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lostfracturess · 2 months ago

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THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you.

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions.

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away.

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence.

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush.

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased.

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted.

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years.

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x gn!reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x gn!reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x gn!reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gn!reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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kaonarvna · 1 year ago

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Every now and again, I remember that my disability (EDS) isn't invisible, actually. People are just uncomfortable when they can see it. People don't want to see it. People like to ignore it. Other people just stare at it, and don't even look at me. All they see is a pile of bones and fascia and something to pity.

I've worn a shoulder brace the past week, because it subluxed horribly a week or so ago. Still healing. Visible.

I always have compression sleeves on my arms, full coverage. Bicep to wrist. Visible.

I have soft braces and compression kit for every joint imaginable. Visible.

I'm covered in KT tape. I've worn it on my goddamn face after a jaw sublux, for that little extra support and proprioception help. Tape. On the face. Very visible.

The people I've worked with for years are used to it by now, the good ones, at least. They don't remark when I take a minute to stretch. They know I'll say something if I'm not okay. They know I'm in a constant state of variable dysfunction. They've seen enough, they're used to it.

But then there's people who aren't used to it. People who see me stretch on the ground, watch in discomfort, then they ask someone else if I'm okay. I can hear them quietly mutter it to other staff. I hear them go, "oh, he does that". I can see their discomfort with me (just existing as I need to exist). I can see the discomfort in these new people who aren't accustomed to bodies with slightly different needs, and it's a visceral reminder of being "other". I wonder, how terrible and scary and different I must be, for them to not even have the fortitude to ask me themselves.

And then there are the new people who see it and ask too many questions. The ones who go "but you're so young!" as though my connective tissue has a concept of social expectations for people under (arbitrary age). They go "but you look great!" as though I'm not covered in bruises and held together by tape (nevermind the implication that the disabled must look "bad"). They go "but you never call in!" as though I'm not often two seconds away from doing so, before the fear of losing my job sets in.

...and these are the ones who seem to wish not to see it the most. The ones who ask questions like I should be on display, and as soon as the conversation ends, so does my disability. They'll ask the same questions the next time, and the next time, and the next. It always ends with statements of pity, or something pity-adjacent. If I'm "lucky", they might even make an inappropriate comment about how I shouldn't be working, or sex must be "interesting", or act like I'm some eldritch horror that shouldn't exist.

And I'm reminded of the training I was once made to sit though. A ninety minute training, where you sit and watch the PowerPoint for ninety minutes in a too-small plastic chair, while someone reads the PowerPoint. The presenter started with a cute little "haha I know it's long, feel free to get up and walk around, or stretch".

I did.

I got up, walked myself to the side well out of the way of the tight chair lines, and laid down to stretch (a good spinal twist, loosen things up).

And she stopped the presentation.

She asked if there were any first-aiders present.

She was going to keep going on and on, until I heard someone say, "oh, he's fine, he does that." and a few "that's just (name), he does that". She started apologising profusely, waffling about how she thought there must have been a medical emergency, how people don't usually get up. She seemed baffled by the mere concept that someone would actually need to get up, and couldn't sit for ages. Her statement was entirely performative and insincere.

Today, after the day was effectively done, I laid down on the clean, carpeted floor in my classroom to just...be horizontal for a moment. Find some way, any way, to get my lower back to move and function and not feel like it was being clawed apart from the inside. Relieve myself a little, so I could finish the day without abject misery. And this very-new member of staff sat on the other side of the room, presumably watching me. When I got up, she asked very quietly, "Is something wrong with you?" and all I had the energy to say was "I'm fine". I'm tired of explaining my body. I'm tired of explaining my needs. I'm tired of justifying taking care of myself.

Someone recently told me "You're very brave. I think I'd rather die than live like you."

I didn't respond. I didn't have the energy to break down that she'd effectively told me I should die. I didn't have the energy to tell her that it's not bravery to live "like this".

It's my only option.

I know nothing else.

And I'm just tired. And hurting.

I'm grateful for the few good ones, the ones that are used to it. The people who have stopped asking me if I'm okay when I stretch, or need a little break, or get out the tape and scissors.

They know I'm not okay. That's why I'm on the ground. That's why I'm checking my range of motion, or feeling a joint, or holding pressure on a digit that's come undone. I'm not okay, and I'm trying not to get even worse.

I'm not okay, actually. I'm never okay, and that's fine. I'll never be your version of "okay", and that's fine. I've no choice. Thank you for knowing that I'm not okay, but that that's normal, and that if something was seriously, horribly wrong, I'd do something. Thank you, for just going about your business and talking to me as normal when I'm taking care of myself, instead of sprinkling eggshells on the ground for your own personal crunching.

I'm just tired. I'm visibly disabled if you look for ten goddamn seconds. I'm a person if you look for twenty. I'm a fetish if you just keep staring and staring and asking about my body like you're entitled to my flesh. I just want to sleep for more than two hours without my body waking itself up to remind me it hurts. I'm so tired.

#hypermobile ehlers danlos #ehlers danlos syndrome #ehlers danlos zebra #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #chronic fatigue #spoon theory #spoonie #vent post #vent #invisible disability #Heds #Eds #knv writing

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itsaspectrumcomic · 1 month ago

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hey! before I begin, I wanted to say how much I love your comics!! the style and palettes are really soothing, and it's always nice to read them, relate heavily, and not feel quite such an oddball!! so thanks :]

I (very recently) received the results of my diagnosis for autism and adhd (I got both, and a couple other smaller things) and was wondering what things you did differently immediately after diagnosis that helped you? I've tried things like proper organisation and cleaning, keeping on top of deadlines for college as much as I am able, and trying to study as much as I can (a levels are very stressful even though I've only just started the course, and while these solutions are what's considered "good" by the college, its not really helping me as much as I would like)

a large part of the diagnosis was dedicated to brain function (I had the privelidge of being assessed privately, so the evidence was very detailed and thorough), and I scored stupidly high on vocabulary and language study. However, I feel like there's somewhat of a disconnect between the effort I've put in on my foreign language studies and the progress I'm seeing- I'm trying so so hard to understand grammatical concepts and absorb a lot of vocabulary in preparation for some smaller tests in the near future, but I'm not seeing the reward during lessons or even with preparation. I am fully aware that with all the work and effort I'm spending, I am closer than I would like to be to a meltdown and probably burnout, which I desperately want to avoid. It just feels that although my brain is wired for linguistic study, I feel like I'm falling behind or failing

I guess if you have any advice or anything that helped you once your diagnosis was confirmed, or tips for study, I would be greatly appreciative :]

Tldr: struggling with study and fearful of failure, any advice?

hnng I remember the stress of A levels, you couldn't pay me to go through that again 🫠

After being diagnosed I started to allow myself to unmask and stim in more obvious ways. Previously my stims had generally been pretty small, like flicking my fingers or wiggling a bit, but now I allow myself to flap and rock and play with fidget toys as well and it genuinely does help release tension.

It sounds like your're working really hard - if you feel close to burnout and/or meltdowns, you might be working too hard. I also found it really hard to take breaks when I was studying (...still do) but the truth is, by not allowing your mind to rest, you're actually making it harder for yourself to learn and retain information.

So my advice is, take a break! A real break, not 'I'm gonna scroll on my phone for a bit' or 'I went to the toilet that counts as a break right'. Get up, step away from your work for at least an hour, and do something you find relaxing and fun. Go for a walk or just sit outside. Make yourself a drink. Take a nap if you need to. Try to avoid looking at screens during your break if you can. And when you go back to studying, schedule times to have regular short breaks as well (eg a 10 minute break every hour). I set alarms for mine because otherwise I forget to move for five hours.

A break allows your brain to process the information and let it settle properly. When you go back to work you'll hopefully feel more refreshed and able to take in information again. Remember, if you've just started the course, then this is a marathon, not a sprint, so please try not to overdo it and burn yourself out right at the start. Conserve your energy for the long haul.

If you're still struggling, are you able to ask for help, maybe from a friend or a teacher? A teacher could give you some techniques on how to improve in the specific areas you find difficult, and sometimes just talking through the bit you're having trouble with or not understanding can help a lot.

Good luck with your studies and I hope you take some time to rest as well :)

#ask #anon ask #actually autistic #studying #advice #neurodivergent

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derelictlovefool · 4 months ago

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❝🇪🇲🇪🇷🇬🇪🇳🇨🇪-⦂❝

— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞��𝐥𝐞𝐝.

Notes: Don't forget part one and part two! Reader and Wade suck at communicating some more, Peter's a good pal and you should remember to never walk past dark alleyways at night kids, especially when your recent ex is a merc!

Warning/s: Canon Typical violence, kidnapping, graphic depictions of violence, unhealthy relationships, toxic behaviour, angst, references to alcohol consumption & sexually explicit activities, explicit language

Words: 3k

The act of finishing a favourite hot beverage had never been so difficult, so tense and unendurable. You and Wade had sat in stuffy silence, neither giving in and or walking away; the only two ways to push the painful interaction forward. You had so much you wanted to say but no words would come out, your leg bounced under the table and you'd locked your arms over each other. You were trying with all your might to block him out, physically and mentally, but it would never work with him right across from you. You inhaled deeply and exhaled just as roughly, Wade's own movements Mimicking yours as he adjusted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Look at us," he finally muttered, "This is sadder than the shitty apartment in that game they made about me." He sighed and you felt like tossing your empty mug at his head for the reference you couldn't conjure in your mind, no one in this universe was making games in honour of Deadpool—or Wade Wilson. No one was making anything his face or name anywhere near it. He was right that it was fucking sad though, you wouldn't argue with that.

"Whose fault is that?" You couldn’t help but be snippy, indignation heavy in your tone, your back restlessly hitting the back of the booth that started to feel more suffocating as the seconds ticked by. You wanted to be anywhere else, you wanted to turn back time and be sitting in this booth with Wade making jokes about the cafe decor and not remarking on your crumbling relationship.

"I blame Daniel Way and Damon Wilson-Hart personally—"

You shot him a pointed look and he cut himself off, the mirage of humour and escaping this reality joining the hot cocoa in his stomach acid as he all but deflated before you.

"How many times do I gotta say sorry?" His shoulders slumped and he held his hands up in question, he'd never sounded so lost. And there were plenty of times when he had been, maybe in even more dire and important ways than this. One's where you weren't involved.

"I don't know Wade, I've never had that big of a shitshow breakup before and I can't just snap my fingers and get over it." You snapped your fingers to emphasise your point, "I wish I could just forgive you and have nothing but happy, bubbly feelings for you again but that's not how the real world works." You unfold your arms, spreading them out across the table and you seem him almost reach out to grab one of your hands when you do; you weren't sure if you would have recoiled, or if you would have grabbed him back tight enough to leave a bruise—so you're relieved when he doesn't.

It would just make it harder.

"What do we do now then? I'm no good at grovelling, I'm much better at shovelling and shooting, neither of those apply here—or do they?"

"If I were to start somewhere Wade I'd figure out how you're gonna tell me what happened, with all the gritty details, " you ignored his latter question, "and maybe while you're at it some therapy would do you some good." You hated how harsh you sounded but you needed to say it, it's not like you were asking too much—Well the therapy might have been a step too far for Wade but you stood by it. No matter how much you praised the work your therapist had done while helping you Wade never got more than a hundred feet within a practice or office.

It was like he was allergic to the mere concept of therapy and getting help.

"And what about you?"

"I have an appointment with my therapist and i'm gonna bitch and moan about you, wait for them to fix me and tell me what to do so I can argue with them for ten minutes… And end up doing the opposite." You rolled your eyes, expecting a scoff or some kind of dig, that seemed to be what you were both good at right now. But what you got was almost worse.

"So there's still hope… For us?" His words left a heavy feeling hanging over you and you suddenly found your fingernails very interesting. Caught off guard and forced to deal with yourself rather than him had you shfiting in your seat. You wanted to say yes, of course, there was never no hope for you. No matter how many scenarios you played in your head none of them had you walking away from the merc, it just wasn't something you were capable of. Your therapist would be extremely disappointed but despite all you'd told them no one really understood you and Wade, and no one ever really would.

Even when it felt like you were worlds apart it was you two against everybody else.

You envisioned the both of you back to back, tied by that silly red string pulled tight enough to draw blood, your skin on Wade's and the both of you unable to move lest the cord pull tighter and choose to free you both of your heads and hearts. The more you thought about it the more you got to realise how much you'd let yourself need Wade and how your therapist had some credibility when they tossed the co-dependency thing around. You wished you’d never heard the word and kept living in blissful ignorance but it was too late for that, you and Wade were all kinds of messed up and this whole situation was proving a myriad of things you didn’t want to think about.

"I hope so." You whispered, the sentiment genuine as it tumbles from your lips. You wanted to stop being angry. you wanted to stop your chest from aching anytime you glanced at him and got flooded by the memories of the last two years—and that fucking breakup. God you wanted to forget about it and tuck it away into the memories that gave you hives box and never think about it again. Depending on someone wasn't a crime and you knew Wade felt the same, even if it was for different reasons. That day had apparently sucked for both of you but you dared to say you got the shorter end of the stick.

Your phone buzzed, Wade stared you down from across the table.

You picked it up and despite the notification being nothing more than a reminder for your appointment the next day you stood and stuffed it away in your pocket. You couldn’t deal with this right now, the angry arguments you could handle but the raw, open vulnerability was too much—at least for a cafe. Maybe if you were back in your apartment you’d feel more inclined to sit in it and talk. Actually talk. But you weren’t at your apartment.

"I gotta go, I'll… See you around Wade." It felt weird to walk past him without squeezing his shoulder or pressing a kiss to the leather of his suit; all of this felt wrong and you wanted to try all over again. Maybe you should have just stayed home, actually. Wade grabbed your wrist and you took a moment to steel yourself before looking down at him, his expression hidden by that red fabric and blank white eyes set into the black coverings.

"Tomorrow night. I'll see you." It was a firm declaration and it had you wondering all sorts of things but you were too tired to argue. You nodded and his hand lingered over yours as he slowly let you go. It felt nice, for a brief moment, to have your hand in his; the warmth of his palm and gentle touch of his fingertips. But it slipped away and you walked out, holding your head high as you forced yourself to head down the street. You found yourself at another park across the city, sitting on a bench and scrolling through your contacts as you thought about how to distract yourself.

Normally you loved the weekend—Normally you had Wade or friends to hang out with.

But as you looked at the names of your buddies you couldn't think of one that wouldn't give you another 'I told you so' lecture about Wade and you really didn't need that right now. You needed to think about literally anything else at that moment—or be supported in some other, less Wade-hating way.

You jumped as your phone rang and you stared at the photo on your screen for a second before you picked up the call.

"Hi Pete." You greeted, brows furrowed as the sound of wind gushing past the receiver met your ears.

"Spidey senses were tingling, you okay?" He asked, voice muffled by his mask, and you can't help but laugh. No, you were so far from okay, and Peter was not one of the people who'd keep his mouth shut about Wade. He hated him, or at the very least had an extreme dislike for him—even when you were dating, he didn't keep his disdain about it to himself. You got that's what friends were for in so many cases, but sometimes it really pissed you off, and you weren't sure you could handle any of that right now.

"I'm fine," a long pause, "Okay no, I feel like shit but I really, really, don't want to talk about it." You muttered, chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced around the park. People walked by like usual, none of their world's were crumbling at the seams because their boyfriend broke up with them—they were happy, or, happier than you. The wind died down on the other side of your phone, and you jumped as the bench bounced with the weight of someone leaping onto the wood beside you.

You turned to the side, Peter crouching beside you, fully suited up and phone now tucked safely away. You let yours fall to your lap as Spiderman now squinted at you, scrutinising the eye bags and red eyes as you stared back at him hoping he didn't say the one name you don't wanna hear from him.

"Hello totally-random-sad-bench-citizen whom I don’t know, you look like you need pizza and a joyride." You were pleasantly surprised when he held his hands out to you. People were whispering around you again, but this time, it was all directed at the superhero beside you. You stood, took his hand and let him help you to your feet, jumping on his back in what you both liked to call 'backpack buddy mode'. Within a second you were flying through the crisp air, you gasped, always in awe no matter how many times you'd done this. The feeling of flying through the air, far away from all your issues, was like nothing else. It was freeing.

You clung to Peter's shoulders and tried to get a good look at the city streets below, where everything looked like ants, and you felt like a God watching the world go by. If only you could stay up here with the birds, never touch the ground or have to focus on your problems like a grown adult.

Apparently and thankfully, Peter had already ordered pizza, and when you arrived at the rooftop of one of the taller apartment complexes in the city, there was a pizza box and cans of soda waiting. You wondered if he’d spotted you on your walk earlier, it would be too far-fetched to guess he saw you run into Wade and head to the cafe. You would be surprised if that were the case, seeing as he’d been like your small, chihuahua sized guard dog hellbent on keeping Wade away from you as you dealt with everything. Maybe he had realised what your therapist had already known or a year.

Wade was your problem and your solution all wrapped up in one messy little bow. You couldn’t get past this without him.

"I don't want a heart to heart over pizza and soda, just so you know." He set you down safely on the brick and shrugged in reply, walking over to the ledge to sit down.

"Duly noted, you want me to hear about my day then?" He clapped his hands together, and you smiled, nodding in genuine eagerness—hearing about someone else for a while might just do the trick of getting you out of your own head. And damn did you need out of it for a second.

"Okay, good, because you're not gonna believe what these bank robbers did this morning, these guys really get their routines from looney tunes or something." And so he began, pushing his mask up to his nose so he could 'chow and pow', the term you coined for talking shit and stuffing your face while you were at it. Very unattractive but inevitable when you were eating and deep into your rant.

Peter waved his arms about as he regaled the stupidity of a group of bank robbers and then the old lady who nearly got him hit by a bus, it was nice to lose yourself to his day for a while. You even laughed, a full, belly-aching laugh with snorts and all. You stayed on the roof until the sun began to set, and you ended laying on your back, legs dangling over the ledge as you and Peter fell into a comfortable silence. Staring at the clouds carving their snail pace across the sky and the shifting hues of the sky beyond them.

The pizza box and soda cans were empty, and for a moment, so was your mind. You could close your eyes, and everything was totally blank. Just a serene nothing as you listened to the faded sounds of the city and your own breathing.

"I know you don't want to talk about it."

Fuck. There it was. You cringed, squeezing your eyes shut as you readied yourself for whatever he was about to say.

"I'm here if you need me, I think I said all I wanted to say…" He trailed off and you recalled Peter arriving in your apartment the night of the breakup, his anger had almost rivalled your own anguish and he had definitely had plenty of choice things to say about… About Wade. About your relationship too, but mostly Wade.

"Breakups suck, and if you need another joyride and pizza hour with your friendly neighbourhood… With your friend, I'm here." Peter knocked your knuckles together, and you felt yourself relax, appreciative of where that had gone. Far from what you'd been expecting. You rolled your head to the side and shot him a smile, matching his own as you returned the weak fist bump.

"Thanks Pete,"

"Anytime… You need a ride home? Free of charge." You grinned as you pulled yourself up and he followed suit.

"Nah, can you drop me off at Faun Street? I think I need to walk in thoughtful silence for a bit." You mused, there was a lot you needed to get in order in your own head before you faced Wade again. You needed to decide whether you were gonna accept whatever he said and maybe try to work things out or put your foot down and decide… That it was maybe time you two were just friends again. Even though the thought alone made your stomach turn over itself uncomfortably.

"Yeah, okay, I get it." And with that, you were off, having the short and fun ride of binning your trash mid-air and being dropped off right across from the café you and Wade had sat in earlier today. You hugged Peter goodbye, and after he vanished around a corner, you rolled your shoulders and turned on your heel—headed toward the park that eventually would lead you back home.

You had to evaluate some things, like how much you could be okay with Wade's reasoning for the spectacle he made of your breakup. You think you'd need a while to get over how public and angry it was, he didn't need to be that cruel about it—no matter what. The thought he was trying to protect you in his own twisted way did make sense, but it didn't make it hurt any less. You weren't sure there was anyone for you after Wade, no one could full the shape of him in your heart, you doubted anyone would want to. So even if it had gone smoother, even if it had been cordial and he had gotten stuck forever in a black hole; you would have been more likely to steal a spaceship and save him yourself. Somehow.

You'd managed to find him in wieder places before. If he had more faith in you, let you into that side of his world more openly, then it wouldn't have been a problem in the first place. Maybe that was it, you had to break down that wall between Deadpool and Wade Winston Wilson, the division he put up to keep you away from the blood and guts of his operation—literally and figuratively Maybe then he could be more honest, still a dick but one that wouldn't break up with you on the basis of not being able to tell you the truth.

You sighed, running a hand over your face as you crossed onto the street and past an alleyway, poor timing on obscuring your vision there you'd admit later. Especially as multiple hands shot out and took hold of you all at once—your side hit the ground and your body scraped across the concrete harshly, your skin burned and the air escaped your lungs before you could make any type of distinguishable noise. You barely got a glance at the shadowy figures around you before a heavy force hit the back of your head, blacking out your vision and leaving you limp and unconscious.

End notes: Hope you enjoyed this part, let know know what you thought about it! The next part’s gonna be tons of fun! :)

#deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #marvel x reader #Deadpool Tag #Marvel Tag #GN!Reader Tag #Miniseries Tag #shoutout to ppl who have commented i love talking about this fucked up lil guy w y'all #Ouroboros Tag

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Text

Soon enough (Lance Stroll)

There are many different ways to start a family, and Lance and Y/N are hopefully starting their own

Note: english is not my first language. This piece is written from experiences I know (my mother's, specifically), so it is probable that there are some mistakes as I'm not a doctor. Either way, I've tried to treat this as respectfully as possible as this is very close to my heart. Am I really giddy for the follow up parts? Yes, I am!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions endometriosis, fertility issues and treatments and associated topics like blood, medicine, hospitals, needles, etc., male masturbation, pregnancy

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"It's just going to be negative, Lance", you mumbled, placing the stick on top of the counter and turning to the tap to ways your hands. "Then we'll know what to look for, sweetheart", he attempted, knowing how much the subject weighed on your chest.

When you decided it was time to start thinking about building your family, you and Lance went back to Dr. Marlin like she had asked you. Given your endometriosis, she wanted to accompany you in your fertility journey, checking out all of the possibilities before you moved on to bigger situations.

Lance had been the most supportive partner, always there to cheer you on and to hold you whenever things didn't work out, "Dr. Marlin said that if this didn't work, we are moving on to the big treatments", you looked at him, "and that's what we will do if you want, whenever you feel comfortable", he kissed the side of your head after pulling you close to him, "we're in this together, Y/N".

Grabbing the test when your phone beeped, you didn't even flinch, "negative, like I said", you mumbled, your top lip trembling as you hid your face in your husband's neck. As much as you expected it, it still hurt. Like any other couple wanting to start parenthood, you wanted to remember this period of your life fondly, but you also knew you weren't any other couple. You weren't alone, and since you became more invested in learning about your condition, you found out about all the other couples who had been through the same and their happy families, remembering someone with a very similar history to yours.

"I love you, Y/N, so much. I love you and we're going to have our own family, my love", Lance whispered in your ear, "we're in this together until the end, whatever it takes", he soothed, kissing your skin and hugging you tight against him.

"Do you have any meetings today?", you asked as you pulled away a few moments later, wiping your tears on your sleeve, "I have one at the end of the day, and I'm free for the rest of the week", Lance informed, "I have to get to work for the afternoon only, my morning is free too", you sniffed.

"Then I can call Dr. Marlin to book an appointment and you can go and get ready because we are going on a walk. It's a very quiet one, I doubt we'll run into anyone, okay?", he suggested, smiling when he saw your lips curve upwards slightly, "you're the best. I love you, Lance", you kissed his lips, walking out the bathroom and into the bedroom while he made the phone call.

"Do you need a blood sample?", you asked the assistant on the counter, "no, today it's just an ultrasound, and after that you might have to come in for other samples, just depends on how the appointment goes today", she smiled, "Dr. Marlin will call you shortly".

Sitting next to Lance as you waited, you grabbed his hand and started playing with in fingers on top of his thigh, "are you ready to hear that my uterus is a sad sad place for a baby to grow and that not even your guys want to stay in there? We've known eacother for a good while, so I thought we'd befriended, but apparently they're either too snobby or my uterus is a very hostile place", you joked, hoping that it would shake your nerves off, "too much?", you cringed.

"That's not the weirdest thing you've said to me", your husband chuckled, "and I'll listen to anything you say as long as it makes you smile", he cupped your cheek, "besides, who knows? Maybe my guys are also picky, or slow".

Dr. Marlin welcomed you in her office not long after, greeting you and confirming the informations she had, "like we discussed before, it seems that our best approach would be treatments like IVF. For that, of you still want to go for that route, we'll need some samples so we can also rule out any questions from Lance and see where your levels are", she said, getting up, "for today, we'll do the ultrasound as this will also given us more information".

Getting up and laying down on the bed, Lance followed you, standing on your side as you lifted your shirt enough for her to squeeze the gel and move the wand around, "see here? This is your fallopian tube, and it seems the most blocked, while your uterus is actually shedding well enough", she explained, pointing to the different spots on the screen.

"And is that good or bad? I mean, given the circumstances", you questioned, "I can't tell you with absolute certainty, as everyone is different, but this is usually a good sign. It means that it's your eggs that are not travelling to the uterus, and not like you have a low count or that they don't have a good place to settle once fertilised", she smiled, "I'm prescribing you the bloodwork and the samples we need, but after that, if everything checks out, we'll wait for your period and then we'll start couting from there".

"It's time for the shot, sweetheart", Lance called, grabbing the supplies he needed as you sat on the sofa. Even though you were fine doing it by yourself, having Lance doing the injections when he was home helped him feel involved in the process. "You can leave that there, then I can just pick it up after you take the needle out", you noted, placing the gauze in your thigh.

Lance tapped the syringe twice to make sure it was at the right level, kneeling down in front of you, "I'm just going to pinch your tummy, is this side, right?", he confirmed, seeing you nod, "are you ready, love?", he checked over before injecting the medicine on your skin, holding the syringe steady for a little bit before pulling it out, discarding it in the medical waste bin Dr. Marlin had given you while you dealt with the burn.

"This one is burning a lot more than I expected", you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as the stung softened, feeling Lance's lips on your tummy and right by your hand that was pressing the gauze down, "you're very brave, Y/N, I love you".

"I love you too, handsome", you cradled his face, rubbing his stubbly cheek before helping him store the supplies for the next injection time, "we only have four days left", you smiled, looking at the medicine vials.

"Soon enough, Y/N, soon enough", he kissed your forehead, hugging carefully to not press on your tender lower belly, "you're so amazing all I keep doing is just that, but you're taking it all in, it's your body going through the changes", he kissed your softly.

"You're the one dealing with these hormonal changes, I still can't believe I cried when your sister showed up at the table with the pie a little bit more golden that it usually is. It wasn't burnt and it tasted amazing as usual, but the sight of it not done like usual sent me in a fit of cries", you blushed. Chloe was understanding like you expected her to be, but you still couldn't shake her panicked few seconds when she saw your tears, calling her brother immediately so he could hug you and soothe you.

"It's part of the process, love, and I want to be here for as much as I'm able", he said, interrupted by the sound of your phone going off, "it's Dr. Marlin, let me put in on speaker".

The phone call couldn't have gone better, "Y/N, I've reviewed the scans and it looks really good, keep up with the rest of the treatment and next week we'll look into the retrievals", she announced.

"This wasn't the way we were supposed to make a baby", you mumbled, "I should be getting naked and we'd be in our bed, and we'd whisper how much we love eachother and then we'd cuddle in said bed, not with me in a procedure room and you in another, in these cold and sterile sheets", you looked up at Lance.

You were back in the clinic so the doctors could collect both samples, and while you've had the years to prepare for this, and with therapy it was something you had worked over, sometimes you were still plagued by these thoughts.

Fortunately, your husband knew just what to say, "it's not the usual way, yes, but it's filled with love nonetheless. You're putting yourself through procedures after your body had been medicated with injections, and that is love. For out little one who we will hopefully hold in our arms when the time comes, love for our family and love for me. You're going to make me a father because of this amount of love you're showing me and that we share, okay?", he smiled soothingly, kissing your forehead, "no more of those worries, okay? Besides, we'll have loads of time for you to touch me and for me to touch you", he winked, helping you turn around so he could help you with the gown's tie.

Kissing your forehead goodbye once the nurses came to take you, Lance was then pulled to a room for himself, "all of the supplies you need are there", she pointed to the sterile table, leaving him alone in the room. Masturbating in a hospital room was not something he ever thought about doing. It wasn't that you weren't there with him, because he certainly had done it many times whenever he travelled for races and you weren't there, so he figured it was the white walls, plain in a room that only had the purpose he was in there for too. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he found the photo album of pictures of you he kept for these occasions. The collection was built along the years you've dated, usually ending up on his phone whenever you both felt particularly daring and in need of the other and you weren't physically able to satisfy it. The picture he used, however, was one he had taken himself. The picture was probably three months old as he had taken in on your anniversary, your naked side profile as you looked sweetly at the camera. You hadn't done anything big to celebrate it, opting instead for staying in and spending your time between the sheets working on your shared dream of a family. And that's exactly what he was doing right now, stroking himself as he recalled the sweet noises you make that he adores so much, the way you feel around him and how your body feels in his hands, soon collecting his finish in the sterile cup.

Making sure it was sealed tight and then washing his hands, Lance fixed himself and walked out of the room, heading up to the desk and handing his sample to the nurse, "there you go", he began, seeing her store it in a cooler like box, "I'm sorry to bother, but do you have any news on my wife?", he wondered, "Y/N's procedure seems to be concluded", the nurse looked at the monitor in front of her, "they're probably just finishing up and she'll be up in her room any minute. Do you want me to walk you there?".

"I think I still remember the way, thank you though", Lance smiled, walking along the corridors until he found the room you had been in. He sat in the comfortable chair, smiling when he saw your colourful fuzzy socks waiting on your bag, remembering reading reports from other women saying that their feet were cold after the retrieval, and since you weren't a big fan of the cold, Lance made sure to pack them for you.

The noise in the corridor caught his attention as the nurse that had wheeled you to the procedure room came back, wheeling you back inside, "she's still a bit sleepy, but the procedure went well. Dr. Marlin said that, at first glance, everything is right on track", she smiled as she noticed Lance's worry fade, "we will be both here in a bit so we can discharge her, but if something happens meanwhile, there's a bell there", she pointed, excusing herself and closing the door behind her.

Turning to face you, Lance kissed your cheek as you fluttered your lashes, "hey, sleepy girl", he cooed, prompting you to fully open your eyes, "I heard you did really well in there", he admitted proudly.

"Yes, they said something about a good number of eggs, I think I might've compared myself to a chicken, so you know, good things", you giggled, looking for his hand to hold, "thank you, for all this", you kissed his knuckles, "no need to thank me, we're in this together, sweetheart".

After explaining you the signs you should look out for, the medical team discharged you and off home you went with Lance.

Since you got the call to book the embryo transfer day, you and Lance had been cautiously hopeful with the results, "Lance, Y/N, I'm happy to say that we have 10 embryos to work with. They have developed healthily and without any complications", Dr. Marlin cheered.

"Let's go get a baby put inside of me, hm?", you stepped out of the car, holding Lance's hand as you walked to the door. Checking in was quick and you were almost immediately welcomed into the procedure room, sitting in the bed and covering yourself as requested.

"I imagine I'm looking very sexy", you joked in a way to deal with the nerves, "you always look the sexiest to me", your husband kissed the side of your head, resting his forehead in yours, "we're finally here, my love, you've got this, we've got this", he whispered, almost terrified that of he spoke any louder he would disturb the mood.

You heard a knock on the door, Dr. Marlin and her colleague walking in wheeling a small cart, "we have your embryos here", she pointed to the environment where they had been developing. As they rearranged the room, they pushed a highchair by your side, telling Lance he could sit in there while they worked, "so, Y/N, you shouldn't feel too much pain, rather some pressure as we make the transfer", she said as she maneuvered the small catheter, her colleagues guiding the ultrasound as you looked at Lance, finding the usual calm in his brown eyes.

"That was very well placed, actually the perfect spot", Dr. Marlin said, smiling behind her mask as he removed the devices and covered you up. "It's done", she empathised, rubbing your shoulder and hugging you, "now you're just going to stay here for 10, 15 minutes or so, to make sure everything settles", she excused herself, leaving you and Lance in the room.

"We made a baby and they're inside of you", Lance choked out. Throughout this process, he had always been the strong one, the one to hold you whenever you didn't want to do the injection because it hurt too much, whenever you felt like crap from the meds and whenever you lost hope, but today he cried for the first time, bringing tears to your own, "I'm so happy, I promise these are happy tears", he chuckled, "I always say that I'm the luckiest guy because you love me, at my best and t my worst, and today you proved it to me once again. I really am the luckiest", he kissed your lips, salty tears in the mix while you waited.

"We'll see you in two weeks for the test, okay?", your OB waved goodbye after giving you two big hugs, "thank you, once more", you spoke, forever grateful for the way she led you through this whole journey.

Driving home was quiet and comfortable, your seat adjusted so you didn't have as much pressure on your abdominal area, "They really should get this holes sorted, they've been here for a while now and they're only getting worse", Lance mumbled, "I'm sorry, sweetheart", he apoligised as he slowed down the car as much as it was safe to, "it's fine, it doesn't hurt or anything", you justified, not seeing the need to be so careful.

Blushing, your husband passed all the holes, the concrete now smooth as he drove faster again, "can't give any more shakes to the little bun, you know? Making sure they stay glued to the wall and all", he said sweetly, hopefully bringing lightness to the situation as you pouted at his cuteness.

"I love you, Lance. There's no one else I'd want to do this with", you stretched your hand, landing on his thigh as his own hand travelled to your tummy, rubbing it softly and hoping that your family was growing inside of you.

#lance stroll imagine #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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genericpuff · 27 days ago

Note

1. Have you read Circe by Madeline Miller + Song of Achilles ~ if you have what are your thoughts

2. In the original what was your favorite male character drawn out (mine was Hermes only bc I found him hot😓)

3. How long do you think it’ll take you to ‘finish’ your story, like do you have a set date: 2026,2027, even 2030🙈🙈

4. What’s your backstory on tattooing and art, was this your initial plan

5. Fave girl character, (mine is Minthe only bc she reminds me of my younger self since I seemed to only choose realtionships where I get here)

thank youuu

ahaha so many questions! I'll answer them as concisely as I can :>

1.) Song of Achilles is on my shelf, I've been meaning to read it all but I haven't been able to make time for it, I might try and do so before the new year! I've definitely heard great things :>

2.) Hephaestus! He gives me such older brother vibes, he just seems like a really chill and snuggly guy LOL Only complaint about his character design is the fact that he's constantly using running blades (sure they look cool but they're not practical for casual wear, you're supposed to use them for, y'know... running lmao) but that's really it, I think his arc with Aphrodite in S3 was poorly written tbh especially with how rushed it was, but overall not the worst treatment out of the cast.

3.) Definitely don't want it to take until 2030 LMAO It's gonna depend on a few variables, including update schedule (I'd really like to get back to posting once a week again like I used to but I don't think it's gonna be possible for a little while u.u""") and how long the final scripts come out to be. Ideally though I'd like it to be wrapped up within another year or two. This definitely isn't one of those "work on it indefinitely" type projects, I have an end goal in mind and I don't want it to take over half a decade like my last comic project did LOL

4.) Never expected to wind up making Rekindled or in tattooing. I'm kind of a "fall into it" type person, I do what feels right in the moment even if it's not what I initially planned for (within reason, of course! I've learned to sit on new ideas and plans for a bit before pursuing them to ensure I'm actually into them before diving in lol it helps me avoid the impulsive ADHD-fueled decisions 😆). I sort of had a plan for myself back in primary and high school - I wanted to become a video game concept artist, but over time as I got into making comics and after I graduated college, it just never really happened. It's never too late, of course, but right now I'm having a lot of fun tattooing and making comics in my free time ! I think I'd still be making comics even if I ended up in game dev, it satisfies my storytelling side haha

5.) If you mean specifically LO, yeah, Minthe here too. Which is wild because I remember when I was still a huge fan of the comic and was on the "fuck Minthe!" train. Now that I've explored the comic with a more critical eye, I sympathize with her way more and I really hope she had gotten a more satisfying conclusion. Still, she got away from Hades and Persephone's nonsense so that's better than nothing LMAO but I definitely want to explore her side more in Rekindled as the story unfolds, I have some fun plans for her <3

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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yzafre · 3 months ago

Text

who wore it better – 2003 v 2012 episode comparisons

I said I wanted to do this in my 2003 thoughts post, and I’m gonna. I've been picking away at this for a couple weeks now.

I’m focusing on places where they actually recycled a storyline rather than adapted general concepts. Fugitoid and the space arc is an example of the second method – Robot Scientist with a connection to a Dangerous Machine is a shared concept, but the stories are different.

“Ohhh how did we end up here we’ve GOT to figure out how to get home, our Dad might still be in danger” versus “we HAVE to collect the McGuffins before the enemy or earth is going to EXPLODE. AGAIN.” You know?

Comparing those types of adaptations could be done, but it’s not what I’m interested in here. I specifically want to look at the places that made me think “oh, 2012 just copied this” while I was watching 2003.

Now, obviously this is extremely subjective. So take this as me defending my nominations for winner in these categories, rather than some sort of objective truth. I am presenting my dinky power-point on why you should vote for my favorites. Ect. Your preferences may be different!

My ramblings on the episodes got long (should I have split this into parts? maybe! didn't though), so uhhhh...

tl;dr: Scoring got weird at 3.5 to 2003, 3 to 2012, and two draws.

Key takeaways: 2003 better matches my personal tastes, and what makes 2012 good is the stuff specific to its iteration, rather than copying 2003

With all that taken care of, here’s my opinions, in very messy order.

Meet Casey Jones vs The Good, The Bad and the Casey Jones

So, this was the very first episode that made me sit back and go: wait. This is just. The same thing?

Raph loses a fight, loses his temper violently over it. He then goes out to get some air and runs into Casey, getting into a fight. Raph goes back and apologizes to his brother, and then they have to deal with the Casey situation. Eventually they’re friends.

That being said, they do handle things a bit differently inside of those plot points, in a way that makes me very split on which one is better.

So, this episode is doing two things: introducing Casey (at least to the turtles, in 2012’s case), and spotlighting Raph’s anger issues, and the shows handle both of them differently. So let's look at them:

Raph and his anger

I want to start with the positioning of the episode within the wider series.

This is the 4th episode of 2003. At this point, they’re still setting up the characters and your understanding of them – so this is really here to say hey, our Raph has a temper, that’s going to be a thing going forward. (I'm watching '87 right now, and while I've heard Raph gets more of his anger late in the series, at the beginning he is... not that. So signaling this for people who might have watched the previous show is valid.)

After this, I don’t remember there being other episodes that are Explicitly About Raph’s anger issues? That’s not to say there aren’t any – there very well could’ve been some that were just so boring I don’t remember them, which would be a whole other issue – but what I remember of him being, to quote the show, a “hot-head” is integrated into other stories.

For 2012, this is nearly halfway through season 2, and is one of 3 episodes I can think of off the top of my head that at least start out framed as a lesson on Raph’s anger issues. (The one with the guy that turns into a spider mutant, this one, and…. Okay so I don’t remember the details but I’m Pretty Sure I remember there being another one post-space arc).

Now, in theory this is good – having a sort of long-term journey recurring throughout the series. In practice… eh.

This is very subjective, but from the way the topic was constantly put on the shelf until they wanted to use it for an episode, to the way it was all extremely surface level and used mostly for jokes, it didn’t do much for me.

That aside, let’s look at the content of the episode itself:

Raph's anger issues have two different tones here.

2003 Raph’s snapping at Mikey is framed a lot more seriously – and a lot more dangerously – than 2012 Raph going at Leo. And, accordingly, ‘03 Raph is a lot more horrified at his actions, whereas ‘12 Raph is more petulant, unwilling to fully own up to his mistake.

That carries over to when they’re “getting some air” - ‘03 Raph is blatantly angry with himself, where ‘12 is complaining about his brother’s not getting it. I do think some of that frustration with himself is buried underneath, but it's interesting to note the difference between how aware of it they are. (Of course, ‘12 also didn’t try to brain his brother over the head with a metal pipe. So.)

The two different versions also shifted what they chose to have “spelled out” versus implied. What I mean is.... okay, so ‘03 had Raph explicitly say “What is wrong with me” – that frustration with himself I mentioned earlier – where it’s kind of buried underneath for ‘12.

On the other hand, ‘12 Raph flat out says he wasn’t angry, just “determined to win,” when explaining himself to Splinter, whereas with ‘03 the reasoning comes from Raph’s “You think you’re better than me?” line during the fight (and a bit of Mikey’s taunting, the menace), allowing you to (very easily, let's be real, I don't know that you can really count this as subtext) connect the dots on how it escalated.

So, that leads to their fight with Casey – where they both get carried away, before coming to their senses and questioning what they’re doing (and subsequently getting surprise-attacked). The difference here is that ‘03, upon calming down, went back to trying to talk some sense into Casey (using the lessons he’s obviously trying to absorb himself), while to me ‘12 Raph just kinda seemed disoriented by it all?

Which. Fair.

Next step: the apology. VERY different receptions. The ‘03 brothers greet Raph with worry and care, and take his apology quietly and warmly, whereas for ‘12 they act like this is another Tuesday, a bit dismissive, and tease and taunt him through his apology. I’m not trying to disparage the ‘12 turtles here – not exactly – more so observing the difference in tone once more.

When people say the ‘03 turtles feel older, I think this is a huge part of it – the ‘12 turtles’ behavior feels very “stupid teenager”. And I mean that in a genuine, fairly affectionate way. I remember being that age, I was dumb. You don’t know how to handle all these strong feelings, you have no impulse control. Also around 2012 I remember being genuine being deeply uncool, so. But ‘03 are demonstrating a higher level of emotional maturity, compared to that, and it does make them feel older.

Anyways, after that you get the reunion with Casey, having very different tones. ‘03 purposefully tries to reach out and rehabilitate help Casey get himself under control, whereas ‘12 diverges into a surprise attack by the Foot where Raph and Casey bicker their way into teamwork.

Overall, ‘03 takes a more... introspective? Approach to Raph’s anger, where ‘12 flickers between being slightly emotional and using the situation for humor or cool action scenes – it feels like setup for an arc that I never felt we got satisfying payoff for.

For my tastes, I think I prefer ‘03 for the Raph part of the episode, if only because it remains thematically cohesive till the end. From start to finish, Raph is trying to impart the lesson he wants to learn to Casey. With 12, it feels like the “Raph’s anger issues” thread got a bit lost/abandoned in building up the Raph-Casey dynamic.

Speaking of...

Casey Jones

I think ‘12 is the better Casey intro episode. There, I said it.

I know, I know! It’s not technically where we meet Casey, we already saw him interacting with April (also scenes I like), but... although having finished 2003 I think ‘03 has the better overall Casey (mostly because they give him like. Actual personal connections to the world), ‘12 has the better initial burst of character, in my opinion.

His little intro monologue is so stupid, and I love it. The skates and the little taser-gloves he obviously put together himself (and the fact that we only got one episode of Donnie and Casey bonding over this kind of engineering is criminal???).

The initiative to follow Raph down, his reactions to Splinter, the entire subway tunnel chase scene, where his and Raph’s rapport is building up... it’s good stuff! I like it! Maybe there’s a bit less depth in some places – we don’t get the personal connection with the Purple Dragons, how it ties back to his family – but his character voice, his initiative and impulsivity, and his creativity all come through.

It’s such a shame they didn’t do more to add to his character throughout the series in ‘12, because he had a fantastic early showing. But then, that series didn’t seem interested in doing that for any of their characters, to me. Sigh.

But... just looking at the episode itself, I'd give the Casey have to 2012.

So... draw? Great way to start off, I know.

Shredder Strikes Back vs The Invasion (or: Leo gets thrown through a window)

So, this is a tough competition, we’re gonna have to take this point by point, I mean -

2012. It’s 2012. Are you kidding me.

Okay, look. 2012 already has an advantage just on moving this from halfway through season 1 to the season 2 finale, but, I mean... come on.

With 2003, there was barely any build up with the Shredder. We’d seen him sort of being in charge of the various villains since early on – but the turtles didn’t see that! For them, he showed up, tricked Leo, Splinter gave some back story, they fought and then Splinter seemingly killed him. It just... wasn’t that dramatic? To me??

So when you have Leo thrown through the window, whispering “he’s back”, I was just like... I see no reason for this level of dread. It doesn’t feel that personal, or important, or.... anything, really. I know 2003 came first, but having watched 2012 beforehand this was kind of a letdown. Didn’t feel earned.

Now, 2012 on the other hand....

Shredder has been a constant, ever-increasing threat since the moment he showed up in Season 1. It was already personal with Splinter, yes, but then he also became a subject of looming dread for the turtles themselves. And it doesn’t come out of nowhere.

Like, yes, we, the viewers, were aware 2003 Shredder survived, but otherwise he was just hanging out off-screen, doing who knows what. He wasn’t on the mind. 2012, on the other hand, showed the way Shredder was slowly amassing power, planning for something.

And then you add the Kraang on top of it.

Like, seriously, making this a two-prong threat is. Mwah! The boys are falling apart, stressed by the time-limit of the upcoming Kraang invasion, disagreeing on how to handle it. And then the argument gets cut short by their home being discovered – they don’t even get a chance to choose their path together, because they have to run, and everything’s chaos, and they’re still focused on the Kraang.

And that’s when the Shredder comes in.

This is insult on top of injury with everything going wrong that possibly could. This is an immaculate payoff to the set-up they’ve been doing all season. This is fantastic.

And when Leo is thrown through the window, you feel it – the dread, the horror, the regret. It really feels like the breaking point of “we can’t take any more” that leads to them retreating. It has a weight to it that 2003’s version was sorely missing.

When it comes to Leo getting thrown through a window, 2012 takes the win, hands down. The stakes, the drama, and my investment are all so much higher than they were in ‘03, no contest, it’s my favorite part of ‘12.

What comes after, on the other hand....

Tales of Leo + The Monster Hunter vs Season 3a (or, the Farmhouse Arc)

Maybe it’s unfair to compare 2 episodes to 8 episodes. And maybe this is diverging from my “only episodes that are directly connected” rule I stated in the beginning, but I need to get this off my chest. Because I just. I’m not impressed by 2012’s farmhouse arc.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Warning: rant ahead, this is VERY subjective and heavily based in my personal tastes. Reminder that I do genuinely enjoy 2012, I just think the farmhouse arc is the lowest point in the whole series and is representative of what I find to be the weakest aspect of the series’ writing across the board. That being said.

I see what 2012 was trying to do, by drawing out Leo’s recovery over all those episodes, giving the characters some space to breathe. But they didn’t do it well in my opinion, and honestly the whole thing. Flounders.

2012’s best feature is its plot writing, how one episode tumbles into the next, Rube Goldberg machine-style, across an entire season. But at the farmhouse, they’re removed from the greater plot, and that’s not doing the writing any favors.

And it’s not that the episode ideas are bad – I generally think they’re pretty interesting! It’s just that without the inter-connected plot, they need something else to push them from “okay” to “exceptional”. Usually, this would be where deeper characterization and relationship building would kick in instead, but uh. I don’t personally think 2012 is great at that.

They under-cut the message of the episode with Big Foot, the Casey and Donnie friendship doesn’t really go anywhere after this, every other episode where inter-personal issues are only dealt with on a very surface level become even more obvious and a bit annoying without the greater plot to distract from it. Yes I know this is a kids show, but A:tlA had already finished airing at this point, also on Nickelodeon.

I think there’s a consistent issue with character writing in 2012 where they do what looks like set-up with no intent to ever give a meaningful pay-off or significantly change the status-quo, and that’s very much on display here.

And it’s not that there was nothing good in the season – I liked what they were doing with Raph, and how he was trying to help/encourage Leo, while somewhat bungling it in very realistic ways. It was a fascinating look at what this Raph acting at his best as the Lancer trope could be, and I genuinely wish they leaned into it more later down the line.

Also, I’m always thrilled to see the Leo-April friendship get some focus, so Eyes of the Chimera was a favorite. But across the board... the season didn’t wow me, and the longer it went on, the more I could see the cracks.

It all tops off with Vision Quest, which was my biggest disappointment in the entire series, the point at which I had to really stop and reset my expectations on what kind of story the writers were interested in telling. The summary describes them having to go on a spiritual journey to really face themselves and their weaknesses, and I was so excited! But then it was just. Really surface level. And occasionally confusing.

Raph needs to work on his temper, sure – but how is this any different than any of the other episodes about it? Do we look at all at where his anger comes from? A deeper way to handle it? No, of course not.

Mikey needs to focus, stop getting distracted – I mean, yeah sure I guess. Not a particularly interesting way of handling it, though. Also, even if he manages it here, I know it's not going to pan out to the rest of the show, they’re not giving up their easy source of humor for the younger demographic.

And Donnie needs to... stand his ground? What? I was so caught off guard. It’s not that it’s completely out of touch, we see him coming up with complex paths to his goals, trying to think his way around of problems, ect, but... it was never really highlighted or presented as a real problem other than maybe the episode on instinct over thinking too hard? It just felt really disconnected from anything else they were doing with him. A genuinely interesting pay-off scene, with no solid set-up.

And Leo. Oh jeez. My friends. WHAT is up with how they handled Leo’s knee injury? The pain is just in my mind? It's not real?? Really??? No, thank you.

Like... I think this was supposed to be a riff on what Splinter says about ‘03 Leo’s coma, and him being trapped in his head due to fear – but because in ‘12 they tied it to an actual, specific physical injury, the execution falls apart.

(Especially when they use the same flash-effect they used on Leo having issues with his knee of Splinter having issues later in the series but I probably shouldn't take that into account here.)

I mean, his quest is the closest to being satisfying, because they had lain interesting groundwork with his struggle with recovery and his insecurities in previous episodes, but then they just completely bungle it at the end! Argh!

I was so excited for Vision Quest, but this didn't tell me anything new about the characters or progress the characters in any meaningful way! It had no effect on how the characters are written going forward. So – other than some admittedly very cool fight choreography – what was the point? Was there one?? It felt like putting on the trappings of an emotionally deep story without any of the actual, you know. Depth.

I am clawing at the walls. Look at all the potential you wasted.

And yes, I’m aware this is all very subjective, and again part of a show for kids, but that’s how it hit me.

The 2003 farmhouse arc, on the other hand, was very short, and I think it benefited from that. It had two episodes, and it knew what it was doing with both of them. They felt purposeful, in the larger arc of the story.

First episode: they make their way to the farmhouse, Leo’s in a coma (according to Splinter, one driven by his fear), and his family tells stories of when he was brave/strong as a little kid to try and bring him out.

Wonderful, amazing, I love this episode. So much character work – both in the past and present! By going back to when they were kids, it helps us contextualize the turtles’ relationships by making them simpler.

In showing early memories that probably started cementing their views of each other, we see the core around which they developed. By seeing which memory each brother chooses to present, we get some insight into how they each see Leo. It gives us a point A to our current point B, which allows us to extrapolate the line between the two, how they developed.

And then you also get the little moments of how the brothers are handling this catastrophic event, how they react to the stress, to seeing their brother so hurt – Raph especially! It’s pure character work and I love it.

After that, we get one episode of shenanigans, which is both representative of that “space to breathe” after Leo woke up, and also gives space for the B-plot (which is the truly arc-important plot) of Leo, now awake, dealing with his own handling of this stressful situation.

Is the A-plot of this episode quite as good as some of the ideas for the 2012 episodes? Honestly, no, but just the fact that it’s carrying the Leo recovery story pushes it ahead. We see Leo struggling with his failure, Raph stepping up to herd him back on the right track – the idea of physically remaking his swords to remake himself! And, though we don’t know it yet, how hard Leo takes this is great foreshadowing to how he reacts going into his season 4 breakdown.

And then, having done the character work they wanted to accomplish, the writers go back to the main story. The characterization here matters (and also is good) in a way that whatever is going on in the 2012 farmhouse arc just. Isn’t.

In my opinion.

Okay, rant over, winner is obvious, moving on.

Triceratons

Again, we’re not comparing most of the space arcs, as that’s apples to oranges, but there are two episodes that caught my attention:

Rogue in the House vs Dinosaur Seen in Sewers!

Here we've got two episodes where the turtles find a Very Confused Triceraton and trick him into helping them.

I like the 2003 one better.

Honestly, it comes down to the context of the episode. Rogue in the House comes after the turtles have been in space and when they know more about who the Triceratons are. 2012 on the other hand is a sudden introduction to a new arc.

2003 also... questions the ethics of their decision more, by the end. It’s a bit more empathetic? And I appreciate that.

I will give 2012 credit that translating “we’ve been dropped into the middle of a war where both sides are bad” over to be attached to the Kraang, which they’ve built up already as a powerful alien threat, was clever. It doesn’t have the same edge of commentary that “and one of these sides looks just like us humans” has, but it is clever use of their existing world-building, and I like it.

The Arena vs The Arena of Carnage

The most obvious connection in the 2012 space arc – the turtles get thrown into a gladiator arena.

Now, 2003 does have an unfair advantage in this comparison, as The Arena is heavily bolstered by the set-up work done in The Big House, giving you a sense of place, stakes, connection to the other characters...

That last bit is where my bias and personal taste shows: I really love the turtles making any kind of meaningful connection with other characters, and I find this more convincing in the 2003 version than the 2012 one.

But 2012 also weakens itself in its own right by doing some setup here with no long-term pay off. You’ve got your fellow prisoner, who turns out to be a Triceraton who objected to the leadership's decisions... and after this episode, that means nothing! Cool, okay.

Like I get that was a part of the episode they’re pulling from, but if they’re not planning on reusing that long-term story, then they really could have cut that aspect all together. I know they have enough creativity in them to adapt the concept of “stuck in a gladiator arena” to do something more interesting, they’ve proved they have it in them. They just... didn’t, and the plot point didn’t translate well. Ah, well.

2003 also wins this one.

City at War vs... City at War?(???)

Look, I am only comparing these because they use the exact same name. Otherwise, it’s nowhere near a fair comparison. For 2012, this is actually part of a couple episodes where they talk about there being a power vacuum after the Shredder is out of the picture, but...

Can we be so real? They don’t even get close to the scale of 2003. Like with the farmhouse, it’s not that they don’t have any good ideas – I like the Don Visioso episode quite a bit – but it never gets to the depth or scale I want it to.

Like, 2003 made it visually obvious that the city is falling apart, that things are really out of control, in a way you can feel. Though, honestly, I’m not even sure 2012 could reach the levels of 2003, because they never put as much effort into making their NYC feel... real? I guess?

Also, the 2003 City at War arc is just. It’s really good, guys. It did such great work on Leo and Raph’s characterization, the danger in the city is palpable, the tension is thick, and then you add Karai on top of it all?

You’d think 2012 could push this, given the added dimensions to Karai and her connection to Shredder, but it ends up falling short. Point again goes to 2003.

What a Croc! Vs It Came From the Depths (Leatherhead)

So. I am painfully biased, because It Came From the Depths is my favorite 2012 Mikey episode, and I thought What a Croc! was... just okay.

I frequently bemoan that 2012 didn’t lean more into long-form character arcs for their story, and this is one of the central episodes that defined my desire for Mikey’s arc.

The instant compassion and understanding he has for Leatherhead – the way he recognizes and is willing to work with his trauma responses, but also is childishly impatient with the process when it gets messy later on, showing he still has some maturing to do – it's great, and I love it. I didn’t find the same kind of depth in the 2003 episode.

On the other hand, long-term I like Leatherhead better in 2003, just because he’s more present as ally, friend, or even family. 2012 Mikey’s always excited to see Leatherhead, but you don’t exactly see them hanging out.

But this is about the episode, and for that, I’ll give it to 2012.

Renet (Time Travails + Return of the Savanti Vs Turtles in Time + Tale of the Yokai)

I’ll be real with you, 2003 gains points with me just because this is another example of 2012 poorly shoving in romance. I would like to make it clear – I don’t have an objective issue with the turtles being in romantic relationships. It’s just... don’t put it in there if the writing's going to be so... bad. And boring. And unnecessary.

Additionally, this particular example put me off a bit more because... hm. Okay, the episode starts with Mikey going “I'm never gonna get caught up in all that!" Only for the show to do the writing equivalent of saying "of course you will, as soon as the right person comes along. And here she is!"

And uhm. Okay, so, I’m asexual with a big ? when it comes to romance. So that framing is..... nghghghgh I don't like it. Like I get the joke, but it still gave me the ick.

Also it was another infatuation-at-first-sight situation like Donnie which. Is a romantic trope that is So Stupid, you CANNOT tell me that's how it actually works, I don't believe you, and also it makes for stupid, boring writing. So there.

Ahem.

Once you get past that, there’s points to be made for both episodes. The way the 2003 turtles find Renet just kind of tiring but can’t help going along with her anyways is very funny to me, but 2012 lets them do Tales of the Yokai, and I enjoy the concept of them getting to see what Actually Happened Back Then, rather than just hearing subjective stories of it. Adds some texture.

I dunno on this one – if it’s Time Travails vs Turtles in Time, 2003 wins, but once you move on to Tale of the Yokai I give it to 2012. Call it a draw?

Loosely inspired by

Okay. So. These are things where I can’t say “Oh, they were just doing this story again”, but where I think there might have been some heavy inspiration. Your mileage may very on these, and you could think I’m completely wrong, but I thought they’d be interested to talk about.

Even if they are from Back to the Sewers.

The Engagement Ring to The Power Within Her

April gets magic jewelry that possesses her, goes on a rampage? Admittedly, the set-up is very different, as is the tone, but... well, you have to wonder.

I thought The Engagement Ring was one of the better episodes of Back to the Sewers, but as entertaining as it was, I’m still going to give this to 2012, I think. I like things that have more build-up to them, and they did pretty good at setting up this episode ahead of time, building up that dread. And it just did more with the concept, you know?

Also, it fit well into my interpretation/re-write of April’s character, so.

Identity Crisis to Brain Worms

I mean. Turtles get brain-washed by the Foot, have to be broken out of it by being reminded of memories/who they were. Methodology of the brainwashing is very different, admittedly, which is why I put this down here rather than in the main section! But it’s similar enough for me to connect them.

This is another situation where I think 2012 took a concept and further developed it. The brain worms are fantastically gruesome, and really treated like the existential horror it should be. The amount of fics I’ve seen expanding on the brain-worms concept is proof of how it hooks in people’s brains.

Another point to 2012.

Conclusion

So let’s run a tally.

I'm not sure the two Back to the Sewer episodes count, but I also maybe have broken my rule on the farmhouse arc... I guess we could count those as half points?

Casey Intro: Draw

Window: point 2012

Farmhouse: half-point 2003

Lost triceraton: point 2003

Gladiator arena: Point 2003

City at War: point 2003

Leatherhead intro: point 2012

Renet: Draw

Losely inspired: cumulative point 2012

So that's... 3.5 for 2003, 3 for 2012, and two draws? Pretty close.

Realistically, I think these should be the two takeaways from my opinions:

First, 2003 better matches my personal tastes. I'm a character arc girly, and 2003 gave a lot more attention to that aspect of their writing than 2012 did, and that affects my opinions. See: the Vision Quest rant.

Second, what makes 2012 good is the stuff that’s specific to its iteration.

The way they adapted the Hamato Yoshi backstory from 2003 to be about Splinter and Shredder, making Karai Splinter’s stolen daughter, and how that whole plot line plays out. The way they make the Kraang a whole organization, and their alliance with Shredder. The full season, Rube-Goldberg machine buildup of plot. These are all the thing that make it excel.

So... yeah. That's my thoughts. Your opinions might be different, and - if you're nice about it, please - I would love to hear your thoughts on what I've said, which episodes you like better, and why you like them! Shows hit different people, well, differently!

#subjective opinions ahoy!#seriously though I think this comes down to what you like in a story/your history with the series/where and how you first watched them/ect #but it was fun to think through #and also get the vision quest rant off my chest ahahah #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2003 #yza talks about a thing

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haruharuz · 2 years ago

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Self Therapy; A Note

I've been pondering about this concept for quite a while now. Therapy itself is a wonderful tool to pick your broken pieces up and gently glue them back together- as if they were never broken at all.

However, not everyone has the resources to truly indulge in such tools. So I mulled over the idea of doing therapy almost at home. While it won't be as effective, as far as my personal experience goes, therapists typically give out homework to their patients.

I want to make it clear that because you're doing this kind of thing at home, it is vital to remain cautious. This is not medical advice, just something to consider.

If you do not have the resources to go to therapy, doing a self therapy session every single week could be beneficial, I think. I'm making a little guide on how exactly I personally am choosing to do this.

(●´∀｀●)

Step One: Choose An App

There are many many free apps specifically geared towards mental health. I've used a few, one of which being "WYSA" which I personally enjoyed. Pick one you think would suit you!

I enjoy these apps primarily because they typically have some free form of help. Like breathing exercises, meditation, etc! You can skip this step if you don't feel comfortable.

Step Two: Find Resources Online

You can easily find a lot of free resources online by looking up "therapy worksheet" "anxiety worksheet" "depression worksheet" etc.

Find a couple that you think would suit you to work on for the first week. The more you find, I recommend stockpiling them into a folder! This way, every new session you can either pre-plan said worksheets or grab a couple quickly.

I also highly recommend looking for journal prompts! Especially shadow work journal prompts that help you release certain emotions. You can do this with pen and a notebook or you can use a laptop/tablet for this! If you don't feel secure, password protect documents or hide your journal in a very safe place.

Step Three: Plan your first Session

Identify what you would like to address/work on during the session. Write it down.

Find the worksheets and exercises you want to do, plan them out. It's easier to go ahead and print/write/type them now and put them in a folder with a clear name. (e.g. ST.session1)

Find a day in the week when you know you will have at least one hour of free time. During this one hour of free time, you will be taking the time to do all of your things ! You can do this before bed, in the middle of the day. Just choose a time you think would be best.

I recommend setting a small goal every 1-2 sessions. Remember, goals should be reasonable, attainable, and measurable. Little steps. (For instance, if you struggle with severe social anxiety like I did, you can make a goal "order a coffee one time", but there's many ways to do this)

You can add more to this if you want! Please remember, you can add a face mask and reading a nice book, or other coping skills/self care to this if you think it might help. I recommend choosing things based off on how much time you have and how effective they are at helping you cope. You can also add them all separately to a "self care" day weekly. Up to you.

Example Setup

I'm sharing my personal set-up and plan with you! Some people need visuals <3

This is my folder set up:

as you can see, I have three folders inside a "self therapy" folder!

inside the "journaling" folder, I have three documents that align with the session outline (pictured next) that is in its respective folder. The first one has a journal prompt, the second two are completely blank and only named. They're just sitting there, waiting and ready!

This is my session outline. It includes what issues I'll be addressing and what exercises I'll be doing. Also, the next goal I'd like to work towards. This includes how I plan to do so. I also put a clear DAY and TIME for this session.

This is the worksheet I'll be doing:

And that's all! I'll be following this tomorrow and drinking some chocolate milk and relaxing :3 not too shabby, huh! Don't forget, if you are ever thinking about hurting yourself: call a hotline.

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elviraaxen · 8 months ago

Note

ive really been loving the pacing of your story and i enjoy the concept and the bits that have been released about the plot! youre doing really well, and i admire it greatly!!

ive been having trouble figuring out an overall plot in my own work, i just have character ideas and the vaguest idea for a storyline. i try to just write but then i usually end up taking a break (re: dumping it) because i don't have anymore ideas for how to complete the plot. i've laso been curious about how you go about writing for a comic (do you write then do thumbnails? do thumbnails then go back to figure out dialogue? a third thing?) so i was wondering if you had any advice or resource tips for writing? both for comics and for overarching plots, if that's okay

if you don't have any ideas tho, no worries. i was just curious. good luck with Felt World! i love everything that's coming out so far, thank you for gifting us it!!

Oh thank you so much!! I can't say I'm a comic book artist at heart because I really don't have much experience, I was only an illustrator for a short while and never wrote anything myself, but learning from past mistakes (i.e. I don't stick to plans), I've so far done this and it seems to work:

I'm one of those that don't like to plan strict layouts for the entire thing, because chances are I will not stick to it, so what I've done for felt world is just write a sketch for the overarching plot, the b-plot and c-plot, with rough estimates in what order I want the major plot points and settings to be. My current sketch looks like this;

(which is done in Miro) and as you can see there aren't that many plot points, because I want to have the wiggle room to come up with something on the spot. And also, my comic focuses a lot on interpersonal relationships, character development, and themes rather than the plot, which means it needs to be concise or else the comic is gonna take 6 million years to finish.

And now,, I think this might just be how I work, but I think it's easier to be creative when you have strict restrictions rather than all the choices in the world.

for me, personally, I restrict an update of 10 pages tops, because instagram only allows max 10 images per post! This means I have to 1) fit all I want to say in 10 pages, 2) it has to be concise or else I infodump on readers, and 3) I have to answer some sort of question within the update, or else I said nothing and I start over.

As for scripts, I tend to write one or two sentences of what's going to happen for the update, and then I get to thumb-nailing and sketching right away! I come up with most of the dialogue on the spot too.

And also, I think what's most important, is that you take your damn time! If you aren't immersing yourself in your own world, how do you expect your readers to do the same?

I'm very much a believer that the stories you are telling are something that comes to you naturally if you just sit with it and listen rather than demand that it makes itself known to you. When I brainstorm for felt world I quite literally sit in my bed and go "omg!! And then what? :0" TO MYSELF LMAO as if I'm not making everything up myself! I think that's extremely important that your story is engaging to you first and foremost!

And as for more practical tips

carry a notebook with you or use your notes app AS SOON as you get ideas to write them down! No you will not remember, lol.

set rules of what you're not allowed to do with your story so that you don't fall into lazy trope territory! You can do that when you brain storm, but finesse the story post brainstorm to just make it.. smarter.. if that makes sens For example, don't kill your gay characters, don't make sensitive men the butt of the joke, don't make your women fight over men (unless it's the point), etc.

set physical restrictions! For example, max amount of pages per upload, max amount of pages for the whole story, max amount of characters, etc.! That literally forces you to problem solve, which by definition is creativity! Like, oh you can't do this the obvious way? Do it the creative way! That's way more fun!

I could probably go on, but this is too long already! But I hope it at least helped somewhat!

#asks #comic tips

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goodluckclove · 7 months ago

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How Clove Gardener Writes (an Overview)

I definitely told myself when I started this blog a billion years ago, at the dawn of human civilization, that I wouldn't make any attempt to tell you how to write. You know - other than saying just do it do the thing write it close the blog open the document type type three sentences bam look you did it good job i love you now go get yourself a treat.

But I've spoken to a few writers who seem to benefit from the insight of me just explaining how I write. So I thought I'd give a little peek into my own mindset. I cannot stress enough that this is what works for me. It's a methodology that I've built up over the course of like fifteen years of trying different things, keeping what works, and throwing the rest right out the goddamned window.

If any of this seems new and appealing give it a try. If it doesn't help I'm wrong and bad as a person (no I'm kidding but seriously if it doesn't work that's fine and we're both fine). If it helps you owe me a picture of a frog drawn from memory.

Let's see how long I ramble. Follow me under the read more!

Okay, so let's get this out of the way. I've never taken a writing class. No, that's not true. I took one when I was thirteen and another one in high school and I don't remember anything either of them taught me. Oh and I took an online creative writing class in college, but I also didn't retain anything and the next year I dropped out of college. So I also don't have a degree in jack shit.

What else? I don't outline. I've written upwards of 15 novels (13-15, I honestly can't remember) and I did not outline any of them. This includes character sheets and worldbuilding lore. My first published novel Blind Trust was born from the concept of the Lover's Knot, which is just like some witchy magic lore. I thought it would be cool so I was like "who could maybe be some guys" and then I introduced some guys and then bam 180k later it was Scott and Edgar.

I do virtually no preparation to write a novel other than the vaguest premise and maybe like one cool scene. I did not have a cool scene for Blind Trust, but I do have one for Migration Patterns. What I don't have is an ending. I don't think I've ever written a novel knowing how it ends.

Literally here's what I do. This is all I do. I sit down and I write until I don't know what's going to happen next, at which point I step away and I listen to some music or I go to the museum or I take a nap until I decide how to continue. That's it.

For me it's going to the zoo every day and seeing the monkeys. And every day they're doing something different. Sometimes they're sleeping, or they're pawing at each other, or they're gathering sticks. I can call out to them and offer to show them a card trick or share my Bugles with them, and they might come up to the wall of the enclosure to see what I'm doing. Or they might not. I do not really have control of the situation, but it doesn't matter because they aren't fully aware of me.

At some point either I have to leave the zoo for some reason. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe the monkeys have been pulled in to be fed their lunch (it's bananas and peanuts). Either way I add that day's behavior to the pile and then come back tomorrow.

Once I find an ending I go back and I read through the book again and trim any fat that's in the wrong places while adding flesh to some naked bones. Then I wait a week or more (usually I can only wait a week) and go back and do it again. By that point it's ready to hopefully have someone read it, after which I make small edits and tweaks.

That's how I do it. Or at least, that's how I do it for longform prose projects that I plan to publish. I've written plenty of novels that just stayed first drafts because I didn't feel like revising them and then I moved on to the next one. I don't regret that. I don't consider it a waste of time.

I would never consider a trip to the zoo a waste of time.

Anyways, that's what works for me. I don't know if all of this will apply to other brains. I don't know if any of it will. I figure it might just be useful to get an in-depth look at what I personally vibe with.

I'm so down to talk writing at any time, by the way. I love to do it. Tell me why you aren't writing and I would be happy to listen and try to help. Or just brainstorm. Seriously, my DMs and inbox are perpetually open. Talking about writing is one of my favorite things to do.

Let's go look at some monkeys together.

#writeblr #writing community #on writing #writing resources #writers of tumblr #authors of tumblr #writing #writers on tumblr #actually writing

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femboyhorror · 1 year ago

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trans dipper vent fic - preview/unfinished rough draft

this isn't really my usual sort of posting. mainly b/c it's not art it's writing. a ventfic at that. but i figured maybe some gravity falls fans might follow me and enjoy seeing this unfinished piece. written as a way to vent out some stress i've been feeling, contains some trans!dipper angst.

cw for some menstruation descriptions, cramp descriptions and some implied abuse from the twin's parents.

.｡ ☽ ⋆⍋⍋｡⍋⍋⋆ ☾ ｡.

the bus ride to the forests of oregon was just as long and boring as he remembered it to be. after hours of sitting in the same seat next to his twin he felt a strong need to move his legs and his back was hurting something fierce.

and yet as he watched the scenery in the window slowly change from long wide plains to towering pine trees a sense of comfort made itself known in the boy's heart. a sense of safety that he had sorely missed in the months that dragged by.

once his eyes caught sight of the familiar 'welcome to gravity falls' sign, he felt a smile spread across his face. one that his sister mirrored.

home. they were finally home.

as soon as the bus came to a stop the mystery twin duo practically jumped up out of their seats. ignoring the brief shouts from the bus rider about staying put until the bus was at a complete stop, the twins darted out of the vehicle to meet with the equally as excited faces of their grunkles stan and ford.

"grunke stan! grunkle ford!" the two had greeted in near unison. mabel, ever the far more energetic of the twins, didn't hesitate to jump stan in a hug.

"whoa whoa there kid, you tryin to kill your old man?" the codger had grumbled out in protest, though the way his own face breaks out into a bright smile as he wraps his arms around her show that he missed her just as much.

"welcome back, my boy." ford had cooed as he and dipper embraced in a much calmer hug. emotion swelled in dipper's heart, and he responded through a knot in his throat,

"i'm glad to be back."

'my boy' he thinks. because that's who he was. here in gravity falls, he was no longer some little girl. he was a beloved great nephew, he was a brother, he was dipper pines. the relief behind these thoughts make tears spring to his eyes, and to his relief if ford notices his emotional moment he chooses not to comment on it.

"alright, i don't know about you two but i'm just about ready to have breakfast. and i'm guessing you two dinguses hadn't eaten yet, either?" stan spoke up to which mabel chimed in,

"i mean, duh! we wanted to have a reunion breakfast!" stan let out a faux yawn.

"well, i guess i could make us all some stancakes, but i better not catch you trying to add in some weird candy dinosaur things to the batter, kid!"

~ ~ ~

breakfast between the four of them was nothing less than a lively affair. despite stan's warnings, mabel had naturally managed to turn her own pancakes into what dipper could only described as a rainbow colored death wish of syrup and sprinkles.

and despite his lack of breakfast, dipper himself could barely do more than poke around his own smaller serving of stancakes. between a dull ache in his body and remaining pain of the events from back in california made the concept of eating a wholly unappealing one.

while stan and mabel were too distracted with their own conversation to pay this any mind, dipper sees ford shoot him a brief look of concern which he quietly waves off.

once breakfast had been finished, their grunkles assured the younger twins that they had the dishes taken care of and shooed them upstairs to unpack their things.

"hey, dipper?" mabel's words break through the brief moment of silent unpacking that had taken the two in the attic, her unusually soft tone feeling like a harsh reminder of everything that had happened before their arrival back at the small oregon town. "don't you think we should tell them what ha-"

"no." he cut in harshly before quickly adding, "i just… i don't think i'm ready to relive that whole mess just yet…" he sighs and adds in, under his breath. "i just want to be able to be dipper for a while…"

"you know you'll always be dipper to all of us. stan and ford wouldn't treat you badly for being different." the words 'unlike mom and dad' hang in the air, unsaid but understood by both parties.

dipper looks down at his half unpacked suitcase, the shouts of his parents echoing in his mind as he swallowed down the knot in his throat.

"i will tell them, just…" he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking voice. "…just not yet."

a part of him almost expected mabel to push him to tell them, to say that honesty is the best policy and that he would feel better once he explained everything. however, mabel simply put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

~ ~ ~

the dawn of the first official day of summer began with excrutiating pain in dipper's lower gut signaling an unwelcome crimson visitor.

several days of dull pain made the blood shed that morning not all that surprising, and yet he wants to sob as he cleans himself up in the bathroom. of course. as if his present situation hadn't made his dysphoria bad enough already, mother nature would taunt him further with her wholly unwanted and unwelcome visit.

forcing the added stress and pain to the back of his mind with everything else, he pops some pain pills and tries not to let his agony show as he slowly wanders down the stairs. immediately he's aware of the smell of smoke and he follows it to the kitchen to find the source to be a pan of half burnt eggs. stan seems to be attempting to teach mabel to cook with… mixed results. dipper simply shakes his head and takes a seat at the table where he sees his great uncle ford nursing a cup of coffee, seemingly unbothered by the duo's antics at the stove.

"good morning, my boy." he had greeted dipper before furrowing his brow. "are you feeling alright, you look pale." he added, the boy's pain evidently not being hidden well enough.

"i'm fine, grunkle ford, just… tired is all…" he assured, even taking an apple off the table to eat despite the fact that eating was currently the last thing he wanted to do. robotically he forces himself to take a bite out of the fruit as his great uncle continues speaking.

"well, dipper, i was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me on a walk around the forest, but if you're not feeling well enough than we-"

"nononono! we can go for a walk if you want to." he quickly cut in. despite his current state making him want nothing more than to lay in bed with a good book, dipper really doesn't think he wants to spend the day alone in his room. even if the cramps kill him, he really wants to spend time with his family. ford seems surprised by his answer but quickly recovers.

"oh! alright then, we can go after breakfast if that's alright with you."

"sounds good to me, i'll go grab my shoes!"

the apple would be left forgotten on the table.

~ ~ ~

the gravity falls forest is a beauty to behold. the morning sunlight streams through the canopy of the trees above and the life of the forest around the two of them makes itself known through the chattering of the birds to the gentle trots of the deer to even the little bugs and other odd beings that live in the strange forest.

ahead of dipper, ford is happily going on about the different sorts of flora and fauna in the woods, about the new creatures that seemed to have appeared since the last summer and pointing out anything of interest to his great nephew who tries his best to listen as he trudges alone but it's difficult to focus on much of anything through the haze of pain radiating from his lower gut.

he sees ford stop in place, looking to dipper with barely hidden worry.

"dipper, are you sure you're feeling alright? you know you can tell me if you're hurt, right?" ford had asked, and between the genuine care his great uncle was showing him on top of the pain he was still in it was taking all of dipper's self control to not burst into tears right then and there. he can just barely nod in response. his great uncle doesn't seem to buy it one bit but aside from a tense sigh he doesn't push the issue and continues on their trek.

as he forces himself foward to keep up with ford, the hunger and pain seem to mix into one big blob of bad that seems to seem into dipper's very bones. he doesn't know how long he goes on for until he finds himself leaning against a tree, holding his midsection as the pain felt like knives stabbing into him mercilessly.

"dipper, enough is enough, you need to tell me what's…" his greak uncle's shout of panic trailed of and pure shame filled dipper when he realized why; trails of blood were running down his legs.

dipper, suddenly filled with pure shame, could only look away in embarrassment. inwardly he wished that a hole would open up underneath him. for the earth to swallow him whole so he wouldn't have to face ford after he saw him like this. although dipper had mostly grown out of his hero worship of his mysterious lost grunkle after weirdmageddon, ford was still someone he had a high opinion of. and now that he saw dipper like this… was he disgusted of him? ashamed? would he regret letting dipper come back to visit? the thought finally brings tears to his eyes.

before he can spiral further, however, he feels ford's hand on his shoulder.

"dipper, dipper, can you look at me? …i'm not mad, dipper, i just need to know if you're alright." he briefly looks up and through his tears he sees that ford's expression betrayed no digust or shame or even so much as frustration. his expression was simply that of a caring family member that was deeply worried about him.

"do you want to go back to the shack?" he simply asks. dipper nods, a feeling of guilt settling into his ribs at the thought that he might've ruined their outing.

"dipper, it's alright, we can go on a walk another day." ford, seemingly reading dipper's mind, gently assured him. no other words were exchanged on the way back to the shack, and it wouldn't be until the two were settled back home with dipper able to clean himself up did time come for some explaining. stan and mabel, who quickly seemed to catch onto the quiet mood around the other two, had also chose to be present for it. and despite dipper's humiliation over the whole situation, he was thankful for his twin's added presence of support as he readied himself to come out, desperately hoping for it to go better than it had the last time.

"…my name wasn't always dipper…" he starts after a moment of thought. looking up for a moment, both of his grunkles are attentive and patient, and so he summons the courage to continue. "growing up, i always felt like i wasn't supposed to be a girl. even when my parents told me that all girls feel that way. and i started to realize that maybe i wasn't a girl at all…" he remembers one sleepless night when he discovered the word that would change everything for him. 'transgender'. suddenly he wasn't some broken mess of a person, suddenly he understood himself in a way he never had before.

"when my parents send me and mabel here to gravity falls, i realized it could've been a chance for me to see how it felt to be seen as a boy for the first time. and when i started using my new name, when everyone was calling me a boy i felt so happy. i felt- i felt like i was finally who i really am for the first time in my life." the memories of the first summer in the town he would come to see as his home brought a smile to his face. and despite all the trials he'd gone through in that summer, he truly felt like he had grown into a strong and proud young man by the end of it all. "i'm sorry for not telling you all sooner." from his spot at the table, stan seemed to take this in.

"kid, i kind of figured you were trans…" dipper looked up at this, face flushed with embarrassment once again.

"you knew?!" he squeaked out and stanley put his hands up in mock surrender.

"i was there when you goobers were born, after all. when you two got off the bus that summer and you were introducing yourself as dipper i just kinda put two and two together. s'not like i've never been around trans people before, kid."

"what my brother is trying to say is that we both love and accept you no matter what." dipper feels a weight lifted off his chest at both of his grunkle's kind words.

"see, dipper, i knew our grunkles wouldn't be like mom and dad."

"mabel, what do you mean by that? did your parents not take it well?" the way the younger twin's moods fell at ford's question was an answer in of itself, and not a good one. mabel's expression changed to that of a barely restrained anger and dipper shrinks in on himself.

"i… i hadn't told them much about it before going to gravity falls. i was just trying to figure it all out then, but i guess our parents caught onto me being out during that summer. not long after we came back they had a lot of questions and kind of backed me into a corner."

#mutt's written word #rough draft #ventfic #tw menstruation #trans dipper

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