#i think something fundamentally shifted in me

[desifugo]

rip gudrid you would've loved iggy azalea and the rio de janeiro filter in 2014

[elytrafemme]

i wish people talked about identity instability more often. i know there’s a lot of dialogue surrounding it in the sense of dissociative parts/identities, and that’s important and close to my heart as someone with a dissociative disorder. 

but in my experiences, i also have struggled with disordered identity issues in a way that isn’t connected to my dissociative experiences, nor is linked to some liberal interpretation of Erikson’s stage theory or whatever. as you all know this kind of ties into the whole “does mare have BPD” moral conundrum people have been entertaining since i was 13, and especially now. 

out of all my experiences, having an unstable identity/self-image is the most painful. it isn’t exactly easy to explain to other people, even my own therapist, and it makes any kind of communication or decisive statements difficult. i wrote like a seven paragraph post trying to articulate it but i ultimately drafted it because i figure it’s not the kind of thing people have time to read, and it also isn’t going to change the fact that this is my fault and something i need to work on.

but it’s so hard to work on something you can’t articulate. and i think that struggle is why nobody really talks about it, but God is it isolating. because somedays it doesn’t exactly occur to me, i don’t wake up thinking “what about me is different from yesterday?” but it comes cataclysmically: i don’t remember the foundations of my relationships; my world view is shifting drastically; my gender identity and sexual orientation is not what i thought it was; a symptom that used to rule my life has now disappeared; i can’t make a basic observation about my life because i can’t look at anything without colored glasses. ever. 

sometimes i wish i was part of a case study. i lied; i’ve only ever wanted that right now, in this moment. but i want to be only looked at with gloves, in a clinical setting, with nothing else. because the impersonality of that setting would make this all so much easier. 

[felixitous]

seeing people describe experiences similar to mine where they have lost a sense of self and have difficulty even processing what types of things they enjoy: "they have it worse though I'm probably fine this is just how it is"

[drchucktingle]

how are you human?

so many interesting comments and thoughts on my post saying buds should consider not coming up to strangers in marginalized groups and saying 'how are you a real person that actually exists?'. i will point out this: despite my VERY gentle tone a few buds said i was having a 'meltdown' for even mentioning it

others said i was being too serious for someone who is ‘not a real person’. so if you would any more evidence of what it is like to be a buckaroo like myself there it is. every day, autistic folks who may seem ‘weird’ are bombarded with messages and comments and implications that they are fundamentally not human beings

sometimes it is outright and blatant like the comments on last post saying ‘well why are you getting mad? you are not even real’ and sometimes it is in the very subtle ways that folks use language when they talk to us. there is huge difference between ‘how do you exist?’ and ‘i am glad you exist.’

anyway, something that i think many people who have not lived this experience dont seem to understand is i KNOW the poster who said ‘how are you a real person that actually exists’ probably meant it as a compliment. that is THE POINT of why i am taking a moment out of my trot to gently and anonymously let them know how it might feel to be on other end of something like this as a queer or autistic or otherwise marginalized buckaroo. it is obviously not their intent to actually hurt someone, so i am letting them know

maybe because queerness and autism are not physically apparent it is hard to explain, but imagine going up to very tall or very short person and saying ‘cant BELIEVE you are real’ as a compliment. not a great way to treat others. on my original post, an indigenous author chimed in with their own experience and feelings similar to my own. a woman who said she was very tall told her story. point is, while i do not have their experience, what i am saying has a universal thread for 'othered' folks

point is: i UNDERSTAND there is this sort of exaggerated or ironic (or maybe even sometimes very literal) language around fandom to say things like ‘how are you a human?’ to creators, but since it is not your intent to hurt, i think you might want to know how that feels to marginalized buckaroos sometimes.

obviously you can say anything you want. i do not hold it against you. also, if you think ‘oh no, did i say something like this to chuck at a convention? i am so embarrassed' then DO NOT WORRY i promise you buckaroo you are just fine. i present myself in a way that is unusual by definition, so i have pretty thick skin about this type of thing and a lot of patience. MANY buds start off thinking i am ‘a joke’ and then become fans over time and i am glad to trot beside them and prove love is real.

however there are other autistic or queer or marginalized buckaroos with smaller platforms who hear this just as much as me, so i think it is important to say it loudly and maybe together we can work on making a very slight shift in the way we speak to the ‘others’ in our lives

we do not NEED to let subtle dehumanization slip into our language. in some cases it has been called ‘micro aggressions’ but i think buds dont often consider what that means for COMPLIMENTS. ultimately, telling marginalized people YOU ARE SO AMAZING YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY EXIST may seem very fun and silly on the surface and for some folks it probably feels that way, but for others it can feel like a reminder of the broader doubt about their humanity. you can just say ‘YOU ARE AMAZING’ without the reminder of the many times autistic or queer or marginalized folks are told in a very serious and pointed way (like comments on the last post) ‘YOU ARE SO WEIRD THAT I HAVE DECIDED YOU ARE NOT REAL’

buckaroos can take this information and apply it to their interactions, or they can ignore it, that is totally fine. we are all trotting our own trots and proving love in our own way and thats okay bud, HOWEVER i feel like it is important to at least let folks know, even if that means getting told i am having a ‘meltdown’. i think it is important to have complex or difficult conversations if it will prove a little more love in the long run. THANK YOU FOR READING BUCKAROOS. i am honored to trot forward with you can tackle this kind of thing with you, and honored you buckaroos have created such an amazing space with me to pull apart these kind of feelings. THIS IS PROOF THAT LOVE IS REAL LETS TROT

[siyzuii]

shifting is self discovery.

excuse the yap but i think it’s very important that people realize how fundamental you are in your shifting journey and that you are literally the only thing you need to shift.

you do NOT need:

a method

subliminals

(guided) meditation

to look for advice hour after hour online

symptoms

the void state

lucid dreaming

to visualize

to use your 5 senses

a script

you DO need:

yourself

you can say fuck you to the universe, doubt as much as you want, and still shift. i say that because i’ve done it before even with doubts! so you can too!

“how do i shift?”

every time someone asks this i lose 5 years off my life span. i can’t determine that for you, nobody can. i can tell you what has personally worked for me and so can others, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work for you.

“so what do i do?”

sounds a bit harsh but you figure it out. and that’s what i mean by self-discovery.

of course, you can & should see what other people are doing to create a base line of what you think could work for you. for example try getting into the void state, see what happens from there. doesn’t work or you don’t like it? (because that obviously won’t do the same thing for everyone) try something else!

play around. add new things into the mix. affirmations. intention. you can visualize or use your 5 senses. keyword can. you don’t have to. because what do i think works the best? minding your business and shifting your own way.

remember that you can literally just say “fuck you i want to shift” and shift. you can shift accidentally. so who’s to say what you’re doing doesn’t work? (if it really doesn’t then you can adjust it slightly. look back on your behavior and think about what you want to change.)

seriously!

you can shift:

tired

awake

asleep

in the hypnagogic state (the state of the transition from wakefulness to sleep)

in the hypnopompic state (the state of consciousness leading out of sleep)

while dancing

sitting

standing

laying down

on the floor

accidentally

through a lucid dream

with doubts

and so much more i didn’t mention. seriously no need to overcomplicate it.

just remember that other peoples’ shifting journeys are not yours and that you’re the most important part of your own.

you are what makes you shift.

it’s not your subliminals or your method or whatever, it’s you. YOUUUU. subliminals? “methods”? those things? just helpful tools. they can HELP you shift, but there’s no guarantee.

for example, i personally have been getting more effective results after listening to specific subliminals regularly (psst.. i make sure they’re safe! to check if they are safe, look at the comments around the page and if you’re still not sure and you feel uneasy then do not use the subliminal. if it makes you feel unsafe or weird then do not use it. always read the benefits or what you can find in the description.) it works for me. it got me results (along with other stuff) but it might not give them to you and that’s okay. you don’t have to use subs.

just a reminder that you don’t need anything but yourself to shift <3

it’s self discovery because you’re learning from it and actively finding out (discovering) what works for you.

your shifting journey is yours so don’t make it rely on what someone else does.

THERE’S NO KEY TO SHIFTING EXCEPT YOURSELF.

[thebctman]

Rewatching the show has given me a whole new perspective 3 years later. And one fundamental moment that I have an entirely new perception of is Viktor’s run. I truly believe it is the most important moment of Viktor’s story.

Not only because it underscores Viktor’s need for the hexcore but also because it fundamentally contrast Jayce’s inability to understand Viktor’s desires until the end of season 2.

Viktor is able to walk without support, to run. He is able to not just keep up with, but outrun the boat in the background of the bridge scene. The first moment of Viktor’s childhood we see is him try to keep up with the toy boat he made and set across the river. Viktor fails because of his disability and later him being able to do what his past self could not is an incredibly exhilarating feeling.

Jayce is the epitome of strength. He is a builder, a forger and a worker. He is loud, he is strong and unshaken. He is the personification of a hammer, always striking to leave an impact.

Jayce in his privilege, does not know what it’s like to be able to walk without support, to be able to live without the fear of having a countdown in your lungs due toxic fumes in your home.

And it is with this privilege Jayce does not understand how monumental it is for Viktor to want the hexcore destroyed. It is his one chance of freedom and he wanted it gone. Jayce does not understand this until it was too late.

Viktor was born waiting. He has always been waiting. Waiting for a chance to breathe, to live and to have a legacy. Viktor waits and waits to see if the Hexcore will him and it is that longing that binds his soul to the Hexcore.

Jayce does not understand this longing until Viktor is almost taken from him. He waits for him to return back to him but Viktor can wait no longer. Jayce is always a little too late when it comes to Viktor until the finale.

And it is in the finale where Jayce finally understands that makes it all more personal. That the Glorious Evolution comes from Viktor’s fear and his want.

The verbalization of his love for Viktor was incredible. That his imperfections were what he loved about him. That when he hallucinated Victor over that fire, Viktor had his cane with him. That Viktor can no longer wait, but Jayce can go with him. He can be there and choose him.

I now understand on a personal level what that scene means and what it meant to Viktor to not just be able to walk without support but to run.

I’ve been dealing with a knee injury for over half a year that has me unable to walk properly or even climb a single step without a brace. I don’t think it’s getting any better and I hope one day I have a bridge scene as well. I would do anything to be able to run again without pain, to wake up without pain.

I see myself in the way Viktor shifts all his weight onto his good leg without his cane, in the way he angles himself ever so slightly in the hopes that something will alleviate the pain. In the pure cathartic wonder on his face when he runs for the first time.

To see that all verbalized on Viktor’s face was incredibly bittersweet and I don’t if I could give up the Hexcore if I was able to do that. This moment underscores Viktor’s resilience, his personal strength and his want.

[lokis-army-77]

A request for you: hugging best friend!Eddie and he pops a boner. Do what you will with this information. - @munson-blurbs 💚

Recipes for Romance

Bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 2.1k

When your best friend comes home while you're cooking dinner and something happens. . .

Warning: 18+. Oral (m receiving), gagging, choking, masturbation, cum swallowing

Thank you @munson-blurbs for sending this in.. I do believe this is the best BJ I've written 💗💗.

Masterlist

It's funny how love happens. One minute you're friends with someone and then the next, you realize something fundamental in your relationship has changed. No longer were you childhood best friends living together in a small, two-bedroom apartment trying to make a place for yourselves in this world. Now, you were childhood best friends who live together but one of you has an unrequited crush on the other. 

Simple chores around the house and just hanging out with one another have turned into something more domestic on your end. You could see yourself coming home to him so easily. 

Really, what would change if you were to tell him? Nothing, other than he would kiss you when you came home instead of only giving you a hug and asking what was on the menu for dinner that night. 

That's where you were tonight. In the kitchen, chopping up ingredients for dinner like usual, thanks to Eddie's lack of expertise in anything other than pizza rolls and microwavable macaroni cups. If it had been left up to him both of you probably would have starved by now. 

It was nearing eight when Eddie strolled through the apartment door, guitar slung on his back and an amp being hoisted up in his arms. Oh, those arms. He was wearing a black muscle shirt, perfect for the summer heat and showing off the delicious-looking veins that protrude from them. 

“Hey, Eds!” You call out to him. 

He grumbles out, “Hey,” in response, and fumbles with his things all the way down the hallway behind you, to your right, and into his room. 

It’s a few moments and chopped cilantro later that you hear his bare feet padding back to where you are. 

“How was your day?” The question comes out smoothly, without a thought, because you had been asking him this same thing forever. 

“Good," he answers. “I’m exhausted.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing dinner's almost ready, then you can go to bed.” You move about the small rectangular kitchen area with the grace that comes with knowing the area like the back of your hand. 

You’re stirring the warming spaghetti sauce so that it doesn’t burn to the bottom of the pan when you feel those same bare arms you had been lustfully gazing at only a short while before reaching around your hips. You stop, freezing your movements to focus on how not to let Eddie feel the racing of your heart. 

His chin rests on your shoulder and his hair tickles your neck. “Smells good,” he mumbles. 

You blush. You know he’s talking about the food but you wish he were talking about you. It was always nerve-wracking for you when he got clingy like this. Knowing you couldn’t just relax into him how you wanted. Having to hold yourself back from turning your head and giving him a peck on the lips. 

Eddie continued to watch you cook, nuzzling his nose deeper into the crook of your neck. You were hyper-aware of his lips on your bare skin and you were even more aware of growing hardness pressing against your ass. 

Your face heats up even more as you think to yourself, ‘Why god? Why do this to me?’ It’s a struggle to keep stirring the food when all your attention is focused on your best friend's dick. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the movement has Eddie humming into your neck and making him harden even more. 

One of his hands unwraps from around you and grips your hip. You can feel his breathing becoming more labored as he struggles behind you. 

You reposition yourself once more, this time pushing back into him just a little. Eddie can’t catch the strangled moan that flies up from his throat. 

“Fuck.” His lips move across your skin like a hot branding iron, saying your name breathlessly. 

“Eddie?” You question innocently. 

“Hum?” He replies. 

You push the saucepan back onto a cool part of the stovetop and turn the once-in-use eye off. 

“Are you…” You can’t bring yourself to say it out loud, but he knows your silent query. 

It takes him a moment to say anything. He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hip with his large hand and begins to back away. 

“Wait!” Your voice is louder than you had anticipated it to be but the urgency in it stops Eddie before he is fully separated from you. “Eddie, wait,” you say much softer this time. 

He stops, the tips of his fingers barely touching you. You turn around in his light hold, eyes staring up into his. Your heart is beating a mile a minute as you say, “I can help with that y’know.” 

Eddie sputters, seemingly choking on air. “W-what?” His face blushed a deep red and it flushed all the way down his neck.

Taking a breath, you try and calm yourself down. Those six words can’t be taken back now, but why would you want to do that anyway? The thought of his hard cock filling your mouth was the only thing running through your mind and now that a chance had arisen, you were going to take it. 

“I said,” You trail your hand down down down until you are cupping him over his jeans. “I can help with that… Unless you don’t want me to.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he opens and closes his mouth like he’s trying to find the words to say only to be left mute. Instead, he nods his head, letting his curls cover his face. 

You turn your bodies, pushing him up against the counter, and with less practiced grace than moving about the kitchen, you begin to undo his pants. His breath catches and he looks away from you for only a moment when your hand dips past the waistband of his pants. 

“Oh god-” He swallows. 

Ever so slowly you begin your descent to your knees, taking his pants and boxers down with you. The sight left before you makes your mouth water and your legs clench. He looks painfully hard, the tip flush and a bead of pre-cum pooling at the slit. You ached to run your tongue over the vein protruding down his shaft, you needed to have his balls in your mouth. 

So, that’s what you do. From base to tip you lick a fat, wet strip up him. His hips jerk forward, one hand caught in your hair, and the other holds on for dear life to the edge of the counter. You lick again and again, over and over. 

“Fuck-,” your name falls from Eddie's lips in a whimper. That sound had your stomach flipping and your pussy fluttering. You needed him to do that again.  

You start to pepper kisses along his shaft, ending at his head and giving it one big smooch before opening and taking him into your mouth. 

Eddie tugs on your hair at the first experimental suck that you give him. You can't help but moan at the slight pain. Taking him a bit more you suck again, gentle and with little force. 

"Ah-." There it was, that whiny sound. 

You bring your hand up to wrap around the length of him not nestled in the warmth of your mouth. Giving him a firm squeeze you begin to move. Up and down, up and down. You follow your hand with your mouth. 

The hot and tangy taste of him spreads across your tongue and pre-cum just dribbles out of him. Really, it makes you salivate, it makes you wet. And what really turns you on is knowing that this is your best friend. This is the guy you've known since forever. The guy you never thought you would ever be doing this with. 

It made you hungry for more, needy, and unsatisfied. You dip your head further down, lips meeting your fingers at his base.

"Oh God. Oh fuck." Another strangled whimper followed by the prettiest grunts and groans. Your other hand, resting on Eddie's thigh, could feel how his leg tensed with every suck, with every nudge of the back of your throat. Then he jerked forward again. His cock buries deep into your throat.

You choke and gag around him, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth and falling down your neck. Tears sting in your eyes but you let him thrust into you. 

Eddie says your name like a prayer. It flows from his lips in a melody only for you. He’s got your hair fisted in his hand, fingers digging into your skull. Your own fingers dig into his strong thighs. Then, he lets you go and you pull away fast for air. A string of drool connects your lips to his cock. 

“Eddie,” You say as you look up at him through thick lashes and heavy eyes. 

“Mmm.” He hums, head falling to the side. 

“You taste so good. Want you to cum down my throat.” 

He looks down at you in such a way that you think you can see something other than love for a friend. Something more potent, something like what you feel for him. It makes the breath catch in your lungs. 

Eddie releases his grasp on your hair and smooths his hand down and onto your cheek. His thumb rubs light circles into your skin. You lean in more, scooting closer to him on your knees, ignoring the numbness in them. 

The cheek he isn’t touching rests on his thigh and you continue to look up at him as you take his cock fully in your hand and start pumping. 

Eddie bites his lip but that doesn’t stop the moans. “God damnit, baby…” 

He’s never called you that before. Sure a pet name here and there, sweetheart or something of the sort, but never baby. The name had you aching with need and it only took a few more high-pitched whimpers from Eddie to have you shoving your other hand down your shorts. 

You were drenched, wetness pooled in your panties and around your fingers as you swiped them through your folds. You trail your lips down to his balls and kiss them before sucking one into your mouth. 

There is a moment when you think Eddie is going to fall on top of you. You feel his knees buckle and his feet shuffling to keep himself upright. 

You let go of him with a pop and then take the other into your mouth, warming him and running your tongue over the skin. 

“Fuck fuck fuck. Baby- mmm,” Eddie can’t keep quiet and you don’t want him to. The louder he is, the more it encourages you. 

After a few more pumps of your hand, you move your mouth back to the tip of his cock and take him deep. This time when he hits the back of your throat, you don’t gag as bad but tears still swell in your eyes. You let him buck his hips into you, following his rough pace with your hand as you rub your fingers into your clit. 

“Gonna cum baby, fuck gonna make me cum. Such a pretty mouth." Eddie blubbers. "Fuck I love you, baby. Gonna fill that mouth up. You gonna swallow all of it, baby?"

You hum around his cock at his words. Heart beating faster and safer as your own orgasm begins to come forward. 

With a hand buried in your hair again. Eddie pushes you down onto his cock, nose pressed against his abdomen and drool spilling down your chin. You feel him twitch and watch through tear-rimmed eyes as his head falls back and his mouth hangs open. Eddie lets out the most lewd-sounding moan as he releases his sticky, hot cum down your throat. 

You swallow and swallow, consuming all that he gives you. Your hand still works between your thighs and in a gush of pleasure, you can feel your release dripping over your fingers. 

Pulling away from Eddie, his cock now softening, you catch your breath. You move to sit more comfortably on the floor and lean your forehead on Eddie's left knee. 

"Wow…" Eddie heaves out. "That was- that was fucking amazing." His grip eases in your hair and then he's adjusting himself back into his pants before sitting on the floor with you. 

"Look at me?" He asks. You're avoiding eye contact with him, embarrassment of the actions and words just exchanged flooding through you. 

"Sweetheart, please look at me." He pleaded.

That name had you looking timidly through your hair. Those big, brown eyes caught yours and in that moment you knew that another fundamental piece of your relationship had changed. 

No longer was it two childhood best friends living together with one having a crush on the other. No. It was now two childhood best friends who loved each other in every way, who were once too scared to say anything lest they break up the friendship. 

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

What! Are your top five reveals in One Piece! Which ones made you go “holy shit” or “hell yeah” the most!

i'm taking reveal here to mean 'points at which previously-hidden information is revealed to the audience,' not just where we're told something new. so:

THE FREEST MAN ON THE SEA: maybe not as dramatic or seismic as some other things on this list, but to me luffy telling rayleigh that to him being the pirate king just means being the freest in the world is the single most important thing we ever learn about luffy's character, and it defines the themes of the whole series. it recontextualizes everything about luffy and the way he interacts with the world and the way he pursues his goal because now we finally know what that goal actually is, and what it means to him. and for the whole first half of the story we don't know this! it's easy to forget because we're, what, six hundred chapters past it now, but we get all the way to sabaody without really knowing what drives luffy, and then we get it and it slides into place perfectly.

WORLD SANK: a recent one, but so satisfying and well-placed. the sunken world reveal is the best kind of big lore reveal, to me, because it's something that makes so much sense it was completely possible to predict it years ago (and people did), and now that it has been confirmed, it's opened up a massive world of implications and questions that are incredibly fun to think about. i'm really excited to see where the story goes with it.

NIKA: i'm sort of rolling everything we learn about gear 5/nika/joyboy in the 1040 chapters of wano together here; i've written at length before on this blog about why i like the nika reveal so much, so i'll just say now that it takes one piece's most fundamental and powerful themes and symbolism (liberation and joy and the sun) which have been built up across the story and reveals to you that those things are a real literal force in the narrative strong enough to turn a draconic tyrant into a garden snake. and having established what he has now about nika, the way oda has continued to explore the implications of that figure existing in the world has been absolutely fabulous to read.

RAIZOU IS SAFE: a smaller and more arc-specific one compared to some of the others on this list, but i just really like the way this reveal is done. the interval between the dressrosa team's arrival on zou and the reveal that raizou was there the whole time isn't even particularly long, but it's the execution which makes it; the devastation of the city, the solemnity of the whole moment, inuarashi and nekomamushi bowing their heads, luffy and the strawhats' reactions. i like the minks a lot, and this is the moment that defines them as a group, as well as establishing the themes of loyalty and sacrifice that will go on to become very prominent in wano.

ROGER WAS DYING: i've talked before about how i really like the handling of roger as a figure and how our knowledge of him evolves and becomes more personal and human over the course of the story. the turning point in that evolution is the introduction of rayleigh; his reveal that roger was not caught, that he turned himself in because he was dying, and that they found the truth of the world there at the end of the grand line. it shifts the whole presentation of the story; we've been told about roger from the very start of the very first chapter, and it's here that we learn the information we thought we had about him has been woefully incomplete. there's a bigger mystery here, one greater than just 'what treasure did roger leave.' and i really like we get this context about roger in the very same scene we learn what it means to luffy to be the pirate king.

[just-antithings]

Anti-ism is psuedoscience and a moral panic rolled into one

One of the most dangerous things about therapyspeak leaving the intended audience is that now antis feel fully qualified to tell survivors how they should and should not be coping, even to the point of attempting to override/contradict the advice of certified therapists.

I've had antis tell me the fiction I enjoy writing is retraumatizing myself, that I am doing harm by writing it; when I responded that actually, my therapist signed off on the stories I wrote (even when I mentioned the specific phrase "consensual nonconsent"), they said that my therapist doesn't know what she's talking about since she sanctioned my coping mechanism and explicitly labels her practice as kink-positive. Antis are attempting to make me, a survivor with mental illness that could ultimately be fatal if I leave a psychologist's care, disregard the advice of the medical professional supervising me when they have no certification at all. This could, if I were a more vulnerable person, be dangerous for not only my trust in my therapist, but it could sabotage my treatment as well.

They are using what amounts to little more than memes, based on misinformation, that use a few intelligent-sounding phrases that very rarely apply the way they think they do, as a wedge to attempt to assert themselves as authorities who can, with certainty, dictate the appropriate course of treatment for a total stranger, including telling them to disregard the therapies administered by a trained professional.

In other words? Antis are frighteningly similar to anti-vaxxers, who took medical terminology they didn't understand, applied it to shaky cause-effect logic models, started a moral panic, used statements generated by that moral panic as a citogenesis-fueled proof their initial starting of the moral panic was justified, damaged the doctor-patient relationship of millions of total strangers, jeopardized the healthcare of those strangers who now believed their doctor to be incompetent for following accepted medical best practice, and fomented dangerous fringe political ideologies that coupled themselves to other conspiracies based on rejecting commonly-acknowledged practices.

"Vaccines cause autism! Narrative therapy that implements any form of controversial kink causes retraumatization of the writer, reader, or both, and starts the writer on an inescapable slippery slope to becoming an abuser themself! It's better to be dead than autistic! It's better to suffer feelings of shame and/or isolation in silence than it is to use fiction to put a voice to your feelings! Your child is vaccine-damaged from thimerosal and is getting sick from virus-shedding! Your fiction caused me to groom myself and you're a porn-addicted monster for not facing your trauma the proper way! Your doctor doesn't know what's good for you, I do! Only I understand how your body/mind work and what treatment is appropriate for you! Your doctor has been manipulated by Big Pharma/kink supporters! The empirical-study-informed best practices for pediatrics/psychology are what's wrong, not me, whose research is carefully informed by TikTok videos and Twitter posts carefully formulated to cause amygdalar growth to keep me afraid so I will continue to engage with fear-mongering content that causes my politics to shift towards the alt-right, who coincidentally also push narratives based in fear, not in medicine! I am being perfectly logical here!"

Antis fundamentally reject empirical medicine just the way anti-vaxxers do. They just seem to get a free pass on it since it's "only" mental healthcare they are sabotaging, and few people acknowledge it as something as legitimate and lifesaving as other medical care.

[tofupixel]

I recently started learning to use rpg maker (vx ace!) and as a result have become increasingly interested in pixel art. I hadn't really done pixel work since my teens - I do more digital painting and vector art - so while I'm a little familiar and can do passable editing, there's a lot I don't know.

One thing that's kind of perplexing for me is understanding the differences in style between two creators of pixel art. I studied art history and I'm used to the differences being things like brush stroke length or degree of realism... I feel like I'm lacking in lexicon in this new frontier lol

What nuances of an artist do you think are most important to style in pixel art?

This kind of stuff is not really officially studied (yet) so it's all a bit of opinion from me.

Usually in pixel art the biggest differences in styles are which limitations the artists choose to impose on themselves; colour count, resolution, palette... Or more stylistic choices like hue shifting, anti-aliasing style or no, dithering or no, etc.

I personally think there are a huge variety of styles in pixel art, as it's literally just a medium, and I hope you'll agree by the end 8)

Also (imo) there is some seperation between the styles of art for art's sake, and art for videogames, where things have to be clear and readable to be actually playable.

🎮 Old school games:

Sometimes referred to as something like '8-bit' or '16-bit' (relating to the NES era / SNES era consoles), these artstyles usually follow the rules and limitations of the hardware at the time.

This all falls under retro art, most popular styles include: NES, SNES, GB, GBC, C64

Notable artists: Nickwoz, Sandy Gordon, Franken, Cisco

📚 Old school art:

There were also events called Demoscene (still are), where developers would go to a big convention and share their demos. A lot of pixel art competitions were held here, where artists would draw live.

Generally they used to favour a high realism/semirealism style, with lots of texture/dithering, fairly high resolution (if the hardware allowed for it), and adjacent pixels mostly being different from one another.

There are even older styles than this but they are fairly niche and I'm not that well educated. If interested look into some of the old PCs/consoles.

⭐ Modern pixel art:

Usually using more colours and higher resolution, larger clusters of pixels instead of individual ones. Strong use of art fundamentals.

Artists to look at: Adam Ferguson (yes it is pixel art), Snake, Slym, 6VCR, Yes I do Pixels, Gijotto, SovanJedi, JoeCreates, Franek, @8pxl

the rest below are "modern" pixel artists too but I think they have other things in their style that are a bit different!

🎨 Painterly:

Some artists choose to emulate the natural brushstrokes digitally, and keep their clusters large and loose. Usually don't focus on the minute details as much.

@makrustic, @hexh-pixel, Umbohr, Gawrone

🟦 Dithering

These artists all use dithering / texture in ways that make their styles totally unique.

Deceiver, Night, Reo,

💥 Experimental

These artists are always trying new things and honing in on their unique style.

AJ, hby, @ilta222, Alphons

I could really go on for ever, there are so many different styles, cute pixel art, horror pixel art, 1bit (2 colours only), and then adding animation takes it even further, but I think you get the idea

If you want to learn more, the Masters of Pixel Art books have works /interviews from pixel artists of different eras, including demoscene and contemporary.

😊👍

[txttletale]

Obligatory "in good faith" premise.

I've seen an argument against tme/tma that focuses on the fact that there's no similar terms for other types of oppression (as in, no terms like "racism affected/exempt"), and how tme/tma aren't good terms because they imply there's people who can't be affected at all by transmisogyny, regardless of whether it would be "misdirected" or not (which I do think it would be, although a lot of people against tme/tma would disagree).

Since tma/tme functionally ends up meaning just "transfem" and "not transfem" (or at least that's how ive seen it used and advocated for), do you think there's something to the idea that we could just say that instead when discussing transmisogyny? Or is there something about these specific terms that adds to the conversation?

I mean, I guess it would be awkward to put "not transfem" in your bio maybe

i mean like. there are those terms, though, those terms dfo exist, they're jsut called 'poc' and 'white'. liike the construction of 'whiteness' is such that it basically literally means 'racism exempt' within the context of white supremacy (which is ofc the context in which most discussion of racism takes place).

i feel like people are really getting caught up on like, 'exempt' and 'affected' as like, total absolutes 100% of the time and bringing up edge cases as though this absolutely refutes them when i think that's not a particularly useful thing to do for what are fundamentally abstractions for discussing a particular set of nuanced and diverse relations to transmisogyny! like obviously every single person has a unique and specific relationship to transmisogyny, but that doesn't make the terms useless an ymore than 'gay' or 'trans' are useless because people have complicated sexuality or gender situations.

& i think that if we started saying 'transfem / not transfem' then all the exact same edge cases and arguments would just start shifting onto the definition of the word 'transfem'. which i don't think is synonymous with TMA. i think that e.g. arguing that drag queens who regularly have their lives threatened by nazi militiamen with guns are not Transmisogyny Affected is kind of sillygoofy, right, but a lot of them don't identify as transfem! & i think moreover that saying 'trans women' and 'non trans women' kind of is the exact same maneuver as people who say 'don't say cis' because like the implicit content of using those constructions is that there are 'default' people who need no descritpor and then there are 'transfems', right?

+ i think TME/TMA are valuable because they articulate exactly what's relevant about the distinction, which is a relationship to transmisogyny. like a trans guy isnt 'TME' because he's a trans guy, but because if he gets into an argument with me he can pull out the classic 'aggressive' 'scary' 'creepy' 'predatory' 'sexual deviant' cards and try to have me socially murdered and have people side with him by default, something he shares with a cis guy and a cis girl in the exact same situaiton. because of the Trans Misogyny that i am Affected by and he is Exempt From and that therefore can be weaopnized against me in any interaction.

[alphabetboyluvr]

landslides - 001 | goldrush - jjk

part title credit: goldrush - taylor swift

everybody wonders what it would be like to love you... i can't dare to dream about you anymore... it never will be...

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn't ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he's yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being 'you' to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do.

warnings: fluff more than angst, but it's not clean cut - there's also a touch of smut. office worker jk, fuck boy (but kind!) jk, mentions of his workplace escapades, oc is dating mingyu (yay), oc sorta fancies jk (boo), solo masturbation (m), vivid thoughts of shagging (jk is a perv! wow! unlike me to write him as randy bastard!), lots of facetime calls, oc and jk are fundamentally flawed as a pairing, genuine friendship, daddy kink? ig? but like kinda sweet?, jungkook has a complex brain house and you've been banished to his annexe!! he also has a thing for claw clipped hair lol

wordcount: 6.8K

note from holly: so... i dogsat (? idk if thats a word) for my friend last chuseok and this was the result hahahaha. my friends dog (boba <3) is so tiny and small!! but i've always been a big dog girlie so bam was fun to write. i really love this one and have recently found all of my old notes from around that time detailing the rest of the couples lives, so pt. 2 is in progress.

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

Bam notices the storm roll in before you do. His ears twitch, head lifting from its rested perch on his paws.

“What’s up, baby? Hey?” You coo, his sudden shift obviously prompted by something. His snout begins to twitch, too, and his bottom lip shakes as a small growl vibrates from his throat. His eyes are on the window, stalking the clouds as they roll past. “Hey.”

You sit up a little straighter to lean forward and scratch behind his ear. He leans into it, but doesn’t take his eyes away from the sky.

“You see the rain, huh?” You hum, looking between the pup and the window ahead. You can’t place it yet - it’s too far in the distance - but you find yourself coming to sit beside him. He doesn’t lean up against you like he usually does. Just continues to lightly growl.

There’s no threat behind his noises, no malice - he’s just shouting back at the thunder you can’t hear. When you see a bolt of lightning flash in the distance just beyond the city skyline, you know that it won’t be long until Jungkook’s apartment block is drenched in the weather.

It’s just gone midnight when he calls. His face is a little puffy, smile a little lopsided.

“Hey Bammie,” he coos into the camera. You’ve got it angled down to where the pup is resting his head on your knee, peacefully unwinding after his long walk. Bam doesn’t stir at Jungkook’s voice, so he tries again. “Bammie?”

The way he elongates his puppy’s name is sweet - a tone of voice reserved only for his most trusted companion. He sure as hell has never spoken to you like that.

“Sorry, bud,” you say as you lift the camera up to your face. He’s pouting. “I don’t think the vibrations sound the same through the phone.”

“I miss him,” he says not even caring to acknowledge your thought process. “Is he okay? Was he good on his walk?”

“He’s all good,” you smile. “Best boy in the world. None of the other dogs you mentioned were down at the park, so it was just us two.”

He nods into the camera and purses his lips. “They might all be away. Visiting family.” He rolls over in his bed and lets out a yawn. “How’s the apartment? Got everything you need?”

You nod back. “All good. Might have eaten my way through your cheese stash already. I’m gonna shower then head to bed in a minute.”

“Make sure you leave the bathroom door open a little,” he says. “He’ll whine if not.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate you doing this. He hasn’t been too much work, has he?”

“He’s good as gold,” you say as you switch to the back camera. The view is serene, and Jungkook’s lips instantly settle into a smile. Bam is up on the sofa with you, snuggled against your lap. The skyline twinkles through his window, the reflection of his mood lamp obscuring some of it - but he’s quietly pleased that you’re using it. It’s how he normally winds down, too. Main lights off, galaxy on his ceiling. Must make Bam feel a little more at ease. You go to scratch behind his ear, and he huffs a little, all content and cosy. “Thanks for asking. He’s never too much work. You trained him well.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums. “Could have trained you a little better, though.”

He laughs when you switch the camera back to your face, mouth open, brows knitted together. “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” he grins now but tries to hide it; to restore the stoicism to his face. It doesn’t work. “What did I tell you about the sofas?”

You purse your lips together as if you’re not smiling. He’s got you there, admittedly.

“Look, he’s just so cute!” Despite the fact you’ve turned the camera back onto Bam, Jungkook can tell you’re pouting. “How could I say no?!”

“Easily!” Jungkook laughs. “That’s how he became so well trained! I leave for one night and-”

“Shuuuush,” you laugh, and when the camera switches back to you, Jungkook can’t help but let his smile persist. You look tired, and so does he, but there’s something about the call that has made you forget all about the fact you were planning on going to bed soon. “My swamp now. My rules.”

“My swamp,” he protests, but the look on his face is so saccharine that you can’t take him seriously. He thinks the same could be said for you. “Anyways, it’s late. Go get your shower. If you need more towels, there are some in the cupboard by the boiler. Don’t forget to turn the vent on - it’s the switch next to the light.”

“Alright, will do,” you nod and then yawn. Bam pricks his head up. “Hey baby,” you speak to him. “Did I wake you?”

“Show me him.”

You switch the camera around to where you’re scratching at Bam’s ear. He leans his head into the scratch, thoroughly enjoying it, your long nails far scratchier than Jungkook’s. It’s not the same - Jungkook is far stronger, so is a little rougher which suits Bam just fine. Still, he likes your scratches better than no scratches at all.

Jungkook whines. “I miss him.”

“He misses you, too. Want me to call in the morning?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “We’re up early tomorrow, heading over to Haedong Yonggungsa in the morning. Probably be up before you. Send me pictures though.”

“Will do. Night, buddy.”

“Night gremlin,” he smiles, and then begins to coo. “Night Bammie. Daddy misses you.”

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him in the way that you do when he says that; lips turned upwards at the very corners, dimples pressing into your cheeks, eyes bright.

“Shut up,” he says, but you’re already laughing.

“Daddy.”

“I am his dad!”

“Daddy.”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” he laughs. “Have nightmares, gremlin.”

“Sweet dreams, Daddy.”

“Fuck off!”

You hang up before he can protest your taunts any more, though he does text you one final ‘fuck off,’ and a reminder that you can bolt his front door if it will make you feel safer.

His apartment is in a high-rise, and his neighbourhood is far nicer than yours. You do the bolt up regardless, and think that it’s sweet that he considered your comfort enough to remind you about it.

Bam sits by the sliding door of the bathroom, the tips of his paws just teetering over the line of the door frame. He rests his head on his legs, snout angled towards the hallway. It still makes you feel a little weird. You don’t really want a dog watching you shower, even if he is a dog and has no real understanding of what’s happening - so you turn your back to him and just reassure yourself that Jungkook showers with the door open wide.

It’s a funny thing, to think about your co-worker’s showering habits. Not one that you’ve ever thought to indulge in before - but Jungkook would go ballistic if he heard you refer to him as your ‘co-worker.’ You’re friends. Pretty good ones, at that.

You’re level players at your company; earn the same wage, hold the same rank. There’s not really any competition between the pair of you - you work in different departments - but are often paired together when the two sections merge for joint projects. You make for a good team.

Over the years, you and Jungkook have also learned that you’re a highly capable team when it comes to playing beer pong against your colleagues on Friday nights, and at the mixed-doubles tennis tournament that your company insists on you participating in every year. It’s either that or be on the Christmas Party Planning committee, and you know which you’d rather do.

Thinking about tinsel in August? No, thank you.

There is however one crucial flaw to your partnerships: how you live your lives. How you manage your money.

See, Jungkook is frugal. He makes big investments - his apartment, his cars, games consoles, Bam. Doesn’t spunk his cash away on the small shit. His apartment is in the heart of the city, only a few floors from the very top. He gets a birds-eye view of the world around him. You don’t even want to imagine how much his deposit cost.

Probably more than you have in your savings. You do spunk your cash away - on the small shit, no less. Clothes, cafes, that sort of stuff. Nothing that holds permanence. It frustrates Jungkook to no end. He thinks you could have a better life if you just used your money wisely - but you’re happy in your slightly cramped apartment, happy when the serotonin of a shopping spree boosts your mood, happy when you’re laughing with your friends over coffee and cake.

You wouldn’t be happy if you felt restricted. You think that Jungkook is.

He disagrees. He has enough in the bank to buy whatever he wants. He has financial freedom.

But there’s a difference. You’re both free in your own ways.

It’s for that reason you’d never work as a couple. Would infuriate one another far too much. Everyone who is close to you both knows this; how badly suited you would be. They’ll joke about all of the women in the office trying to get their mitts on Jungkook - even the married ones - but not you.

It’s funny because they’re right. Everybody wants him.

He collects stars from their eyes and accumulates them in his own. The girls blush and giggle about how he looks at them with galaxies, but they don’t realise what a thief he is. Don’t realise he’s stolen their shine, and incorporated it into his own. A spotlight follows him, and you enjoy watching the show unfold with an amused grin whenever a new secretary catches his gaze for the first time.

It’s not intentional. You don’t think Jungkook realises he does it. In fact, he hadn’t realised that it was such a pattern of behaviour until the midnight squalor of a dive bar had you talking about office conquests, and how the photocopier room had seen his bare ass more than it had seen toner changes.

“Shouldn’t shit where you eat, Jeon,” you’d grinned.

“Firstly, that’s a horrible phrase - and secondly, it takes two to tango. They’re just as much to blame as I am.”

But they’re not. He’s the only repeat offender.

“And anyways,” he had deflected, sinking down the final dregs of his beer. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. Everyone’s fucked a colleague at least once.”

You’d just raised an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Like I said - shouldn’t shit where you eat, Jeon.”

Now, if he’d have said housemate, you would have folded. Downed your drink. Ordered a repeat round.

Something about a shared space - domestication - really gets you. It’s joint laundry loads, shared dinners, movie nights; grocery shopping, D.I.Y. furniture, arguments about who gets the bigger room. More often than not, it never matters, ‘cause you just end up staying in theirs.

You live alone now. After the third time, you knew better than to let yourself fall into the trap once more.

He learns about your affliction a few months later, and goes on tease you relentlessly.

In fact, he mentions it when he propositions you a few weeks before Chuseok. You had both spent the last couple of holiday periods overworked, slogging through the festivities. For the first time since either of you can remember, your workload has eased up.

You’ve already told him you’re planning on doing sweet, sweet fuck all. You’ve told your family you will be working, because you just want to finally breathe for a while; stay in with a tub of ice cream and your favourite films. Speak to no one. Do nothing.

“I’ve got a favour to ask you,” he had said as he approached your desk before the end of the day. It was a Friday, but you weren’t heading for after-work drinks with the usual suspects like you typically did. You had a date, instead. A third one with the same guy - Mingyu - which felt like a miracle. Even Jungkook was a little shocked that the poor guy wasn’t sick of you.

“Go on,” you had mused as you checked over your to-do list for the following week.

“You gotta promise me something first.”

“Promise you what?”

“That you won’t fall in love with me.”

You’d swatted him away the ruler on your desk, and told him to get his head out of his ass. “Been able to resist your charms this long, Jeon. Give me some credit.”

“It’s only ‘cause you know I’d reject you, you little gremlin.”

“I thought you wanted a favour? Funny way of going about it.”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right,” he had conceded with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me.”

“What do you want?”

“How would you feel about potentially staying at mine over Chuseok to look after Bam? My parents want us to head down to Busan for the weekend and see relatives seeing as I’m finally free and know it’s a big ask but I-”

“Oh my God, yes?!” You had smiled so wide Jungkook thought you might fracture your jaw.

You love Bam.

In fact, he might just be your favourite thing about Jungkook.

Occasionally you walk him with Jungkook on the weekends, when you’re both hungover and need to get out of a slump. You’ve grown up with pets, but moving to the city in your early twenties to pursue your career meant apartment living.

You’re a rural girl deep down, and would never want to keep a pet in a high rise.

Jungkook manages it, but he goes home at lunchtime to walk Bam during the winter. In the summer, when it’s too hot, he goes home at lunch regardless, to lounge around with Bam under the air con.

Sometimes, you go with him. Bam is always pleased to see you.

Jungkook lied and said he asked around because he didn’t want to inconvenience you.

Truth is, he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with his baby. He’d never spent a night away from Bam. Hated the idea. Despised it, in fact. He would have just taken Bam with him to Busan, but didn’t think it would be fair to force him on the journey from Seoul.

Over in Busan, when Jungkook hangs up, the conversation isn’t over. It continues in his head.

“Hey, wait…”

“Mhhm?”

“You just… look nice tonight, that’s all.”

He thinks you’d blush. Would tell him to lay off the soju. Accuse him of getting too drunk for a family get-together. He’d let you. Would take the beating of your false accusations, because it would be far easier than admitting he’s not had a single drop.

He thinks of the hug he’ll give Bam when he gets home; how wild his tail will waggle, how he’ll jump all over the place, and how you’ll be giggling. In his mind, you’ll be smiling just as wide as he is.

You’d stay for dinner. Jungkook would order from your favourite place to say thank you. Bam would snuggle up to Jungkook - on the sofa - and you’d be on the other side, stroking his back. He’d be happy. Bam, not Jungkook. But also Jungkook. Hopefully you, too.

When the time would approach for you to go home, you’d offer to help. Rinse out the containers. Hair up in a claw clip, t-shirt off your shoulder like it so often is.

Jungkook doesn’t notice, but his hands begin to trail down his body as he thinks of you. His phone is still on his chest, rising and falling with every beat of his heart. The tips of his fingers stroke against his skin.

He thinks of you laughing with him about something inconsequential. You’d flick water in his direction when he’d make some joke at your expense. It’d all be in good humour.

But then he’d flick some back at you, and water war would break out. Bam would run excitedly between the pair of you, Jungkook chasing you around the kitchen island with wet hands - and you’d do the exact same back. You’d flick water over the counter, tap still running and he’d call you a gremlin.

There’s a smile on his lips as he thinks of his. His hands roam further south. He’s ticking at his abdomen. It’s nice. Feels calm. He likes to engage his senses when he thinks of scenarios like these. Makes it feel more real.

But then he’s thinking of your shirt and the fact it’s white.

And then he’s imagining catching up with you, holding you captive as he angles the tap towards your face. You’ll be shrieking and scrambling to get away, Bam by your feet, Jungkook laughing.

He’d relent, but only enough for you to twist to face him.

Jungkook’s fingers are by his thighs. Stroking. Caressing. He’s avoiding his cock. Knows it’s firm. His index finger spreads to his balls. Teases.

And then he thinks of your body pressed against his torso, your ass to the counter.

You’d both be soaked.

He’d look at your lips. Look in your eyes. Feel your chest against his. He’d swallow hard.

It’s at this point he forgets about Bam in the scenario. It’s just you and him.

His palm rests over the length of his cock. Presses down. His hips roll.

He’d tell you that you’ve made a mess. You’d tell him to clean it up. His heart would be racing. So would yours.

And it’s funny, because his heart actually is. It’s beating so fucking hard in his childhood bedroom, that he thinks his parents must be able to hear it through the walls.

He’s in a far-too-firm single bed, but in his head, he’s with you in his kitchen.

He begins to grip his cock, long fingers wrapping around his shaft. He pulls up. Pushes back down. Says your name. Whines.

He doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Just thinks about you.

Thinks about the way it would feel to sink his lips into yours; the first bite of a forbidden fruit. Thinks about that quick tongue of yours, and if it would be just as quick to find its way into his mouth. Thinks about your manicured nails that Bam loves so much, and how they’d scratch against his scalp instead. Thinks about the way his hips would rock against you, kind of like they are now; pulsing beneath his duvet.

His mind jumps. Skips the foreplay. Doesn’t mean to - but the thoughts are intrusive. Insidious. Insatiable. He can’t help it.

He pushes up into his hand. Pauses. Waits out the feeling. Retracts. Repeats.

In his head, it’s you that he’s pushing into.

The sensation is entirely different, granted, but - fuck - he hasn’t gotten himself off all week and hasn’t had sex in far longer, so it all feels the same to him.

He hasn’t worked out the mental logistics.

His imagination is jumping from the kitchen to his bedroom and then back to the kitchen again. Can’t decide where all of this is happening - and then suddenly, he finds himself railing you in the utility room.

You’re perched above the washer, held in place by him. He can smell the laundry detergent. He’s got spotlights in the room, but they’re turned off. Only lights from the hallway and the city skyline illuminate you.

It’s obscure. The shadows in his head conceal you a little. He’s gripping your waist beneath your shirt. The baby gate which keeps Bam out of the laundry room is closed.

You’re not talking, just fucking, fucking, fucking and -

“Fuck,” he whines, hand is jerking at his cock, heart rate stuttering.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

Shouldn’t let his mind jump again to a point where you’re fucking naked, and your sodden shirt is on a pile of yet-to-be-done laundry.

But then it jumps again, and one of his towels is on the floor. He’s laying down, back against it. The same position that he’s in now in his childhood bedroom - but he’s thinking about you. The silhouette of your body. The warm curves of your body. The way you bounce on his cock and then-

Oh god, it’s torture the way his cock throbs. Pre-cum leaks from his tip as his speed builds. It’s just a fantasy. Nothing more nothing less. But it’s you. And then he’s thinking about pulling you down for a kiss, and the scent of your perfume and the way you’d moan into his mouth and then his legs are shaking, torso tensing.

He’s taking it too far. Too fucking far. You. Fuck. He can’t. But he doesn’t stop. Just keeps going. Fucks his hand like it’s your pussy.

He’s pulling himself closer, closer, closer, and then he thinks about your voice, and the way you called him Daddy, and he can’t help himself. The pressure that releases in his stomach is catastrophic. Jungkook mewls your name. Calls you baby. Unloads all over himself. White hot cum paints his belly. Seeps into his belly button. Makes a mess of his hand as he coaxes the last few ropes out. It’s been a while since his last nut, but the amount he produces is not fucking normal.

It rolls down the side of his toned torso, Jungkook swallowing harshly as he tries to regulate his breathing. He doesn’t think he can. Doesn’t know what to do with himself. Just kind of lays there. Curses. Knots his brows together. Is frustrated with himself.

You’ve been friends for years. He’s never done anything like this before. He chalks it up to nothing more than him just being a little too horny for his own good. Cleans himself off. Puts his phone on charge. Berates himself for being a piece of shit. Spends a good ten or so minutes staring at the ceiling with an empty head before he falls asleep.

And it’s funny, because when you wake up in the morning, panties damp, the dream you had about Jungkook railing you in his own damn bed, you find yourself looking across the space where he usually sleeps. You reach ouch. Stroke the emptiness. Curse. Spend the rest of the day unbearably horny. It frustrates you. Makes you snappy with Jungkook when he calls.

He asks if you’ve seen Mingyu. You tell him no. He says maybe you should - but makes sure to add, “He’s still not allowed in my apartment.”

“I’m not gonna bring anyone into your space, Jungkook.”

It’s something he knows, and something he trusts you not to do, but he’s still reinforcing boundaries. Making sure that there are still some left. He thinks that if he pushes you closer to someone else, it will sort his brain out. Alleviate him of the guilt that he’s feeling.

But you don’t see Mingyu.

When Jungkook calls again that evening to find you walking Bam alone, he’s pleased. Doesn’t want some guy you’re fucking anywhere near his most prized possession. Bam, that is. Not you. But now that he thinks of it, he finds he doesn’t want Mingyu anywhere near you, either.

“Good day?” You ask, voice a lot lighter than it had been earlier.

Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t really smile. “I miss Bammie.”

You pout. “He misses you too. He’s gonna be so excited when you get home.”

The camera switches to the back camera so he can watch Bam bound along the path. He’s on his lead, snout sniffing in all the flowerbeds. It’s dark out, but there are enough lights on the trail for him to be able to see clearly.

“How is he? Eating okay? Going to the bathroom okay?”

“Eating like a champ, and producing shits to confirm that,” you say flatly. It’s definitely your least favourite part of animal ownership - but the reward is so much greater than having to pick up shit off a sidewalk.

“That’s my boy,” Jungkook grins, before turning his focus to you. “You all good? Seemed a little stressed earlier.”

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change when the front camera flips back to you, but he finds his heart racing again. When you turn your head to check the car that’s driving past, he notices your hair is up with a claw clip. Just like it was in his… thoughts about you the night before. He likes how attentive you are - how you checked the source of the noise. You’re protective. Follow your instincts. Thinks you’re the best person he could have asked to look after Bam.

“I’m all good,” you say, and you really are.

“I know it’s not exactly the relaxing Chuseok you were planning-”

“Jungkook, it’s fine,” you smile. “It’s been nice. I like Bammie far more than I like you.”

“Understandable.”

You both smile, and Jungkook begins to babble about his day, telling you stories about his parents, and his weird cousin who never knows when to not say inappropriate things, and the aunt who keeps trying to set him up with all of her friends’ daughters.

“Don’t shit where you eat,” you remind him. “Sounds too close to home. Your auntie would never be out of your business.”

“I know, I know,” he rolls his eyes. “And hey - it’s been, like, a year since I last did that! Cut me some slack, gremlin. Anyways, Mingyu works in our building. You’re basically shitting where you eat.”

“I’m actually… I think I’m gonna cool things off with him.”

“Oh?”

“It’s like not a big deal. I’m just not really feeling it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, you’re right. I’m not,” Jungkook admits, but is sombre as he does so. He remembers how happy you’d seemed after the first few dates. “But I am sorry that you haven’t found the right guy yet, gremlin.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll find the love of my life at the dog park tonight.”

“You are not allowed to use my baby as a flirting tactic.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Too late - I’m already here and there is an absolute DILF. Byeeeee.”

“Wait, no-”

You hang up before he can finish, with a grin on your face to rival a Cheshire cat.

The park is empty. Not a single DILF in sight. You ignore his call when he rings back. Will let him sweat it for a bit.

Jungkook lies awake that night.

Doesn’t do much.

His family are still chatting in the sitting room, but he can’t draw himself away from the sanctuary of his own private space, where your voice is still echoing around the room. He’s starting to understand why you’d been craving your space so much for the holiday period.

He doesn’t wanna have to return to the room with a false smile, and a feeling in the pit of his stomach that could rival the ache of getting the ferry across Busan harbour during monsoon season.

Doesn’t want to form cognitive thoughts that distract him from his mindless reflections of you.

Jungkook’s mind works like a house, and right now he’s in the annexe.

He rarely ever goes in there.

Finds he gets too comfortable and neglects the rest of the house. He’s got a garden to tend to, a kitchen to clean, and beds to make - but why would he leave the annexe when it has everything he needs? He’s comfortable there.

It’s normally reserved for the hyper-fixations he’s trying not to fixate on. He locks them away. Hasn’t really visited since he got hooked on GTA5 when he should have been studying for the University Entrance Exam. It’s still there, and he knows better than to pop it in his games console - but there’s someone else on the couch, now. It’s not just him in his mind-annexe. Someone’s in his space. He daren’t let himself go further into the room.

In fact, he’s desperately trying to jump across to the main house. Get himself out of the thoughts that are gonna consume him. He needs to close that God damn door.

But he watches the figure like a car crash. He’s scared. Unable to look away.

Not for fear of it being a monster hidden in the depths of his mind.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Monsters don’t wear their hair up with butterfly-shaped claw clips, or let the clasp of their necklace trail down their spine like that. Monsters don’t twist their back out of habit just to make it click. Monsters don’t spend their days doodling in a journal like the figure on his couch is doing.

But you do.

An iteration of Bam rests up against Jungkook’s leg in his mind, nose wet, tail lightly wagging, so he puts his hand on his pup’s shoulder for comfort. To support him. To guide him away from the annexe and back into the damn main house.

“C’mon,” he says to Bam, expecting him to leave. Expecting him to follow his commands.

It’s his head, after all - but Bam doesn’t heed his commands. Instead, his claws click against the hardwood floor and towards the figure on Jungkook’s couch. A palm outstretches, and Bam leans into it. Hums in content as a set of dark nails scratch at his ear.

“Hey, baby Bammie,” the figure sings and Jungkook knows that voice. Knows it so well that it’s hardly a surprise it’s embedded into his brain so perfectly.

And he knows.

He knows if he lets the person turn around exactly who it’s gonna be. He knows that he can’t let it happen. He won’t.

Because he and you are friends; nothing more, nothing less. Incompatible at best. A match made in hell; so wrong it could never be right.

Jungkook sits up. Shakes his head. The world in his mind tears away into darkness. He stands and tells himself to get a grip before joining his family. He needs the distraction. Needs to have cognitive thoughts. Can’t let himself get trapped. Can’t let him kid himself into thinking that you’re anything more than his friend.

It’s just cause he’s missing Bam, he reasons. Emotions are getting all mixed up. It’s the affection he feels for his beloved best friend that is getting misplaced onto you - although, if he thinks about it (which he won’t (knows better by this point (knows his mind can’t be trusted to behave))), he’d realise that you are his best friend.

It’s unfair to compare you to Bam because you’re an entirely different species, but there’s no other human he likes better than you.

One more day, and he’ll be home. One more day, and he won’t have to call you when he’s all sleepy and confused over his feelings. One more day, and things will be back to normal. One more measly day.

And then he’ll be reunited with Bam, and he won’t have the stress of family or thinking about the week of work ahead to contend with.

One more day. He can do this.

He will do it. Will barrel home at the speed of lightning; will stop only for red lights and maybe the occasional gas station snack, potato spirals on a pointed wooden skewer and deep-fried chicken slathered in a sauce he can never quite figure out the recipe for.

He’ll think about picking you up some bungeoppang - the ones filled with choux, not red bean paste - because he knows that you adore it so. There have been occasions when you’ve begged him to drive you out of the city to the large gas station out West just so you could have bungeoppang from one specific stall.

The signage is faded, and the prices haven’t changed since 2009, but that’s how you know it’s the good shit. A family recipe batter passed down for generations. The woman who makes it is always the same, and though she never remembers you, you always remember her. Beam so brightly Jungkook thinks he’s going blind whenever you spot her.

It’s only because of that one time you’d showed up with the sole mission to retrieve some of the delicious delicacies, only to be confronted with a handwritten ‘closed today, back tomorrow’ note taped to the menu. You never know when the next family emergency or trip out of town might be for your beloved bungeoppang-making Ajumma.

It’s a little after midday when Jungkook’s car rolls into the gas station. He’ll be home soon.

He tells himself that he’s just doing as he always does. Will get his tornado potato. Wolf it down. Go back for some chicken, maybe some tteok.

He’s stayed out of the annexe today. Doesn’t even think about the doorway because he knows the magnetic pull is far too strong for his cobalt heart.

Had ignored your call this morning - sorry, just saying goodbye to everyone. will see you later. - and had pushed all thoughts of you to the side. He’s even tried to stop thinking about Bam because thoughts of him will inevitably lead to thoughts of you and Jungkook is getting dizzy, quite frankly. It’s like he’s chasing his tail, never knowing when to admit defeat.

At least Bam gets enjoyment out of it when he does it. All Jungkook gets is lingering feelings of remorse.

But as he hits the home straight, a small paper bag full of choux bungeoppang cooling down on his passenger seat, his head starts to clear. He’s fixed the lock on the gate that leads to the annexe. Won’t go down that path.

Jungkook arrives ahead of schedule. Parks his car, and doesn’t tell you he’s arrived. Leaves his bag in the boot of the car, but picks up the pastries from his passenger seat.

Opens the door of his apartment quietly. You don’t hear it. Are too busy dancing around the living room with Bam to some mid-noughties classic.

“Hey,” you laugh a little breathlessly as finally notice him. He’s leaning against the wall. Is wearing his glasses, to make up for the long drive. You think it’s a crying shame he doesn’t wear them at work, too.

“Was I interrupting something?”

“No, not all,” you say. There are deep creases below your eyes, testament to the size of your smile. “Me and baby Bammie-” you reach over and stroke at his sides, a little rough and tumble, but perfectly joyous “- were just burning off a little energy before you got home.”

Jungkook crouches, arms outstretched for Bam. The puppy knocks into Jungkook’s chest, legs all moving slightly out of coordination, excitable whines sounding in his throat. His tail wags so fast you think he’d be able to produce electricity if he really tried.

They match each other’s energy; delirious happiness, content only when in one another’s presence.

“Hey buddy,” he coos. “Daddy’s home. I missed you. Missed me too, hey? C’mere.”

His strong hands stroke Bam’s sides, and you watch how playful they both are with unadulterated awe. It seems absurd how similar the two of them are; man and his best friend.

“He was lost without you,” you confirm.

“It’s that right?” Jungkook pouts as he scratches behind Bam’s ears, cradling his face in his hands. “Did Bammie miss Daddy?”

Bam barks. Yes.

“Hey, I’m sorry, boy. I’m home now, though. Daddy’s home.”

Yes, you think. Yes, he is.

The night dissolves much like Jungkook thought it would. You stay for dinner. Watch crappy entertainment shows, and laugh at how absurd people can be. There’s warmth in his apartment, even though he hasn’t turned the heating on.

“You’ll never know how much I appreciate this,” Jungkook says softly as midnight approaches. Bam sighs. There’s rain on the windows, but the storm doesn’t bother him tonight. Not in the slightest. “Thank you.”

Your head shakes. Smile perseveres. “Happy to do it. You know how much I love Bam.”

Silence wraps around your words like a velvet bow, pulled taut. There’s no double knot, but there needn’t be. It isn’t unravelling any time soon.

“So,” you change topic. “How long do you reckon it will take the new secretary to fall in love with you? I’m thinking maybe four days.”

Jungkook wants to make a joke; tease you about how your mind jumped from how much you love his dog, to the idea of loving him. Not you loving him, granted, but it only took a few electrical signals between neurons for you to get there. Must associate him with love pretty closely.

“Four days? Far too quick.” Jungkook pauses. “You’ve been staying here for four days. Reckon that’s an appropriate amount of time to fall in love with someone?”

He’s being facetious. It’s all in jest and yet you feel your heart beat a little faster. Only for a moment. There’s a mild concern in your features, fearful that he can somehow sense the thoughts you’ve been having; the fantasies, the daydreams, the moments of weakness.

You look at him with eyes he doesn’t recognise. Your lashes are low. Sultry, even. Suggestive. Teasing.

And then, they roll.

“Jeon, you have those poor girls on their knees within a single ‘hello’. Don’t act like you don’t know it, you big old flirt.”

“If Bam wasn’t so peaceful, I’d kick you,” he mumbles, stroking at the dark fur behind his pup’s ear. Bam sighs, content to have him back. There’s a smile on Jungkook’s lips. Both are perfectly content. Both are happy to be with the people they like the most in the world.

“He’d just defend me,” you taunt. There’s a serenity to your jokes, and light-hearted banter that means nothing more, nothing less than just enjoyment of one another’s company. “I’m his favourite now.”

Jungkook laughs. Scratches a little firmer behind Bam’s ear. “You hear that, boy? Gremlin really thinks you’d choose her over me.”

You pull your torso back. Turn your body to face his. Let disbelief wash over your features, as if Jungkook saying shit like that’s a surprise. The movement alerts Bam, his head lifting, the chain links of his collar rattling. He looks over to you, then back to Jungkook.

“He LOVES me.”

“I thought dogs are supposed to take after their owners, though?” Jungkook teases. “And I can’t fuckin’ stand you.”

Your playful shock dissolves into narrowed eyes and a suppressed grin. Bam’s looking at you again, so you cup his dainty face and scratch the underside of his jaw. “You hear that, baby Bammie? How are you so lovely when your Daddy is such an asshole?”

Jungkook’s steady gaze lifts to you from Bam. You’re still cooing at the puppy, scratching beneath his snout, but Jungkook’s back in that damn annexe again. He isn’t smiling - but his eyes are unbelievably soft.

So, so velvety. Like satin, maybe; ribbons tied around ponytails. Brushed cotton, perhaps; his still-warm bedsheets fresh out of the tumble dryer.

Soft, like he imagines your hair would be; released from its claw clip, falling around his face. Soft, like he imagines your lips would be; pressed against his, in the privacy of his bedroom. Soft, like he imagines your laugh would be; soundtracking the living alarm clock that is Jeon Bam, as he bundles onto Jungkook’s bed at just gone six-thirty the following morning.

But then you look up at him, and his stare is hard. Still sparkling, yes - but diamonds, not stars. Concrete speckled. Pennies tossed in an empty well; the steel bolt of his door which keeps the outside world at bay.

Hard, like he imagines your teeth would be; tugging on his bottom lip in the shadows of his bedroom. Hard, like he imagines your nails would be; leaving a trail of ruby red sin down his back. Hard, like he imagines your laboured breaths would be; lips resting ajar against his, your very essence pouring into him as he pushes into you.

Hard. Soft. Confusing and conflicting, and just so unbelievably him.

“What?” you question, bemused by the way his demeanour changed. “‘Daddy’ really gets you, huh?”

“Does fuck all for me,” he says with a little temperance, but there’s a smirk on his lips. His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek.

A few have tried the moniker on him, but it never fit well. Would fall from their lips and crash to his bedroom floor. He’d just kiss them to shut them up.

But you… You have him reconsidering. Have him a little hot beneath his sweats.

It’s not really the idea of being your Daddy, but the concept of being one full-stop that has him adjusting his legs slightly. He’s a man of big investments, after all. No greater investment than starting a life with another person. He likes the idea of it.

Makes him think of you talking with a toddler - I’m not sure, baby, go ask Daddy -and the pitter-patter of feet across the hardwood floors of his apartment. Makes him think how gentle you are with Bam, and how wonderful he knows you’d be with a kid. Makes him think all kinds of shit he’s never let himself indulge in before.

When he goes to bed that evening, and his sheets are seeped in the scent of your perfume, he thinks of it all over again.

Thinks of you.

And realises he can’t think about you without his heart racing, any more.

The door of the annexe in his mind is broken, now. Off its hinges.

And apparently, so is he.

Shit.

part two (x)

[hwathinker]

"aww, why are you crying baby? come on, i'm gonna take a break now can i?"

pairings ; best friend!yunho x fem!reader warnings ; i don't think there is.. (i'm joking.. there's cockwarming, blowjobs(?), petnames) just yunho being a tease and annoying.. i really love the cocky + nerdy concept on yunho ;) wn ; hey! i finally got a free time today, so i decided to spend it on writing something. i'll be taking requests by the way! i'm hoping to see some smutty reqs from ya'll hahaha

"come on y/n, its not that hard to memories these shit." yunho said, poking your head which was buried to the book you were supposed to read. you had spent over an hour in his apartment, just for a study session. you also promised yourself to study for real this time but i guess the tiredness and laziness in you held you back. you shook your head aggressively, making him stop touching you. "y/n, we have a really tight schedule and i know you know that. plus our presentation is in 3 days. spend your time studying so you won't have to struggle to go out with me." you shot your head up as soon as yunho mentioned about going out. your parents doesn't really let you go out unless you do something great in school. but with pleasing them by doing house chores, you know you could get out easily. well, not every time.

"ugh.. how many times do i have to read these?!" pointing at the open book, you looked at him. "if you really want me to memories this then how about you?" you held the book up close to your face, shooting your eyes up to him then at the book back to make sure he isn't peeking. yunho sighed, letting go of his pen and turning to you. he looked at the book title, making a face to remember something. "well, physics huh.. what page are you in?" he asked, shifting his body and putting his arm on the table so that he can rest his head on his fist with his cheeks. you quickly went to the first page, knowing that he doesn't pay that much attention on a first page of a book. "uh.. page one. i'm not telling you what it is though." you said, burying your head to the book once again and shifting you gaze between the book and yunho every 4 seconds. yunho smiled, pretending to remember what was on the first page. "physics is the natural science of matter, involving the study of matter, its fundamental constituents, its motion and behavior through space and time, and the related entities of energy and force." you read what was on the page along with what he said, your eyes slowly going wide as he do.

"the fuck?! how in the earth did you remember every damn word in this one ass page?!" you slammed the green book on the table, going up close to him with rage in you. "i don't know, maybe i started to pay attention to the first page now. or maybe not, because i'm smart." he said, going back to his position and continue his revision. "or maybe.. you could help cover for me?" you said, leaning your head on the table as you puppy eyed him as you smile. yunho gave you a silent answer, which was a no. "come on yun, i know you like obeying me." you teased again, smiling ever so widely. "how about you study or i fuck that mouth off." he shift his gaze to you, placing down the pen under his palm.

you pouted, covering your face with your hand. yunho let out a small chuckle, grabbing you by your waist to get you more close. "i've never seen you this shy, y/n. you always fight back my teasings." he said, laying head head on the table too, close to your covered face. "i'd rather have a cock inside me for long enough than having to suck one that has a possibility of piss on it." you mumbled, hoping he won't hear a single thing when he's just right there, in front of you. yunho took your hand away from your face, meeting his eyes that was already staring at you. "do you want to try?" he bit his bottom lip, smiling lightly. you think, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting your lips. "i don't know. so you're hard?" you looked at his reddening face as your hand quickly went to his.. harden clothed dick. oh he is. yunho slaps your hand away quickly, holding them in his big ones. "suck it." he ordered, watching your smile grew wider. "why so needy? were you already planning this all along?" you said, shifting closer to him so there's no more space between the both of you. "sure. i'll do it. but you'll have to do a favor for me, too." you said again,getting up from the table and wait for him to strip. he stood up, sliding his sweats down and place them beside the table. but this time, he went to the sofa, sitting on it then leaning comfortably back while manspreading.

you looked at him with lust, his tongue going over his bottom lips, wetting them then biting them afterwards. he watches you walk towards him, your knee purposely hitting his crotch as you lean in to give his jaw a nice lingering kisses, to his lips. "how long have you been keeping this from me, hm?" you mumbled in the kiss, enjoying his taste. "ever since you appeared like a damn angel in front of me and decided to become my friend." he held your jaw with his hand, caressing them. you ran your hand from his bicep, down to his chest. gently touching every part as possible to make him shudder. you pulled away from the kiss, going down as he watches your every move. your tits, holding onto its dear life in the top you had. it looked like it want to pop out in any second you make a risky move. and your tight low rise jeans. ah, don't mention it anymore. he loves it when you wear that kind of clothes.

after you had took off his boxer, his dick sprung out, precum leaking to his base. "fuck, who are you going big for? me?" you said, grabbing his cock gently, kissing the pink aching tip. he hissed in pleasure, throwing his head back. "who else do i have to keep this dick for? of course it was for you, angel." oh god, that nickname has you every time. you licks his cock slowly, going down and fitting the whole base in your mouth. as you suck him off. him, on the other hand are sweating, tears started to form in that boy's eyes. he had his hands placed prettily under your chin so he has a better view while the other caress your hair ever so sweetly. he is this sweet when receiving a blowjob? oh you could do this everyday if it means he is. "mmh, such a good girl. other boys must not be this thick, right? i know you enjoy this so much, baby." he said in between moans, grunts. you swirl your tongue, making a popping sound when letting his cock go. he felt empty, and cold.

yunho pouted, watching his dick being held and watched by you. "y/n.. why did you do that? more please.." he begged, grabbing your free hand and holding them in his. "i want a favor back." you gently pump his cock, watching him biting his bottom lip. "what is it hm..?" he hummed, thinking about what you possibly want. you leaned and lay your cheeks on his cock, looking up to him. "i want you to cover for me for the presentation soon."

and that, you were being sat on his lap while he does his revision. your top thrown away even god don't know where, your jeans and red panties thrown at the sofa. now, you're being forced to sit on his dick that has cummed a few times because you moved a little. you were facing behind, hugging him so tightly, hoping to not make a certain move or he takes a break to play with your hardened tits again. i said, again. you shuddered at the feeling of his liquid constantly coming out and its touching your walls. "y/n baby, don't move please? i've said this a thousandth times already." as he put his pen down, he pulled you so that you're leaning on the edge of the table and facing him. "aww, why are you crying baby? come on, i'm can take a break now can i?"

--

hehe a small yunho smut for ya'll <3 i miss this man so much and have you seen his airport look? god damn i would devour every single inch of it. and have ya'll seen seonghwa's gianna boyfriend?? goshh if he's not putting a shirt on i'm gonna suck those tits LMAO lmk if theres any error guys.. and remember to drop some hot ass smut thoughts on my inbox please im beggin u

[mononijikayu]

together — gojo satoru.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence. Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.” You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence

WARNING/S: angst, romance, break up, hurt/comfort, divorce, separation, hurt, humor, depictions of failing marriage, depiction of post-divorce grief, depiction of sexual content, usage of pet names and endearments, depiction of grief, mention of grief, mention of sexual content, mention of loneliness;

WORD COUNT: 5.5k words

NOTE: the poll winner from recently!!! this took a while. i wanted to write more but you might get bored of me doing longer stories. i should learn how to stop yapping and get straight to the point too,,,,, but im grateful you come and read it at all. i love you all so much!!! i'll be focusing on writing future projects to keep you entertained too <3 oh~ also the japanese text above is the ending text of the story <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

◤━━━━━━━━━━◥

LIVING ALONE AGAIN WAS STRANGE. You would think that after spending most of your life living alone, solitude would have become a familiar companion, a constant that you’d grown accustomed to. Yet, the nearly decade-long interlude of marriage had fundamentally shifted your sense of normalcy. Your normal wasn’t your normal years ago. That normal was gone long ago. 

The absence of Satoru, though frequent, had always been counterbalanced by his presence at other times—his laughter, his warmth, the shared moments that punctuated the quiet of your home. Memories reverberated in your head often, almost like a broken record repeating over and over again. 

Even with his unpredictable schedule and the long stretches of time he spent away on missions, his mere existence had woven a thread of companionship into the fabric of your daily life. His absence, when it occurred, was never complete. It was always lingering, almost the feeling of the wind on your cheeks. Like the sunlight that doesn’t know where else to go. 

There was always a lingering echo of his presence in the small things: the way he left his favorite hot cocoa mug on the counter, the occasional stray articles of clothing, or the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. You existed alone and yet never truly alone. You were stuck in the pandemonium of him. And you can’t escape it, not him. Not even if you wanted to. You loved him too much, you think to yourself. And perhaps that was the most dangerous, most painful reality. 

Now, facing the reality of your solitude once again, you felt a shift that was more profound than you had anticipated. The house was quieter, emptier, in a way that was starkly different from your pre-marriage solitude. The echoes of his laughter were replaced by a silence that felt heavier, more pronounced. The space that was once filled with the shared rituals and routines was now hollow, resonating with the absence of the life you had once built together.

You found yourself unexpectedly disoriented by this new kind of loneliness. It wasn’t just the absence of a physical presence; it was the loss of the rhythm of life that had come with living with someone else—the cadence of shared moments, the comfort of knowing someone would always be there to fill the void. You realized that nearly a decade of marriage had redefined what it meant to be alone. The silence you faced now was a different kind of solitude, one that bore the weight of change and loss.

As you adjusted to this new reality, you were confronted with a truth you hadn’t fully grasped before: the difference between being alone and being alone together. The former was an old friend that knows you too well. And the latter had become an ingrained part of your existence, transforming how you experienced and understood solitude. Even in his absence, the presence of Gojo Satoru had left a mark that made the return to your solitary life feel like a disorienting shift. It was a constant reminder, like an afterthought — that you were drowning in both of it. And you wish you weren’t.

The first few weeks after the divorce felt like wading through an endless fog, each step heavier than the last. You’d packed up your life and moved into a smaller apartment, a place devoid of the memories that once filled every corner of your shared space with Gojo Satoru. The silence was a constant reminder of what was lost, and you couldn’t help but notice the emptiness where his laughter once echoed. 

The day you took off your wedding ring, it felt like a final, quiet resignation to a reality you hadn’t fully accepted. You set it aside in a drawer, out of sight but never truly out of mind. And you cried, on and on, for hours that seemed to go on to infinity. Yet, the last name remained, a silent tribute to what once was, even if you weren’t entirely sure why you held on to it. Maybe it was the familiarity, maybe it was a part of you that couldn’t fully let go. But it remained. 

You know he’s changed too since the divorce. At least that’s what you’ve heard from people you know. He moved to a different apartment, a place that probably lacks the warmth you tried to bring into your home together. And you can’t blame him. It was filled with ghosts, your old home. Ghosts of you and him that he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to relive. 

He still keeps his wedding ring, that’s what the whispers say. At times, you imagine him, still as tall and proud as ever, his uniform impeccable, with that wedding ring you thought he’d discard hanging around his neck, hidden beneath layers of fabric and bravado. It’s not that you expected him to wear it forever, but knowing he does fills you with a strange mix of pain and comfort. 

He deleted your contact from his phone, yet you’re certain he could still dial your number from memory, just as you’ve failed to erase him from yours. It was too bad, you can’t help but think. How silly it was for both of you, to still be this attached to ten numbers on your phone screen. That it is now etched in your heads. One way or another, still listed as the emergency number on the first listing of the contact list.

It’s ironic, you think. Almost a decade of marriage, years filled with love, laughter, and moments that felt like they could never end, all reduced to this—two people who still love each other deeply but grew too tired to fight for what they had. Not tired of each other, no. You’re sure he’ll always love you, just as you know that you’ll always love him. But the weight of it all became too much. You couldn’t carry it anymore, and neither could he.

And so here you are, in your separate spaces, living lives that feel incomplete without the other. It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, one where the love is still there, lingering like a ghost, but the life you once shared is gone. The divorce papers were just a formality, a first step made by a child born into this world; the real loss, the real step to living again is something neither of you has figured out how to let go of yet. And perhaps, you will never truly find it.

But at times, love wasn’t enough. Love couldn’t bridge the gaps that grew between you and Satoru. Keeping each other alive wasn’t enough either. Knowing that the other was out there, somewhere, breathing, wasn’t enough to fill the void that settled in your heart. Sometimes, you need more than that. And you certainly did.

You felt alone for most of your marriage to Satoru. Not unloved, but alone. There was a difference, you’re sure of it. Satoru loved you, a lot. You knew he did. If you could see it, you would think it would have been large enough to create a bigger sea than the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps it would engulf the whole planet too.

He chose you, above everything. At least at one point, when duty didn’t matter as much as it did now. When the world still spun in the way that made sense. You still remember how his eyes were as they bore against his family members, standing in front of you. He went against tradition, defying the expectations of those who believed he should marry someone with powerful connections, someone from a clan as prestigious as his own. 

Instead, he chose you, a sorcerer without ties to power or influence. Just you. Plain and ordinary you. He carved out Sundays to be with you, Megumi, and Tsumiki, a precious day reserved for just the four of you, away from the demands of the world you were all trapped in. He tried to be there, he really did. You knew that he did his best. Because he loved you.

Yet, despite all that, most days you didn’t see him as much. Duty outweighed that devotion, that love, that defiance.  He was always somewhere else, pulled in too many directions at once. His duties as the strongest, as a teacher, as a protector—those came first. And while you understood, while you knew that he was out there saving lives, it didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. And he knew that too.

You were surrounded by love, yet it felt like you were living parallel lives, close but never truly touching. The days blurred together, filled with brief moments of connection followed by long stretches of absence. You grew used to missing him, to waiting for the rare moments when he’d be fully present, but it wore on you. The love you shared was real, but it wasn’t enough to keep the loneliness at bay.

That loneliness, the growing chasm between you, led to fights—fights that started small, sparked by little things but quickly ignited into full-blown arguments. Screaming matches that echoed through the apartment, tears that blurred your vision, and words that cut deep, words that should never have been said. 

You tried to make sure you never did that in front of Megumi or Tsumiki. But you think they knew. How could they not, when the silence was so loud? And you would rather stay in silence than let them see the tears, let Satoru see the tears. There were moments when the hurt became too much, and the pain spilled over into everything you did, even the intimacy that once brought you closer.

There were nights when the sex was intense, a desperate attempt to reconnect, to remember the love that once held you together. To feel something other than this emptiness, this grief, this pain. But even in those moments, pleasure was tinged with an ache so deep it brought you to tears. Tears that spilled from the heart of someone already grieving, someone who saw the end coming long before the final goodbye. You grieved for the marriage you had, the marriage that you didn’t have. The one that shouldn’t have ended this way but was unraveling regardless.

He lay on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress as his lips traced a desperate path along your neck, each kiss laden with a quiet urgency, as if this was the last time he’d ever taste your skin. His breath was warm against your throat, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, unwilling to let go just yet.

Your arms locked around the small of his back, pulling him even closer as you moaned against him, the sound trembling with the tears gathering in your eyes. The pressure of his body, the way he rocked against your core, flesh to flesh, was both comforting and excruciatingly bittersweet. Each movement, each whispered breath, felt like a silent plea for more time, a way to hold on to what was slipping through your fingers.

You didn’t want to let go, your heart clinging to the connection between you, desperate to keep him close for just a little longer. But even as you wrapped yourself around him, feeling the pulse of his heart against yours, you knew the truth. You knew that this would end, that this was just another fleeting moment before you’d have to let go, before the final goodbye.

Your tears mingled with the sweat on your skin, a physical manifestation of the heartbreak you were both too afraid to voice. He kissed your neck as if he could somehow imprint his love into your very soul, but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be enough. No matter how tightly you held on, no matter how deeply he loved you, this was a chapter that was closing, and nothing could stop that.

You felt both raw and exposed, you lay there beside him, your body still trembling from the aftermath, your heart feeling like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The air between you was thick with the unspoken, a silence so heavy it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The ceiling above you blurred as tears welled up, but the words that clawed their way up your throat demanded to be spoken, even if they tore you both apart in the process.

“This isn’t working out anymore, Satoru.” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet like a knife. The moment the words left your lips, you could feel the shift in the bed, his body tensing beside you as if bracing for a blow that had already landed. “You know it as much as I do.”

He didn’t respond right away, the silence between you stretching out into something almost unbearable. When he finally turned to look at you, his expression was a mixture of shock and guilt, as if he hadn’t expected to hear what you both knew was inevitable. 

His eyes, those vibrant blue eyes that once held so much joy and love, were now clouded, searching yours for something—anything—that could change what you had just said. Because he knew. He knew it even before you did, with those six eyes. That it was over. That there was nothing left to find. 

The love was still there, burning bright, but it wasn’t enough to hold together what had been breaking for so long. You watched as the realization settled over him, as the weight of your words began to sink in, and in that moment, you saw a part of him crumble. It was as if the strongest man you’d ever known had been brought to his knees, not by any curse or enemy, but by the simple truth that he couldn’t fix what was broken between you.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he whispered, the words trembling in the space between you, as if they carried the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. His voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked vulnerable, lost in a way you had never seen before. “I’m really sorry.”

His apology hung in the air, a single thread connecting you to a past that had once been so full of promise, now unraveling before your eyes. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that you both tried, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you lay there, the distance between your bodies feeling like a chasm that neither of you could cross anymore, the reality of your situation settling in like a cold, unrelenting truth.

And in that moment, you knew it was over. Not just the marriage, but the fight to keep it alive. The love you had for each other was still there, but it had been worn down by the loneliness, the missed connections, the time spent apart. And now, as you lay beside him, you realized that love alone wasn’t enough to save what you had lost. And you were tired. You were tired of it all.

◤━━━━━━━━━━◥

ALL YOU WANTED TO DO WAS CRAWL INTO BED AND SLEEP. That mission really did a number on your energy, you think. But you were just desperate to get it done with. With the rise of cursed spirits doubling, you had to do more than what you usually do. And now that you were home, you wished for nothing more than to take a nice long shower and drink some beer before going off to bed. 

You yawned as you opened the door and took your keys away, the exhaustion settling into your bones as you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag by the door.The familiar hum of your apartment greeted you, a moment of quiet before you could finally relax. You turned on your AC and put your coat away. But before you could even take a breath, your phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through the silence.

You glanced at the screen and saw Shoko’s name flashing. A small smile tugged at your lips as you answered, “Hey, Shoko—”

She didn’t let you finish. “You need to get to Jujutsu High. Immediately.”

Her voice was brisk, but there was an underlying edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes shot a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour with a sigh. You didn’t have to ask, but the question slipped out anyway, “Is it Satoru?”

Shoko’s snicker crackled through the phone, and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Who else would it be?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of your nose as a wave of weariness washed over you. It always seemed to be him. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Sho.” you replied, your voice resigned but determined. “Just let me have a shower first.”

There was a pause, and then Shoko’s tone softened just slightly. “Thanks.”

“Keep him entertained until I get there, okay?”

“I don’t really think I can keep promises like that.”

You hung up, the familiar mixture of concern and frustration stirring in your chest. You knew Satoru—how he pushed himself, how he always danced on the edge of danger, how he made everyone worry without ever seeming to care about the toll it took on those who loved him. And now, once again, you found yourself rushing to his side, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you as you prepared to face whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

When you arrived at the familiar room, the sight that greeted you was almost surreal in its familiarity. It was exactly as you had left it weeks and weeks ago, as if time had frozen in this one small corner of the world. But you think in a way, that’s how sentimental your ex–husband was. You sighed. It was still something you have to get used to, thinking of Satoru as your ex–husband. But slowly but little, maybe you would.

Papers were stacked precariously on every available surface, threatening to topple over at any moment. Food containers were haphazardly piled in a corner, one after the other, all empty. Sweet soda cans lay scattered around, rolling slightly with each step you took. Dust had begun to settle on the scrolls and books that were abandoned on the desk and floor, evidence of a mind too occupied to care about the mess surrounding it.

And there, in the far corner of the room, was Gojo Satoru. His cerulean blue eyes, as bright and intense as ever, were glued to a pile of administrative paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Concentration that you rarely see in him when you are at home. Well, when you still lived together. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, before letting out a long, quiet sigh.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

You watched him for a moment longer, a twinge of something bittersweet tugging at your heart. Satoru had always been like this, meticulous in certain things, striving for perfection in the most mundane tasks. And for a fleeting second, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to get more than just the budget right. Maybe he had wanted to get your marriage right, too. But like the paperwork in front of him, it had slipped through the cracks, and no amount of precision could fix what had already fallen apart.

You shook the thought from your mind, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s the crisis this time? Or did you just need me to come clean up your mess again?”

Satoru finally looked up, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” 

And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell him you were done cleaning up after him, you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew that some part of you would always show up for him, even now, even after everything.

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

He says nothing for a moment and smiles. “Is it that obvious?”

“I was your wife at one point, Satoru.” You smiled back at him. “I would know it all.”

You moved further into the room, your steps unhurried but purposeful as you waltzed toward him. Without a word, you took the seat directly in front of him, the old familiarity of the space wrapping around you like a well-worn coat. The paper bag in your hand crinkled softly as you set it down on the cluttered table between you. 

Finally, Satoru looked up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes, always so piercing, softened just slightly as he took you in. “You getting worried for me, babes?” he teased, the nickname slipping out as naturally as ever.

You sighed, the weight of years shared between you pressing down on your shoulders. “When have I never been worried?” you replied, the words tinged with a quiet resignation. “Eat up before you die from hunger, you idiot.”

He chuckled, that easy, careless laugh of his that used to make your heart flutter. “I’ll be fine, you know?” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I would have been home before 4 am.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “I know… but I still worry.”

There was a pause, a beat where the air between you grew heavy with the things left unsaid. When you looked back up, his smile had shifted—still there, but tinged with something almost unbearably sad. 

“I hope you stop.” he murmured, the honesty in his voice cutting deeper than any argument or harsh word could have. “It’s not good for you. To worry about me.”

You knew he meant it. Satoru didn’t want you to be weighed down by him, didn’t want you caged like some delicate bird in a gilded cage. He had set you free so that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore, so that you could breathe without the constant worry that had come to define so much of your life together. And in his own way, he was just being honest, just trying to do right by you, even if it meant asking for something that neither of you really wanted. 

But the truth of it hurt all the same, a constant nagging that no matter how much love there was, sometimes that love wasn’t enough to hold you together. And as you sat there, watching him, you knew that letting go of that worry was going to be one of the hardest things you’d ever have to do.

"I heard you got the job at Fukuoka in a few weeks." Satoru whispered, his pearless blue gaze heavy on you. "Congratulations."

You don't know how he heard it, who he heard it from. But your ex-husband always had his six eyes on everything. He has ways. But maybe it didn't matter. You don't think it would have been easy to tell him anyway. You didn't have the heart to. In a way, you feel like you're leaving him behind. And you didn't want to. That was your biggest fear.

That your Satoru would truly be alone. That he would suffer everything the world gave him on his own. As he always has. Because when you think about Satoru, he wasn't the strongest. He was just the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. And now he's the man you loved—still do love. Yet he won't have your shoulder. Now more so than ever that you're leaving.

"Yaga recommended me." You whisper back at him with a tender, broken look. "He thought I would do well as a teacher there. And well, there was a spot opened since Inumaki-sensei retired."

"Inumaki's uncle, wasn't it?" He says, leaning against the back rest. "No, he's definitely older. He's the great-uncle."

"I think so, I'm not very sure." You confess. "I'm not into the clan matters."

He chuckles. "That's okay. Clan matters have always been boring."

Silence befell the two of you as you looked at your fumbling nails. You didn't know what to do now, you didn't think you can meet his eyes. Your grandmother told you that the window to the soul was the eyes. And so, you were hesitant. You were hesistant to see how much damage you could bring to his soul. How much grief you can inflict upon him by leaving.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, and decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “How’s Megumi?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, focusing on something you both still cared about.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

"It's a five hour train ride." You whispered, your eyes still darted to your hands. "Thirteen hours by car and...and I'll stop by for reports and administrative meetings."

"You want me to visit you?" Satoru teased, crossing his arms.

You looked at him, finally. Your lips pursed tightly. "If you want. You know....you know my house is open to you. Wherever it is."

"And you're my home. You always will be." He mumbles lowly, a ghostly smile on his lips. "I'll come and see you, hm? Teleport even."

You could feel a lump gather at your throat. You didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming to hear. But maybe, just maybe — it would hurt less had he said it more often. Maybe it would have been common place. And maybe, your heart wouldn't be breaking over and over again.

"Just don't go on days you have work. Your kids need you too."

He smiles. "No promises."

Satoru’s expression softened further, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’s doing well, I suppose.” he said, leaning back in his chair as if the mere mention of Megumi eased some of the tension between you. “He’s been training hard, getting stronger every day. You know how he is—always pushing himself.”

You nodded, picturing the serious young boy who had become such a central part of both your lives. For a moment, your mind also crosses to Tsumiki. You dare not ask about Tsumiki. Not just yet. You weren’t prepared for the same answer he’d given you a while ago. 

“That sounds like him.” you murmured, a small smile finding its way to your lips despite everything. “He’s always been so determined, even when he was little. Likes proving himself and getting better.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching your face as if he could read your thoughts. “He misses you, you know?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. “He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a fresh wave of emotion swelling in your chest. You swallowed hard, looking away for a moment to compose yourself. “I miss him too.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day.”

Satoru reached out then, his hand hesitating for just a second before he placed it gently over yours, a rare moment of contact that spoke volumes. He gave you a small squeeze and then a faint smile, a smile that you wished wasn’t this broken, this sad.

“You should come see him. He’s already lodging here in the school.” he suggested, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing motion. “He’d like that, having a visit from you.”

You glanced down at his hand, the warmth of his touch both familiar and foreign at the same time. The simplicity of his suggestion made it all the more heartbreaking. As much as you wanted to see Megumi, to be there for him, it was the reminder of what you had lost—what you both had lost—that made it so difficult.

“I will.” you finally said, your voice thick with the emotion you were trying so hard to keep at bay. “I’ll see him soon.”

Satoru nodded, the understanding passing between you in the quiet that followed. It was a fragile peace, held together by shared memories and the unspoken love that still lingered between you. But it was enough for now, even if just for this moment.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

As you prepared to leave, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on you, and you turned back toward Satoru, unable to shake the feeling of seeing him so sad. “It’s hard to see you like this, you know?” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “It hurts knowing how much you’re struggling.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze dropping to the papers strewn across his desk. “I have no one to blame but myself, babe.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a resignation that seemed almost like acceptance. “And that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I always will. I have to.”

You shook your head, frustration and sadness mixing in your voice. “It’s not okay, Satoru. I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself over this. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to anyone.”

He looked up at you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that he rarely showed. He squeezed your hand again, his grip firm but gentle. You feel like at any moment, you are going to break. He was so gentle, he always was.  When it came to you? He could never be someone that would let Infinity be between you. Gentleness, it's what you deserved. To be loved well, that too. That’s what you deserved most in the world.

“I want you to think of yourself first. You were and always will be my first priority.” he said softly. “You deserve to have a life too, one that isn’t just about me. You need to take care of yourself.”

The simple sincerity of his words broke the dam you had been trying so hard to hold back. The tears you had been fighting to keep at bay finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. He lets out a small breath as he takes his free hand and lets his fingers wipe them too. Just as gently as his other hand touches your own.

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” you admitted through your tears, your voice breaking. You bit your lower lip. “It’s hard to just walk away from everything we’ve been through. I keep thinking about how things could have been different.”

Satoru’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to have all the answers, okay?” he said quietly. “Just take it one step at a time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to not have it all figured out right now.”

The tenderness in his touch, the care in his voice, only made the tears flow more freely. You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “I just want you to be okay.” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “I want us both to be okay, even if it’s apart.”

Satoru nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and understanding. “We will be,” he said softly. “It’s just going to take time. But I believe we’ll find our way. You’ll find yours, and I’ll find mine. And we’ll both be okay.”

“Satoru,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the years you had shared. “You were… you still are the love of my life.”

The words hung in the air, and you could see them hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as the realization crashed over him—memories of youth, of laughter, of love that once felt unbreakable. The years you had spent together, now mere dried ink on the pages of the book of your life, flashed before his eyes. You could almost see the emotional flood pouring over him, washing away the veneer of his usually unshakeable composure.

His laughter broke the silence, a harsh, choking sound that was as close to tears as he would allow himself to show. He takes a deep breath, trying to still himself. Trying to not let this hurt you even more than it already was.

“You already know the answer to that.” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. His laughter turned into a soft, almost pained smile, as if the truth of your words had cracked something open inside him. “Always. No matter what.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I do.” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And I always will. I’ll always love you.”

The room felt colder now, the space between you feeling like an insurmountable distance. But there was a strange sense of peace in acknowledging what had been and what could never be again. As you turned back toward the door, you took one last look at him, holding on to the bittersweet memory of a love that had been both beautiful and painful. 

And with that, you stepped out into the world that awaited you, the horizon stretching out with possibilities as you carried with you the love that had once defined your past. Even as you embarked on this new beginning, the echoes of what you shared with Satoru would forever remain a part of you, an indelible mark on the canvas of your life.

As you moved away, Gojo Satoru watched you with a mix of sadness and resolve. He knew that this separation was not just a physical distance but a necessary step for both of you to find peace and stability. The sight of you walking toward your new life in Fukuoka, away from the familiar chaos and dangers of what's to come; it filled him with hope. It filled him with relief.

In his heart, Satoru found solace in the thought that you would be safe, shielded from the perilous world that had often intruded upon your lives together. The distance between you was painful, but it was for the best. You can’t be together anymore. He’d only hurt you. And no amount of love can bury that hurt. He knew that too well.

As you vanished from view, Satoru took a deep breath, accepting the weight of the decision and the emotions it carried. His eyes looked down at the picture of you and him, back in your wedding. He lets his finger linger against the glass, against the memory of your smiling face. It was better this way. He sighs and puts his blindfold against his eyes again. He takes a seat again. He looks at the meal you made him and he starts to eat again. Little by little, savoring the warmth that remained.

“You made it too spicy again.” He whispers into the empty room, smiling to himself. "That's cruel."

[devilfic]

❝friends of the web❞

plot: you have a fear of spiders, but you've made a promise to work past it. peter thinks your determination is really quite adorable. pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: fluff, humor, established relationship, spiders (not graphic), reader has arachnophobia but is being so brave about it, based on the poem "ten legs, eight broken" by I, e on tiktok because it fundamentally changed the way I interact with small bugs forevermore. words: 1.2k. edited: 1/11/25.

a/n: I have had pretty bad arachnophobia my entire life and after reading ten legs, eight broken a while back, it convinced me to start saving little spiders I find in my house. this fic is 100% based on how that ends up going every single time. minus peter parker coming to save the day

He's careful, stomach coiled tight to control his breathing. One hand is delicately pinching a bolt with tweezers, the other holding his webshooter frighteningly still. One wrong move would trigger the suspension, and about four hours worth of fluid refill would end up all over his research notes. He has to be slow. He lowers the tweezers another half inch.

Gently, the bolt's thread catches and he releases the breath he'd been holding. In that same moment, you shout, and his tweezers slip.

It's the feeling of webs spraying him in the face that he registers first, their tendrils catching onto his glasses and nose hairs and lips. Then it's the sound of your rushed breathing, the pumping of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. He doesn't feel that tingle along his spine, but you've jolted Peter out of his spell. In an instant, he's batting away the webs and throwing himself out of his office with enough velocity to take down a wall. He's expecting scorpions, vultures, lizards, his hearing zeroing in on you, and—

—and he turns the corner and there's you, crouched on the floor, hands cupped in front of you... cocooning something. "Hey, hey, hey, whoa, whoa." Peter's eyes flit around the room, looking for the threat his senses ought to have picked up on by now, and kneels beside you. He focuses on your hands and your complete and utter lack of urgency. "What's going on?"

You glance to the side, so quick he doesn't even think you register the panic on his face, "Pete, thank God. Can you talk to this thing for me?"

You move your hand and the other breathing thing in the room becomes apparent. A spider, barely the size of a crumb, is crawling over mountains of carpet thread. It's moving quickly but in circles, clearly confounded by the terrain. Peter looks at you. He drags each syllable out as he asks, "Whaaaat isss haaappeniiiing?"

You shift and Peter shifts with you, keeping an eye on the spider, "This thing— this spider is such a jackass."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm trying to take him outside and he won't go."

You've got a flier for Pilates in the Park clenched in one hand, while the other is cautiously putting a wall between the spider and the abyss under your sofa, a place where even Peter dared not go. "Why don't you just kill it?"

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. You look horrified at him as you answer, "I can't kill him!"

"Do we— are we sure it's a him? Have you decided he's a him?"

"I made a promise to myself that I would stop killing."

"I don't think... okay, what's going on here?"

You struggle to explain and focus on the spider at the same time, "It's my new year's resolution: that even though I'm terrified of these things, I won't kill them anymore because... because they're living beings just like me." Peter watches you bite your lip, a twinge of pity sewn into the furrow of your brows, "So I'm putting them outside whenever I see one... if only they'd stop being so stubborn."

Peter half-laughs, half-sighs. The little spider crawling around on the ground is ignorant to your inner peril, "This isn't just because your boyfriend is, like, 1/3 spider, is it? I won't take it personally if you hit him with a shoe."

You snort and place your flier in front of the escaping spider, watching it crawl over the word "yoga" before making a u-turn for the carpet, "Of course not, my spider overlord."

You try to scoop up the spider again but every time you lift the paper, it dives off the other side and back into the carpet. "How long does this usually take?" Peter asks. He sits back on his ass, propping up a knee to rest his arm on.

"Ten minutes at best. If I don't lose them."

"Hm. And this works for you?"

You pout up at him, scooping up the spider again and watching it fly off once more, "I usually manage to get them outside, I'll have you know."

"And the screaming?"

"I never said it was a peaceful process."

"So, let me get this straight," Peter leans into you, "you spot the spider, you grab the nearest piece of paper, you try to get the spider on the paper, and then you...?"

"Scream and run until I make it to the window."

"Why— why the screaming?"

You wince, trying not to lose the bug in the carpet, "Because I'm scared they'll touch me." Your boyfriend tickles his fingers along your arm and you shiver, swatting him with your free hand.

After another failed attempt, Peter places his hand in front of the spider's path and it crawls into his palm to get to the kitchen. Before it can cross over into tiled territory, it's forced to a sudden stop, and Peter takes advantage.

It takes him three strides to get to the living room window, yank it open, and release the spiderling into the wild.

You're standing behind him with a look of frustration on your face, even though your shoulders have finally sagged with relief, "How'd you convince him to sit in your hand like that?"

"I didn't. Sticky hands." Peter wiggles his fingers at you, amused.

"Wh... that's it? Do they not usually listen to you or something?" You grab one of his hands and quickly realize he's using his ability on you this time. He's got you stuck in a handhold.

"When did I ever say I could talk to spiders?"

"I mean, it seems like a pretty fair assumption," you grumble, trying to shake his hand away before giving up, "they put their juices in you after all."

"Why would you say that?"

"Thanks for the help, by the way. I'm still... getting used to not panicking when I see them."

Peter raises his other hand to your hair and gives you a kiss on the temple, smiling against your skin, "You are so, so, so brave."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty brave to show mercy to something you fear, right? You could've killed it or asked me to do it, but you didn't. You wanted it to live."

"It doesn't mean to scare me," you bring your intertwined hands up to your mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles, "I'd want it to take pity on me if it was the other way around."

"I think the spiders will appreciate that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do they give me such a hard time?"

"Well, you're so scared of them that you don't even realize they're just as scared of you. You gotta make 'em like you, you know?"

"Got any tips for that?"

Peter guides his free hand to your waist, rocking you side to side, "Hm. Buy them sushi. Take them to a midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead. Tell them you think their nerdy rambling after the movie is sexy..." You giggle into Peter's chest and his heart swells, "Don't laugh! It worked on me."

You tilt your head up and he steals a kiss without hesitation, making you stumble on what you say next, "How about you just come let them out for me next time, hm?"

"And if I'm not around?"

"...make me a super scientific spider catching gadget?"

Peter hooks his hands underneath your thighs and hikes you up around his waist, "I'll make you one if you refill my web fluid for me."

"You can fill me with your web fluid."

"Okay. I'm putting you in time out, freak."

[slowlysoluminary]

Reset AU ... mirror room art piece and a supplemental from ghostloop's pov 🎉

Writing under the cut! (Lots of words... oops!!!!!!!)

(Venturing through the house has been nothing short of a terror.)

(The sadnesses littering the area are NOT helping!)

(Granted, you know how to fight - you have each sadness' type memorized, each name and gimmick on lock - but your craft...)

(You're not sure what Craft type you are. You're corporeal enough for your hits to connect, but not corporeal enough for attacks to land on you. Harder still, considering the craft types are all equally as easy for you to summon.)

(Maybe "easy for you to summon" is poor phrasing. Your attacks feel wrong. Unfamiliar.)

(Your Piercing Craft likes to trail, not unlike the rest of your body. You struggle the least with Scissors-type attacks, but it feels like something fundamental is missing in each of your strikes.)

(Your Creative Craft leaves after-images. You thought you were Paper craft for a good while, but you're clumsy with it - like it wasn't made with your body in mind.)

(Your Protector's Craft sparks like energy through your fist. Something pangs at your chest each time you form the handshape.)

(Your attacks are strange. Craft personalizes itself to its user, but for such attuned craft to be so alien....)

(Thinking about it gives you a weird headache.)

(So you won't!!)

(You watch Siffrin fight. He made you sit out of battle after that time you downed yourself. Impeccable aim, Loop!!)

(... They never win, but you figure you should respect their wishes regardless.)

(You feel Experienced. Like these sadnesses would wither away if you poked them too hard. They probably would, if you could land a hit in the first place!)

(You can't help but compare the way he fights with the way you fight. Or, the way you think you should.)

(Like his name, like the House, like everything else, it's all familiar. You fight the same way as him, but your craft makes it difficult to do so comfortably.)

(You can't help but be envious. Why are you envious?)

(The style isn't even yours! You're pretty sure it's adapted from his, even!!)

(Nothing is your own. Not even your body is safe!!! Your skin prickles when you look down. Stars dance across your form naturally, yet it feels unnatural all the same.)

(Stars, are you going crazy? You think you're going crazy!)

(Siffrin shifts next to you, walking comfortably in your silence. You lead the way to the next door.)

("Why Stardust?" They asked you that, before. At least, you think they did? What did you respond with? Something about what's left...?)

(... You don't know. Just, seeing him, talking to him - he's Stardust! So, you must be Loop.)

(It found you so easily in your sea of muddled memories. It must be what the Universe willed!)

(But you still don't know. But you still can't remember. What's wrong with you?)

"Finally, third floor..."

(Siffrin turns a key. You're climbing the House. Right.)

(You smile. Is it forced? You're not sure. The gesture reminds you of something.)

>"Awh, good job, Stardust! It only took you... ehm...."

>"20 Loops! That's great! A bit worse than me, but who's keeping track, right?"

"'A bit worse than you?' Did you remember something?"

("A bit worse than you?")

>"What? I didn't say anything."

(You didn't. Did you?)

(Siffrin makes a noise. They're looking at you funny.)

"Nevermind."

(O~kay. Weird.)

...

(The King sobs.)

(They talk to you about him. A lot more than you want them to, if you're being honest.)

(Hearing his name, his likeness, to be spoken of so fondly - you feel rage. A deep and primal anger you're sure you've never felt before and will never feel again.)

(So, yes! Hearing the King sob the whole time like he's not actively dooming an entire blinding country has done wonders on your psyche! The reminder of his existence fills you with such joy and whimsy!)

(Your smile is pulled so taut you think it would tear at your skin, if you had any.)

(Siffrin's expression is plagued with sympathy. Something in your core stirs violently at the thought.)

>"Chin up, soldier~! One more floor to climb!"

(The sympathetic look fades, but you don't feel any better. You don't think about the implications.)

"... Right. One more floor."

>"I hope all this effort was worth it!"

"Ditto. Even if I can't snap some sense into him, I just..."

"I want to talk. I've told you about it before, but-"

(stop don't talk about him no no no no)

>"STARdust! Surely there's no need to go over everything again!"

>"You might be forgetful, but helpful Loop here already knows the ins and outs of your fool-proof plan~!!"

>"You've told me about it, you continue to tell me about it, you don't stop telling me about it — I GET IT ALREADY!"

>"Just. We'll. We'll get to it when we get to it, right? Please."

(you're not sure why)

(but the thought of talking to the king fills your entire being with sickness)

(Too bad you can't throw up! Teehee!!)

(Siffrin looks pained.)

"Right, I'll just -- I'm."

"I'm sorry..."

(Oh.)

(His voice is so tender. So quiet.)

(You ruined it.)

(That's fine. You don't -- you don't need the ability anyway. You can make your way through the house on your own. You don't need them to get stronger. It's fine.)

(...)

(What were you thinking about? It doesn't matter.)

>"So~! That out of the way."

(This time you ignore the King wailing above you.)

>"Where do we go?"

(His face is hidden from you, beneath the brim of his hat. You have a fun time thinking about the expression under it!)

(Is it twisted in frustration? Appalled? Mortified? Betrayed?)

(You know those faces like the back of your hand, but the specifics amalgam in your head, a foggy mass of uncertainty.)

(You feel a tingle on your cheek.)

(... Yes, fun! What fun!)

(Siffrin clears their throat.)

"... You've been leading me through most of the House, Loop."

"So I thought you would know where to go?"

(You have?)

>"I have?"

"Yes?????"

(What????)

>"No I haven't."

"Yes? You have??"

(He looks offended???)

"The rock trap? The key I missed in the Head Housemaiden's office?"

>"'Fraid you're not ringing any bells!!"

(Conversations are one of the only things you remember. Everything else blends together.)

(So, you should know this, shouldn't you? They must've brought it up a few times while you were walking. You weren't thinking too hard about where you were going. The paths feel wholly natural to you... But you do remember that the amount of times you had to give Siffrin a Super Sour Tonic was atrocious, really.)

(How does anyone lose to sadnesses THAT often? It's ridiculous! He should just let you fight!!!)

"Loop?"

(Whoops!!! You should pay more attention to your surroundings...)

(...)

(No, okay, wait.)

>"When did we get to the mirror room?"

(The glare Siffrin gives you bears the striking image of absolute incredulocity.)

(That's not a word. Whatever!!! You can make up new words if you so please!!)

"You're kidding."

>"Completely serious question, Stardust!"

"...'Stardust, I am the epitome of good memory...'"

(HE'S MOCKING YOU!!)

>"I am! I swear it on my mother!"

"Stars have mothers?"

(You shrug before remembering to raise a gloved hand to your mouth.)

>"I don't know!"

>"But I'm sure, if I had one, she'd be especially bright."

(An eyeroll.)

(They don't laugh.)

(Why does that bother you?)

(Eh, probably because that one was funny! No fair!)

>"You're no fun, Stardust..."

"Okay."

>"Whatever! I'll find a pun buddy somewhere else!!"

"And where would you go? Vaugarde's frozen in time."

("And you're practically a ghost," is what goes unsaid.)

(...mmm. No, it's fine.)

>"I'll write to them! We'll be pen pals!"

>"Or I guess we'd be pun pals, ehe."

(They snort. Mission success!!!)

"Not funny."

>"Oh, come on! You laughed!! That means I won the bet!"

"The bet was about laughing at your jokes. Puns don't count."

(Bummer! You pout.)

"Real talk. Any particular reason for bringing us here? I trust you, but..."

"... The only thing in here is that mirror."

(They point to the large mirror at the end of the corridor. You nod. There is a mirror, and nothing else.)

>"Indeed so."

"And you called it the mirror room?"

(Did you?)

>"No I didn't."

"I'm not arguing with you again..."

(Aren't they doing that already?)

"Just answer the question."

>"I wasn't aware I was being interrogated! I need a lawyer!!!"

"Loop."

>"Fine! I-... Um."

>"I."

>"I'm not ... quite sure?"

"You're not sure."

>"Nope!"

(They sigh.)

"So you led us here... for no particular reason?"

>"Exactly!"

>"Well. No, I'm sure there's some reason we're here."

>"I feel like there's something else in this room, you know?"

>"But! As far as I'm aware!! There is nothing in here!!! Save for that dazzling old mirror!!!!"

"Right."

(He doesn't believe you.)

"... Let's look around, then?"

>"Sounds good to me."

(You look around.)

(Okay, you don't actually do anything. Siffrin's going at it, though!)

(He checks the pillars. And the corners. And the bricks. And the pillars again.)

(It's... really boring.)

(It's better than the Other Thing you could be doing. The Elephant In The Room. The Big Mirror In The Corridor-Room. That.)

(Hm. Hmmmmmmm.)

(You weigh your options.)

(Boredom. Or headache. Boriiing borreeedooom...... or excruciating headache.)

(Or answers? You don't know the mirror's deal! You could get something meaningful out of this!)

(Or you could get a headache.)

(Or you could lean against a pillar, bored, for the rest of eternity, waiting to be Done and Over With This.)

(...)

(You've been pointedly ignoring the existence of the mirror for quite the while now.)

(Something goads you. A whisper.)

(You follow. Siffrin watches you, curious.)

(You don't... You don't really want to look.)

(Just looking down spikes something uncomfortable under your skin.)

(So you're not sure what to expect, if you were to look in your reflection.)

(Whispers turn to spoken tongue turn to yelling turn to screaming as you approach the glass. Yet, no matter how loud they get, how heartfelt they screech, you can't make out the words.)

(Something in you hurts as you stand in front of the glass.)

(You take a breath)

(in, and out.)

(And you look up.)

(and all at once)

(everything goes quiet)

(...)

(You gaze at your reflection)

(You gaze at a star.)

(is this you?)

(you wave your hand)

(it waves back.)

(You frown. It frowns too.)

(Stars. All up its body.)

(More than you could dream of, could you still dream in the first place.)

(Flame-like spikes flicker freely from its head, immitating hair.)

(Imitating life.)

(You're looking at a ghost.)

(you're a ghost?)

(The screaming returns. You flinch back in surprise. The ghost does not flinch with you.)

(LOOP, it screams. LOOP, LOOP, LOOP, LOOP !!!)

(Its head morphs. It's something spikier, now. It's something right.)

(your head hurts)

(The ghost snickers at you. You look at it.)

(You look at it)

(it's)

(it's)

(loop)

(you look at loop)

(LOOP, the screaming chants, in agreement. LOOP!)

(someone is shaking you?)

(this is loop)

(but you're loop?)

(are you loop?)

(The screaming rises. You didn't think it could get any louder. You cover your ears and cower. It doesn't do anything)

(loop laughs at you.)

(you forgot)

(of course you forgot! you always forget! forgetful little siffrin! sieve brain siffrin)

(you stole their role. in the play)

(you stole them)

(you)

"LOOP!"

(You blink)

(You is in front of you. Your back is leaning against cool glass.)

(if your back is to the mirror)

(how are you looking in your reflection?)

(The you in front of you sighs.)

"You were out cold there... What happened, Loop?"

(you wait for them to respond)

("Nothing, Stardust!! You should go help out your little entourage! Or, you know, you could do something more productive? Like talk to the Head Housemaiden?")

(that's what you think they would say)

(you feel a shiver)

"... I'm not... part of a party...? Oh, no, nevermind. I get it."

(your reflection releases you. you slump to the ground.

(you pull your hands up to your head)

(and stop)

(your arms)

(your arms..)

"Loop."

>"... Loop?"

(Oh!)

>"Yes! I am Loop."

(Siffrin gives you That Look again.)

"What was all that?"

(All that?)

>"I'm not sure what you're talking about!"

"It was like you... um..."

"Forgot your name. Or something."

(Forgot your name? Scandalous!! You'd never forget such a thing!)

>"Nope, all good!"

>"I just... hm. Thought you were talking to someone else there, for a second?"

>"But I'm fine now!"

"If you say so."

(He doesn't take your word for this, either.)

(Oh well!)

(You bend down and flip the switch, extra careful not to look at the mirror. Or the photo that materializes in front of it.)

"How did you-?"

(They try to ask, but you're already moving for the key.)

(Loop.)

(That's you!)

(So why does that name remind you of someone else?)