You don't want to do that to her. You can't do that to her. You just needed to be brave like she was. "You... don't have to," You insist, turning around to face her. "I meant what I said." Your eyes meet. Heat rushes to your cheeks, making you glance away. "My tummy always feels funny when I'm around you. I get all hot and like flustered. I just... I don't know."

"You know, last night all I could think about was seeing you," She admits. "Everything was really shitty but you always make me feel better. You're just... so nice and kind to everyone and fucking beautiful. Even when I thought you were into Tai, I was just happy being around you."

"Van,"

"I know it's scary, but I really like you," Van admits. She takes a step closer. "Can you look at me?" she presses, and your eyes flicker up. "I really fucking like you."

A squeeze in your chest. You're not sure if it's good or bad, but you kinda wanna throw up right now. "I just don't want to disappoint you,"

"You could never,"

"But I'm not sure about how I feel," You admit. "I think I like you, but what if I'm wrong? I don't wanna hurt you."

"I get it." She's hurt. You can see it in her eyes. She's putting on a brave smile, but the rejection stings. You didn't even mean to do that. Hurt her. You wanted to protect her from that until you could figure it all out. "Don't worry. Friends still?" You shut your locker, and a sigh. Why can't you just be like Van? Courageous. Fearless. True to yourself. Was there really anything stopping you other than yourself? That desire to stay hidden. To shove the feelings down instead of facing them. "Or not..."

"Let's do something this weekend," a spur-of-the-moment thing. A quick decision. "Yeah."

"Really?" The switch-up is jarring for her. "Like a... date or?"

"I... don't know," Her eyes search your face. It's confusing. Her brow is knitted together, trying to understand. "I get it if you don't want to. I think I like you- I know I like you and you're right. It's... scary but I shouldn't push you away because of it."

"Maybe we can like figure it out together?" Van suggests. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Like you've given her the world, but in reality, you have barely moved an inch. You're still confused. "If you want to?"

"You're not worried?"

Van shrugs. "I'm willing to try. It's worth it to me. You're worth it."

You swallow hard. Mouth running dry. Your whole body fills with indescribable warmth. "We can figure it out... together," you repeat her words back to her. An attempt to reassure yourself more than here, but it has that effect anyway.

"Together," Van confirms.

"We should... get to homeroom before we get marked absent." You offer a smile. Small but genuine, which she returns. You go to walk away, when Van takes your hand in hers. You freeze. Heart beating that little bit louder.

"Is this okay?" Van queries. You take a deep breath, glancing around the hallway. Nobody was paying either of you any attention. Nobody cared. And in that moment of realisation that you're not the centre of attention, you're just a little less scared.

"Yeah. Yes, it is." You express warmly. A gentle squeeze of her hand as she leads the way down the hallway.

[lynxgriffin]

Umm, unfortunately I feel like my answers to most of these might be kinda mean, and I feel bad about that even if it's my honest thoughts, so I'm going to put them under a cut. Sorry guys. :[

You're not the only one to have this idea; I've seen it out and about quite a bit. And I'm sorry, but to be completely honest, I really dislike it (even moreso than Kris Knight), and I'm honestly kind of baffled that it's as popular as it is. We're supposed to be building this tension of the primary antagonist in the game...their actions could destroy the world! What are their motives? Can they be stopped?? And then just turning around and going "actually a central antagonist doesn't exist and it's just a bunch of random people who all happen to be doing the same actions for different reasons" just completely kills any tension the idea has. It feels like it just drastically lowers the stakes here. Who made the first two fountains? Well, if they're not making more and their actions aren't going to develop further, why would it matter? Again, plenty of people out there seem to be really into this idea! I am just definitely not one of them.

It's bad. Maybe it's just a joke one, but if so, the joke's going over my head. Honestly I'm of a mind that (at least in the normal route), no one is going to die, or has been dead the whole time. I'm even skeptical of Rudy dying!

Whoof. I definitely don't want to police what other people are doing in the fandom to have fun, because having fun is what it's all about! But just for myself, I had to stop watching his videos, because I reached a breaking point of "oh this guy does NOT know what he's talking about and I'm not enjoying these any more." It's really kind of a shame, because I think he's really good at gathering lots of bits of evidence that might be forgotten and extrapolating from it! But his understanding of DR's characterization and themes is, in contrast, so off-base, and the staunch belief that Deltarune is just Undertale's story told over again causes problems for all of his over-arching theories. The craziest thing is, one of his biggest ones, Oberon Smog...I actually agree with!!! I think there's good evidence that Gerson Knight is possible and would fit both logistically and thematically! But one of the reasons why I went ahead and made Mightier Than The Sword was because I wanted to present some kind of alternative take on Gerson Knight from Oberon Smog. The concept as he presents it gets tripped up, again, on mischaracterization, and the assumption that this is just Undertale again. But it could work!! Anyways...yeah I guess my thoughts are complicated.

Uhhh...is it that popular?? I would not really have expected that, since it is a crack theory! The evidence for it is scant, I just thought it would be a neat story beat! I don't know if I've really heard folks talk about it much outside of the comics I did for it, but maybe I'm not paying close enough attention.

[chaotic-fandom-writer]

Hewwo :) I seen you had some stuff for Adam and I was wondering if you could do a oneshot with a human! reader where Adam wants to get sexual with the reader but she has sexual trauma and is scared to tell him??

Hazbin Hotel: Adam Oneshot

Requested by @totaltangerinewife Thank you for your request!

Warnings: Heavy cursing, HEAVY themes of past sexual trauma, ADULT THEMES, 18+

🚫MINORS DNI🚫❗❗18+❗ADULT CONTENT ❗❗

You and Adam had what seemed like a fairytale romance. He was kind, sweet, and oh so handsome. Maybe he was a bit rough around the edges, maybe people didn't like him very much, but he never showed that gruff demeanor with you, you only received princess treatment.

However, there was one thing that plagued your mind - the day that he wanted to go further, get more.. intimate. You just weren't sure if you were ready for that..

See, the thing is, there was some stuff from your past that you had yet to tell Adam about. Dark things, things that still had you traumatized, even to this day.

How could you possibly bring this up to Adam? It just seemed.. embarrassing, almost. To describe to him the way that you were.. taken advantage of, the things that still scare you, still haunt you.

Well, little did you know, that day had come. Adam enters the room, disrupting your thoughts. He takes a seat on the bed next to you.

"Hey baby!" He says with a big grin, leaning in to plant a kiss on your cheek. You giggle, your cheeks flushing red.

"Hello, darling. What are you doing?" You giggle again as he's snaked his arms around your waist.

He begins to kiss softly on your neck, nibbling here and there.

"Nothing.. just wanting my girl." He whispers against your throat, before licking a long stripe up the side.

You shudder from the feeling, goosebumps raising on your arms.

You chuckle nervously. "Oh?.. well, here I am!"

He chuckles. "Indeed.. here you are."

You feel the hand around your waist slowly start to make it's way up your abdomen, resting comfortably on your chest. He gives your breast a gentle squeeze, earning a yelp from you.

Suddenly, you pull back, feeling your heart beating rapidly. Your breath is quickened, and you clutch your chest in an attempt to relax yourself.

Adam jumps back immediately, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"What's wrong babe? Did I hurt you somehow?" He asks, clearly worried for you.

You turn away, trying to take a moment to compose yourself.

"N-No.. I just.." You almost can't speak, you can hear the words clearly in your mind, but as they exit your mouth, all that comes out is stuttering gibberish.

Adam leans forward, grabbing your chin gently, turning you to face him. He looks incredibly worried, touching you like you're made of glass - one wrong move, and you could shatter.

"(Y/N), what's wrong? Please, tell me. Did I do something?" He asks, his voice nearly cracking.

"No! No, Adam, that's not it, it's not you.." You trail off uncertainly.

"Please, what, then?" Adam nearly begs. You take a deep breath.

"There's something I haven't told you.. from my past." He doesn't reply, simply listens, waiting for you to explain.

"I.. I was.. assaulted. A while before I met you, and.. it still haunts me, even to this day. It's still hard to move past, hard for me to be able to have se-" You cut yourself off, your words becoming choked with sobs.

Adam quickly pulls you into his arms. "Oh, oh my GOD. I'm so fucking sorry, (Y/N), I had no idea! Why wouldn't you tell me something like this sooner?" He says, rocking you gently. You feel the tears begin to spill over onto his chest.

"How could I? That's so.. so embarass-"

Adam cuts you off, pushing you back by your shoulders so he can look you in the eye. "Embarrassing?! Fuck no, no it's not! That's traumatizing, dehumanizing, but embarrassing? Absolutely not, and don't you ever say that again.

You can't control what happened to you. It was fucked up, and evil. Shit like this is why Hell even exists. Please don't feel that way, especially about yourself. What happened to you is unforgiveable - and in no way your fault.

Do you hear me, (Y/N)? It wasn't your fault."

At these words, you can't control it anymore - you begin to sob uncontrollably. Your chest heaves, your body shudders. The sound of your choked sobs fill the room.

All Adam does is hold you in his lap, swaying you back and forth gently.

"Shhh.. shh. It's okay, my love. I'm here. I will protect you."

He pulls back, planting a gentle kiss on your lips, wiping your tears with his thumb.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you ever again."

--

I hope you enjoyed! ❤️

[wackywatchdotcom]

I wonder if Ragatha and Jax are the doomed individuals then based on the theme song. Kaufmo is already gone, and I feel like they might also be on the way out. (Or maybe in some other way, Zooble & gangle & Kinger are the ones who are at least Managing in the circus while Ragatha and Jax seem to be in their own relative self destructive spirals about it?)

ive considered this!!!! i need to think on it....

i do honestly think that its gonna be REALLY hard to predict who abstracts so early in the show (i mean ep 4 sounds far in in relation to 9 eps but i think in terms of any hints for things it can be challenging before reaching the true halfway point- i feel like at least. esp since any possible foreshadowing could also be representing smth other than abstraction!!! its unclear...) but that SAID it does fascinate me and makes me a little concerned for those two HAHA. im assuming its representative of smth else if anything, but i dont think its something we have the information to deduce yet..... though jax and ragatha have been among the most closely associated with something AWFUL happening to them, which Doesnt Bode Well .....

ragatha and jax are definitely the characters who seem most like theyved succumbed to the circus. kinger too, but he has in a both healthy AND unhealthy way (he walks a beautifully thin line i think)- jax and ragatha have both allowed themselves to be a part of the circus, and it calls to mind how gooseworx has described abstraction. that "you get stripped of every bit of individuality you have, and become something completely unrecognizable." and really, that description can be painfully easily applied to jax and ragatha. combined w the theme song thing its a bit concerning...

its notable though that kinger and gangle are both, on paper, the most likely to abstract. kinger is easily scared, has been here a long time, lost his wife, etc. gangle is implied to have almost abstracted in ep 4 (i mean its not confirmed but i feel like the audio cues and visuals are there for a reason- esp since a less abstraction based depiction of self destruction is shown right after, and what would be the point of including both if they were both supposed to convey 'gangle is unhappy and unhealthy?' it would make the sequence w gangle and pomni pointless i feel. and sidenote that it implies that abstraction is not smth the person experiencing it is likely to notice. that theres likely no visual cues for when its abt to happen other than the person seeming unwell)

but that said, jax and ragatha are both unwell in a more progressive way that spirals over a long period of time. where kinger and gangle seem more like theyre just already operating at a lower point than others, jax and ragatha 'have it together' except they obviously dont and have clearly been on some downward spiral for a long, long time. zooble doesnt have the same 'looks like theyd lose it at any moment' but they dont seem to have the same history of self destructiveness by their own coping mechanisms that those two have. it makes jax and ragatha seem more like, if they go further into this spiral, its much, much harder to get them out- putting them at arguably greater risk. gangle and kinger may be more vulnerable on paper, but i think they have an adaptability to emotions that jax and ragatha maybe dont quite have? (for lack of a better description- i could be wording that incorrectly) they havent dug themselves into pits they cant get out of like jax and ragatha have, so to speak- possibly because jax and ragatha HAVE succumbed to the circus so hard

and like i mean maybe im reading too much into things, but i also feel like in writing something that is INCREDIBLY important is what the audience sees first. and what the audience sees first is caines intro, bubble (who i feel like is meant to be less of his own character and mroe a symbolic extension of caine and his building arc and character), and the theme song. which makes me feel like theres a lot more going on in it than it seems- but its hard to fully determine what means what without more context... gangle being the VERY first cast member addressed in the show just feels very interesting then... but maybe her name just worked best to go first lyric wise HAHA

maybe its also worth mentioning that the character im most scared for is zooble though... and its a silly reason. but i feel like of all the Possible Foreshadowing there is, theirs is the most subtle but concerning to Me. and its this:

they keep getting tossed into pits, one of which looking the same as the one used for the cellar. (and their opting out of adventures feels akin to social withdrawal- and closest to how the audience was first clued into kaufmos abstraction. that he didnt show up. buuuut its mostly the holes thing. worth noting that it IS gangle and kinger who are grouped with them and later end up being assigned to go help them)

(if im wrong ill be thrilled and im not like, SUPER concerned. its not a very detailed theory. but im concerned Enough)

[rhilumi]

Something about the panel where Bruce holds tim after jack died is so. Insane to me.

Identity Crisis #6

Tim who has many a time spoken about how he fears losing himself, becoming fully Wayne instead of Drake sat by his father's still warm body surrounded by blood. He's holding onto the robin suit. Not on purpose, not because it's a comfort. But because it's all that he has left. This is the last step. "Batman and Robin / Orphans."

He's being embraced by Batman, not Bruce, there's no eyes underneath the cowl, no soul behind the suit. The darkness of the Bat is surrounding him. He's drowning in it.

Tim doesn't just look devastated he looks afraid. His largest fear has come true.

I'm also insane about the fact this theme has been present since Bruce first accepted him as robin. Becoming a bat is that boy's demise. He's a tragic character because for the rest of the batfam, knowing Bruce overall improved them for the better. For him the Bat is nothing but a bad omen.

Detective Comics (1937) #621. -- Rite of Passage, Trial by Fire

[greyedian]

MAN I'm seriously so sad about season 2. Bc I wish act 2 had the same emotional impact on me as it appears to have on so many others. But rn I'm just somewhere between unable to care and actively annoyed by some of those writing decisions. Seriously the more I think about it the less I like it.

[broken-clover]

It's eternally a little funny whenever I see someone say something along the lines of 'everyone in Strive is so happy now! Everyone's stories are getting resolved! It'll be hard to make a new game when everyone's retired and living peacefully and resolved their problems' and then there's a haunted semi-sentient mecha corpse in the corner constantly screaming from being trapped in limbo

[rubiatinctorum]

when you see discourse about the true meaning of an element in a text and what that implies concretely for the morality or affect of the characters and work and discussions of such

[moe-broey]

YOUR ASS HURT. DONE.

This is my island, Starfall!!!!! I had vague but elaborate lore for it and the residents, some sort of mystical enchanted forest town that's home to some strange guys (a mermaid on land, a vampire, an alien..... two random old OCs of mine LMFAOOO and MEEEEEE 💖)

These are only snippets of Starfall, so I recommend visiting if you're interested! Plus I. Worked hard on it and am still proud of some of my builds 🫣 It was never Finished finished, but also it's at a point where I don't wanna do anything else but nuke it 😅

Dream Address is DA-9640-4620-8466 like it says on the tin!!! 🤗

[thepoetrytheorist]

If you love Disney, its parks, its media, and its merch, listen up.

So I work for Disneyland, and we are talking about striking very soon. So soon, in fact, that we've been hosting rallies just outside of the parks. Yesterday was the 69th birthday of Disneyland Anaheim... it was also a monumental rally.

I haven't seen anyone on tumblr talking about the impending strikes against Disney. Not even going through the Disney tags or searching tumblr for "Disneyland Strike."

Let's talk about why we're striking:

Cost of living in the immediate SoCal region is nearly 2x as much as we are getting paid.

Cast members that have worked for the company for long periods of time are still paid as mucha s new hires.

Disney has showed up to union negotiations with insulting offers, including at 25 cent raise. Most cast members make $19.90

Disney rarely schedules you. In some areas and departments, you are fighting with your fellow cast members for hours. I have heard of cast members who are only scheduled for 1 4-hour shift per week. Many of those cast members have upwards of an hour commute to and from work.

Disney Admin has told attractions castmembers [so: rides, rollercoasters, and anything fun you get to do and see at the parks] that we are losing them money, which is why they refuse to schedule us and pay us. In the words of my partner, who also works at the parks, Disney without attractions is an over glorified mall and a food court. Disney needs us, and they know it, but they do not respect us.

Disney has an unfair attendance policy. It can be very difficult to get a needed day off, even when it has been requested weeks or months in advance. When you do take a day off [with-out accrued sick or vacation time] it counts against you. You can have 3 a month, 6 in 90 days, 9 in 180 days, or 12 in a year. How do you accrue sick/vacation? Hours worked, which can be impossible with the scheduling practices mentioned above. (Most cast members trade shifts among themselves to get around this.)

Cast members feel unsafe and unsupported in the parks. Many cast members have felt threatened by entitled guests upset that they are following policy. Disney Leads and Managers have to say yes to these guests and make things happen, though. [Which only makes this behavior worse and more dangerous for cast members who are only doing their job.]

Cast members also report feeling threatened, or even being literally threatened, by management in the parks. Especially cast members who have a second job. Especially cast members who know their rights.

Further, cast members work in hazardous conditions with pay that does not reflect that. Many cast members report losses of hearing, sore throats, and severe back and shoulder pain. Cast members are also exposed to infectious diseases at a much higher rate.

https://www.sfgate.com/disneyland/article/union-button-contract-dispute-19515296.php?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2u5o_mvU3i6jpIyHxBUZpEzD2GRSKFf5Pem4uRXqa6vKWDgZuffvINd1g_aem_AA1L0fI1phugJIluYMcDSw

[specsthesecond]

Being a waitress/bottle girl at a club that caters to monsters.

While serving a table of orcs their drinks you hear whistling from behind you and turn towards the table of werewolves calling you over,

"C'mere Doll, why don't you spend some time with us? It'd be better than looking at those ugly green faces."

The rest of the table barks out laughter and all you do is look back at the table of orcs to gauge their reactions, just incase you have to call the bouncer to stop another brawl.

"Aw yeah? Cus your slobbering snout's much more attractive, ain't it?"

One orc yells and the others hurl their chosen insults across the table as well. The werewolves grumble and snarl insults back and you just stand in the middle of this, trying to think of an escape.

"Maybe she ain't at your table for a reason!"

One of the orcs claims boldly and all the other orcs voice their agreement while the wolves clearly disagree.

"Why don't we let the lady decide." A wolf with greying fur suggests with a smirk and both tables seem to agree on this being just a wonderful idea.

"Well love? Who's better then? Us or the mutts?"

"Aye! The real question is who can treat her better, isn't that right, Doll?"

The attention of the two tables are now on you, waiting for your answer with baited breaths and half hard cocks probably.

"....I prefer minotaurs."

This deadpan response takes a few seconds to sink in before a chorus of disagreements and further arguing commences, but you're already making your way back towards the bar, you're sure they don't mind watching your tiny skirt bounce as you walk away.

That answer wasn't random, it's actually been the only thing you could think of all day. Your Minotaur coworkers cock reaching deep into your stomach while he pounds you into next week. That might be why so many customers have been extra forward with you today, maybe they can smell the need on you.

You finally make it back to the bar, getting ready to end your shift and finally get some relief.

"You causing trouble?"

You whip around to meet just the monster you were so desperate to see. He stands at the edge of the bar in his bouncer uniform, his sleeves hug his biceps very nicely and you nearly purr imagining what that arm would feel like around your throat, while he pounds you from behind. He gazes down at you with a knowing look.

"Me? Oh, I would never."

You look up at him and play with the collar of your shirt, successfully drawing his eyes to the generous amount of cleavage your uniform provides.

He huffs in amusement.

"They don't seem to think so."

He tilts his head and massive horns towards the two tables you just left where the occupants are all peering over one another to see the interaction between you and the bovine beast in front of you.

You scoff, take his arm and turn him around so that he's only focusing on you.

"I'm off. You're off in 15...maybe you could come by my place again....or something?"

You nervously bite your lip and he doesn't know why you're getting nervous.

You weren't nervous when you sent him that video of your stuffed cunt clenching around the Minotaur themed dildo you've had since before you were seeing eachother. You definitely weren't nervous when you sent him another video 6 hours ago of you stuffing said dildo into your perfect pussy in the employee bathrooms before slipping your tiny panties on over it, keeping the silicone deep in your cunt.

He pulls out his keys and leans down closer to you,

"Be ready when I get to the car."

You nearly squeal in excitement as you grab the keys and reach up to kiss his cheek. As you skip out the door to his car he looks back at the two tables just to revel a little in the disappointed grumbles and huffs emitting from the two groups as they go back to their drinks.

𓄀

[just-a-space-duck]

So About That Armor…

I regret to inform myself that I like it.

If you haven't seen it:

I'll give you time to take it in. This is a static, (hopefully) eternal text post, so take your time.

Ok so before I go further, you are allowed to have any and all opinions about the armor. Do not listen to me; I am a stranger on the internet who attaches himself to fictional murder cyborgs and treats them like kitty cats.

So first of all, it's weird. And I like it for that. Even if I found it to be the most infuriating piece of costume design ever, I still wouldn't be able to help but respect it for how strange it is.

When it comes to fanworks, adaptations, new installments in a franchise, or even just different takes on the same trope, I love it when creators take things in an unconventional or even seemingly unrelated direction that upon closer inspection still relates to the base or original concept. To get what I mean, think goth interpretations of Rarity or Cosmopoliturtle's Pokémon redesigns. The TV series armor sits alongside these for me, because this was the thought process of the designer, Tommy Arnold:

First of all, it is so funny that The Company would just brand their armor and by extension their secunits, their combat/security products, like Louis Vuitton bags. Also, the logo of The Company strikes a nice balance between being simple enough to be easily reproducible and recognizable, but complex enough to read as a logo and not just a simple shape or pattern. Plus, The Company logo being mostly just concentric Cs, clever there.

But there's also some worldbuilding and character expression in this design.

The Corporation Rim is just capitalism but more. A company slathering everything and everyone they create and own in mountains of logos, even when it's potentially impractical, showcases just how extensive corporatism is in this setting. Additionally, this design could be something of a status marker. Secunits are high end additions and/or alternatives to other security measures. Much like how logos on purses, tennis shoes, and cars serve to tell observers, "I have the fancy, expensive version of [insert category of thing here] ergo I am a very wealthy/powerful/cool person", a secunit covered in corporate logos communicates the high status and access of the client(s).

Now what was one of the first things we learned about Murderbot in the books? It disabled its governor module, the thing preventing it from defying orders and having any level of freedom, but instead of doing what it could to leave The Company, Murderbot just stayed with it and kept doing its intended function. For over four years. What else do we learn in the first book? That it feels most comfortable in the armor because this prevents humans from seeing its face, from treating it more like a person or human rather than a tool or bot. This makes the armor being composed of the logo of the group that both created and hurt Murderbot very symbolic.

Murderbot has internalized the message that it is a dangerous weapon and not a person deserving of care to the point that, at least at the beginning of the series, it shies away from anything that insists that it deserves the same kindness that humans do. It's only ever been taught what the company built it to do, so it doesn't know what to do next once it's obtained some semblance of freedom for itself by disabling its mental shock collar and so keeps doing what it's always done, even though it very much would rather not be in such a situation. Even by the most recent book, System Collapse, Murderbot is still wrestling with the idea that it matters beyond how it can assist others. Murderbot finding comfort hiding behind the very thing that will not let you forget the company that enslaves it, is just juicy theming.

Also, the helmet looking so weird works well with how many humans don't know what secunits look like, with some not even thinking they have human-like faces. If you had no context for this image, you might very well assume this is a fully robot character or even a statue.

I have my own gripes and worries and hopes concerning the upcoming show, but I just couldn’t get this fun bit of character design analysis out of my head. Shouldn’t have watched so much TB Skyen.

[girl-lostconnection]

A little addition to this. Shout out to @sundaescreamcheese because they’ve guessed right.

Warnings: Banished knight!Ghost x Witch!Reader x Bloodhound knight Soap, Elden Ring AU, Johnny is a bit of a dog, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, smut at the end, biting

“Hail, witch”, gruff low voice would have startled you if your wards didn’t tense the moment he stepped onto your territory.

You don’t know what he’s doing here, this deep in the woods, this far from his usual duties and this far from Stormveil Castle.

But you aren’t going to be rude to the man in full armour, with a sword taller than you.

If whatever he seeks can be found without much hassle and he could get off your territory that would be great.

“Hail, knight”, you muse back, careful distance from him. Your wards won’t let him step much closer to the cottage, not unless you specifically grant him entrance and for now…for now you aren’t sure you should.

The man looks at you — someone’s skull now adoring the front of his helmet, his horse a menacing thing that huffs out cold air in agitation. Yeah, it’s no easy journey to get here.

That’s why you live here.

The man in front of you is tall and absolutely huge, more monster than a knight. Makes you wonder what happened for someone like him to become Banished.

What brought him to your doorstep.

You sigh, a little grateful that Johnny is too busy fussing over chickens in the backyard because gods know he can’t stand strangers. Even more than you so.

“You seek refuge or favour?”, you tilt your head to the side, eager to get rid of him faster. Johnny may not be able to run like he did before but he’s still one very good Bloodhound. You don’t have much time until he will stalk outside to see what’s going on in front of your house.

(The previous visitor that had a gall to grab your hand before leaving was hunted down by Johnny. Hunted down and brought back, the hand that gripped you resting on the first step of your porch)

Banished knight looks at you for a few very long moments but if sensing your agitation, gets off his horse — landing on his feet with grace, that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s not just big.

He’s in a very good control of his body and he’s very aware of his size.

He’s dangerous.

Your wards tense up, not letting him through when he steps forward and he freezes as if he forgot about them. Though who knows, maybe he did forget.

Knights did have tendency to feel like they are owed entrance wherever they go, perhaps this one is no different.

“I need to find another knight. Bloodhound”, his voice is low, muffled by the helmet he doesn’t take off — dark eyes boring into you, staring you down from the high of his height.

Your brows furrow at the strange request, heart thumping faster. There’s only one knight who has been around these parts of the woods.

And he’s no longer Bloodhound. You are not giving him back. You are not going to let anyone take him away and rip him off everything you and time out here have been slowly restoring.

“I can’t help you”, you voice sharp, unusually so and Banished knight tilts his whole body forward as if trying to press himself through the wards, his fingers curling and uncurling — leather of his glove creaking.

“I don’t need much, witch. Just tell me where he went. And I will leave”, Banished presses further, shoulders tense and voice curling around your throat like a grip.

He takes a breathe before stepping back, raising his hands in half-hearted placating gesture.

“I mean no harm. I can pay if you need. Just tell me if you saw him”, he sounds almost gentle, head tilting down so he can look in your eyes without you having to crane your neck at him. “I’m…a friend”, he adds reluctantly, like he needs to physically tear the words out of himself.

Your brows furrow further and coincidentally Johnny couldn’t find a moment to show up better than now, sound of his walking uneven — still a limp to his step.

He rolls out of the house, picture of faux nonchalance, despite the sharp edge to his eyes.

“Hen, you alright? I heard-“, words die on his tongue when he sees the Banished knight, eyes widening. There is a strange kind of hunger in his gaze.

You don’t like it.

Because Banished knight sees Johnny and almost lunges himself in his direction, the only thing stopping him are the tethers of your wards, curling around his throat, forcing him back, forcing him out.

Air smells like ozone, air cracks with pressure, your fingers quickly warming up with a spell because you were right.

This man is dangerous. He saw Johnny.

You can’t let him leave now. He will need to disappear.

But Johnny grips your shoulders and shakes his head, eyes mad and desperate, an anguish to his face that you don’t quite understand.

“Nae, hen. It’s Simon. Don’t”, he breathes out, fingers digging into your skin, eyes boring into yours.

You glance back at Banished knight and he’s sitting on his knees now, tethers forcing him down, still tightly wrapped around his throat.

He’s dangerous. You don’t know him.

But Johnny’s nose presses to your cheek, breathing shuddering and he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t pull away until you give him a slow tentative nod.

Your fingers flick, soft popping of tethers letting go audible in the air and Johnny actually lunges himself at the Banished knight, sending them both tumbling in the snow.

Knight holds onto him with such hunger something in you churns uncomfortably. What if he will take Johnny away?

Your fingers warm up with the subconscious desire to push the strange man (Simon, his name is Simon) out. Out of your territory, out of your woods, out of your life.

But Johnny looks genuinely happy to see him so you let it go, just sitting yourself down nearby. You’ll be damned if he gets injured just because you looked away for a second.

But Simon grips Johnny like he’s the lifeline and answer to his prayers. Simon’s palms slide all over Johnny’s body, stroking sides, checking for wounds or tethers (your lips practically curl in snarl when you notice. Who the fuck does he think you are?).

He pauses at Johnny’s bad knee, touch getting more careful, eyes expectant and suddenly on you.

“Old injury”, you tell him for some reason. Not like you actually have to. You don’t owe this man anything, he’s unwelcome guest in your home. “I did what I could. If I found him later, he’d probably be without leg by now. Infection practically ate him alive”

Banished knight holds your eyes for a very long moment and then melts back into Johnny, murmuring something under his breath — too far for you to hear.

Doesn’t matter. The man isn’t staying in your home. He’s dangerous.

You tell that yourself and finally go back into the house to put kettle on. It’s too cold to stay mad out in the open. He’s not staying here anyway, so there’s no need to get too riled up.

He’s not staying but Johnny still shifts his weight from one leg to another in the doorway, Simon looming over his shoulder. They both look like a pair of big, wet from snow dogs.

You look at Johnny unimpressed but he tilts his head to the side, grown out strands of hair falling over his forehead. It should be illegal to be that bloody handsome.

You sigh and gesture for them to get in.

Okay, tea never harmed anyone. You’ll let this man warm up and he’ll be on his way before the sundown.

With or without Johnny.

The thought makes bile rise in your throat but you force it down focusing on the task at hand.

You can’t keep him if he’d want to go and you won’t humiliate yourself with begging him to stay.

But Johnny, so attuned to your moods by now, so used to having you chat for both of you steps closer — hands wrapping around your waist, part of his weight leaning on you to give a break his healthy leg.

“Yer not happy”, he notes, nose pressing to your ear, huffing out air and you can’t help but relax, letting him lean on you. He’s warm, heat rolling off him in waves, seeping through the sweater you made for him. Your head tilts back on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“He’s dangerous”, you muse quietly and ignore the chuckle Simon lets out. Banished knight is now sitting in front of your fireplace, cloak taken off and hanged on the chair to dry out.

Johnny just nods, calloused fingers rubbing idle circles on your solar plexus. It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“I’m dangerous”, it’s said almost causally, his breath ghosting over your neck and you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s different”, you snap back immediately.

Simon huffs behind your back and if Johnny wasn’t leaning on you, you’d have probably thrown something in the man. He’s not going to laugh at you in your own bloody house.

“Simon’s not bad, hen”, Johnny breathes out, tone softer, teeth grazing over sweet spot behind your ear, heat dripping down to your abdomen. Bastard. He knows what he’s doing.

“And Simon is not staying here”, you grumble, pouring herbal blend in three mugs, suppressing the urge to shiver when Johnny bites your neck.

“Hen”, he starts and you already know where it leads, you head shaking quickly.

“No”, you cut him off and nudge him with a shoulder to step back so you can move. “Move, I need to give this Banished his bloody tea”

Johnny grumbles but peels himself off you, less than happy to lose the comfort and warmth your body provides. Less than happy to let you slip out of his grasp.

“He can stay in the barn”, Johnny offers and just grins when you send him a glare. His teeth itch to sink into the nape of your neck, press you into the bed, lick the fight and agitation out of you, make you soft and pliant.

“I said no”

“Hen”

“He’s dangerous”

“Hen, have mercy”

Simon watches the way you two bicker, enjoying that none of you even noticed he took the helmet off to drink the tea you placed on the table with more force than necessary, some of it trickling down the rims of the mug.

Simon huffs out a dry chuckle when Johnny tries to pull you back into his hands and you sidestep, smacking his hands away. Leaving Bloodhound almost pouting.

“Cruel”, he complains to Simon, hands crossing over his chest. But despite everything…Johnny looks good. Better than Simon remembers him.

He’s wider now, there is bulk to him that Bloodhound Knight Johnny didn’t have. His eyes are brighter.

He is talking.

Simon didn’t even know Johnny could fucking talk, thought all Bloodhounds are mute. Courtesy of the profession.

“I understand you want to sleep with your Banished in the barn today?”, the witch arches their brow at Johnny and groans when his eyes light up.

Like a bloody dog catching the whiff of blood on the hunt. Old habits die hard, evidently.

“You can stay”, Johnny announces to Simon like it’s his personal victory, like he brought his master a good game after the hunt and is waiting to get his ear scratched.

His grin so wide it’s a miracle his face doesn’t crack. Witch rolls their eyes but Simon sees the way their lips twitch.

Seems not only he has a soft spot for Johnny.

Maybe it should’ve made him feel uneasy but if anything he feels satisfied, like something finally clicked in place. Puzzle finally unlocking in his hands, showing him the reward.

Simon tilts his head to the side, scar crossing his lips stretching when he smiles down at you.

Yeah, he’s staying.

A day turns into a couple days and then into two whole weeks because of the blizzard, Simon pushing further and further.

Eyes heavy and dark when he’d catch a glimpse of your throat or Johnny’s bites — purple bruises on your neck, soft creaking of the bed upstairs whenever it happened.

Simon doesn’t tell you that he moved from barn to the cot in the kitchen and you pretend that you don’t know he’s been sleeping there for the last week.

Simon pretends in return that he doesn’t strain his ears, catching the smallest sounds Johnny tears out of you. That he doesn’t lean on the cold wall of the kitchen, thighs spread wide, his eyes closed. That his hand doesn’t find its way to touch himself, stroking at almost lazy pace.

After all, Johnny is not starving Simon of little love here and there, eyes electric blue, mouth slick on the inner side of Simon’s thighs — your taste still on his lips.

Simon worms himself into your life and starts moving bloody furniture so he can position himself more comfortably, clicking his tongue when you hiss at him — tilting his head at you the same way a heavyweight horse would at the farm’s cat.

His fingers catch your jaw when you grumble that he rearranges your kitchen again, his lips pressing to yours.

You take a step back just to feel Johnny’s warm chest pressing into you, breathing heavier than usually, hands wrapping around you.

Simon angles your face so he can slip his tongue in your mouth, groaning appreciatively when you let him in. When you tilt your head up, allowing his fingers to curl over your neck.

Here we go. Finally.

Simon licks your lower lip, finally pulling away and reaches for Johnny just to give him a kiss just as wet, now grinning like a well-fed creature. Satisfaction dripping out his every pore.

Johnny nuzzles into your hair, breathing out a low “think Simon can sleep with us now, hen?” and you just nod. Your legs jelly that don’t hold you properly, head stuffed with cotton, skin tingling from the heat of their stares.

That’s…an unexpected turn. You were ready for Simon to leave. You were ready for Johnny to leave with him.

But this…this is a surprise.

Simon presses a short kiss to your forehead and walks away to feed the livestock. There’s a new spring to his step, as if something just depressurised his spine, letting him grow a few inches up.

The issue arises only when it’s time to actually sleep because Johnny is insatiable and he refuses to move anywhere from between your thighs, not reacting to anything.

Especially not to Simon walking in.

You feel hot, Johnny’s tongue sending white hot sparkles down your spine, your eyes meeting Simon’s whose pupils blow wide and god, he’s more monster than a knight.

He’s the solide presence when he crawl in bed to pull you into his lap, big palms holding you open for Johnny, fingers sinking in the meat of your thighs.

“Eager today, aren’t we, sweet’eart?”, Simon sucks his own mark in your skin, teeth grazing your throat, his grip on your thighs getting stronger when you make the prettiest needy sound.

Music for his ears.

“It’s okay. Gonna take good care of ya. Gonna take care of both of you”, he practically purrs, sliding his fingers down your body to find the fluttering hole, dipping in it just to marvel at your body swallowing his first knuckle.

Johnny whines, his tongue circling lower, curling around Simon’s fingers, making you choke on your own breathing because too much-too hot-too wet.

Simon presses a kiss to your jaw, grin wicked and dark, stubble on his cheek scratching your skin.

“Be good, luv”, he murmurs, eyes heavy and hungry when Johnny sucks his fingers in, practically gagging on thick digits. “Open up for us”

Johnny bites on the fingers in his mouth before pulling away, dropping back down between your legs, sinking his teeth in the meat of your thigh.

Marking.

Simon smiles wider and adds a second finger, pushing in deeper, cooing in your neck when your hips buckle.

There’s no rush, love. They aren’t going anywhere.

After all, you already let them in. They might as well make themselves at home.

Johnny‘s tongue traces the bite mark on your thigh, his eyes fixed on another one he left on Simon’s knuckles that are currently sinking inside of you. Wet squelching sound sending a heatwave through Johnny’s whole body.

So welcoming to them. So sweet, hen. It would be their pleasure.

[baepsays]

I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER TWO: Lady Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, NSFW, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, eventually both sided pining, so much yearning, slow burn, in a sort of eccentric way ngl, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, angst, some fluff, eventually fully, Mr. wife guy (non derogatory), condescending Gojo, this is quite an angsty chapter, lots of unhealed trauma, childhood abuse, physical abuse, mention of food, throwing up, riddled with insecurity, mention of death, blood, he is an idiot.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt. honestly i do not think this is as sad as i am making it to be, lol it could be worse. and maybe it will get worse idk? anyway hope you have fun reading <3

word count: 8.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

People usually have a lot of expectations about the first day after their wedding. Things like sleeping in, making breakfast together, and having sex. Or go on a honeymoon, where you have more sex, to somewhere more scenic. 

Unfortunately this was not a very usual marriage that you have stumbled upon. Being the lady of the Gojo clan was huge in and of itself, but when you are married to Gojo Satoru on top of that, the living enigma—it is hard to say if you can exist in the shadows anymore.

It was daunting, to say the least, being the center of everyone’s scrutiny and attention. Entirety of thirty six hours have gone by, with you becoming the new lady Gojo, standing beside Satoru, and trying not to get eclipsed by him. Which is a flawed expression of words when there stood the same amount of distance between you two, as the sun and the moon—you have spent some easier thirty six days in your life compared to these last thirty six hours.

Mere thirty six hours, and you have somehow driven your husband further away from you than the preexisting light years of difference between you two.

All you did was, do as you were told. And yet here you were. Somehow things just do not work out for you even when you do as instructed. Neither do they work out when you try to go against the grain.

There has always been a misfit piece of puzzle handed to you, and when you try to forcibly jam it in, everyone seems to get more mad at you. But what can you do with the hand of cards you were dealt with? You play them. But when those cards do not seem to win you anything, how late are you to back away from these games?

What are you to do when your husband calls you wrong for trying to live up to the expectations of the society, your gender, and your respective families? If only you truly knew the answers to all these questions, which are far bigger in the grand scheme of things, than your head could comprehend.

And now it is a lifetime of fumbling around, until you are yet again able to become translucent enough to be ignored for the rest of time. 

You predict that your penchant for wanderlust into the pits of anxiety at this huge table, expanding along with the stretch of the entire room, would be a common occurring theme. Especially with the lack of a husband opposite you on the dining table, and an absence of appetite for the array of delicious food in front of you. Far too much for you to finish by yourself, and far too precious to disappoint the chef; who came up to you and introduced himself to you with the sweetest most welcoming smile that you have been offered by someone in a while. 

“I hope you enjoy everything Gojo-san, Gojo-sama specially requested everything to be made to your liking. ” Was all he said before he disappeared back into the kitchen. 

So you did your best. To finish as much as you could, at the very least, to try a bite out of everything chef Suzuki prepared, especially for you, apparently with your husband’s special request.

Even though he, himself, was not available to eat a proper meal with you under his roof. He made sure the food was catered to your preference, he most likely got the intel from your mother or someone else, because there was barely anything you could swallow down your throat without almost regurgitating it. 

You have spent your life in the confines of your father’s estate trying to mold into a perfectly eligible lady for a clan head to wed off. And that required a very specific diet and taste. Which unfortunately you never really became fond of, nor did you get accustomed to. You distinctly remember how as a child when you threw a tantrum at the dining table, for not wanting to eat the same soup you were chugging down currently, you were left to starve the entire night instead.

The lashes of thin bamboo leaving red marks all over your arms, were still fresh in your memories. And when the sweet grandma who did your laundry, and her grandson, sneaked in some packaged chips for you—you remember how hard you cried for two days and fell ill, not because of the lashes you got as punishment, but because your one and only childhood friend, and his grandmother, the elderly lady who actually treated you like a child, were dismissed and driven out of your clan's estate without a single thought. 

You do not want to repeat those mistakes again. One wrong move by you could have someone pay for it with their entire livelihood. Who knows if Gojo Satoru will even spare the chef his life. You have heard how much of a cruel man he is behind his suave facade, and you did not want to unmask that.

But how sure were you that the mask was not already being chipped away at? After the events of last night and this morning, you were not sure about your position in this game, what move to make next. Everything you know about the rules; the rights and wrongs, were all backfiring. 

So the wisest thing to do here, is to sit pretty and do as you are told.

The first seven days after the wedding were monotonous to say the least, and somber to say the most. The tour of the estate took about almost three days, and even then you could only explore the entirety of the right wing’s ground floor and some parts in the center, leaving behind at least more than sixty percent of the property unexplored. And you were left too tired and too overwhelmed to finish the rest of it. So you simply told the ladies appointed to show you around, that,

‘I have a lifetime to familiarize myself with the entirety of it.’

Sure the nervous chuckle you gave them before turning on your feet and heading towards the opposite direction, seemed innocent and endearing enough for them to spread the word—that how happy their madame is to be here! 

But the truth couldn't be further from that. 

To simply put it, it was too frightening. And it felt like you were crossing some sort of imaginary boundary. In these last three days, you've been confined to the right side, and some partial space in the center of the building. And it felt like that's all you've been permitted access to, because that's how it has always been. In fact this was more than what you've been brought up with. Sure, your parental home isn't as vast and huge as your husband's, but even then it was huge in size compared to what you think most normal houses are. And you've only been able to walk through only some of the halls of the place which was meant to be your home.

For a place which you wanted to call your home, it sure never felt like it. Whenever you wandered anywhere other than the library you cherished, your own room, and the gardens, and some other sitting rooms; you were given stern punishments. Eventually the unknown nooks and crannies of your own house became not worth the stinging red lines on the palm of your hands, or the little amount of food that was served to your room.

So naturally, when Satoru carried you in through the main entrance, and walked through the halls to get to your room, you associated that selected path, and area as your newfound boundary. Even the stairs leading to the second story of the mansion was too forbidden of sorts, for you to walk up to.

So part of the reason why you are yet to tour the entire estate was this, and the other part was that you were not ready to stumble into your husband in these halls. 

Even if it's your shared property, it's not your home. It's his, it's all his. And how dare you step a foot on something of his without proper permission? You should just be thankful enough to have been given so much, and it'd just be too greedy to ask for more.

So you left your husband to himself, and left him alone with some of the center, the left wing of the mansion, and the entirety of the first floor. In exchange, you gave yourself solace in the gardens surrounding the mansion, and the woods beyond it. So you couldn't dare to step over that line.

Except, maybe, the library. 

Books have always been a lovely companion to you, when much of your own words didn't mean anything. So you appreciated all the books scattered across all the shelves in the rooms you did not hesitate to step into. But you wanted to allow yourself some audacity to look for the actual library. The thought of its sheer size and capacity to hold hundreds and thousands of centuries old books, made you want to step over that imaginary line you drew for yourself. 

But then, you also have other things to distract you from giving into your desires.

The practice of acclimating with your duties as the now lady of the estate, was much easier than receiving the never ending messages of congratulations, or fighting the urges to cross over the unspoken boundaries that you drew out yourself. It was not as burdensome as you feared it would be, but nonetheless, the duties of the wife of the Gojo Satoru, was sure not easy. 

The first few days were spent in awe of everything, even though you were not from someone’s blood lacking in any affluence; but your new residence, surname, and—the living legend of sorts—husband were scintillating to a blinding degree. And any apparent distant giggling teases of a feet sweeping honeymoon, envisioned by the ladies at your reception—was not happening, to their utter dismay.  

Yet still you have come to enjoy the mundane tasks. Waking up to an empty bed for a straight week, since your first night with your husband, is compensated for by your ladies in waiting, namely, Mia and Suki . Both of their lively fuss in the morning over dressing you up feels more rejuvenating than any cup of coffee.

It makes you want to look forward to the mornings when you go to bed waiting for Satoru, only for him to slip under the sheets after he has been reassured by the maids that you are deep in slumber. So then he could walk into your room, as discreetly as possible, and get ready to slip under the same sheets as you.

To then only stare at how your eyelashes fall on your cheeks, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the bridge of your nose, and the blemishes on your skin, until he falls asleep himself—to then wake up before you, leaving his side of the bed cold and empty, and so neatly cleaned up. That it looks untouched.

Meeting Ichiji after breakfast, to go over Satoru’s schedule, before your husband’s departure to work, feels much more inviting than having breakfast at an empty table with your husband’s absence. 

Discussing breakfast the previous night with chef Suzuki, lunch for yourself and the staff at the estate—as well as discussing what should be packed and sent for the lord of the estate’s lunch. Looking over the needs of each staff member, catering to their meal requirements etc. it was quite a hard job, when done genuinely, but it made you feel closer to each and every member of your new family. 

Understanding the accounts of the estate expenditure, making notes of days when the staff are to be paid, fulfilling their requests, corresponding with other clan members etc. surprisingly kept you busy, as you did your best to remain accurate in your calculations. Because these were to then Bypass Satoru's finals checking.

It was a matter of concern for you before, how you will be spending your time usefully, rather than just sitting idly in a pretty attire. Before, you used to spend your days teaching destitute children, until your parents deemed your career as a good pastime that went on long enough, and eventually it was just that you were to focus on your overdue duties—marriage.

And just like that, that little freedom was also snatched away even after much groveling to your parents. So you presumed as much, it was going to be absurd to even ask your husband to continue that vocation—after all if the people of your own blood can confine you within a boundary before wedding you off on your merry way, like some livestock they raised to be butchered—then expecting anything more from a husband of a week and mere convenience, was out of the question.

The hardest possible job was calling your husband during a particular time of the day, to enquire about his preference for each day's dinner. When he would be on his break, you'd call him, but not at a time when he was actually free enough to pick up his phone immediately. But just busy enough to not be actually able to pick up the phone himself.

It took you some time to perfect the right timing. It is exactly two and a half rings, before you could hang up the phone without any guilt. It was long enough that it showed, ‘oh yes she really called.’, but not long enough for your husband to actually pick up the phone and converse with you. Of course it was silly. Why would you call him if you did not even mean to speak to him?

Because that was not the purpose of the call. It was almost another formality. And how dare you ruin all the efforts he has been putting into to ignore you, for an entire week at that? Of course it was nothing enraging enough to make you do petty things, because this was not petty! You just either really wanted to respect his wishes, or that you were too scared to start another conversation with him. And maybe the answer could be an amalgamation of all the aforementioned reasons.

It seems that you would rather go to far fetched lengths than speak to your own husband directly about what he would like for the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Instead, it was easier to call Ichiji with the excuse that Satoru did not pick up, to then have him ask and relay back what should be prepared for dinner.

It was not that it was imperative for you to ask Satoru such tedious things, you were not even sure how this whole thing started. The very first day after you two were wed, and later in the morning when he walked out on you after calling you wrong for trying to abide by your wifely duties, the kitchen asked for your opinion for dinner. And after that nauseating breakfast experience, you did not have the mind to think about food, so you skipped lunch, and so did Satoru, without you at the table he simply dismissed everyone to their own vices and returned to his hiding. You wanted to respect their wishes and give them an answer, but you also did not really have anything on your mind. 

Naturally, you told them to just ask Satoru, but since apparently your husband already locked himself in his office in the very opposite end of the estate from you, and had some important people over to congratulate him, no one was brave enough to disrupt him.

But something told them it was acceptable for you to intervene.

“How- how am I supposed to ask him? I, I do not think I should.” You spoke loud enough for the staff to hear, but it was mostly for yourself to hear those words, and know your place. 

“We truly think Gojo-sama would not mind if you went in, madam. Well, if you are still so hesitant, why not just call him?” Chef Suzuki suggested for the others to nod along with him. And you did not have the heart to tell them the already sour nature of your relationship with their lord. So you sat down in the nearest sitting room, if you can even call such a massive room, just that. The Gojo estate expanded through truly acres and acres of land, so there were plenty of rooms with the most comfortable couches and chairs, and plenty more telephone to communicate with people in the other areas of the estate.

One ring. Two rings. Two and a half rings. Three rings-

“Hello.” 

Oh he picked up. And oh, his voice sounded different. Different from how he speaks with you. It sounded more authoritative. More rough, more distant. 

And here you thought only you were subjugated to his apathy and ignorance.

“Hello?” Oh right, you answer someone when they pick up the phone, right.

“Um- hello.” All sound on his end halted. Or maybe it felt like that to him. 

“I- I just, I mean- the chef wanted to ask- what would you like for dinner?” Goodness, when did you get so bad at conversing over the phone?

There was a long awkward pause after that question. You were fully expecting him to just scoff at your audacity to even think you could call him to ask such things, and hang up on you. You were expecting dinner to be cancelled altogether. And after skipping lunch, and throwing up everything you had for breakfast, you couldn't afford that.

“Please let the chef know that I'll have whatever you'd like.” His voice sounded softer than how he previously spoke, or maybe it was just that he was trying to not shout at you in front of his guests. Either way, you were grateful. That he did not prolong this call with names of illegible culinary words you could not relay back, and get deemed unsophisticated.

“Alright. Please be at the table by the time it is served.” You did not expect him to have dinner with you. But you still asked, maybe there was some pleading in your voice as well. Or maybe you just did not want to eat alone. 

“Of course, sweetheart. And I'm sorry about this morning.” 

Oh? 

Oh!

He says sorry? The head of the Gojo clan says sorry, to his wife? In front of other people of authority? You've had some wild and confusing interactions with this man since you married him not even barely twenty four hours ago, and this was probably the wildest interaction you've had with a man in your life. A man with such power at that. And you could not, or maybe you did not know how to answer him. So you did the next worst thing to stutter an ok, you hung up on him. 

Everyone around you giggled and smiled discreetly, as you scrambled away to the kitchen, offering not needed, but appreciated, help to chef Suzuki. 

And when dinner time came, you started setting up that huge table by yourself, dismissing everyone to eat their own meals. Not expecting a husband to accompany you for the meal, you busied yourself with the cutlery and fine china, when a looming figure leaned on the door frame to observe you from a far.

It seems as though Gojo Satoru has developed a weird pension for staring at his wife from afar.

And he has also developed the knack for scaring her by silently coming up to her from behind without any warning. He liked that you shriek and jump when you realize you're not just by yourself anymore. He likes to think that one day you'll jump in joy rather than surprise to see him walk in without any warning.

So you both silently sat yourselves down at the very opposite ends of the dining table, both at the head of each end, and silently ate your dinner. Which was much easier to chow down than the breakfast you had earlier. Which thankfully did not upset your stomach too bad. You did not exchange words, just silently stole glances, and when your eyes would land on his eyes, which would be already trained on you more than half of the time—you’d scurry to finish your meal before him and leave him at an empty table. 

Reap what you sow. 

Now that is how this entire calling Satoru—or Ichiji to be more exact—thing started. Everyday since then you've never failed to call him, and hung up after that almost third ring, to not allow him the chance to respond; to then ask him through Ichiji, what he'd like for dinner. For lunch, If he was at his home office, he'd eat there. And if he was not home, his lunch would be packed and delivered.

Some sorry it was. Given as a formality, and taken not seriously.

The chef, or the staff, or the ladies appointed to you, never clarified that you did not have to do this entire thing, calling him everyday to just ask about dinner. This was not part of the duties assigned to you, and the kitchen has always cycled through a set of preparation their lord preferred, and it was already an established, much easier, routine. But no one tried to object to the new everyday routine. 

Especially when Satoru himself did not mind the new routine. Sure, he'd much appreciate you asking him directly, but he'd have the short end of the bargain either way.

And everyday it was more than enough entertainment for all of them to see their madame struggle to address their master. Satoru was never truly involved in such tasks, much of the responsibilities you take care of now used to fall on poor Ichiji’s shoulders, so the change of pace was much appreciated by everyone. After all, he was too busy being the strongest weapon in jujutsu history to look after everything himself. 

So somewhere everyone, including your husband, found your insistence to note down his opinions over such trivial things, too endearing to enlighten you. Though this routine of calls have become quite complicated over the past week. And so you have developed a habit of having lunch with the chef and kitchen staff.

On rare, yet day by day more frequent occasions, like today, instead of the kitchen staff, you would be sitting opposite your husband over lunch.

It was not often you sat down in a room with Satoru without any reason, in fact you can count on one hand how many times you have done that. So waiting for lunch to be served on a comically large dining table, sitting on the very opposite end from him, was new everytime. It was awkward enough to share any meal other than the scheduled dinner with him, that too he always left much earlier than you, thankfully. 

Who knows what it was? Was it his engulfing cologne clogging your nose, disabling you from smelling the food served in front of you. Or simply the annoyingly perfect sight of him, so casually eating like it was the most natural thing to do—while you sat there, a nervous wreck. But regardless, you did not seem to have any appetite. Which was apparent enough for everyone, including Satoru to notice that across from the table.

“Is there anything on your plate that you don’t like? I can ask the chef to make you something else.” There was, as if, a genuine concern in his voice. For you, that was simply weird.

“Oh. No, I am fine. I just had a snack earlier.” The poorly told lie was not one to pass Gojo Satoru or his six eyes. But for you he was willing to make an excuse. 

“Is that so? I think I am done as well.” It was a risky tactic he was employing, trying to bait you with guilt was low even for him. 

“But you’ve barely started!?” “And you barely had any breakfast. I am more than sure if I asked anyone here what fulfilling snack you had, the answer would be underwhelming.” How would he even know what you did or not have for breakfast when he was not even there to begin with?

For a few seconds he sat there assessing if he had pissed you off again. As invigorating as it is to mildly anger you, he would not have that at the cost of your meal. To his relief without any more protest you went back to your plate to take a proper mouthful bite.

If anyone tested Satoru’s patience as you did, as well as avoided him as skillfully as you have; it would have ended up not as kindly as it has been with you. He has been trying to give you space, to let you breathe, and foster a home for yourself, in his house. Unfortunately in those attempts he has made you feel neglected and ignored instead, for someone so perceptive, he sure is clueless.

Because when he tried to give you that space, after that poorly said sorry, he thought by extension it was part of the apology. Which mistranslated to you, as some formality and ignorance. When he was merely trying to make you feel more comfortable, and holding himself back from stepping over any more land mines. 

Those said land mines are simply just his unfathomably and rapidly growing feelings for you. His concerns, and worries about your wellbeing. And just thoughts of you randomly hijacking his mind. It takes Suguru one too many times a day to nudge his head, to bring him out of some sort of trance that he goes into when you come into his mind. 

But after the first week, he has found himself to enjoy invading your space rather than trying to give you space. It made him ecstatic to hear your voice panic a little when from time to time he would pick up your routinely strategic calls instead of missing them. He does think, even you have to admit for yourself, that two and a half rings are far too few before hanging up on someone. Also he did not appreciate Ichiji asking him what he would like for dinner, instead of you. You made this new habit, you must be the one to ask as well. 

“What would you like for the chef to prepare tonight?” 

“Hmm?” he looked a little dumbfounded at your sudden question, was it not enough you were infiltrating his mind and now you are reading his thoughts as well? Upon acclimating with the situation, he sees his own and your empty plates. Guess he finished his meal while he was too busy thinking of, again, you. 

“I mean, what do you want for dinner?” you ask once again, in hopes of a more clear answer. But god forbid your husband ever gave you a desirable answer to your questions. 

“You.”

If someone wanted to learn how to kill someone with a single word, it should be recorded how this exchange happened. The food in your mouth choked in your throat, it had your husband sprint from his own seat to your end of the table, to pat you on the back and hand you a glass of water. After a few minutes and some water later, the food went down the pipe, but the word did not.

“Goodness, I was only joking, sweets.” 

He was in fact, not joking.

“Y-you were?” He nodded a very convincing yes, trying not to scare off his already spooked wife. 

“It was a very poor attempt at a joke. But I appreciate the effort.” You ended your sentence with a smile that subconsciously made its way to your lips. He does not remember when was the last time you smiled at him, or, for him.

And he chuckled at your honesty. He found it so refreshing and interesting. It is not that no one has ever told him how bad his jokes were, or worse when people laugh at his jokes merely outbid fear. He knows his humor was not to everyone's taste. But he liked that you did not just put him down, maybe out of your still very scared view of him, or maybe out of sympathy. But he appreciated the change of pace where his friends would just shit on him for such jokes, or when people would laugh too loud and too obviously out of fear.

But then again, he was just trying to mask truth with humor. 

Which has been a staple for him. The truth is as plain as he said it, he wants you. He wants you carnally maybe, he wants to eat you up. He wants you to chew him up like a gum and spit him out at your convenience. 

But more than that, Satoru thinks he also wants you beyond bodily, physical needs. He does not think he even thought about touching you since your first meeting, until he actually touched your skin that night. He saw you in that room, sitting behind that cedar wood table, looking smaller than everyone in that room, despite your status. And he thought—’Great. A meek little mouse instead of a bride.’

But when you actually answered his teasing, and honestly, patronizing question instead of timidly bowing your head in respect, like he expected you to—he saw a dwindling spark in your eyes in that moment, instead of fear and vast pit of emptiness, that he first saw in them when he opened those doors.

And he knew even if there was someone more capable to stand beside him, maybe he would rather stand with you. 

He cannot still exactly pinpoint what it is that he craved from you, or if it's just that he simply craves you, but he wants more. He wants more of you, more from you. He wants you just simply to exist around him. Your skin sent waves of heat through his skin when he touched it, it was burning hot compared to his own cold body, you felt so warm and so alive in that moment, and he simply wants more.

He does not think he loves you. Yet. At the very least. He does not think he fell in love with you just as he laid his eyes on you that day, maybe he pities you that much. Maybe it is just like adopting a frail kitten stuck in a storm and giving her a shelter to thrive in. He has thought about that. But he came to the conclusion that he is done playing some hero. 

The world has had enough of Gojo Satoru—the strongest, the saviour, and the weapon.

He simply wants to exist, as he wants to exist for someone. He does not want to sacrifice anymore. For once he wants to be selfish. He wants to selfishly live on, and live with someone. And he has chosen that someone to be you. 

And if you were just some sympathy case, he doesn't think he would've felt such feelings for you. He truly needs you, more than he wants you. He needs you to want him, he needs you to look at him with the same eyes as you did when you told him off for being late, or when you looked him up through those blurry pupils while being pinned under him. 

He truly, earnestly, needs to have you. Most romantically, spiritually, and disrespectfully.

He would rather have you on this table than the spread of a very well prepared meal. But those aren't thoughts that can be easily dumped on his wife, who has schemed up tactful ways to avoid even hearing his voice through the phone.

“Just ask them to prepare what you'd like.” He smiled reassuringly before picking up your plate, as well as his, so quickly, even beating the staff and you to it—and headed straight to the kitchen sink.

To maybe drown himself in the sink after putting away the dirty plates.

It is truly magnificent, how wonderful the garden looks at night. 

How the koi pond dims down at night, and the stones and the sand become cold with the dropping temperature. The pine trees rustled and threw their needles all over the ground, as if to deter the sharp wind, to protect their garden from its sharp claws. And it seems like an entire play is happening right outside of your windows. 

But you have been more interested in what goes on behind that battle ground. In the little grove of trees, and wild flowers, where the wind seems more forgiving, and the trees feel more comforting. 

And it feels like an entirely new world beyond the bridge over the stream, that connects to the lake nestled in the trees. And you've come to find a safety net in that new world of yours. 

Particularly sitting down on one of those benches under the cherry blossom trees by the said lake, the one near the bridge seems too out of your reach, so you always opt for the one across it—the only reason why is because your husband seems to like that bench for himself.

Though it takes a bit of a walk from your room on the right side, or even the left wing of the mansion, to go over the only bridge that crosses the stream, which lies as a boundary between the tidy gardens and the unbridled woods—it was easily accessible from the center. 

After the first time you did dare to cross that bridge, you did not think of crossing it again. Maybe because you were too busy waiting for your husband to return to bed, or afraid of interrupting Satoru. Either way, you tried your best to not cross that bridge.

The second time you went there, was when you saw Satoru crossing that bridge around twelve AM, when you were just sprawled on the couch in that particular drawing room that looked over the bridge. Not ready to retire to that huge bed by yourself, you followed him there.

And all he did was sit on the bench under the cherry blossom tree, which stood by the lake around twenty five steps away from the bridge. 

You did not dare to disturb him, he looked so calm, and at peace. For once, from what you could make out from behind the huge and unkempt hydrangea bushes, his eyes did not look pained. 

It is that people often saw Gojo Satoru only with his blindfold on, but you mostly ever saw him without it. So you honestly felt like he was punishing you when he started wearing them around you more often since the first time you two had dinner together. You hadn't seen him for the entirety of that day, the entire morning you spent hunched over the toilet, and the evening you spent by replaying the conversation you had with him over the phone. 

‘I’m sorry.’

Is what he said. And you thought, maybe it was just a fluke, what happened that morning. Things will get better. Then to only be greeted with a husband across that long table, with a blindfold covering half of his face. And it felt more punishing than being told that you were wrong.

But from what you made out of what you have seen of his eyes, and those half empty smiles and smirks he threw your way—he was pained. It hurt him, to simply see you, just to be around you. The only place where he roamed around so freely without those obstructions in front of his eyes, for his own good, was his home—and now you've taken that away from him as well.

So then you started to ignore him. After waiting for him in that huge bed, that huge table, those huge rooms—you gave up easily. As easily as he threw a half assed apology for you to latch onto some false hope. You avoided walking into him. You avoided trying to stay up for him, or starving yourself, you avoided his voice, and but you still tried to get a peek of his hidden eyes.

Until you couldn't help but follow him into these woods. And so you sat there looking at him, creeping in the shadows, while the lake’s water reflected beams of light on his face, and made his blue eyes shine a different shade of blue than what it usually reflects. And the scars that dug themselves on his skin, looked deeper than what they usually did. It looked like he was freshly wounded, and the most vulnerable, he could allow himself to be.

You waited there until he got up from his seat and disappeared into the thin air. 

And that's how your own routine started. You waited until twelve AM to see if Satoru went into the woods, and waited for about an hour and a half more to check if the lights in your room were turned on from under the door. To then sneak into the woods. Some days he'd be gone, other days he'd still be under that cherry blossom tree.

And if he was not there, you'd make your own way to take a seat under the cherry blossom tree across the lake, other times you'd wait for him to disappear from behind those hydrangea bushes.

Today was one of those days.

You waited, and waited, until it seemed like he had teleported back to your bedroom, to make your way to the bench on the other side. And when you made it there, you found it out to be occupied by your husband himself. So you did what you could do, in a state of panic, you tried your best to silently turn around and walk away without rumbling the bushes or rustling the grass under your feet. To make your escape.

“You're leaving already?” His voice came out smooth and steady as ever. And you stopped in your tracks with your back to his back.

“Come here, sit down.” He simply said, without as much as even turning around from where he sat. 

And you could not help but obey. If it was possible, you'd run, run so fast and quick that even his techniques would not be able to track you down. But that is just a delusional imagination.

“I won't repeat.” He said in a heavier tone, but it didn't sound commanding, it was playful if anything. Light and breezy, but sharp. Sharp enough that if you tried to avoid it, it'd cut right through. So despite yourself, you walked over to the bench you've come to love so dearly over the course of the last few weeks, and sat down on the very edge of it. As far away from him as you possibly could sit.

But Satoru couldn't allow that.

It took him a second to lift his left hand off his lap, to lean slightly to your side and drag you towards him by your waist. The ring you put on him the day you married you, shined in the darkness with his swift movements. 

And just like that, you were sitting side by side with your husband. Your bare arm touched the soft fabric of the sleeves on his t-shirt, and the rigid muscles under them pushed into your own arm. His left arm loosened around your back, but his hand remained steady and static on your waist. And your lungs stopped working.

“Need help with breathing also?” It was only his taunting tone that gave your lungs the air needed to not pass out then and there. 

You did not answer him. You did not wish to entertain him. You've entertained him enough by thinking you could get away with trying to sneak past his eyes, when he had his sight on you from the beginning, all six of them. And yet again you felt like a defeated fool against him.

“You- come here often?” The suppressed giggle in his throat almost spilled over with each word uttered.

“Don’t ask questions that you already know the answers to.” You looked away from him, to face the lake, and the ripples in the water. It's as if even the lake was coming down with a second hand embarrassment, looking at how chaotically it's water started moving.

“Alrightttt, alright. I'll stop.” With a last few giggles, he looked away from your face, and focused his covered eyes on the same cherry blossom tree you were eyeing. The one he usually sits under, looked completely different from the other side. 

“I wish they'd bloom soon.” He spoke out loud, it sounded like a passing thought that spilled out unintentionally.

“Do you like cherry blossoms?” You turned your face towards him, his face however, did not turn.

“No. Not really.” “Really?”

“Why? Couldn't you tell that by just looking at me?” he smiled a big toothy grin. That stretched across his face, but even with the blindfold on, you could tell it didn't reach his eyes.

“No. I couldn't. Especially with that thing covering half of your face.” You sure were feeling brave today. Maybe it was the darkness of the night, or the secrecy in the woods, or just the embarrassment of how you ended up here. But words just seemed to flow out of your mouth instead of getting stuck in your throat.

He finally looked towards you, and cranked his neck to look down at your eyes, looking up at him. And he could tell that you knew. That you knew even with his blindfold between your eyes and his, whether he was lying or not. So why bother with it at all right? 

He brought his right hand up to his face, to hook his index and middle finger under his blindfold, and dragged it down on his neck.“I don't think I enjoy how quickly they wither away. But I like how they look when they fall. Unihibited and free.” 

He looked back over towards the lake. With his eyes free to shine under the moonlight. And there it was, the pain. 

“Is that why you have been avoiding me?” you blurted out with furrowed eyebrows and determined eyes.

“I've been- what? Because of the cherry blossoms?” His head whipped towards you as fast as it could without snapping his neck, his left hand tightened around you, and he looked confused.

“No. Because you look like you are in pain whenever you're around me.” Your throat was starting to tighten up.

Suddenly you felt like crying. In fact, your eyes started to well up after every passing moment from when you said your thoughts out loud. This is weird. You don't cry. You never cry. It's been years since you cried. Why are you crying? Is he going to reprimand you for that? 

Well, you can't wait here on this bench to find that out. So you haphazardly pulled yourself out of his arms, and made your way back to the mansion. 

You couldn't even make it past the fifth step, when Satoru dragged you back towards him. He was still sitting on that bench, except now you stood there between him and the cherry blossom tree, in between his legs. Once again, stuck. His chin rested itself on your stomach, as it fluttered away, his eyes looked so soft and his face looked like it wanted to be caressed. Both of his hands ended up on either side of your hips, as if his legs weren't enough to keep you captured. Even when your protests didn't match his strength.

He patiently waited like that until you stopped protesting, and just looked down at his face, still resting on your stomach, looking up at you, and you gave in trying to shove him off of you by his shoulders. Instead you just let them rest there.

“Would you like to elaborate? Pleaseee?” If you told anyone that Gojo Satoru was whining to you right now, they'd call you insane. And maybe that's what's happening to you.

“No.” You are becoming insane.

“Please.” Other than his many ancient and sought after techniques, his most lethal weapon was his pout. So how could you resist those quivering billowy lips?

“I- You just-”, you stuttered trying to answer him, thinking whether or not you could get away with some excuse or straight up lies. But of course you cannot. He truly is too dangerous.

“You just, always- you look as if you're in so much pain when you're around me.” You sighed, finally voicing it out loud, “Isn’t that why you started wearing these around the house, around me?” You passingly pulled on the blindfold hanging on his neck, to make a point.

Yet again, he was left speechless. It's as if you deploy all his devices useless. You render him to nothing. 

How was he supposed to answer you?

That yes, yes you pain him. Your presence simply has become so enthralling that it physically hurts him to hold himself back. To not cross lines he might not be able to come back from. That your claws are creeping deeper in his chest, and he is doing nothing to stop that bleeding.

He has bled to death on a battlefield twice, with no regrets on his mind. But if you were the one to sever him to death—he would gladly take it. And he'd regret that why couldn't he die at your hands an infinite amount of times more. This time around he'd be truly unhappy to leave behind the mortal realm. Because it’d mean leaving you behind with it.

He could not do that. He cannot survive, he simply cannot do anything against you. 

And that pains him. Aches him really, to be this close and yet so far away from you. 

He hates to make you feel avoided, and neglected, but what is he to do when he doesn't have any control over his thoughts and actions when he's around you? 

When your scent simply travels with the wind when you sneak into the woods trying to not alert him, his chest starts tightening up. Your clogged up loose hair in the shower runs a shiver down his spine. When you chew the food on your plate across from him, he wants to leap over the table and pull you into a kiss.

He wants to be the one to show you around the entire estate, and pull you into random little corners and halls, to kiss you helplessly, hidden away from some passing eyes. He wants to be the one to show you the library because he heard from a helper at parent's house that is where you spent most of your days, he wants to buy you all the books you have ever wanted and will ever want. 

He'd like to hold you and lull you to sleep, and dig his face in your chest, and just fall asleep listening to your heart beat—to feel your blood flow under his touch, and your skin warm up against him.

And it truly hurts him. It hurts to know you've never known a home. 

So he wants to give you that. He wants to hand you all the control over him, and have you pull all the strings from here onwards. He wants you to know that everything to his name is yours, even his name is yours, his mere existence is all yours. Because he wants to give it all up to you.

So it hurts him. It hurts to know that you don't know that.

“I'll take your silence as confirmation then.” His grasp on you easily broke off, maybe he was in a trance again, or maybe it was just the power you already held over him. But to you he was simply found guilty of the accusations that you made. And with no sense of justice, you walked away from him. 

And he did not protest. 

Because maybe it's too fast. It's too quick. To feel what he is feeling. How was he going to ever even verbalize these things to you? And not sound crazy? Let alone give you a satisfying explanation.

It has been barely a month since he has married you, barely two months since he's known you. Wouldn't it be too sudden to go from essentially neglecting you, to professing his vow of devotion to you?

But it's just that suddenly, Gojo Satoru realized then and there, how deep he is. That there were no excuses left to make. That perhaps it was too sudden, too quick, just as quick as cherry blossoms blooming and withering away in spring—maybe he is falling for you.

No. Scratch that. It's idiotic to even question this at this point. He has uninhibitedly and freely, fallen for you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

thank you to indie @indiewritesxoxo beloved for proof reading pre edit <3 wouldn't be out today otherwise

i do not think it was that bad, was it? also i am just calling him husband and blah blah by his titles a lot. which if you find annoying womp womp because i am using that as part of the narration, like she will slowly start to see him more than that. and again it is slow burn, so sit with it. i am making bro so emotionally constipated muahahahaha he is gonna be rambling about sighhhh she is so sighhhhh and then be like hmm not like i love her or anything yk. he is just like me frfr

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