#i promise this will be a better ending

[ofswordsandpens]

thinking about a world in which RR actually committed to the path he set Percy on in hoo (wherein Percy has become jaded, angry, and resentful at the gods for breaking their sworn promises, is frequently sympathizing with Luke, is getting more and more powerful, and frequently losing himself to wrath) and instead of the subsequent Percy Jackson books being about getting recommendation letters, we could have gotten a trilogy exploring a fallen hero arc for Percy (that would ultimately have a positive resolution to it.)

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

You could be nicer about it :((

[rasoyas]

first project of the new year? committing to willow creek with the help of @inspiredsimmerx's fantastic builds and a familiar broke build

[galactaknightyaoi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GALACTA KNIGHT!!!! And congratulations to Meta Knight for experiencing the Cain Instinct for the first time.

Galacta Knight, as you might've been able to tell already, is one of my favorite characters, and KSSU is one of my favorite games (the original SS was my introduction to Kirby!) so I wanted to go all out. Happy day, old man. I pray for at least 20 more years.

Oh, and don't worry! He's not upset about the cake smash, he thinks it's funny. And he got back at him.

As for the in-universe explanation for there being 16 candles in his cake?

... 500+ didn't fit in safely.

The birthday boy and his family were just a bit too flammable.

[fraugwinska]

If it’s okay, can you do Alastor x Reader where Alastor catches you relapsing after a fight with him? If it’s too much, you don’t have to do it. Just wanted some comfort for what I’m going through. You’re also a very good writer! Keep up the great work! xx

Hey anon - I hope you are doing well. I couldn't let this one sit too long in my inbox... Whatever you are going through: I hope this will help you with a bit of comfort. (I do hope I didn't misinterpret your ask...) I send you the biggest hug, my dearest! <3 TW:Self Harm,Depression,Angst - Minors DNI - 1.3k words

You were doing so well. So, so well.

Arguments with Alastor occurred from time to time, but you had done so well in not letting them become full-blown fights. His rationale and your restraint had always managed to hold the worst at bay and settle any troubles with a few deep breaths, calm words and a compromise. It was something you were hugely proud of, something you had never been able to do before, and with him - you finally seemed to manage.

But now, after a tirade of harsh words, hurtful remarks and slammed doors you are alone in your room, curled up in a bed that feels much too big and streaks of cold tears on your cheeks. Immediately after you stormed out Alastor's radio tower you regretted your tone, regretted what you said, the way you got irrationally upset and how you provoked him - just to hurt him. You were unfair, cruel even, and the worst part was you didn't mean a single thing you said in the heat of the argument. Of course, Alastor said some choice words to you too, nasty things said in cold calmness, but only in reaction to your emotionally charged onslaught. And it didn't change the fact that you had done him wrong, over a fucking triviality that spun out of control.

It doesn't change the fact that the feelings and thoughts you feared slowly return, thoughts of your inadequacy, your worthlessness, your shortcomings all coming back into your head in one big punch of guilt and insecurity. Spiraling, you feel yourself getting more and more tense, like a pressure cooker without a valve, ready to burst. Your chest hurts - no, everything hurts: Your chest, your arms, your head, your heart.

You had done so well.

But you are desperate, panicked - you've pushed the one person away that was able to ground you, the only one that could make you feel safe and strong enough to withstand this urge, this need to hurt, to release. You bury your nails in your thigh, but it is far from enough. He must hate you now, and could you blame him? No, no you couldn't, and you push yourself off the bed, almost frantic.

Release, release, release - where is it? The shame you hid when you first moved into the hotel, the valve you had used so often to momentarily drain yourself from this burdening pain, the tool you had to use because you weren't reborn in hell with the fortune of sharp talons.

The loose floorboard creaks under your erratic steps. Ah. There. Hidden under your feet, untouched for so long. You start to cry again as you kneel down, lifting the panel. You feel like a failure.

Sorry, I am so sorry, your head chants as you reach for it with trembling hands, please just let it be a little less, just a tiny, little...

"Darling..."

You freeze. His voice is quiet, tune- and toneless echoing from behind you. It sends a new shiver through your tense, quivering body. Your hand hovers over the small object but you can't move it away, eyes squeezed shut in defeat. Your brain races, thinking of anything to say but coming up empty.

"My sweetling, whatever you're looking for under there...", he continues slowly, softly, each step of his dressing shoes against the parquet resounding painfully loud in your ears. You're so mortified by him catching you in the act that the tight coil in you seems ready to snap. "...will not do you any good."

He halts when when he is next to you, kneeling down. You feel his shoulder brush your back as he lays a clawed hand on yours and gently pulls it away from the hole in the floor. Your shoulders begin to shake with ragged sobs and his tender touch on your cheek prompts you to tilt your head, face hot, and to look him into his eyes that seem both understanding and sad.

"Harming yourself will only make you hate yourself more than you regrettably already do."

You try to breathe, but fail miserably, choking on the air around you. How could you justify what you were about to do, how could you hurt him again like this, with this action, with this thoughts, after everything you both have worked for? You had done so well - Why didn't you have it more under control, like you should?

"I'm sorry, A-Alastor... I'm sorry, s-so sorry, please..."

He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, steady embrace. One hand comes up, stroking your hair in tender movements, shushing you quietly as he lets you sob into his shoulder. The longer he holds you the easier it gets to draw deep breathes, until you finally manage to draw in the air that your body lacked so much. With each rise and fall of your chest, you feel a tiny bit of the panic fade, as if his soothing static draws it out in humble waves, soft and soothing around and inside you.

"I know, darling...", Alastor murmurs, kissing the top of your head and tightening his hold, "It's all long forgiven already."

A shattered sigh escapes you. How could he do all this for you? Accept you, with all the flaws and mistakes and shortcomings? How can he forgive you with such gentle ease? And still care for you, despite and including it all, why? How?

"Please don't hate me..."

He only loosens his grip when you stop trembling, carefully taking your chin between his claws, prompting you to break the chain of self-degrading thoughts and silencing the whispers in your head as he locks his eyes on yours.

"I could never, darling, even if I tried. But you need to understand: You are fighting the most vicious and cruel enemy there is, my love.", his face is void of the smirk he often wore, the one he doesn't use to tease or ridicule, or mock, it's his serious smile. The one he wears when he's about to be blunt. "Yourself."

A sudden rush of fresh tears cloud your vision. He's right, you know he is - you have always been your own worst enemy. Never giving yourself a fighting chance, the help and care you didn't feel you deserve. It felt so tiring, hopeless, in these moments where you fell victim to your weakness and turned it all onto yourself.

"I'm... so weak."

"We all have our battles. And this happens to be one you exhausted yourself to win on your own. However...", he offers you a sweet smile, taking your hand, "...it's a battle you don't have to fight alone anymore."

He takes your face into one of his large hands - the warmth of his palm is soothing against the rawed skin of your cold cheek as you instinctively lean into it, chasing the gentleness of the touch. The smile he gives you is more serious than you've ever seen before, and he lifts his other hand, waving his fingers for a split second in the corner of your eyes - the loose floorboard squeaks as it magically sets itself back into its place and seals itself with the flooring, eliminating the option of taking it off again. Alastor sighs, tilting his head to recapture your gaze.

"Whatever angry words are exchanged and however vexed we might be with each other... please, my love, let me hold you together in my arms when you threaten to fall apart like this."

How long he held you in his arms that night, settled in your bed instead of his as you usually did - you didn't know. How many soothing touches he planted on your body – you didn't count. All that mattered were the soft kisses that he pressed on your cheeks, the way he held your hand, fingers entwined with yours, and the soothing words he repeated to you, over and over like a mantra.

"You are doing well, my love."

[veinsfullofstars]

👑 Kirbtober 2024 Day 27: Control 👑

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Traitor Magolor magically manipulating a lines of plushies(?) modeled after Kirby, Bandee, King Dedede, and Meta Knight. He smiles behind his scarf, resting his head casually on one hand while puppeting his new toys around with the other, the Crown atop his head watching the spectacle with its unnerving gemstone eye. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 10/10/24, finished on 10/13/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[ahaura]

im sure its been said already but as the election draws near more and more liberals will come out of the woodwork to shame people with a conscience to give away their vote to the democrats for free. i'm already seeing posts saying "why aren't people more concerned about a trump presidency?" you want to know why? it's because people already know he's bad. everyone already knows what he is and what he's done and what he'll do. there's nothing to discuss. he's a racist despotic worm of a man. there's nothing else to say.

biden is currently president. the genocide is happening under his watch. he's the one funding isra*l and arming them; he's sidestepped congress more than once to give them weapons. by oct. 27, the biden administration already knew that "Israel was regularly bombing buildings without solid intelligence that they were legitimate military targets." the state department/biden have engaged in atrocity propaganda, cast doubt on the legitimacy of the death toll recorded by the gaza health ministry, and so on. the united states is currently in the process of trying to pin the "war in gaza" on netanyahu (see sen. schumer's speech) after months of backing blatant genocide as a means to act as if they're "doing something" about the genocide (Instead of, say, threatening to cut off all aid to israel with the condition that all hostilities in gaza, the west bank, and occupied jerusalem are halted immediately and permanently, allowing palestinians freedom to travel, allowing aid into gaza, etc etc etc.)

the long and short of it is that liberals view their own lives as being worth more than palestinians'. that's it. they'll vote for another 4 years of the guy ushering in genocide and supporting apartheid + settler colonialism because he isn't outright attacking them (despite various laws and rulings happening both at the supreme court level and at the local level all over the country that will endanger people). they'll settle for the illusion of safety and security and shame anyone with a conscience and accuse them of "supporting the republicans" when in an actual democracy you would be able to use your vote as leverage to extract concessions from those who want to be elected. that's how it's supposed to fucking work.

democrats are not owed people's vote. if biden loses, it will be biden's fault; it will be his campaign's fault; it will be the democrats' fault. trump is bad; the republicans are bad. we already know this. this is not an endorsement of either. but if democrats are too cowardly and feckless and servile to the motivations of the american empire and never do anything for their constituents then why the fuck should anyone vote for them. you want to get mad at someone, why don't you do something useful and stop worrying about team-sports with a purely selfish basis and start hounding the people in power who are supposed to serve you, the voter.

[starryluminary]

Ridonculous Race but Noah is friends with Owen part 9: Teamwork makes the dream work!

Don't you LOVE IT when Noah gets to play the stupid game? Don't you LOVE IT when Noah and Owen work together and Owen isn't left to do everything himself? Don't you LOVE IT when they mutually support each other and care enough about each other to give it their all??? Personally I love it when that happens

No transcript cause there's no dialogue. Instead have scrapped doodles for this part that I refuse to leave in the jail of the IbisPaint canvas

[daily-basil]

Guess who's studying perspective in faces

[aesthetically-dying101]

Take me back, to the night we met.

A/N: gojo has just so much potential for angst and sad shit its fun.

Other Part: Part 2.

Warning: angst? is this angst? idk, just sad stuff, yes it'll get better, i think i use y/n like twice. she/her pronouns, no description of reader

Do not copy nor translate my work.

The once-bustling city was silent, a ghostly fog blanketing the streets.

Broken glass crunched underfoot as you and Satoru made your way through the ruins of a devastated shopping district. The air was heavy with residual cursed energy, oppressive and cloying like smoke.

Your technique had been invaluable in tracking the curse this far—it was clever, veiling itself in the chaos of its destruction. But now, even without your abilities, its presence was unmistakable.

“There,” you murmured, pointing to the center of the wreckage. A shadow writhed in the haze, its form shifting, contorting like a serpent coiled in fury.

Gojo’s usual carefree grin widened, an edge of exhilaration in his voice.

“About time. I was starting to think it didn’t have the guts to face us.”

He stepped forward, impossibly confident as always, the faint shimmer of his Infinity surrounding him.

You hung back, ready to support him as best as you could. You weren’t on Gojo’s level—no one was—but you could hold your own, and you knew how to keep him grounded when his arrogance threatened to blind him.

You were used to this, and honestly, you loved seeing him in action. Your too-pretty man.

The curse roared, its voice a grating cacophony that vibrated through your bones.

“Satoru Gojo.” The way it spat his name was venomous, dripping with hatred. Its grotesque form solidified—a humanoid shape with way too many eyes and limbs, each movement a jerking, unnatural twist.

Ew. Was the only thought going through your head.

“You think you’re invincible,” it hissed, its voice low and guttural, “but even gods have weaknesses.”

Gojo tilted his head, his blindfold concealing whatever expression flickered across his face.

“Weakness? Me? Funny. I’ll have to tell my fans about that one.”

The curse didn’t laugh. Instead, its many eyes swivelled to you.

“Her.”

Gojo didn’t react immediately, but you saw it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his head snapped toward you for a fraction of a second before returning to the curse.

“She’s your flaw,” it snarled, amusement dripping from its tone. “The way you care for her. The way you watch her. You may be untouchable, but she bleeds.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time in your life, you saw Gojo falter. It was slight—so slight that anyone else might have missed it—but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand tightened into a fist before relaxing again.

“And I will make her bleed.”

The curse lunged toward you with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. Your instincts kicked in, barriers flaring to life around you as you stepped back. The defensive layers you conjured groaned and bent under the curse’s assault- but didn't break.

“Stay away from her.”

Gojo’s voice was colder than you’d ever heard it.

The air shifted, the pressure around you becoming unbearable as his Limitless technique snapped into place. The curse was flung backward, its body slamming into the rubble with a deafening crash.

But it wasn’t done. It laughed—a horrible, choking sound, sounding like his vocal chords were snapping.

“So predictable,” it sneered. “You’d sacrifice the world to protect her, wouldn’t you?”

Gojo didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

Because he would, you both knew that.

The fight that followed was brutal. Gojo’s attacks were precise and devastating, yet the curse kept taunting him, weaving in and out of his strikes, deliberately drawing the battle out.

You supported him from the sidelines, tracking its movements and throwing up barriers when needed, but the strain was immense.

When Gojo finally delivered the finishing blow—a shimmering violet sphere of destruction that obliterated the curse in an instant—the air went still.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You leaned against a crumbling wall, your energy depleted.

Gojo didn’t move. He stood there, staring at the spot where the curse had been, his hand still outstretched.

“ 'Toru?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He turned to you, and for a moment, you saw something raw in his expression, something vulnerable and deeply unsettling. Then, like a mask slipping back into place, his usual cocky grin returned.

“Guess I really do have a weakness, huh?” he joked, his voice light but forced.

Your chest tightened. “Don’t do that,” you said sharply. “Don’t pretend this doesn’t bother you.”

His grin faltered, just for a second, before he brushed past you. “Let’s head back. We’ll debrief at the school.”

You stared after him, frustration bubbling in your chest. He was shutting you out again, burying whatever he was feeling beneath layers of bravado.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

And neither could he.

*-*

A week later, the air was crisp, the fading light of the sunset painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The quiet hum of the city below served as a distant backdrop as you strolled beside Satoru.

He had insisted on this walk after a long day, claiming he needed to “stretch his legs and enjoy the view.”

But something was off.

He wasn’t talking as much as usual, his cocky banter replaced with a contemplative silence. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and though his blindfold was in place, you could feel his gaze flickering toward you more often than usual.

You slowed your steps, letting the last rays of sunlight warm your skin.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Something on your mind?”

Gojo didn’t answer immediately. He stopped walking and turned toward the horizon, the wind tousling his snowy hair. His jaw tightened, and you felt the shift in his energy—subtle, but impossible to miss after all the time you’d spent with him.

Your stomach twisted.

“Satoru?” you pressed, your voice softer now.

He exhaled, long and slow, before finally speaking. “We can’t do this anymore.”

The words hit you like a physical blow.

“What?” you breathed, the air stolen from your lungs.

He turned to face you then, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in his posture that betrayed him. “It’s not fair to you,” he said, his voice light but carefully measured, as though he’d rehearsed this.

You stared at him, disbelief turning to anger. “Not fair to me?” you repeated. “Satoru, what are you talking about? I knew what I was getting into when—”

“That’s the problem,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You shouldn’t have to ‘get into’ anything. You shouldn’t have to live with a target on your back because of me.”

“Is this about what the curse said?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Because if it is, I don’t care. I chose this. I chose you.”

Gojo flinched, just barely, but it was enough for you to notice.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low, almost bitter. “I am the target. Every damn curse, every sorcerer who wants to make a name for themselves—they’re all aiming for me. And now you’re in the crossfire. I won’t let anyone hurt you because of me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“You don’t get to make this decision for me!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to walk away and pretend like it’s for my sake when we both know that’s not what I want!”

Gojo’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment, he looked like he might falter. But then he straightened, his face hardening into that familiar mask of nonchalance.

“You’ll be safer without me,” he said, his tone so calm it was infuriating.

“And what about you?” you shot back. “Who’s going to keep you grounded? Who’s going to remind you that you’re more than just the strongest sorcerer?”

He didn’t answer.

You stepped closer, grabbing his arm, forcing him to look at you. “Satoru, please,” you whispered, tears spilling over now. “Don’t do this.”

For a moment, you thought he might cave. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you, to wipe away your tears. But then he pulled away, taking a step back.

“This is the right choice,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’ll understand someday.”

And then he turned and walked away.

You stood there, frozen, watching his figure retreat into the growing shadows. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing pain that threatened to consume you.

*-*

The mission had started as routine.

You’d been given a standard exorcism assignment—nothing too dangerous, just an annoying curse terrorizing a small town. The curse was relatively weak, barely enough to warrant any experienced sorcerer, let alone someone with your abilities. You’d even been assigned two younger, less experienced sorcerers to guide them through the process.

Routine.

Easy.

But something about this mission felt off from the start. The energy was wrong—too quiet, too still. And when the curse finally revealed itself, it was far more intelligent, more dangerous than anything you’d anticipated.

The students were frightened, their nerves betraying them as the curse's presence grew stronger, filling the air with a chilling malice. You quickly assessed the situation, your heart racing. You’d dealt with much worse, but this one was different. It moved too quickly, outwitting you at every turn.

"You two, get out of here!" you shouted to the students, pushing them back as the curse attacked with brutal force, sending shards of broken buildings flying toward you. "I’ll hold it off. Use the flare to call for backup."

The students hesitated, looking at you with wide eyes. They were terrified, their faces pale.

"We can’t leave you here!" one of them protested.

"I’m not asking, this is an order," you snapped, turning toward the curse. "Go. Now."

With a final, reluctant glance, the students ran, triggering the flare and signaling for backup. You stayed behind, your heart pounding in your chest as the curse advanced toward you.

Your technique was based on defense and tracking—always one step ahead of your enemy, drawing from their energy to fortify your own. You could feel the flow of cursed energy around you, stealing fragments of its power as it lashed out.

But this curse was intelligent. Instead of trying to attack directly, it hurled massive chunks of rubble at you.

Motherfucker.

You gritted your teeth, dodging, weaving, but your defensive barriers shattered under the sheer force of the blows. With every hit, your energy drained faster. You had to buy time. The students had to escape.

You activated your technique once more. Your energy siphoned from the curse, using its own force against it. The pain in your body was almost unbearable, but you could feel the balance shifting, just for a moment.

Then the curse retaliated in a different way—throwing an enormous boulder in your direction.

Well fuck.

You barely saw it coming before it crashed into your side, throwing you to the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything blurred.

Your vision darkened. You managed a final, shaky breath, but your body was already failing you. The last thing you heard before everything went black was the deafening roar of the curse, followed by the sound of your heart racing in your ears.

*-*

Gojo had returned from his mission, expecting the usual debrief. He stepped into Jujutsu High, the familiar scent of ink and wood filling his senses as his footsteps echoed through the empty halls.

It had been a long, exhausting mission, but he’d grown accustomed to the grind.

He hadn’t been expecting anything out of the ordinary, just the usual debrief and paperwork. But as he passed the infirmary, his eyes were drawn to the two students from your mission. They were lying in their beds, still bandaged, their faces pale and etched with a sort of exhaustion Gojo had seen too many times before.

His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of them through the glass window of the infirmary. Bandages wrapped around their arms, their faces pale, eyes wide with the lingering fear of the mission’s chaos. He didn’t even need to ask what had happened.

He approached the infirmary door, but when he saw the students’ tired faces, something inside him snapped—something that told him, without a single word being spoken, that you were not there. The absence was suffocating.

There was no sign of you.

He opened the door quietly, but before he could say anything, he noticed the students’ quiet glances. Their eyes avoided his, a shared sorrow pooling in the room, thickening the air.

Gojo stood still, his breath shallow. He didn’t need to hear the words. He could already sense the unease, the guilt in their eyes.

You weren’t there.

There were no questions. No requests for answers. Gojo didn’t even need to ask about your condition, didn’t need to hear the inevitable truth.

He just knew.

He turned on his heel, his heart heavy with a burden he couldn’t shake. The weight of everything seemed to settle on him all at once, an unbearable pressure in his chest. Without another glance at the students, he walked out, his footsteps muffled by the deafening silence that followed him.

The headmaster looked up from his paperwork, his face unreadable. But Gojo knew that even without words, he could see the sorrow in the older sorcerer’s eyes.

Without hesitation, Gojo spoke, his voice low but laced with a quiet panic.

"Where is she?"

The headmaster’s eyes flickered with something almost imperceptible—regret, maybe. But he didn’t answer immediately. He pushed his glasses up and set his pen down, leaning back in his chair.

"You’re asking about Y/N, right?" the headmaster finally said, his tone measured but tense.

Gojo didn’t reply, his gaze piercing. The silence stretched between them, both men knowing what was coming but refusing to speak it aloud.

"She’s..." The headmaster paused, his voice faltering. "We couldn’t find her. No trace of cursed energy. No body. Nothing. We—"

Gojo felt the air leave his lungs, as if the words had physically struck him. His hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white. The headmaster's words blurred, muffled by the rising pressure in his head.

No body.

He couldn’t process it.

Couldn’t grasp the idea that you—someone so powerful, so fierce—could vanish into nothingness. He thought maybe he’d just missed you, maybe you were injured and being treated in another room.

But no.

No trace. No energy.

No remnants of your presence anywhere.

The thought that you might really be gone—erased from existence entirely—was something his mind could not, would not, accept.

"Satoru," the headmaster said, his voice softer now. “I’m so sorry. We... we have to presume she’s gone. The mission—”

Gojo’s body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His chest felt tight, his heart hammering in his ears.

"No." The word slipped from his lips, quiet but sharp. His voice wavered just slightly. He never let his guard down, never showed weakness—but now, there was nothing left to hide.

“Please,” Gojo’s voice cracked as he turned to the headmaster, his eyes searching. He ignored the previous statements. “Tell me you found something. Tell me you found her.”

The headmaster’s face was solemn. He shook his head, slowly.

“No,” he said simply. “Nothing.”

His legs felt weak, but he held himself up. Barely. He needed to walk. He needed to leave, but his body felt anchored to the ground, unwilling to move. Every part of him screamed for the impossible: that you were out there somewhere, just waiting to be found.

But reality was a cold, harsh thing. And in this moment, the weight of it crushed him.

He had failed you. He had chosen to leave, to protect you by walking away, and now you were... gone.

"She was the one who stayed behind," Gojo murmured, almost to himself. "She stayed behind." His voice trembled slightly, betraying him.

"She was an incredible teacher and sorcerer-"

His voice droned on. Gojo wasn't listening. The truth had settled into his chest like a stone, cold and heavy.

He turned and walked out of the room without another word. He could hear the headmaster's quiet sigh behind him, but he didn’t stop.

His heart ached in ways that words couldn’t describe. And though he told himself that he would find you, that he would search until the ends of the Earth if he had to... a deep, gnawing emptiness told him that you weren’t coming back.

*-*

The small memorial for you was a quiet affair—too quiet for someone as vibrant as you. It was simple: a few flowers, a candle, some soft words from your colleagues, and then… silence.

Gojo had stood there, watching the flickering candlelight, his blindfold concealing the turmoil behind his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What could he possibly say?

He felt trapped in his own skin. And it was all his fault.

He couldn’t stop replaying that last conversation—the look in your eyes, the way you had begged him not to leave you, to not make the decision for you. He should have listened. He should have fought harder to keep you by his side. If he hadn’t pushed you away, if he hadn’t been so damn sure that he was protecting you by letting you go...

You wouldn’t have been alone.

You wouldn’t have had to face that curse by yourself.

The guilt ate at him, a slow, insidious poison coursing through his veins. He couldn’t escape it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face—your smile, your fire, the way you’d always challenged him.

It haunted him.

*-*

The days blurred into each other.

He threw himself into missions with a reckless, almost manic energy, as if hoping to exhaust himself to the point of forgetting. But it didn’t work.

It never worked.

He fought like an animal, like a machine, unleashing his cursed energy with a fury that no one had ever seen before. He’d take on missions that others would hesitate to touch, pushing himself to the brink, demanding more and more of himself, as if trying to outrun the demons inside his head.

The other sorcerers at Jujutsu High began to notice the shift. His smiles were rare, almost forced. His cocky demeanor was gone, replaced with a dangerous edge that made everyone uneasy. His actions were unpredictable, reckless. In battle, he was a force of nature, but outside of it—outside of the fights—he was unraveling.

“You’re overdoing it,” Utahime had told him, her voice laced with concern as she watched him wipe blood from his hands after another gruelling mission. “You need to slow down.”

Gojo had just stared at her, his blindfolded eyes piercing her with an intensity that made her back off.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, the words sharp, but hollow. He wasn’t fine. But he couldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t.

*-*

Weeks passed, but it only got worse. Gojo was spiraling, and no one knew how to stop it. After the loss of Suguru Geto, Gojo had fallen into a dark place, but this... this was different. That loss had been a betrayal, a brutal cut from a man he had once called his closest friend. He had blamed himself then too, but with you, it was all his fault. He could barely look at himself in the mirror without feeling like he was drowning in his own shame.

Gojo had always been the unshakable force.

The invincible one.

But now, the cracks were spreading.

The worst part was the isolation. He would come home after long days of missions, covered in sweat and blood, but the silence in his apartment would swallow him whole. He couldn’t escape it. There was no one there to talk to, no one to help him forget.

He would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, hearing the faint sound of your voice in his memory, but it was always just out of reach. The regret twisted inside him, like a knife lodged deep in his chest.

He’d let you die alone.

The world continued to move forward.

But Gojo Satoru didn’t.

Not without you.

A/N: i hope this is even half decent, i had an idea and wanted to make smth out of it, and yesss part two will be posted very, very soon

:)

[skunkes]

something silly and badly formatted

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Redraw of my first post on this blog. Oh how far we've come B'*)

[Now with it's own redraw!]

[fluentisonus]

the thing is it's such a shame marius never went back after the whole defending-napoleon-fiasco bc I genuinely think enjolras likes him. and that he genuinely thinks he has potential in an 'he's a little confused but he's got the spirit', 'i could work with this' sort of way. like yeah he's a very serious sort of guy w strongly held beliefs but his behavior (to me at least) really reads like was interested to have him around & develop his politics. like in the post-napoleon-speech scene when combeferre has had his really good line & the rest of them have all walked out of the room & he stays behind:

and:

the 'gazing gravely at him', the staying behind, the hand on his shoulder, they don't read to me like he has any dislike towards marius even if he obviously doesn't agree w what he's said, he seems like he understands marius' confusion. he's not giving any ground politically but he's interested in marius. a sort of 'missed the mark this time but let's try again' thing. and then way later (chronologically) he's still obviously thinking of marius in this bit & seems to genuinely think he'd do a good job & regrets that he never came back:

unfortunately I don't think marius picks up on any of that though

[nebulousfishgills]

BRYNDEN RIVERS MY MAN

[cirkkaa]

my roman empire

[chainsawctopus]

You, me, and our loss of autonomy.