#it was just a hellish situation

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Five years later, while enrolled in an Advanced Infantry Officer’s Course at Fort Benning, Speirs reflected on his own shortcomings and successes in a revealing assessment of his platoon at Carentan. The thirty-two-page monograph concluded with these judgments:

LESSONS

The following lessons were brought out by the operation:

Strategic use of airborne is essential. The attrition of trained parachutists in extended ground combat operations as infantry is wasteful and should be avoided.

When assigning missions to lower units, the commander must consider the comparative strength of his units as reduced by previous casualties.

Bravery in combat must be recognized by decorations and awards. Morale is raised and incentive provided to perform well in future combat.

Tables of Organization and Equipment must be constantly revised to increase the fighting strength and capabilities of the unit.

Flank security during night movement is essential, regardless of the effect on speed and the physical condition of the men.

In night movement all men must be alert to keep contact both to the front and to the rear.

When in contact with the enemy at night, one-half of the unit must be alert and in position to repel attacks.

Intelligence agencies must keep commanders informed of the enemy indications. Commanders can then adjust their plans in accordance, avoiding the possibility of surprise by the enemy.

Wounded men must be carried along when a unit is forced to withdraw.

The hand grenade should be used to full advantage in close combat. The present hand grenade is too heavy for long throws, and, too, it cannot easily be carried in sufficient number for a sustained fight.

Soldiers must learn that an enemy assault is repelled by fire power alone. When individual targets cannot be located, continuous area fire must be used.

Units are forbidden to withdraw without orders however desperate the situation. Unit commanders must keep higher headquarters informed of the amount of enemy pressure, and request authority to withdraw prior to movement.

Most poignant of Speirs’s observations was his self-condemnation for disregarding Dielsi’s plight. “The platoon leader is to be severely criticized for failing to carry the wounded man back as the platoon withdrew from the house on the thirteenth,” Speirs wrote. “His assumption that the man was dead does not excuse him. His expectation of another enemy assault and his fear that this would find the platoon with no ammunition were the factors causing this grave mistake.

~ Jared Frederick & Erik Dorr

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

There is a platonic explanation for all this. Right?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[solvicrafts]

What gets me about certain people being so fucking pissy about Bob not writing much about Eilistraee (until the last fucking trilogy where EIlistraeans featured heavily) is that

a) Bob basically built drow culture up from almost nothing, and Eilistraee came after he started writing Drizzt

b) no you guys really don't understand. I own the first 4 modules drow appeared in. There's... not much there. And it hasn't aged well.

c) and the Big One: he has a specific vision for his specific characters when it comes to the narrative he wants to explore, from sexual abuse to religious trauma, both of which are fucking complicated and for most people just switching deities isn't enough to fix that.

I have religious trauma that I still struggle with to this day and probably will for the rest of my life to some extent, and it's fundamentally different in nature from what most people would probably expect, and the thing is even though I am happily polytheistic and very enthusiastically into it, I still struggle a lot with certain things because every time I get into my religious practice I have to actively force myself into (or out of) certain things because my whole relationship to religion and spirituality is complicated and messy.

It would be easy and frankly incredibly superficial for Bob to decide to just have them all convert to half-assed Neowiccan ~woo~ drow Jesus Eilistraee to *~*save their souls*~* and call it a day

BUT HE DIDN'T DO THAT

Partly because she wasn't his creation and other authors were writing her at the time so he really couldn't, and partly because it's a shitty message to send.

Sometimes people benefit from converting to a new religion or following a new deity. Sometimes people don't.

I benefited from gradually converting to my religion, but it's come with a whole different set of complications and hasn't been a smooth journey for me.

Just going from extensive religious trauma to switching deities does not fix your problems, and for a lot of people it realistically can make them much worse.

but also

you don't have to be saved by a deity in order to have value as a person

[mildcicada]

[the-acid-pear]

I need to play thru DSaF again so I can suffer an aneurysm thinking about Dee

[fissicn]

idk if i like this but here it is anyway: nesiwe meeting illari for the first time and going "i do not want you to deal with this the way i did at first"

long post under the cut

Nesiwe has heard much about the new arrival, but hasn't seen her in person. Not until today.

She steps into the room and is caught off guard by the other presence. Illari Quispe Ruiz - it isn't a familiar name to her tongue, and Nesiwe took care to make sure she knew how to pronounce it beforehand.

"Illari?"

The girl looks up. She's an adult, technically, but to Nesiwe she may as well still be a girl. At eighteen, Illari is only just over half Nesiwe's age, and Nesiwe is struck by just how young she is.

She's read the files. She knows what happened. And while she related more and more with each line she read, she'd been through her ordeal in her late twenties. She can't imagine being Illari's age, dealing with this.

"What?" Illari's tone, while not hostile, is terse.

"Heard I'm gonna be working with you, so I just wanted to introduce myself." Nesiwe steps farther into the room with a nod, taking a seat across from Illari. "Nesiwe Ntini. Here from South Africa."

Illari meets her eyes and nods. "Peru."

"I heard."

Illari's expression is unchanging. "So you know what happened."

"I do, and I think it's the reason they're having us work together."

Immediately Illari is on guard, sitting upright. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno if they've shown you my files, but…" Nesiwe hesitates, sighing, her head slumping forward to look at the ground. "We have some things in common."

"What have you done?" Illari seems to realize how that question comes across after she asks it, but she doesn't take it back, waiting for an answer.

Nesiwe holds back a laugh, one that's on the edge between amused and bitter. The corner of her mouth tugs up in a joyless smile, and she knocks on the plating of her protective suit. "I'm wearing this clunky thing for a reason. You and I are kinda… in the same boat, I guess."

Illari scowls, moving back in her seat. "Don't try and tell me you understand. You don't."

"I'm not gonna say that. We were in two different situations," Nesiwe says. "But there was something that stuck out to me in your files. You…" She trails off, tries to find the words that she wishes people would have used for her. "…pretty much wield the sun, yeah?" 'As a weapon' goes unspoken, even if the implication is clear.

"Yes."

"So you can tell me what powers the sun. What process gives it its heat?"

"Fusion." Illari's brow is still furrowed in a scowl, but now it's one of curious suspicion.

"Yep, nuclear fusion. Two atoms smashing together to make a heavier one," Nesiwe nods. "Pretty cool. You can do a lot with it. So you know the opposite of that process? Splitting them apart instead?"

"Fission?"

Nesiwe clicks her tongue in affirmation. "That's what I can do."

Some of the annoyance in Illari's gaze fades at that. "How did you train for that?"

"I didn't. That's where our situations are different." Nesiwe leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Spent my whole life campaigning against nuclear weapons. I got caught up in an attack and…" She motions to herself. "Now I am that weapon."

Illari processes that in silence. "You didn't kill hundreds."

Nesiwe sucks in a sharp breath. "Not hundreds, no. But I still…" She waves a hand, unable to continue.

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not." Illari hadn't intended destruction. "I just know that the guilt eats at you regardless."

"Then you understand that forgiveness is earned, and that I won't stop until I earn it." Illari is resolute in that statement, her shoulders back.

"It is earned, when there's something to be forgiven."

"Don't try to tell me I didn't do anything wrong."

"I'm not here to say that. I don't know all your history." Nesiwe places a hand to her visor. Her head hurts already, and so does her heart. "I just know that when I went down that road after the explosion, I was in a really bad place. And it wasn't like I could talk to someone who understood what it was like to be a walking weapon."

Illari's face softens. It's tiny, almost unnoticeable.

"Our situations aren't the same, and don't take this as pity. It's not. You don't need my sympathy," Nesiwe says. She knows that it may help for the eighteen-year-old to hear that. "You're already doing better than I was - you're going out and doing good for the world instead of hiding away. I'm just here to help with that."

"How?"

"Well." Nesiwe holds out an open hand, palm up. "We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we? You smash atoms together, I rip 'em apart."

"Are we supposed to bring more devastation?" Wary, Illari leans back from the outstretched hand.

"Nuclear forces aren't just used for devastation. They're used in medicine, in power, in space travel-"

"I know." Illari interrupts her activist monologue. "I can heal wounds with mine."

"And I can generate power with mine." On cue, Nesiwe's outstretched hand glows softly. "If we've been given these abilities, we can use them for a better future instead of more destruction. That's why they've sent me to work with you, I'd guess."

Illari thinks about that for a moment before holding out her own hand, letting it glow in kind with the power of the sun.

Nesiwe smiles. She wants to say to Illari all the things she wishes were said to her old self. You don't have to be a weapon. You don't have to bring destruction everywhere you go. You can make this curse into a blessing, take a raging fire and warm hearts with it instead.

But she doesn't. Illari is only eighteen, and Nesiwe knows the mindset she's in. It's going to be better to show her all those things than to say them out loud.

She settles on a lighter topic, a grin sneaking across her face. "Plus, I heard you have a llama."

For the first time since Nesiwe met her, Illari smiles. "His name is Chuño."

[pepprs]

like i hesitate to make this comparison when i don’t actually have the condition and god willing never ever will but it’s like with c*vid how sometimes it alters your tastebuds forever and everything you once loved tastes rotten. that’s exactly what this is like. and it fucking sucks

[robinsnest2111]

I think I will survive this grueling service industry job, chronic pain, connective tissue issues and shot joints be damned.

just gotta tell myself: it's the first step of getting myself out of this hellish living situation. just gotta keep at it for a couple years, save up enough money, and it'll be the first step to get out of this hellish living situation!!!!!

[jvzebel-x]

bosses will literally lie to your face about labor laws while telling you that you didn't show up for work the day that you got hurt.

&work injury attorneys are about a ~15min discussion away from taking care of all of it for you, with payment assessed in percentage after you win.

never let anyone bully you out of your fucking rights.

[victormcdicktor]

Well, since you're here right now, you can help the Shehab family!

This family consists of 8 people; 3 adults and 5 children. For over a year now, they've been fighting together to survive the genocide in Ghazzah.

Since their home was bombed, they've been displaced over 10 times; they are currently in Rafah.

Their current conditions, much like the thousands of other families in Ghazzah, are monstrous. They desperately need your support to help them evacuate and rebuild their lives.

So far, they've managed to raise an incredible €65,362 out of their €85,000 goal. Unfortunately though, their campaign has recently been stagnating. They've only has 2 donations in the last 11hrs; please do everything you can to help push them back into motion.

Donate if you can and share their campaign. Everything you can contribute will help them survive this hellish situation.

VETTED HERE

previous updates x x x

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[wallflowerswit]

something i wanna explore so badly with penelope is like .. bitch offs ... arguments , fighting , leaving her inconsolable bc she's facing the consequences of her own actions. i always think about how cheeky she can be in the books especially , but also her whole lw persona that the show kind of focuses on more , and i want to write that !!!!!!! which brings me to a second point which is , even though i obviously do love colin and penelope and penelope and eloise and penelope and all the bridgertons tbh , i kind of want to explore dynamics where its messy and maybe not all sunshine and rainbows especially colin and pen where its like ... divorced ! or frenemies or rivals, continuing the unrequited storyline , or even flipping it ... i obviously love love romantic storylines and shipping and im never going to not love it but i also want drama ........ i want suspense i want there to be a struggle , i wanna just explore different dynamics !!!

[marzipanandminutiae]

I feel like a more useful phrase for encompassing how Hollywood's Corsets Are Evil attitude underestimates women's intelligence, as opposed to "would we have worn something like them for 500 years if they weren't comfortable?" is

"would the vast majority of us have worn something like them for 500 years if they were absolute torture devices in 100% of use cases?"

would we have worn them if they weren't comfortable? just as a blanket statement with no further modifiers...yes. I've been watching deep dives on lip fillers while I sew this morning. people will ABSOLUTELY do things that are not only uncomfortable but outright dangerous, for beauty

however

"the vast majority" is a key difference here. most women don't get lip fillers, especially not to the point of looking cartoonish. most of us, regardless of gender, look at that and cringe. corsets were worn with the ubiquity of bras, and I cannot emphasize that enough. so it's hardly the same thing

and as for comfort...well, that's a moving target. I can't say "X garment is comfortable" and leave it at that, because different people find comfort in different things. and we all have different bodies, to boot. I don't find stiletto heels comfortable, and most people agree with me on that. I also don't find sweatpants comfortable, though- they're mostly polyester and therefore overly warm to me, and they make me mentally uncomfortable to wear because they're so far outside of what makes me feel happy and confident

and anyway, the media isn't saying that corsets were UncomfyTM. that's not engaging with the actual message. they're saying corsets were TORTURE. that they made women faint all the time! that they killed us! that they broke ribs and chafed us bloody! and that they did all of this regardless of how one wore them, because this is just How Corsets Always Work!

which is...demonstrably not true. some women did tightlace. that cannot be denied and I wouldn't try to. but go back to the filler situation- it's not everyone. and even some women who were willing to put up with tightlacing for special occasions wouldn't do it every day. some brides wear Spanx for their weddings now, who wouldn't touch the stuff 99% of the time

would it have happened, period, if it wasn't comfortable? yes, easily. but that's the wrong question

would it have been as ubiquitous as wearing a bra is today if it were a hellish pain-nightmare across the board? absolutely not

[godzexperiment]

nix actively hating his archival/listening ability; but he does value it in some regards 'i recall your favorite flower cuz you mentioned it in passing like 5 weeks ago between lamenting an scuff on your shoe and telling me to stop biting the edge of my knife'

[headspace-hotel]

The most infuriating thing about the mob votes to me is how Mojang makes it so that popular features are "locked" behind one of the prospective mobs.

Like many people support the armadillo being added because they want wolf armor.

But Mojang could just add wolf armor. In fact it makes no sense at all that you would need a whole new material to craft wolf armor, it's totally pointless. There's no reason at all wolf armor couldn't be found in chests just like horse armor and be made from the basic materials already in the game.

In fact this would be better, because adding a new material for each new slightly different purpose is just bloat that makes the game harder to play due to the already hellish inventory situation.

But Mojang knows the best way to hype up the new update (apart from actually adding things people want lmao) is to get people to fight over what they want to be added.

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . part one of three ꒱ . . . word count; 3.6k

⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.

series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual author's note; rewritten fic, will be 3 parts in total (i'm half done pls be patient w me im a slow writer...)

YEAR ONE, DAY ONE

His face is sore. So sore. It’s red, swollen, and sore after he’s spent the last three hours screaming in frustration with his current predicament. This is absurd, Satoru should’ve just killed him when he had the chance. Geto’s lost count of how many times his palms have slapped his own face; over and over again with wishes that he can wake up from this hellish nightmare the higher ups call ‘rehabilitation’— though he can somewhat still recall the first slap that he’d given himself around the half-hour mark. He’s got a pretty good memory…that doesn’t stop him from hoping his veins aren’t too noticeable as they angrily protrude from his forehead in crimson currents.

He’d rather be dead than imprisoned like this…like an animal…like one of those damn useless monkeys.

The intensity of his wails continue to bounce off of the barren walls— barren aside from the dark mark he’d punched in earlier— and echo like a party of lost ghouls in the bottom of an empty well. Geto feels like a mad man.

He’s only just begun his isolation and he’s already growing mad with boredom. 

A huff escapes his lips as he plops himself down onto the twin-sized bed that’s nestled in the corner of his so-called ‘suite’. With linen sheets and a dark maroon comforter, it’s almost a cozy living situation; in another life, Geto could imagine himself cuddling beneath the covers with his favorite book and a soft record playing in the background for some ambience. That world is far far away now. Even if he asked for a record player, he doubts the higher ups would grant him one. He’s their most valuable prisoner, and they’re sure to keep him as miserable as possible until he’s one-hundred-percent pure hearted once more. However, despite their reluctance to grant him the things he wants, these aren’t the worst living arrangements he’s ever encountered and he knows that Gojo did his best to give him the best commodities he could to…well…a highly dangerous criminal. 

This is the only path to forgiveness, he reminds himself, constantly trying to be optimistic about the utter absurdity of it all. 

Optimism hasn’t been his specialty in a long time; anyone with a working pair of eyes would be able to deduce that, and he despises it. He’s quite rusty with the characteristic and has looked on the darker side for a while now— but wishes that he could be as reckless as he once was as a teenager. He can vividly remember how loud his laughter was with Gojo and Shoko, laughing as they chased each other throughout the school yard and using each other's cursed energy to their advantage in games of tag— but that would be near impossible now. His two best friends can barely look him in the eyes after the treason he’s committed. Gojo views him as a ticking time bomb and Shoko’s healed too many people to count that he’s harmed.

If he stepped one foot out of this room, he believes he’d be smothered on sight.

The Jujutsu Society fears Geto Suguru..

…and Geto Suguru fears himself. 

In all fairness, he deserves everything that’s come to him. What he did was awful; mass murdering humans…trying to murder even more humans…harming innocent students…starting a war during the holiday season…the whole gist. There are obviously bad actions from the past that continue to haunt Geto to this day and will continue haunting him so long as he breathes— but that’s all it is now…the past. He wants redemption. He needs redemption. If Gojo managed to reach clarity within Geto’s awful decisions, then maybe he can too. 

Geto wants to get better, to be better…not only for Gojo…but for himself. 

This is exactly why he and his best friend has devised a plan, one that will hopefully help lead Geto on a better path— a five-year path that will only be completed if he truly wants it to, and a half a decade seems like quite a bit of time to most; but for Geto, he doesn’t know if it will be enough. 

For Satoru…do it for Satoru…

He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort his heart that beats with fear every second of every day. It’s been so long since he’s been hugged by another, and he doubts he’ll ever feel that love and comfort from someone in his life. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been alone with his thoughts with no one else to turn to; and if he’s being honest, there’s nothing in the entire world that scares him more than his own mind. 

“Geto Suguru?”

He doesn’t recognize that voice.

The soft sound comes from seemingly nowhere, startling Geto with a slight jump. Whomever it is sounds frail and weak, obviously intimidated by whom they’re going to be in the presence of in mere minutes; and Geto already finds nothing but annoyance at his new companion. Of course they’re going to have prior judgment. He bets you already hate him for the rumors and stories. He doesn’t really have a choice whether or not you come in, though. Gojo insisted on a caretaker— someone to talk to so he doesn’t go insane by himself— and Geto will do anything to make his best friend happy. So, he stands up and dusts his pants off, making sure to look more presentable, and stalks towards the entryway. His hand meets the knob, yanking it open, and ready to meet the stranger on the other side. 

Standing before him is you, a woman around his age. You can’t possibly be older than twenty-six, but perhaps you’re a few years younger. In your hands are various sweets and snacks that Gojo knows Geto loves, balancing on a silver tray that shines more light in the room than he’d care for. The reflections dazzle straight into his eyes, blinding him briefly with a scowl on his face. Of course Gojo would know to send you in with his favorites. He’s so predictable. His best friend is less surprising than he thinks, causing Geto to roll his eyes to the top of his head; though he appreciates the kind gesture. It’s far past dinner, though. Gojo must’ve struggled to convince the others to allow him a proper meal. 

“Don’t just stand there, monkey.” Geto commands whilst gesturing to the small dining table in the center of his confined space. “Come inside.”

The instant you stepped into his presence, it was horribly noticeable that you have no cursed energy. Zero. Not a lick of it…and he struggles to hide the disgust with his body language. He can’t help but be annoyed that a monkey such as yourself is going to be in his company for the next five years. 

With his distaste for you clear as day, he pulls out a chair for himself and disregards the kind option of pulling out yours prior; expectantly looking towards you with the expectation that you’re going to serve him his meal like a servant. 

“Well, monkey…” he trails off disinterested, “I’m waiting.”

You hustle towards him, quickly and efficiently placing the special grade sorcerer’s meal on the placemat before him and taking the empty seat opposite. There’s a small breath you’re holding in, Geto can see it in your throat— it’s suffocating you with fear for your life as your fingers lightly tap the dark wood in a nervous fit. 

You’re completely pathetic. As if a monkey would ever have the courage to speak to him. This is ridiculous.

His hands slam against the table with a loud bang. “What are you doing?” he questions, heavily interrogating you as you cower in your seat like a meak mouse. “Does Satoru expect you to monitor my meals?”

He really is nothing but a prisoner, isn’t he?

“What damage could I possibly do with this slob that’s been served to me by the scum of the earth? Start a food fight in the halls? Overthrow the Jujutsu world with a biscuit?” (If that is the case, in your defense, the biscuits are quite hard. There must be a new kitchen hand in training who based them.) This is a horrible day.

As Geto impatiently awaits your answer, a deep breath escapes your lips— perhaps a way to soothe your heartbeat into something less than a record-breaking speed— and you attempt to focus your stress and fear into a fleeting moment of zen. Your large eyes shut for a total of three seconds; one, two, three…before opening again. This time, as his own eyes make contact with yours, they’re shining with slightly more confidence than before as you swallow hard and settle your gaze on Geto— the look in your eyes evolving from that of anxiety to empathy. 

“Actually,” your lips rise into a thin smile, “Gojo Satoru didn’t send me here, the higher ups did.”

Your eyes search Geto’s for any signs of discomfort or inner rage that could be boiling beneath the surface of his poker face. It appears that he’s grown even stronger at hiding his true emotions towards humans; however, you can see through the veil. Yes, it’s thick and difficult to brush past, but there’s a slight opening in the center that you peek inside— and what you can see in his heart is a man who simply wants to finally do what’s right. 

“The higher ups are aware that Gojo Satoru has a soft spot for you— hell, everyone who knows your name is aware that when it comes to you, he has no reason. He has no right of mind. I’m only here to monitor and report your progress in an honest manner. That’s it. That’s all. I promise I won’t intrude on your life more than necessary.” 

Shit.

“I’m sorry, Geto Suguru…but you’re stuck with me.”

It’s as if his left and right sides are arguing between themselves. His good conscience says that he should give you a chance, perhaps you could be different than the monstrous humans that attempted to kill his beloved Mimiko and Nanako; while his bad conscience tells him to let out one of his cursed spirits to devour you where you stand. Listening to his right side would definitely get him his best case scenario…a chance to see his girls again…but the left side would be so much more enjoyable. Oh well. At least the higher ups sent someone somewhat his age and not an ancient and decaying corpse like themselves. That’s a disgusting thought. He’d rather be hugged by a hundred humans than be forced to befriend a higher up. A shiver runs through Geto’s spine as a newfound appreciation for you is birthed within him.

“Do you have a name?” Geto taunts as he begins to pick at his meal, slightly disgusted with the stale quality of some of the snacks but nevertheless thankful that he at least has something to subside his aching hunger. “Or should I just call you ‘monkey’ as I do with the rest of your kind?”

That sound?

You’re laughing?

Your giggles are surprisingly pleasant to Geto’s ears as they harmonize into a song that he can imagine himself listening to each morning. Why did you find that funny? He was quite literally insulting your entire existence. Geto is dumbfounded by the strange humor you seem to have, considering that he was being entirely serious with his question. Humans are so strange. He’s never really been able to understand how your peoples’ minds work, but perhaps he could begin to learn the basics. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and some entertainment would be nice. 

He’ll keep you around…it wouldn’t hurt and you can be his companion kind of like a pet.

Pets are cute…

…your smile is cute too.

You smile once more, answering his question with a blush on your face. “Please,” your cheeks redden, “Call me by my name, Suguru.”

YEAR ONE, DAY NINETY-FOUR

“You’re late.” Geto crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling a large breath of air in a loud and annoyed huff as he attempts to seem seriously angered by his new friend’s awful timing. 

It’s nearly twenty minutes past the time that you were supposed to be here; emphasis on supposed. He’s been waiting with his eyes staring at the clock, watching it tick and tick as the time passed by with no you knocking on his door. That’s twenty whole minutes of time in which he was forced to entertain himself rather than listen to your rambles and rants about whatever the latest scandal is in the outside world. You love that pop culture gossip stuff that social media and magazines rave about, and in a weird way, you somewhat remind him of his daughters— personality-wise…not attraction wise…that would be weird. 

Over the past few months, Geto’s grown severely accustomed to the daily routine that you’ve developed, becoming so fond of you that he strangely pictures your smile and recalls your laughter when you aren’t even here. Friendship is a funny thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend like yourself; yes, Satoru will always be his closest confidant…but his relationship with you is different in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s never considered anyone else the highlight of his every day like he does you. Your company is the kind of presence that he overwhelmingly enjoys; with such a positive and warm nature exuding comfort to Geto’s loneliness, and your judgment-free outlook on life rivaling his pessimism in a perfect mixture of negativity and optimism. He wishes he’d met you sooner, perhaps when he was a child— and if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did. 

It’s too bad you would’ve only been an awful human to him back then…he would’ve called you his infamous nickname without batting an eye…a monkey…

…a mere monkey whom he never ever thought he’d develop unwanted feelings for.

For his entire life, Geto always told himself not to fall in love. That love isn’t real. It isn’t obtainable, not when there are people like Satoru in the world— people that you can’t help but love— and then people like him; people who you can’t help but hate. With that being said, he’s never necessarily been looking forward to any potential love matches in his future.

…no matter who he was involved with…

…until he met you.

“Sorry about that, Suguru!” you hustle through the doorway, your appearance a tangled mess with dusty dirt particles littered with gravel. 

There’s a large scratch on your right cheek, not deep or in danger of infection in any way, but noticeable enough that he’s able to see it from a distance. Knowing you, it’s most likely accidentally self-inflicted in some sort of way; you being notorious for tripping or snagging your skin on the sharp end of a table. How do you always manage to be so uncoordinated? Geto can’t help but let out a short laugh, his eyes scrolling up and down your body and taking in your entire appearance, dirt and all. You even manage to make dirt look good. What the fuck? He hates this.

Your voice carries on as you approach him. “I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable shop downtown and I just had to make a stop.” The overexaggerated tone you hold is amusing as your hands wave through the air in a physical storytelling of your experience. The skin of your cheeks is flushed red from your sprint through the city, looking beautiful in resemblance to that of a blooming rose. 

Geto can feel his own face heating up at the sight of you, choosing to shrug nonchalantly in an attempt to seem as if he doesn’t care at all about your dilemma…

…as if he doesn’t care about every second of your everyday…

…as if your overall excitement isn’t the only thing that truly keeps him going nowadays. 

“You tell me these things as if what you do outside of this room matters to me.” He hopes his words mask his rising blush. (Spoiler alert: They don’t.)

Flawlessly, you brush off Geto’s phony disinterest without the slightest acknowledgement. It’s as if the phrase had never even left his lips, with no evidence and proof of insult. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence when the topic of what you do when you’re not with him comes up in conversation, as the prisoner typically tries to ignore his interest in your daily shenanigans— and you can’t deny that it hurts. Most of the time, it feels as if Geto never actually listens to anything you say, and you were able to quickly realize that in the early weeks of your arrangement when the pain began to torment your heart; ripping and shredding it to bits with every eye roll and mocking scoff. You don’t seem to matter in Geto’s point of view. He doesn’t care…at least that’s what you believe. 

In contrast to Geto, you’re an emotional spirit— you crave love.Love is all you’ve ever wanted, needed, and desired. In your time with him, you’ve developed inklings of feelings as well. However, you’ve chosen to let your feelings grow and blossom out of the dirtied patch of grass they were planted in— ignoring the warnings every single person in your life has given you in advance. Despite that, Geto continues to stomp on your budding flowers. He takes a heavy watering can, filled to the brim with hose water, and drowns your garden in the tears that you shed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those tears that are a never ending waterfall due to the fact that you know it isn’t your job to fall in love with your client. Your duty to Jujutsu Society is to help Geto learn to love humans and sorcerers as one in the same and to gain the trust of his community once more— not to love you.

“Okay, before you judge me, at least give me a chance to explain myself.” Stumbling towards Geto, you accidentally trip over your own feet in embarrassment, and proceed to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. “It’s freshly cut. I saw a bouquet in the window and it caught my eye, because it reminded me of you; but I knew you’d hate a flashy bunch of them so I just bought the one.”

It reminded you of him?

Taking the gift into his own hands, Geto studies it intensely. The rose is a dark shade of red, crimson, or scarlet depending on your vocabulary. The petals are a brighter color while the plushness near the stem turns dark, more sinister as it approaches the thorns lining the sides. Just by looking at the rose, he can understand why it made you think of him. It’s gorgeous, but practically untouchable figuratively and literally. There’s only one angle that he can hold the stem at that doesn’t prick his fingers. Ouch. And he just did the very thing he was being so careful of avoiding.

All his life, he’s never been the kind of person who longed for gifts or compliments, but when coming from the right person…perhaps he is. 

Whilst he struggles to come up with a reply— a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘i appreciate this’— you mentally applaud yourself as you’ve finally found a way to make him speechless…

…but your praise for yourself is short-lived.

He can’t be weak. Not even for you.“I guess it’s not terrible.” Geto throws the flower to the ground and lightly kicks it away with his right foot. As one of the beautiful petals drifts away from the lonely flower, he turns away, not being able to endure the heartbroken look on your face and the offended rose on the floor. Why does he have to be like this? “I’m sure that garbage is all a monkey like you can afford anyways.” Why is he so cruel?

His eyes clench shut as he hears the door begin to close. You’re so gentle even when upset. He admires that about you— you’re the calm to his ever-raging storm, the sailor to his tsunami, and the lifeboat to his wreckage— you’re the most pure-hearted person he knows, and you don’t deserve this awful anger he holds within him. 

Is he…crying?

As tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Geto collapses against the wall with his knees buckling beneath him and his weight crumbling down to a pile of patheticness. He’s just a shell of a man undeserving of someone like you. Soft sobs escape his lips and silent cries fill the hollow room, absent of your joy, crying out until he notices the faint outline of the young rose beside him. With the flick of his hand, he snatches the flower off the ground and lifts the thorny plant with careful hands— finally and truly understanding your meaning behind the gift. This is how you see him? He’s dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, prickling kind people away with his thorns…but when encouraged and supported, he has the potential to become something beautiful.

Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that is of a blooming rose. 

With the budding rose in his grasp, Geto sits alone. He realizes that he’s only able to become that person with the help of you. You’re the only person that has even come close to seeing him for who he truly is; aside from Satoru you’re the only person who would think of giving such a gift to the number one enemy of the Jujutsu world. You’re the only person who he’s ever come to feel true and honest romantic love towards. 

Geto has to become better. Not only for himself and Satoru…but now, for you.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀i promise i'll post the next 2 parts soon pls be patient :3

[yanderemommabean]

Hey Beans-

Hey beans, I have a bit of a hellish update. 

Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. My grandma made a huge fight happen while I was on call with a friend, and things just escalated between me and her so badly I had to leave. When I came back home, my family was also on my ass about it all, despite knowing how she lies and how she instigates. 

She threatened to hit me, she threatened to kill Sammy, she hurled insult after insult at me and this all started because I didn't get up in time to do something she asked (Which was locking the door. I waited three seconds too long and she went off). 

When I came back after trying to let things cool down I was berated and told I had no right to be so “selfish” in the house, so on and so on, and the fight got so intense I had to just physically walk away, leaving the home and going two miles up the road because I did not feel safe. 

They made me so sick I began to pee blood again, as well as my sugar spiking and causing me to have palpitations. My heart cannot take this stress anymore, and neither can my mental health. I wish I could explain how bad the situation was. I had tears down my face, gasping for air, chest heaving and in pain, I felt like I was on the verge of passing out. 

I got in contact with some good friends of mine, who say they can help get me out of not only that home, but the entire state i'm in. But I need money to do so, for travel and gas and so on. As much as they can house me, they need me to pull my weight. 

I hate having to ask for help, I hate that I'm even in this situation, to the point I'm so sick I might have to be seen in the ER or sent to ICU. 

I need to come up with 700 dollars, and I'm willing to do some commissions, but with how sick I am I may take a bit to get back with you. I plan to leave by early June, if not the beginning of July, as that's when my friends are able to drive down and get me. 

Donations are greatly appreciated, even if you can only afford a single dollar, it’ll be more help than you know. 

If you’re wanting a commission, please don't send money and then ask, for your sake and mine. I’m incredibly overwhelmed, and I’ll do my best to get with you and explain rates. 

And if you’re willing to donate anything, here’s my Ko-fi link. 

Again, I can’t thank you enough for if you donate or even spread this post around, even well wishes mean the world to me because I know you beans care and want to help however you can.

This post was incredibly hard to make, I’m still all over the place and trying to figure everything out, so I apologize if this sounds like rambling and nonsense. There is a silver lining however, as I actually have a way out this time, and I pray I can get out before things can get worse.

-Mommabean