#i've gotten so much joy out of ragging on it

[adozentothedawn]

I know I already talked about this a few years ago but can we again talk about the dumbass map and what it implies about Waidwen's war plans?

I mean what is going on here???

So there's no way in hell that Saint's Rest isn't named for him, so he came through here, on his way to the border. Alright, so far so good. Then he decides to march south to cross a whole ass mountain range instead of just taking the normal road, which is weird, but alright, maybe that pass there at Ondra's boot was well protected and he decided it would take less fighting to get through Cold Morn, which he was right about, so I am willing to accept that. Then he got to Mercy Vale, which is also fine, that is how the road goes. A bit strange considering that his end goal was Twin Elms but whatever, fine, maybe he wanted to take over Fleetbreaker Castle to break resistence. And then... he marched back up north?? To Readceras??? Why the hell is the Godhammer Citadel so far north?? The fuck was he doing there?? Even considering Eothas already knew about the bomb and had for some reason decided this was a good idea (Eothas is unfortunately not known for his great planning or scheming skills), the Readceran army had no reason at all to go there. None. Zilch. Why did the Dyrwood think they could make him? "The fields, maybe they reminded him of his past as a farmer" look Durance, I know you're stupid but even you should be able to tell there's something up there. Also what fields, there's a giant saltwater bay right next to it, what were's you farming there, glasswort?? And while we're at it, what the fuck is Evon Dewr Bridge actually bridging?? It's clearly not the bay, it's much to tiny for that, there's no river anywhere, so why the hell is there a fancy ass bridge???

So, in order to deal with these descrepancies, I propose two things:

#1: This map is in fact diagetic, and was constructed by the in-universe equivalent of Herodot, some guy (likely Aedyran lets be real) who's writing entertainment textbooks for a living and has actually been in the Eastern Reach. He's just kinda heard things and then started drawing in landmarks where he thought they'd look nice. He also has not heard about the Bridge Part of the Godhammer, just the Citadel, explaining why it's just marked as Godhammer Citadel, and he decided to put at the admittdely most logical point of entry into the Dyrwood from Readceras, assuming that's what that was about.

#2: The actual Godhammer Bridge is somewhere southwest of Mercy Vale, crossing the river there, meaning there is a point for a bridge and a reason for Waidwen to want to cross it. Considering timeline issues we'll just assume the river placement is also off, as well as the exact locations of Cold Morn and Mercy Vale.

Thank you for coming to my increasingly unhinged ted talk about a game I love but whose maps I hate (and love).

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[fantasyinallforms]

17 + Bagginshield 👀

Thank you for the ask!! Alright, 17- to Distract

~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was sitting in his armchair. One hand was clutching the armrest. The other was squeezing Thorin's fingers. When he agreed to get a tattoo, he had VASTLY underestimated how much it would hurt. It ached, not at first but with every new tap to his previously unblemished skin. He had let Thorin and Dwalin talk him into getting a tattoo to commemorate the journey. All of the company had gotten something at this point except himself. 

"Bilbo, will you sit still for Mahal's sake! We're almost done. And don't clench your fist; it tenses your shoulder." 

"Dwalin, I've been sitting still for hours!" Bilbo complained. He relaxed his firsts as best he could.

He had agonized over what to get for weeks. It was his first tattoo, after all, and it would be very permanent, so it needed to be something he liked. He thought about a small red dragon, like Dwalin had gotten but shivered at the thought. Dwalin had not faced down said dragon. He needed no permanent reminder of that.

He thought maybe a barrel like Dori and Nori had gotten. He thought better of that too. He had no barrel of his own on that river and almost drowned, to boot. Not memories he wanted affixed to him. 

He gave serious consideration to a likeness of the key that started the journey as Thorin himself had chosen but decided against that as well. It suited his handsome, wonderful dwarf very well, but it did not mean the same thing to himself as it did Thorin. He finally settled on the symbols that truly started his little adventure. Three runic marks on his door. Burglar. Danger. Reward. 

He hears Thorin try and stifle a snicker and pass it off as a cough. He was looking at him amusedly. 

"Wats so amusing then?" Bilbo huffed 

"You've been sitting here for barely 35 minutes.” He pointed out. Drat! Had so little time passed! The pain was messing with him. He had never had a very high pain tolerance, as this experience was reminding him.  

“Done!” Dwalin shouted. Bilbo looked over to admire his work, but Thorin’s hand laid heavy on his chest. 

“He has to disinfect it first, Amral. So you don’t get an infection.” He watched Dwalin take a damp rag out of a shallow sweet smelling bowl. 

“This might… sting a bit, laddie.” Bilbo tensed and braced, but all of that was swept away by the feeling of Thorin’s lips on his. He barely noticed the sting of the cloth on his skin. All he cared about was that wonderful dwarven mouth on his. He was released a moment later, blinking in the afterglow of being so thoroughly snogged. 

“I thought it might be a pleasant distraction.” Thorin’s eyes were full of affection, and it was always a joy to see. 

“You should distract me like that again… right now.” Bilbo cooed. 

“At least let me get out of the room first,” Dwain grumbled.   

----  

Fun kissing prompt game to be found here!

[ohpollenpowder]

(Prefacing this with I'm rusty as heck with writing. That and sharing is...hard for me—I've been harshly criticized in the past and the joy of writing kinda disappeared because of it. If anything, I realize it might lack depth of emotion, for that's the hardest part for me to write as it's hard for me to articulate it properly.)

Blinding, striking pain lanced through his head, drawing a ragged gasp from him. His hands wanted to drift up to his head, yet they felt heavy, almost impossible to bring up. Instead, it felt like the tightened vice around the lower half of him released, he slumped down, falling on top of something soft and pliant. It was familiar in a way…but not one he could immediately place. Familiar voices called out as well, but not the one that he was looking for, as his consciousness slipped from him. All he could hope was that he was successful in saving Trahearne from Mordremoth.

The next time he remembered coming to, his companions were carrying him; his arms over their shoulders. But instead of the air being filled with joyous celebration and talks of the final battle… It was quiet. Dead quiet. Confusingly, there were a few, muted sounds of crying coming from behind him, punctuated with soft questions of "why?"

A frown spread across his face with his head bent down by gravity as he listened, his attempt to save Trahearne must not have been successful after all. Another flash of pain lanced through his chest, this time from no physical wound, but the hiss of pain drew attention still. The footsteps leading him on came to a stop, he could feel bodies turning towards him, one bending down slightly to look at his half-hidden face.

"Marshal Trahearne?" …What? "Marshal, sir? Are you awake?" He forced his eyes to open, blinking into the dimly lit jungle, they focused in on the aide-de-camp that Laranthir had issued to him before all of this had started. Those blue-grey eyes recognized him, yes, worried over him, certainly. But there was a lack of deeper connection in them, even though they had spent hours upon hours bonding over ale sitting by the campfire.

"Kirk…?" His voice came out raspy, as if he'd screamed his throat raw. No…not his voice. Familiar to him achingly well, but not his own. It couldn't be…

He stiffened in the arms that held him, forcing his knees to lock under him in order to at least get some semblance of control out of all of this. Their hold on him slackened from supporting to just hovering, another familiar face popped into view, Caithe. The concern on her face was striking, he had never seen her face look like that before. She'd shown lesser versions of it to him before when he'd gotten hurt as a Valiant, but this was different.

"Trahearne… Brother, please, let us help you." Her hands came up and cupped his face and Ventari help him, he couldn't help but lean into them as his eyes slipped close again. His head bent down and found itself pressed against her forehead, "Just breathe, brother. We're almost to Tarir now." Tugging his own arms free from those holding him, he covers her hands with his own, dragging in ragged breath after ragged breath.

Fingers grasping, gripping, he steadies himself against her for a moment longer before lifting his head out of her hands, "Caithe," he licks his lips, "What… What happened?" There. Again. Trahearne's voice.

Eyes open again, his vision swims, thrown off by seeing things out of two eyes instead of the one. There's movement behind him, a restlessness, that causes him to turn his head back. Briefly, oh so briefly he sees it, before Caithe has grabbed his face again, pulled it back down so he only sees her teal eyes, "No, not yet."

It was odd, seeing it from this kind of perspective. The armor not so much seeing as he spent hours caring for it, seeing similar pieces on others, but the hair… The gray curl of the leaves and dark blue of the petals, stamen laying flat against it all and dull. It was night and yet there was no familiar light blue glow pulsing in and out. His mind started to whirl at the implications of it all, of seeing that form, familiar and yet somehow not. Something had gone wrong… Terribly wrong. I tried to help, but...

"Go back to sleep now, brother."

His breath hitched as he felt the curl of Caithe's magic taking hold of his weary mind; drowning out the cacophony of confusion, anger, denial that was sweeping through him. And the world went blessedly dark again.

(Sorry if any it is confusing with just references of he/him everywhere. Since at this point Comndarem has only roughly started to figure out that he's no longer in his own body.)

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

I just want to put a major trigger warning to this, and say that if you don't want to answer or even read this, I totally understand. I just need to let this out of me, to someone who could possibly understand. I know no one irl who has or had an ed, nor anyone even online who is trying to recover.

I want to recover at 100%, as in eating food with no consideration for calories or ''health'' (actually just the fear of carbs and 'bad foods'), eating like anyone would, like before. I long for a normal life again, and I've evolved so much, my life could be wonderful.

I said I really wanted to do it, again. I'm in holidays, so I can try to eat more and challenge fear foods, without fearing mental breakdowns in class or guts issues, or anything. But still, it's holding me.

There is this sort of nostalgia that is coming back, my ed shouting louder and louder, grasping me and convincing me I don't want to leave this life. It's so easy, it's so comforting! Hiding behind a wall of numbers and a bunch of math, under this faint and fake vanity and superficiality, focus all my attention, all my worries on this. A perfect control. And I know it's twisted. And I know it's stupid.

A part of me just wants to destroy myself, and I hate to say that, because I know it's mean I'm not fine, when I thought I was doing so much better. It comes to me, more and more often these days, this awful fantasy of these planned meals and half empty fridge, when I'll live alone, how I would follow these poor diets, dress my frail and sick body with big rags or pretty tops, drink coffee while enjoying the agony of hunger.

Many things bring me back nowadays. Some shades of lights, some smells, some words, nothing precise, but I'm thrown in this addiction again. It feels so wrong, I hate myself for wanting this, for being like this. I feel sad and stupid, having lost myself almost willingly to this hell and still being entrapt in it. I was what, 17 when I started? Spent my 18th years old birthday crying, starving. Still restricting for my 19th. I want to cry, how can I be so stupid and just give up so much time, so much joy? Why do I want this?

I don't know what to do. How do I do? How can I toss this trash away, mourn this twisted little universe? How do I stop romantizing my slow death, how do I stop to love dying ?

I'm sorry if this is too harsh to read. I really don't want to make anyone feel bad. But I'm just here, alone, crying in my sheets, and I'm terrified of anything.

Hi, anon. I'm so sorry you've been struggling with this. This has been sitting in my ask box for a bit, just because I've been very low-spoons in my current circumstances, but I hope you are okay.

I think it's excellent that you have been pursuing goals for full recovery and that you recognize the life it could give you. However, you hit the nail on the head when you described your ED as an addiction. An ED can absolutely become an addiction, and addiction changes the brain. It creates strong triggers associated with thought patterns and memories, and these are not so easily changed or gotten rid of. It takes a lot of practice, learning which coping tools work best for you, and lots of time for the brain re-wire itself before that call to the addiction begins to lessen. For some, it never is truly "gone" but affected individuals become stronger, more skilled at navigating the triggers, and further and further along in their healing process.

You are not alone, and you do not need to beat yourself up. A lot of us who've had EDs have romanticized our sickness before, and have clung to it when we knew better. A lot of people struggling with any addiction, even those who seem to be recovering and building much better lives, still feel that strong call back to their old life. Knowing that old life was bad and destructive doesn't lessen the cravings generated in the brain, because the cravings aren't originating from the part of your brain that uses logic. It doesn't mean anything bad about you that you experience thoughts of relapse. It just means that this experience had a significant impact on your brain that is not quickly forgotten. And even knowing this, you can continue to choose recovery every time. You may even find it gets easier to do.

I'm sorry to hear you don't have anyone to compare experiences. I wonder if you could access ED-informed therapy or a support group in your area? It seems like it could really help you to have that support and solidarity, as well as a professional helping you practice utilizing tools to get through urges to relapse. If you cannot access these supports, here are some things you can do on your own: write and create art when you feel this way. Putting the feelings out there will help you understand and process them. Destroy all writings if you aren't living in a safe place, though. Sit with the feelings. Don't pretend you're not feeling them. Let yourself process them. Cry if you need to. Breathe it out. Ask yourself where these feelings came from, what they are trying to tell you, and what you need to heal. And finally, acknowledge your destructive thoughts without giving them power. The more you try to suppress them, the more they will covertly distress you. You don't have to feel guilty about having them, it's all part of the process. Let yourself understand that you are feeling a call back to your addiction, as those who suffer from addiction often do, and that you don't have to beat yourself up for the thoughts. They're thoughts, you have them, you don't need to punish yourself for them. In fact, when you learn what painful or destructive thoughts are trying to tell you about your experience, you may be able to more effectively use your healing tools to move toward the wellness you want. So have some compassion for yourself, because you deserve that wellness just as much as anyone else out there in the healing process.

[crumpetsancheese]

Welcome, Mr. T-Rex,

To the story of my favorite level in gaming history.

Let me set the scene. It's August 26, 1997. You've just gotten out of school, and are absolutely ELATED. why? Because today is the day the NEW JURASSIC PARK GAME COMES OUT!! and YOU'RE gonna get it!! ON LAUNCH!! You fling yourself into the car and immediately start pestering your mom about it, she sighs and tells you that yes, we are going to Toys-R-Us to get it like she promised.

After what feels like the slowest car ride ever recorded in human history, the car pulls into the parking lot. You can barely constrain yourself from running straight through the driveway and into those inviting doors, crossing safety be damned. Darting through the game aisles with conviction and only one thing on your mind, you find it.

oh my god. it's so much better than what the magazines showed.

You stand there for almost a minute, stunned by its majesty. You NEED this game.

After yet another eons-long car ride (what is it, the 12th? feels like it, at least.) you finally pull into the driveway. By the time your mother has stepped foot on the asphalt, you're already desperately clawing at the door.

AT LAST, YOU'RE HOME! You chuck your backpack and the homework inside across the room haphazardly, fiddle with the seal on the case and finally manage to put the game into the drive with shaking hands.

You don't put the game down for a second, playing through level after level, character after character, just so you can finally Be The T-Rex.

You wonder how it will feel, to crush all foes beneath you with the godlike power of such a terrible lizard. Years of schlocky dinosaur movies and pop culture references flow through you, as you grow more excited by the second.

You barely beat the boss in the last Velociraptor level, run ragged with few lives to spare, and it's way past your bedtime. But none of that will matter soon. Because it's finally time.

The introductory cutscene plays, quaking from the sheer mass and power of this beast. You take a bite of a pizza bagel you've been saving for this exact moment. The level loads. The air is so thick with suspense you can barely breathe.

The level starts, the orchestral tense and booming, "a fitting song for the ultimate hunter", you think. But little do you know, you are not the hunter, but the hunted.

Almost immediately, swarms of raptors are fervently trying to chase you down and devour you, eternally just one step behind. At first you try to fight them off, to flex your power as the master of this land, but quickly realize this is not the power fantasy you expected as the horde proves endless. You try to flee, but the levels are winding and filled with dead ends that force you to either memorize it all, or face the packs. even the scorched earth you tread upon deals damage to you. Your past confidence and joy have faded to blind panic and adrenaline as you realize that you're on your last life.

Mashing buttons, the glorious form of your beloved T-Rex is contorted and twisted as you jump like a fool to avoid hazards and attack repeatedly at thin air in hopes of even the smallest boost in speed, even if only perceived.

You go through the of rest levels in a fugue state, desperate to reach the end, to see if it gets better, if there's some sort of amazing boss fight or awesome spectacle scene.

There isn't. Only more paths to tread and foes to flee from.

You reach the end of the last level, some sort of base camp or something, you're too tired to care. You save the game, turn off the TV, take out the disc and go to bed. Maybe you'll finish it later.

You do not finish it later.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

BONUS SECTION!!

so. this was supposed to just be a short post about why i thought this level was so funny, but. um, that happened. Whoops!

is now a good time to confess i've never played this game?

ANYWAYS, The name of this post actually comes from the name of the first T-Rex level theme! I felt like the name was originally supposed to be a celebration of you finally getting to the "good part" of the game, but morphed into sort of a "We've been expecting you" tone due to the difficulty, if that makes any sense.

finally, here's a lil doodle for sticking through with this!

[rahleeyah]

Do you ever get troll comments on fics? Because I did and I thought it wasn't getting to me, but I've just been so blocked writing since then and I wonder if it's in my head. Writing is just such a weird thing for me that it amazes me the speed with which you can put out truly amazing content.

i haven't gotten many. there is one person who leaves comments on both ao3 and ffn, as a guest but with a name, and the name varies but it's usually something long and something that vaguely insults someone else (one of the names they used for me was taeh_remains_a_bully, which was a deliberate attempt to smear another writer) and they have hit so many different authors. what they are trying to do, though, is not insult those specific authors bc they don't like them; they are on a troll campaign that's targeting specific twitter users by attaching their names to nasty comments, and making everybody talk about the nasty comments. that person only hit me twice; the first time i clapped back and the second time i just deleted it and they haven't come back, though they continue their attacks against other people. their comments have absolutely nothing to do with what they think about a story. they are trying, deliberately, to upset people, and every time a writer talks about being hurt by them they get a little bit bolder. the more hurt a writer is the worse the bullying gets; they have escalated to death threats towards at least two writers that i know of (worth noting those writers did not delete and ignore, but continued to openly discuss how much it hurt them, which is understandable, but again, feeds the troll). i don't know if this is the sort of thing you're dealing with, but if you're getting troll comments the same basic theory applies:

these people just want to hurt people. they want to see people get stirred up and talk about how miserable they are and how the comments make them want to not write any more. that is the goal of the troll, to break the writer's spirit and stop them from posting anything, so the troll feels like they won. it isn't about quality of work; it's about a troll wanting to beat someone down for the thrill of being cruel. the troll is a worthless piece of shit, and should be treated like one; that is, they should not be given air time, and should be scraped off a fic like shit off the bottom of a shoe. AO3 lets authors delete comments, and FFN lets authors delete guest comments. delete 'em, don't respond to 'em, don't feed the troll, and it will get hungry and go elsewhere.

i say again: it's important to remember that the troll's comments aren't about you. they're about the troll. they're about a miserable little person who wants to make other people feel miserable, the comments aren't about the quality of your work. if anything, it's kind of a compliment; a troll is gonna be drawn toward a writer other people enjoy, is going to get more pleasure out of hurting someone who is doing well than going after someone no one else notices.

and fuck that piece of shit. fuck a miserable piece of shit who doesn't have half your courage, your creativity, and your kindness. fuck that dumbass who's too stupid to get a real hobby. what did you do? you were inspired and you worked hard and you were strong enough to put your gift out there in the world for people to enjoy. what did this person do? bang out a couple of grammatically incorrect sentences trying to rag on you when they don't know what the fuck they're talking about?

a troll is a fucking joke. laugh at them, delete them, and don't let them steal your joy bc what they say literally does not matter. it doesn't! i know it's hard not to feel doubts when someone tries to call out something they didn't like about your work - assuming your troll was coherent enough to even do that - but you wrote your story the way you did for a reason and i promise that troll does not have a literature degree. they do not have the first fucking clue what they're talking about.

you are so much better than a troll. in every possible regard. the troll is not worth a second of your time, and no one agrees with them. no one is siding with the troll. people want to read your stories. and you want to tell them. and that means everything.

[mimisempai]

You give me feelings I can't put into words

Summary

5 times Bucky leaves Sam speechless, and once Sam returns the favor.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31609463

Words : 1100 - Rating G

Seeing that the sun was beginning to sink over the lake, Sam set his tools down on his workshop next to the various parts that made up Redwing.

"Still upgrading your pigeon?"

He could hear Bucky's voice in his head. To think he was jealous of a bot.

Sam wiped his hands on a rag that was lying around before heading for the port.

Between missions, when he was at Delacroix, a little ritual had developed, Sam would always join Bucky in the evening when he was working on the boat and they would return together, sharing the details of their day.

Bucky was getting off the boat when Sam arrived.

"Hey handsome! Can I take you home?"

A smile lit up Bucky's face as he approached. They kissed, Bucky took his hand and they headed for home.

They strolled leisurely, their walk punctuated by silence and conversation.

During a moment of silence, Sam was enjoying the simple happiness of life here.

When suddenly, Bucky lifted their joined hands to the height of their faces and said with a gentle smile, "I like the way your hand fits in mine."

Sam, surprised, stopped and didn't know how to respond.

Bucky looked at him curiously, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, I like that too." Sam replied and they went on their way.

The words had failed him.

He was always amazed at how easily Bucky was able to say certain things bluntly.As much as when it came to his own needs, he almost had to have Sam pull him in, as much as when it came to expressing his feelings for Sam, he was straightforward.

This, since the first day of their life together.

Sam remembered the first time they woke up in their house.

He had woken Bucky up with a kiss and once their morning ritual was done, they had breakfast in their new kitchen.

They were both rather quiet, enjoying the silence that the morning provided.

When, all of a sudden, Bucky had taken his hand and while caressing its back, he had whispered in a deeper voice because not quite awake, "It's nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today."

Sam, his mind still foggy, had just answered him with a smile and had squeezed his hand.

Words always failed him in front of so much sincerity.

Sam smiled fondly as he thought back to that moment.

There had also been that time when he and Bucky were looking at where he could go on vacation.

They were sitting on their couch, their laptop on the coffee table, browsing through the various travel pages, looking for the perfect destination, the one that would fit their wishes.

Then Bucky, again without warning, had turned to Sam, tilted his head to the side and said like this, "Anyway, wherever we go, I'll be with you, so I know it will be perfect."

The little fluttering heart Sam felt every time Bucky said something like that to him, the throat tightening, the warmth spreading through him, had become reactions he had grown accustomed to.

Once again the words had failed him.

It was amazing that Bucky, who had had so much trouble communicating at the beginning of their relationship, was now the one who left Sam speechless.

Just like a few weeks ago, they were talking about the past, their relationships, who they had loved and Sam, curious, had asked Bucky when he had fallen in love with him.

Bucky didn't even think before answering in the blunt manner Sam was now familiar with, "I've been in love with you for .... Well... Longer than I can remember, apparently."

He'd told him that with that shy little smile he sometimes had when talking about his feelings for Sam, as if to apologize.

The words had failed Sam.

He had wondered if Bucky realized the impact of his words. If he realized that his words showed how much he cared about Sam and how deep his feelings were.

He had gotten his answer a few days later, when Sam was bedridden with a fever because of a cold.

He had told Bucky to stay away from him while he was sick because he didn't want him to catch whatever he had.

Bucky just shrugged, and a few minutes later, came back with a tray on which was a bowl of soup, a glass of water and some pills and he had two blankets under his arm.

He made Sam take the medicine, the glass of water and made him drink the soup. Then not listening to his weak protests, Bucky laid down against his back, covered them with the blankets and wrapped his arms around Sam, soothing his hot forehead with the coolness of his vibranium hand.

Then he had whispered into Sam's ear, "I don't care that you're sick- in fact, you need to be cuddled now, more than ever."

It was the emotion, not the sickness, that had made it impossible for Sam to reply.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

By the time this little trip down memory lane was over, they had arrived home and Bucky was starting to prepare dinner.

Seeing the letters on the kitchen counter, he called out to Bucky, "Babe, you got a letter today. Something from the veterans group I think."

Bucky turned around, grabbed the letter. Sam noticed him making a face.

"What is it?"

Sam saw him hesitate a bit, scratching the back of his head, then Bucky turned and began to cut the peppers. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

"It's just… Uh... it's silly really, because I can't change anything. But when I see my name on a paper, it's like it's not mine. I was Bucky Barnes, then The Winter Soldier, then Bucky Barnes again. It's like the circle is complete. But it isn't. I'm not the pre-Hydra Bucky Barnes anymore."

Sam didn't know how to answer right away and he gave himself time to think about Bucky's words.

Bucky continued, "I told you it's stupid and I know I can't help it and I have to deal with it." He shrugged and continued to chop the vegetables.

He still had his back to him, so Sam walked over, wrapped his arms around Bucky and whispered in his ear, "How about Bucky Wilson?"

Bucky dropped his knife and turned around in Sam's arms, looking completely stunned. And when Sam reached over to kiss away his expression of surprise mixed with joy, he thought that for once he was the one who had left Bucky speechless.

______

For @serpentargo because of Bucky Wilson 😉

Thank you for reading!

[the-writers-bookshelf]

For this Fab Friday I thought that instead of sending in my work, I'd talk about the joys of ignoring some of the writing advice you find online. Of course, if I ignored all advice I wouldn't be a very good writer, but I think it's important to take most of it with a grain of salt, and ignore what doesn't work for you. Then again, sometimes I don't just ignore advice -- I deliberately disobey it, out of spite.

A few times I've seen people on tumblr and reddit complain about writers saying that their characters shrug too much. I now have a main character for whom shrugging has become something of a signature move. We all have phrases or actions that we probably overdo, and in this case, my character is just kind of nonchalant about a lot of things.

However, the character in question is also a shapeshifting god, which means that I recently had the pleasure of describing a snake shrugging, and I wouldn't have gotten to do that if not for spite. 

submitted by @lcrowstories

AGREE SO HARD WITH THIS!!!

I've noticed a common trend on tumblr where people rag on "overused" phrases in fanfiction, claiming these are sure signs of "amateur writers". And then they list a bunch of phrases I see in original fiction ALL the time.

Totally with you on that spite motivation, too! it really goes a long way sometimes XD

[starry-eyed-skz]

Jisung and Jiwoo Han ~ The Twins Part 4

Sorry this took so long! I was having difficulty posting this every time I tried >.<

Bold = memories, beginning & ending of chapter | Italics = thoughts

prev | part 4 | next

~~~Jiwoo's POV~~~

"Okay, I think I have an idea?"

"Lay it on me, Shua." I prop my elbow up on my knee and rest my chin on my hand. "Do you have any of their numbers?" I look at him like he's an idiot. "Of course, but they could've gotten new numbers by now!" I hit his shoulder and shake my head. "Well, you never really know. Your brother and his group are having a concert on you birthday and I just thought that if you could get in contact with them, they could help you get in." My jaw drops at how I didn't think of this, my chest welling up with joy. "You really think it'll work?" I look up at him with hopeful eyes, grabbing his hand in my other one. "I promise, we just need to try to get one of them in on it. I want you two with each other again just as much as you do."

We spend so much time talking about how to initiate the plan that it isn't until Junhui bangs on the door that we snap out of our conversation. He opens the door with a gentle smile on his face. "Hey guys, you should probably head to sleep soon. It's getting late." I smile tiredly at Jun and bow my head as he closes the door. "Well, this is our chance." Joshua says as he gets up from his chair, sitting next to me on his bed.

~~~Jisung's POV~~~

I hum a random beat to one of our songs as I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. We had just got back from practicing the songs we'll be performing at the show on my birthday. Our birthday. I shake my head to make the voice go away, not wanting to linger on her any longer. I've tried going to therapy, never worked. If anything the voices just got more frequent. "This concert is gonna be a pain in the ass.." I mumble to myself and turn on my side, turning off the lamp on my bedside table. "Might as well get more sleep.. more practice tomorrow."

~~~Chan's POV~~~

Today's practice was brutal on all the boys' bodies, this concert meaning everything to us and STAY. It marks 3 years since Jiwoo disappeared without a trace, as well as Jisung's 19th birthday. Our fans understand how hurtful and important September 14th is to us and therefore it became important to them too. We're celebrating the emotional day with them this year. They even started hashtags for her and us on Twitter and Instagram. They truly were sweet for wishing for her safe return, it meant the world to us. Especially Jisung, of course. I hear my phone buzz on my desk next to me and I look down at it, my heart dropping at the contact name.

Han Twin #2💭 has sent you a message

My heart rate picks up quickly, my hands shaking as I feel like I'm going to faint.

~~~Jiwoo's POV~~~

"He isn't answering.. maybe he got a new number?" My tone is soft, barely above a whisper. I fiddle with Joshua's hoodie he let me borrow while I'm here. "Hey, he's typing!" Joshua points at my phone excitedly, making my eyes light up.

Channie🐼 is typing…

~~~Chan's POV~~~

My breathing is ragged as I stare at the screen, slapping myself in the face. This is a dream, it has to be. When I feel the sting in my cheek I know it's real life. My fingers drum against my phone screen as I type my reply quickly.

When she starts typing a reply my heart fills with hope. I want to yell for the others but the words are stuck in my throat.

She's coming home. She's going to come home!! My eyes well up with tears at the thought of finally getting her back. We've missed her way too much so any way possible to get her back, I'm willing to take.

I smile brightly and fall back on my bed after turning the lights off, ready to fall into a world of slumber. We'll see you soon Jiwoo, really soon. I turn my phone off and put it on the charger, my eyes fluttering shut. Sleep consumes my body not long after my eyes close.

~~~Jiwoo's POV~~~

I hug Joshua tightly as tears of happiness streak down my cheeks, burying my face into his chest. "It's okay JiJi, you'll be reunited with them soon." He pets my hair as I lean my body on his, my tears still slowly streaming down my face. "Three more days Shua, three more days." I hiccup slightly and a smile places itself on my face. "Three more days." Joshua smiles gently at me and wipes my tears, kissing my forehead. "Come on, let's go to sleep." He says softly and scoots back to near his headboard after I take my head off him. I nod my head and get up to turn the lights off, crawling in bed next to him and we cuddle close under his blankets.

~~~Three Days Later; Jiwoo's POV~~~

I shake in excitement as Joshua helps me pick out a decent but casual outfit. Jeonghan and I went shopping yesterday because he wanted me to have new clothes for the time being until I could buy more for myself. After all, all the clothes that may or may not still be in my closet at home are too small. We end up deciding on a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a flowy top with the shoulders cut out. I walk into the bathroom down the hall to change, humming one of their songs as I do. Today is mine and Sungie's birthday, which also means I get to see him and the others again.

I brush through my hair with Seungkwan's hair brush as a light smile plays upon my lips. This is possibly the best day of my life, without a doubt. I miss them so much. My ears perk up at my ringtone coming from down the hall. I put Seungkwan's brush down and walk back to Joshua's room, seeing a call from Chan. I quickly answer the phone, scribbling down the venue address quickly.

"Alright, I'll be on my way shortly."

And here we go everyone, one part left! I’ll most likely post it tomorrow just to get it over with and also make up for the long wait for this chapter lol Love you guys! <3