#there’s so many of you now and i have no new art to show for it

[alex51324]

Yes, and, this is another example of something I was talking about on another post, where the pop-culture understanding of prehistory is massively compressed*. Most people know that the Earth is a lot more than 6,000 years old, but they don't know how much older it is, and how very long human prehistory was--while still being a small fraction of the overall timeframe of life on Earth.

(*And it's done this way specifically to avoid young-earth creationists going apeshit.)

So here are some dates:

The generally accepted date for the emergence of anatomically modern humans--homo sapiens, our species--is at least 300,000 years ago. Depending on the exact criteria used to define the species, it could be as much as 200,000 years further back than that.

Traditionally, paleoanthropology has put a second split at about 50,000 years ago, marking the beginning of behaviorally modern humans. This is where the archeological record starts showing things like art (cave paintings, and carved figurines of people and animals), a much wider variety of tools, and evidence of sewn clothing (as opposed to tied or draped hides).

Currently, there's quite a bit of debate over whether this division makes any sense at all. Certainly, there's a lot less support for the old idea that Something Happened around 50,000 years ago to suddenly jumpstart human technological progress, and more support for gradualism, where humans were developing technologies and symbolic behavior at a fairly steady pace over the 300,000 years, and the 50,000-year mark is just where it becomes visible in the archeological record*.

(*The human population increased a lot as the last Ice Age ended, which means there are more archaeological sites to find, and also the coastlines have changed a lot, meaning that many places that ice-age humans would have found pleasant to live in are now underwater, and thus unavailable for study. And, of course, the so-obvious-it's-easy-to-overlook fact that, of all the materials that early humans would have had to make things out of, rocks are the one that preserve the best. We have very little evidence of what people 300,000 years ago were doing with wood and other plant materials. It's a safe bet that they were using them extensively, but we only have a handful of examples.)

Finally, at around 12,000 years ago, farming and livestock herding really took off, followed by pottery and then metalworking. These developments are a huge watershed in the archeological record. Of course, the pottery and metalworking created a new class of artifacts that preserve well over the timespans we're talking about, and also farming meant that people were living in the same places year-round, which means houses that were durable enough to reliably show up in the archaeological record, as well as people having more possessions than they could carry. Again, there's no reason to believe that these people were more intellectually sophisticated than their forebears for at least 38,000 years, and perhaps the whole 300,000--they just lived in a way that leaves more traces.

And that's just anatomically modern humans! If you want to go back to when we started using tools*, that's at least 3.5 million years ago, and upright walking was 7 million years ago. These people would have resembled the existing great apes more than they do us, but it's only if you collapse them into their descendants of about 6.5 million years later, that you get the cartoon "caveman." In real life, they would have been skilled and sophisticated navigators of a way of life that had more in common with the other great apes than ours, not shambling versions of us.

(*Stone tools; again, people could have been using other materials much earlier. Modern chimpanzees use sticks, branches, and leaves for various purposes, sometimes lightly modifying them; we don't know whether our common ancestor with chimpanzees did as well, but if so, that would have been about 8.5 million years ago.)

Not pertinent to anything in particular but I do think it's kinda weird that we keep depicting cavemen in media crawling around on all fours covered in dirt with tangled, matted hair, speaking in broken, cobbled-together toddler language when like.

They were us.

Like literally genetically they were US, just like. A while ago.

Like

Would you trust a TV caveman with a baby? Probably not

A real life caveman though??? I think they'd be at least okay at it

[creamflix]

PHD IN LOVING YOU! — gojo satoru x (south asian) female reader [oneshot]

summary: you’ve perfected the art of running your classroom with all the intensity of a courtroom drama, leaving most of your students sweating bullets. enter gojo satoru — chaos incarnate, immune to your terrifying presence and oddly persistent in his antics. when his usual charm fails in the lecture hall, he decides to take up a part-time gig at a restaurant you frequent, just to catch you off guard. falling for someone? totally against his rules. but for you? maybe he’s willing to rewrite the script. after all, what’s love without a little melodrama?

content warnings: fluff & crack. sunshine gojo x grumpy reader. slightly “tsundere” reader. age gap of barely a few years [gojo is in his last year of college, reader has recently finished college]. mentions of alchohol, drunken confessions, frat party. food as a metaphor for love. he fell first, s/he fell harder trope. oblivious idiots in love. mentioned characters: nanami and suguru. many south asian and desi vocabulary/references, non-english words have been italicized - can be read with poc reader if you’d like. 

read on ao3!

“you know, around here, they call me the strongest.”

you didn’t even bother looking up from your notes. the voice — a mix of arrogance and charm that seemed to be dripping in its own self-confidence — was impossible to ignore. you clicked your pen shut, deliberately slow, and turned your head just enough to give him the most unimpressed look you could muster.

“wow,” you said, voice flatter than a pancake in a hydraulic press. “should i clap or…?”

he grinned, and lord help you, it was the kind of grin that made people weak in the knees. unfortunately for him, you were built different. built on hard work, resilience, and the occasional well-timed tea break.

“clapping’s optional. fainting’s encouraged,” he quipped, leaning against the desk like he had all the time in the world and none of it was for anything remotely productive. his hair was somehow whiter than freshly washed bedsheets in an ad, and his sunglasses — indoors, mind you — screamed “i’m better than you” energy. he radiated main character syndrome. 

you hated it already.

“yeah, no thanks,” you replied, finally closing your notebook and looking him over. he was tall — ridiculously so — and gave the impression of someone who breezed through life. his uniform was slightly undone, tie askew, and his energy screamed chaos. how was this guy even a student? better yet, why was he bothering you?

“what’s your name?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

“assistant professor,” you deadpanned. “yours?”

he chuckled, and you immediately hated how smooth it sounded. “gojo satoru,” he said, sticking out a hand. when you didn’t take it, he dramatically clutched his chest. “ouch. is this how you treat everyone? or am i just special?”

“special, alright,” you muttered, gathering your notes. “special cases need special patience.”

he laughed again, entirely too amused for your liking. “oh, i like you. you’ve got bite. most of the other assistants here just nod and take notes.”

“maybe they’re smarter than me,” you said, shoving your notebook into your bag. “because clearly, engaging with you is a waste of time.”

his hand shot to his chest again, like he was physically wounded. “harsh. let me guess — you’re not from around here?”

“nope. just an exchange student,” you said, trying to sidestep him, but he moved to block your path with the kind of speed that made you pause. his grin widened.

“ohhh, so you’re fresh meat. perfect.”

“i’m what now?” you asked, tone incredulous.

“fresh meat. new blood. the newbie. means you need someone to show you around — and lucky for you, i happen to be the best tour guide on this campus.” he said it like it was a fact, like the sky being blue or tea being superior to coffee. “and by best, i mean me. obviously.”

“oh, obviously,” you said dryly, finally losing your patience. “listen, gojo-san —”

“just call me satoru,” he interrupted, and you could swear the man was physically incapable of shutting up.

“fine, satoru.” you narrowed your eyes. “i don’t need a tour guide. i’ve been here two weeks, and i’m doing just fine without whatever… circus act you’re trying to sell me.”

“two weeks?” he repeated, looking genuinely surprised. “and i’m just meeting you now? tragedy. an absolute tragedy. who’s been hogging all your time?”

you pinched the bridge of your nose. “my job, satoru. you know, work? responsibilities? ever heard of those?”

“vaguely,” he said, waving his hand like the concept was beneath him. “but they don’t sound nearly as fun as whatever we could be doing. come ooonnnn, i’ll even buy you lunch. do they have the food you like here? no? okay, we’ll work with what we’ve got.”

you stared at him, wondering what karmic sin you committed to end up here. but as much as you hated to admit it, he was…kind of funny. infuriating, sure, but funny. 

not that you’d tell him that.

“why are you so determined to bother me?” you finally asked.

“because,” he said simply, leaning down until he was eye level with you. “you look like the only person here who won’t bore me to death. and i’m the strongest, remember? you should be honored.”

your eyes twitched. “the only thing i’m honored by is how incredibly patient i’m being right now. do you ever stop talking?��

“not when i’m around someone interesting,” he shot back, straightening up and casually stuffing his hands in his pockets. “so, assistant professor — what’s your name?”

you debated lying, but something about the way he looked at you — like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve — made you relent. “it’s y/n.”

“y/n,” he repeated, like he was trying it out. then, with another blinding grin, he pointed finger guns at you. finger guns. 

“well, y/n, you’re stuck with me now.”

you sighed. “this is gonna be the longest exchange program of my life.”

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo wasn’t the type to waste his time on newbies. fresh faces didn’t interest him, and assistant professor types were even lower on his list of people to bother. but you? you were something else. and not in the way where people threw around the word "exotic" like it was a compliment when really it made your blood boil. no, what made you different was your no-nonsense, whip-cracking, grade-A work ethic that had the entire campus buzzing.

rumor had it you’d leave the university with a teaching badge instead of your certificate, and honestly? no one would be surprised. you were that good. the kind of good that made nanami — notoriously stoic nanami — actually praise you. it wasn’t swooning, obviously; nanami would never swoon. but if he was capable of admiration beyond his rigid work-life balance philosophy, you had earned it. the rest of the student body? 

terrified.

genuinely, pant-shitting levels of fear. because for the first time in, well, forever, students were completing assignments on time. early, even.

fear, respect, or some chaotic cocktail of the two, no one dared question it. the unspoken rule? just do your work before you end up on the wrong side of assistant professor y/n.

gojo? oh, he saw all of it. the storm you stirred up, the iron grip you had on a campus that thrived on chaos. he knew you wouldn’t let him get away with his usual antics. not the skipping class, not the snarky comments, and definitely not his self-declared celebrity status. you were a buzzsaw of accountability, and gojo loved it. not in the way you think, though — don’t get ahead of yourself.

because gojoism — yes, that’s a thing; yes, he coined it — has a very clear rule: don’t get attached. people, places, things — they’re all just pit stops in the grand marathon of gojo satoru versus the world. getting attached? getting sentimental? that’s for suckers who don’t know how this game works. and catching feelings for an assistant professor? please. that would be career suicide.

but here’s the thing about gojo: he thrives in contradiction. so while he’d never admit it, he couldn’t get enough of the way you refused to be impressed by him. not his titles, not his abilities, not even his very charming face (his words, obviously). the way you rolled your eyes at his jokes instead of laughing? addicting. the way you’d cut him off mid-sentence with a pointed look? chef’s kiss.

he’d push your buttons — because of course he would — and you’d push back harder. sometimes literally, if he got too close.

“gojo,” you’d say, voice clipped as you slammed a stack of papers onto the desk he was currently lounging on, “do you even know what deadlines are?”

“do you even know how cute you look when you’re mad?” he’d shoot back with a smirk, only for you to grab the stack of papers and smack him on the head with it.

“i’m docking points for that,” you’d reply.

“good thing i’m not in that class,” he’d say, rubbing the back of his head but grinning all the same.

you weren’t like anyone else here. and while gojo would never admit it — never — you made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, attachment wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

not that he’d act on it. he had a reputation to maintain, after all.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

your hometown wasn’t kind to its students, and for women? the hurdles were sky-high. if you made it past the expectations of marriage by twenty-five, you were already considered lucky. but leaving the country? going all the way to japan to work as an assistant professor? it was practically unheard of. you fought tooth and nail for this opportunity, and everyone in your life — your parents, your friends, and especially your sleep-deprived self — knew it.

your parents bore the brunt of it back home, of course. aunties with too much time on their hands whispered about how you’d “slipped away from their hands” and speculated with relish about what a young woman like you must be doing all alone in another country. you heard about the comments in their phone calls, the carefully worded complaints disguised as updates. but you? you silently flipped every single one of those people off and worked harder.

and when you got to japan? well, you expected the students here to match the academic rigor you were used to. surely, you thought, at a prestigious institution like this one, students would treat education with the respect it deserved. but what you found instead was chaos. procrastination, laziness, and a classroom full of students who had clearly never experienced the kind of academic discipline you grew up with.

so you showed them. you brought the fire and brimstone that only years of being forged in the relentless grind of your own education could provide. your methods were strict, your expectations sky-high. deadlines weren’t suggestions; they were law. a harsh approach? maybe. but you weren’t here to make friends — you were here to do your job. and, to your satisfaction, it worked.

assignments started coming in on time. some students even began submitting them early. the whispers in the hallways stopped being about how scary you were and turned into grudging admiration. you weren’t just another assistant professor anymore; you were the assistant professor. the one who could whip an entire class into shape.

but there was one exception to your reign of order. one glaring, white-haired exception.

gojo satoru.

no amount of stern talking, rule-enforcing, or pointed glares seemed to get through to him. while the rest of his peers buckled down and locked in, gojo remained steadfastly, infuriatingly gojo. he treated your class like a casual hangout session, his assignments as optional suggestions, and your authority as a particularly amusing joke.

you tried everything. you talked to him one-on-one (he just grinned and offered you candy). you imposed stricter penalties (he seemed genuinely delighted to rack up a record number of deductions). finally, in frustration, you tried reverse psychology: ignoring him altogether.

if you thought that would deter him, though, you clearly underestimated how much gojo thrived on attention — especially yours.

at first, he made a game of it. raising his hand obnoxiously in class, only to say something irrelevant when called on. loudly announcing how much he missed being scolded by you. once, he even showed up early, leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin as if daring you to acknowledge his punctuality.

“oh, wow, professor y/n,” he said with mock sincerity, “do i finally have your attention, or should i try harder?”

you didn’t even glance up from your notes. “if this is you trying, then maybe you should quit while you’re ahead, gojo-san.”

he pouted. actually pouted. “cold as ever. don’t you think this is a little mean? ignoring one of your best students?”

you finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “best at what? wasting time?”

the class laughed. gojo didn’t. instead, he grinned, a slow, deliberate grin that made you feel like you’d walked right into a trap.

“oh, you’re good,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering over to his seat. “but i’m better.”

and that was the thing about gojo: he wasn’t just a student. he was a problem. an unshakable, incorrigible problem. and as much as you hated to admit it, ignoring him was harder than it should’ve been. not because you cared what he thought, obviously. but because he was just so damn annoying.

and, if you were being honest with yourself, a tiny part of you begrudgingly respected his ability to get under your skin. not that you’d ever let him know that.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo knew what you were doing the second you started doing it. reverse psychology? seriously? please, he’d been playing that game for years, mostly with girls trying to “tame” him, and he always came out on top. so when you turned that tactic on him in the most mundane, academic context possible, he thought he’d laugh it off.

except, he wasn’t laughing.

it stung. not in the obvious way, like a slap or a scolding — those he could handle with ease. no, this was a slow, persistent sting that gnawed at him. he told himself it was just the principle of the thing. after all, he was gojo satoru. he didn’t get ignored. not by students, not by professors, and definitely not by some assistant professor whose job was to notice him.

so, naturally, he did what he did best: he tried to annoy you back into paying attention to him.

he showed up late with the loudest excuse he could think of, dumped his belongings on the desk noisily, and waved like he hadn’t just interrupted the lecture. “don’t mind me!” he’d said with a grin, as if the entire class wasn’t already staring.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t even pause. just kept writing on the board like he didn’t exist.

then he started asking the most absurd questions in class, his hand shooting up every five minutes. “uh, do you think math could ever, like, save the world? or is it just numbers pretending to be important?”

without missing a beat, you replied, “math can’t save the world, but it might save your grade. if you pay attention, gojo-san.”

still, you didn’t really look at him.

and that’s what got him. no matter what he did — no matter how big his antics got — he felt like you were slipping further away. it was maddening. why was he so perturbed by your lack of attention? it wasn’t like he was starved for it. hell, there were at least three girls giggling at him from the back row, clearly waiting for him to flash a grin their way.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

because all he wanted, all he needed, was for you to look at him. just once.

and when you finally did — fleeting, barely a second — he swore it knocked the air clean out of his lungs. it wasn’t a soft, affectionate gaze. it was clinical, assessing, like you were deciding if he was worth wasting your energy on. and yet, it made his heart race like he’d just run a marathon.

he coughed, choking on his own spit like an idiot, and the giggling girls behind him burst into laughter. he barely noticed. his entire brain was short-circuiting because of one tiny glance from you.

oh no, he thought, panic creeping into the edges of his mind.

because if this meant what he thought it meant — if the flutter in his chest and the heat rising to his cheeks were any indication — then he was cooked.

and not in the cool, suave, gojo-satoru-untouchable way. no, he was the other kind of cooked. the pathetic kind. the “i might have it bad for you” kind.

and that? that was unacceptable. because the rules of gojo-ism were clear: no attachments. no crushes. no letting someone get under his skin.

but as he caught himself sneaking another glance your way, only to find you resolutely ignoring him, he realized something even worse.

it was already too late.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

the exhaustion from the week was creeping up on you, and all you wanted was the comfort of home — specifically, a plate of steaming hot rice served just the way you like it: with spices, gravy, and soul. you had a list of places to try, but tonight, your craving led you to a cozy little restaurant tucked into the corner of the town, its windows fogged from the heat of its bustling kitchen.

the moment you stepped in, it was like being transported back home. the air was thick with the scent of turmeric, cumin, and garlic sizzling in oil. old 90’s hits blared from the bose speakers, their crackly charm only adding to the vibe. the tables were covered in laminated menus adorned with bright pictures of curries and rice dishes, and the faint clinking of plates and laughter of families made the place feel alive.

you inhaled deeply, a small smile tugging at your lips as you muttered, “finally, some real food.”

but just as the nostalgia began to settle, so did the chaos.

“auntie, i swear, if you add me on instagram, i’ll give you an extra drink on the house!”

you froze. that voice was unmistakable.

slowly, you turned your head toward the noise, and there he was — gojo satoru, in all his obnoxiously white-haired glory, standing at a table of middle-aged aunties who were giggling like schoolgirls. he was holding a menu in one hand, the other gesturing wildly as he leaned in with his megawatt grin.

your first instinct was to turn around and walk out, but it was too late. his stupid sixth sense or whatever it was must’ve pinged because his gaze snapped to yours.

for a moment, he froze, his grin faltering slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. then, like the human embodiment of chaos he was, he lit up.

“well, well, well,” he said, straightening up and strolling toward you, the menu still clutched in his hand. “if it isn’t assistant professor y/n. what brings you to my establishment?”

you blinked. “your establishment?”

“yepppp,” he said, popping the “p” with a smirk. “i work here now. part-time, of course. y’know, givin’ back to the community and alla that.”

“giving back?” you repeated, skepticism dripping from your tone as you glanced at the aunties still swooning over him.

“what can i say?” he shrugged dramatically. “the people love me. i’m a man of the masses.”

you narrowed your eyes. “last i heard, you said part-time jobs were, and i quote, ‘too lame.’”

“ah, well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, the smirk slipping for just a moment before snapping back into place. “turns out, this place has… sentimental value.”

you raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but before you could press him further, the manager — an older man with a sharp mustache and a no-nonsense attitude — poked his head out from the kitchen.

“boy! less talking, more working!”

“right, right,” gojo called back, waving him off. then, turning to you, he added with an exaggerated bow, “your server for tonight, at your service.”

“oh, god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“don’t worry,” he said, grinning as he led you to a table near the window. “i’ll make sure your dining experience is unforgettable. five-star service, guaranteed.”

you sat down, glancing around at the restaurant. the energy was warm and lively, the kind of place where families lingered over their meals, and you couldn’t help but relax a little despite gojo’s antics.

but as soon as he returned with the menu, you realized relaxing wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

“so, what’ll it be?” he asked, placing the menu on the table with a flourish.

you reached for it, but he held on, his hand lingering just long enough to make it awkward.

“gojo,” you said flatly.

“right, right,” he said, quickly letting go and stepping back. “just thought i’d help you decide. you know, spice levels, portion sizes, all that jazz.”

“i think i can handle it,” you said, scanning the menu.

he nodded, rocking back on his heels like he had too much energy and no idea what to do with it. “cool, cool, cool. uh, so… how’s the food situation at the dorms? still… uh, bad?”

you looked up, startled by the shift in his tone. was he… making small talk?

“it’s fine,” you said cautiously. “why do you ask?”

“no reason,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck again. “just, you know, wondering. totally normal thing to ask. not weird at all.”

you stared at him, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked… nervous.

“gojo,” you said slowly, “did you…get this job just so you could talk to me outside of class?”

his eyes widened, and for a second, you thought he might actually deny it. but then, to your utter disbelief, he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“okay, fine,” he admitted, throwing his hands up. “yes, i might’ve suggested to the manager that hiring me would be a strategic move. but can you blame me? you’ve been ignoring me for weeks!”

“oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“but hey, look,” he said, leaning on the table with that infuriating grin, “it worked, didn’t it? you’re here, we’re talking, and you’re not ignoring me anymore.”

you peeked at him through your fingers. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet,” he said, winking, “you’re still here. coincidence? i think not.”

you couldn’t help it. despite yourself, a laugh escaped you. maybe it was the smell of the spices or the familiar music or the sheer ridiculousness of gojo trying to be suave while fumbling a menu, but for the first time in weeks, you felt… lighter.

“fine,” you said, sitting back with a sigh. “just get me some biryani, and maybe — maybe — i’ll stop ignoring you.”

“coming right up!” he said, snapping his fingers and spinning toward the kitchen.

and as he walked away, practically bouncing with energy, you realized something unsettling.

you didn’t hate this. not as much as you thought you would.

for all his loud boasts and infuriating antics, gojo somehow managed to deliver on his promise of five-star service. you weren't sure whether to be impressed or mildly alarmed by how committed he was to the bit. the complimentary lassi arrived first, its frothy top sprinkled with crushed pistachios and saffron strands.

“on the house,” gojo said, placing it in front of you with a flourish, his grin as bright as ever.

you raised an eyebrow. “on the house? or on your paycheck?”

he clutched his chest in mock offense. “you wound me. can’t a guy just be generous without being interrogated?”

you took a cautious sip, the cool, sweet tang of the lassi immediately soothing your tired soul. okay, maybe he wasn’t completely useless. but you weren’t about to let him know that.

“it’s good,” you said grudgingly, setting the glass down.

“good?” he repeated, looking almost scandalized. “it’s amaaazzing. i personally quality-checked the batch this morning. and by quality-check, i mean stole a glass when no one was looking.”

“why am i not surprised?”

he laughed, loud and carefree, before turning back toward the kitchen. “don’t go anywhere. the main course is coming up, and trust me, it’s gonna blow your mind.”

“i’ve had biryani before, gojo,” you called after him.

he paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a wink. “yeah, but you’ve never had biryani here.”

you rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips.

when the biryani finally arrived, it was accompanied by a plate of papad so stacked you thought it might topple over at any moment. gojo set the dishes down with exaggerated care, his expression comically serious.

“i present to you: the finest biryani in town,” he announced, stepping back like a magician revealing his latest trick. “and, of course, an appropriate amount of papad.”

“appropriate?” you said, staring at the pile. “are you trying to feed me or an army?”

“details, details,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

you took a bite of the biryani, the warm, spiced flavors instantly transporting you back home. for a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the sheer comfort of the food. gojo, who had been watching you like a hawk, grinned triumphantly.

“knew it,” he said, crossing his arms. “you love it.”

you looked up, your expression neutral. “it’s okay.”

“okay?!” he exclaimed, clutching his head in mock despair. “this is a masterpiece! an edible work of art! you should be weeping tears of joy right now.”

“maybe if you’d actually cooked it, i would,” you shot back.

his grin faltered for the briefest second, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “give me time,” he said softly, almost to himself.

“what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“nothing!” he said quickly, the grin snapping back into place. “anyway, don’t fill up too much. dessert’s coming.”

“dessert?” you repeated. “i didn’t order dessert.”

“i did,” he said, smirking.

you groaned. “gojo, i —”

“truuuust me,” he interrupted, leaning on the table. “you’ll thank me later.”

and sure enough, minutes later, he returned with not one but four different desserts, ranging from gulab jamun to kulfi.

“are you trying to kill me?” you asked, staring at the spread.

“what? no,” he said, feigning innocence. “just making sure you have options.”

“i grew up eating this stuff, you know,” you said, picking up a spoon.

“yeah, but now you’re eating it here, with me,” he said, his tone oddly earnest.

you looked at him, surprised by the sudden shift. he was still grinning, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“you’re really going all out, huh?” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “what can i say? you’re worth it.”

your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he straightened up, the grin back in full force.

“now, hurry up and eat,” he said, waving at the desserts. “i’ve got a reputation to uphold as the best server this place has ever seen.”

you shook your head, laughing despite yourself.

and as you dug into the desserts, gojo lingered nearby, shooing away any other server who dared approach your table.

“she’s got me,” he said to one particularly annoyed coworker. “go help table six.”

you rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t deny that you appreciated the effort.

because for all his theatrics and ridiculousness, gojo was trying. and maybe — just maybe — that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

the air in the restaurant was thick with the aroma of spices, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. it felt like a piece of home transplanted into a foreign land, and you couldn’t help but soak it all in. across the room, families leaned into each other, sharing plates and stories, while a gaggle of aunties erupted into loud laughter.

you glanced at them and caught gojo in the middle of an animated retelling of what looked suspiciously like a made-up story. he gestured wildly, miming what might have been a tiger fight or possibly a dramatic fall into a ditch.

“and then,” he said, lowering his voice for dramatic effect, “just as i thought it was all over for me, i —”

“slipped on a banana peel,” one of the aunties interjected, to the uproarious laughter of her companions.

gojo clutched his chest. “how dare you ruin my heroic tale! i was going to say i wrestled the tiger with my bare hands!”

the aunties waved him off, and one of them, a silver-haired woman with a cheeky grin, called out to you. “dear, you need to keep this one in check. he’s too much.”

you snorted, raising your glass in mock salute. “believe me, auntie, i’m trying.”

gojo turned to you with an exaggerated pout. “i thought you were on my side!”

“i’ll be on your side when you stop embellishing your life stories,” you shot back, smirking.

“ouch,” he said, clutching his chest again, this time as if you’d shot him. “right in the heart.”

shaking your head, you turned your attention back to the rest of the room. a group of kids at a nearby table was sneaking curious glances at you. when you caught their eye and made a funny face, they shrieked with laughter, their giggles cutting through the hum of the restaurant.

one of the little girls tugged on her mother’s sleeve and whispered something, and the next thing you knew, she was waving shyly at you. you waved back, smiling, and the shy wave quickly turned into an enthusiastic flurry of hands.

“look at you,” gojo said, leaning against the edge of your table, watching the interaction. “miss popular already.”

“it’s not that hard,” you said, shrugging. “kids are easy. you just have to know how to talk to them.”

“oh yeah?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “and what about me? am i easy to talk to?”

“no,” you said flatly.

he burst out laughing, tilting his head back dramatically. “you wound me again! how many times is that tonight? three? four?”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising you. it wasn’t one of those polite, measured laughs you reserved for acquaintances. it was genuine, a sound that seemed to echo somewhere deep inside you, loosening a knot you hadn’t even realized was there.

gojo must have noticed because his expression softened, just for a moment. “you should laugh more,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

you looked at him, startled by the sudden change in tone. “what?”

“you,” he said, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “you’re always so serious. it’s nice to see you, you know…relax.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you looked down at your plate, suddenly feeling exposed.

“anyway,” he said, his usual grin slipping back into place. “don’t forget to leave me a glowing review. something like, ‘best server ever, would definitely recommend.’”

you rolled your eyes, the moment broken. “sure, i’ll write that right after ‘most annoying person in the world.’”

“i’ll take it,” he said, laughing as he straightened up.

as you lingered a little longer, watching the bustle of the restaurant and sharing quiet smiles with strangers who felt like kindred spirits, you let out a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let yourself enjoy this moment. and maybe a little bit of that had to do with gojo.

the restaurant door jingled shut behind you as you adjusted the strap of your jute satchel on your shoulder, the warm scent of spices still lingering on your clothes. the streets were quiet now, a soft breeze carrying the distant hum of city life. you were about to start your walk back to campus when the sound of a dramatic skid on the wooden floor made you pause.

“hey, wait up!” gojo’s voice rang out, followed by the thundering clatter of his sneakers against the floor. you turned just in time to see him stumble slightly as he reached you, grinning like a fool.

“what now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he bent over, hands on his knees, panting dramatically.

“shift’s over,” he wheezed, straightening up with an exaggerated flourish.

“is it?” you asked skeptically, glancing over his shoulder to see the restaurant manager yelling furiously in a mix of japanese and some choice words that sounded suspiciously similar to the ones your dad and uncles would yell when things went sideways back home.

“absolutely,” gojo said, completely ignoring the manager’s tirade. “and besides, it’s unsafe for you to walk back alone. what kind of guy would i be if i let that happen?”

you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, twitching into a small smile. “oh, please. like anyone would dare mess with me.”

“you’re scary, sure,” gojo said, falling into step beside you. “but even the scariest people need someone to walk them home. it’s, like, basic chivalry.”

“is it basic chivalry to leave your bike at the restaurant?” you asked pointedly, watching as his confident stride faltered for a split second.

“details, details,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “i’ll get it later. this is more important.”

you snorted, clutching your bag tighter as you walked. “you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet, you’re letting me walk with you,” he shot back, grinning. “what does that say about you?”

“it says i’m too tired to argue,” you replied, though your tone lacked any real bite.

gojo stuffed his hands into his pockets, occasionally stumbling over uneven pavement as he talked — no, rambled — about anything and everything. from the latest anime episode he watched to a bizarre dream where he was somehow the ruler of a pancake kingdom.

“and get this,” he said, nearly tripping over his own feet. “the pancakes? they talked. like, actual conversations. one of them was trying to unionize —”

“how do you even come up with this stuff?” you interrupted, shaking your head in disbelief.

“it’s a gift,” he said, flashing you a grin. “i’m a man of many talents.”

“like tripping over your own feet?” you teased as he stumbled yet again.

“it’s called multitasking,” he said, puffing out his chest. “walking and being charming at the same time is no easy feat.”

“you’re definitely failing at one of those,” you muttered, though the warmth in your voice betrayed your amusement.

as you reached the dormitory gates, you stopped, turning to face him. “well, thanks for walking me back. now you can go fetch your bike and actually get home.”

“right, right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. but he didn’t move, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long.

you tilted your head. “what?”

“nothing!” he said quickly, holding his hands up. “just…y’know. goodnight.”

you rolled your eyes and turned to walk away, only to pause as the realization hit you. “wait a second.”

gojo blinked, confused. “what?”

“you don’t even stay on campus, do you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. “your bike’s still at the restaurant, and you just walked me all the way here. now you have to walk back.”

his grin faltered, replaced by a sheepish expression. “uh…surprise?”

you stared at him, torn between annoyance and something softer that you didn’t want to acknowledge. before you could stop yourself, your hand shot out, delivering a solid whack to his chest.

“idiot,” you muttered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you turned away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

gojo, however, was too busy clutching his chest dramatically, a mix of mock pain and genuine delight lighting up his face. “owwww! was that necessary?”

“completely,” you called over your shoulder, refusing to look back.

“ya know,” he said, his voice carrying through the quiet night, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re warming up to me!”

“don’t push your luck,” you shot back, your pace quickening.

as you disappeared into the dorm, gojo stood there, a stupidly wide grin plastered on his face. he pressed a hand to his chest where you’d hit him, feeling the faint ache beneath his palm.

“totally worth it,” he muttered to himself, practically skipping as he turned to start his long walk back.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo satoru had many things in his arsenal — charm, wit, absurd confidence — but subtlety was not one of them. so when he started showing up to campus hours earlier than necessary, or when steaming boxes of samosas began appearing on your desk, the culprit was obvious.

the first time it happened, you’d barely set your bag down before spotting the box, the smell of spiced potatoes and crispy dough wafting up to greet you. your eyes flicked to the door, just in time to catch a streak of white hair and the sound of hurried footsteps retreating down the hall.

inside the box was a sticky note. the handwriting was atrocious, barely legible, and at the bottom was a crude drawing of a tiger that looked more like a cat with a mohawk.

“thought you’d like these. you’re grrr-eat!  – g.s. :3”

you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly fell out of your head, but your lips betrayed you, curving into a reluctant smile.

by the end of the week, you had a growing collection of these notes in your desk drawer. one had a lopsided peacock that looked like it had been attacked with a blue highlighter. another had a flower that could generously be called a lotus if you squinted and tilted your head.

the students noticed the change in you almost immediately. your usual stern demeanor softened ever so slightly, and while you were still a stickler for deadlines, you now nodded understandingly at genuine excuses.

“did you hear? professor assistant’s in a mood lately,” a student whispered loudly to their desk mate.

“yeah, but why though?”

“maybe she’s —” the student leaned in dramatically, eyes wide —“dating someone.”

gojo, who had been lounging in the back row pretending to nap, shot upright. “dating? her? no way!” he said, loudly enough for the entire class to hear.

all heads swiveled toward him.

“i mean,” he said, backtracking with an exaggerated wave of his hands, “it’d have to be someone really cool. maybe, like…an alien prince? yeah, that’s it. she’s totally in an intergalactic love affair.”

the class burst into laughter, and while the gossip shifted to debating the plausibility of alien romances, gojo stole a glance at you. you were shaking your head, lips pressed together in what he hoped was an attempt to hide a smile.

it wasn’t just the little gestures, though. gojo had also started reigning in his usual chaos. sure, he still submitted assignments late, but only by a day now, and the answers — stolen from nanami or not — were at least complete. he even started hushing other students when they got too rowdy, shooing them with a dramatic, “respect the queen, peasants,” before earning a chalk stick to the head from you.

“owwwww! abuse!” he’d whine, rubbing his head as the class laughed.

“then stop acting like a child,” you’d retort, though there was no real venom in your words.

one day, after a particularly chaotic lecture, you caught him lingering outside the classroom.

“something you need, satoru?” you asked, crossing your arms.

he froze, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “uh, no! just, um, making sure you’re not, y’know…kidnapped by aliens or something. it’s a dangerous world out there.”

“right.” you raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “and the real reason?”

he hesitated, shoving his hands in his pockets. “just…wanted to see if you liked the samosas.”

you softened, just a fraction. “they were fine. but you don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“doing what?”

“whatever this is,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “i don’t need bribes to do my job.”

“it’s not a bribe,” he said quickly. “it’s just…you work hard. too hard, maybe. figured you could use a little something to remind you of home.”

your chest tightened, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“besides,” he added, his grin returning, “i’d never bribe you. i’m saving my bribery skills for the day you actually give me detention.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “get out of here before i reconsider.”

as he walked away, practically skipping, you found yourself clutching your satchel a little tighter, feeling the faint weight of all the silly notes tucked inside.

and gojo? as he left campus that day, he was grinning like an idiot, hand pressed to his chest like he’d just won the lottery. sure, he was falling for you, and yeah, maybe it was a little terrifying. but if falling meant more moments like these, he figured it was worth the risk.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

exam season turned the already bustling campus into a pressure cooker, and you found yourself at the center of it all. drafting question papers, aligning marking schemes, coordinating with the examination department — your plate was not just full; it was overflowing.

amid this chaos came the final straw in the saga of gojo satoru: his ban from the staff room.

it started innocently enough — if delivering steaming boxes of samosas to a restricted area could be called innocent. but when the coordinator raised an eyebrow too many and rumors of "the assistant professor's favorite student" began making rounds, the decision was swift and final.

"satoru, this is the last time. you’re banned from the staff room,” you’d told him sternly, pointing a finger for emphasis.

his response? a dramatic gasp and a hand clutching his chest. “you’re banning me? your number-one supporter? your — your cheerleader?”

“yes. cheer me on from a distance,” you said, turning away before he could see the twitch of your lips.

what followed was a week of gojo-level theatrics. he’d pout like a scolded puppy when you walked by, groaning loudly to anyone who’d listen. “my heart’s been broken,” he’d lament to his classmates, sprawling across desks like a tragic hero. “she cast me out. me!”

by day four, you were done.

you found him loitering by the library, feet propped on a bench like he owned the place, a pair of obnoxiously bright sunglasses perched on his nose.

“gojo,” you said, arms crossed.

he sat up straight at your tone, glasses sliding down his nose. “yes, teach?”

“why are you making such a big deal out of this?” you demanded, exasperation lacing your voice.

“because it is a big deal,” he shot back, standing now, his height making you tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. “do you know how stupid i feel? sneaking into staff rooms, drawing peacocks that look like roadkill, trying to get you to notice me — just for you to shut me out? it sucks, okay?”

his words hung in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless.

you weren’t good with emotions — back home, vulnerability was a luxury few could afford. confrontation wasn’t much better. and yet, here you were, faced with both.

“satoru, it’s not —” you started, faltering as his gaze bore into yours, uncharacteristically earnest.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “look, i… i appreciate what you’ve done. the effort, the —” you gestured vaguely, “ — everything. but this is a professional setting, and you make it really hard to keep things, well, professional.”

his lips quirked up at that, a hint of his usual cockiness returning. “so, you’re saying i’m distracting?”

“don’t push it,” you warned, though your tone lacked heat.

he took a step closer, his grin softening. “i get it. i do. but, y’know… you could’ve just said ‘thank you.’”

you rolled your eyes. “thank you, gojo. for the samosas. and the terrible art.”

“you’re welcome,” he said, stepping back with a mock bow, the tension between you easing ever so slightly.

as you turned to leave, he called after you, “but, hey, just so you know… i’m not giving up. banned or not.”

you didn’t look back, but the small smile tugging at your lips gave you away entirely.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

you stared at the stack of papers on your desk, each one a potential pandora’s box of missed grammar, nonsensical arguments, and uninspired prose. english papers were always a minefield, and you had somehow drawn the short straw for grading them this term. but it wasn’t just the sheer volume of work that made your stomach churn.

it was gojo’s essay.

his name glared at you from the corner of the page like a taunt.

you sighed, running your thumb along the edges of the papers, already bracing yourself for the absurdity to come. he wasn’t exactly known for his academic prowess, and his past submissions had ranged from thinly veiled comedy skits to outright gibberish disguised as poetry.

but as you started reading, your brow furrowed.

"yearning," it began, in unusually elegant script.

his handwriting was still a little messy, but there was care behind each stroke, like he had taken extra time to make it legible.

the essay itself, though…

at first, you thought it was a joke. some elaborate prank he’d written to make you second-guess your sanity.

“yearning is the ache of a soul reaching for something it knows it shouldn’t want but can’t bear to let go of.”

you paused, scanning the words again, waiting for the punchline. it didn’t come. instead, the essay unfolded into something — god help you — poignant.

gojo described yearning as a quiet, persistent tug. an itch in the chest that worsened in silence and swelled in proximity. he wrote about the way it demanded attention, yet he danced around the specifics, cloaking his examples in poetic vagueness.

“it’s the way someone’s voice lingers in your mind even when they’re scolding you. it’s noticing the shape of their smile, even if it’s not meant for you. it’s knowing they’d call you a fool for feeling this way and somehow wanting to hear it anyway.”

you blinked at the page, heart stuttering as the words sunk in. this wasn’t just any essay.

it was about you.

you fought the urge to throw the paper aside, suddenly hyper aware of the way your pulse quickened.

“yearning is seeing someone’s dedication to the world and wanting, selfishly, to be a part of it. to have them look at you with the same seriousness they reserve for their passions. but it’s also knowing that some things are too good to reach for — that trying might ruin the very thing you admire.”

you sat back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as a wave of emotions rolled through you.

was this… sincere?

was it some convoluted joke? a test to see how far he could push you?

but the writing was too raw, too heartfelt to be a simple prank. you could feel him in the words, the way he stumbled through emotions he probably didn’t fully understand.

and yet, there was still that hint of gojo: the irreverence, the humor.

“yearning is stupid, really. because no one wins. either you tell them, and it’s weird, or you don’t, and you’re stuck writing essays about it like some tragic hero in a bad movie.”

you snorted despite yourself, rubbing a hand over your face.

what were you supposed to do with this?

your instincts screamed at you to fail him. this was wildly off-topic, an indulgence of personal feelings instead of academic analysis.

but another part of you — the part that softened at his ridiculous peacock drawings and earnest (if misplaced) attempts to make you smile — couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

you picked up your pen and, after a long moment of deliberation, scribbled a tentative B- in red ink. it wasn’t an outright failure, but it wasn’t exactly encouragement either.

as you set the paper aside, your thoughts swirled, torn between exasperation and something you didn’t want to name.

because even if you didn’t want to admit it, his words had reached you in ways you weren’t prepared to confront.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

when gojo walked into class that day, his usual swagger was amplified tenfold. he was practically glowing, strutting past his peers with his essay held aloft like a trophy. the grin plastered on his face was so wide, it threatened to split his face in half.

“behold, ladies and gentlemen,” he declared, tapping his paper against nanami’s head for good measure, “the masterpiece that is my essay. highest grade i’ve ever gotten. third highest in the entire grade.” he puffed his chest out dramatically, looking at you as if expecting a standing ovation.

nanami rolled his eyes, snatching the paper from gojo’s hands to inspect it. “an a-minus isn’t exactly groundbreaking, satoru.”

gojo gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “it is when it’s me, nanami! you don’t understand the emotional labor that went into this! the blood, the sweat, the tears —”

“the copied half of my notes, you mean,” nanami muttered, handing the paper back.

you tried to focus on setting up the lesson, suppressing the urge to smirk. his antics were nothing new, but this time, you couldn’t help but feel a faint tug of pride, even if it was mingled with irritation.

when it was finally time to hand back the essays, you made your way down the rows, handing out graded papers with your usual neutral expression. but when you reached gojo, his bright, expectant eyes locked on yours, you hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

you handed him the paper, your fingers brushing his momentarily, and he took it with both hands, holding it up like it was a sacred artifact.

“a b-minus bumped up to an a-minus,” he said with a faux gasp, loud enough for the entire class to hear. “why, teach, you playing favorites?”

you shot him a warning look, but it only made his grin grow wider.

“don’t push it, gojo,” you said evenly, though your tone lacked its usual edge.

he leaned back in his chair, still gloating as he turned the paper over and over in his hands. but behind the theatrics, you caught the flicker of something genuine in his expression — a quiet kind of satisfaction that spoke louder than his words ever could.

to everyone else, his boasting was just another act. but to you, it felt like something more, like he was seeking validation in the only way he knew how.

and for some reason, that thought lingered long after class ended.

when the bell rang, gojo didn’t rush out like the others. instead, he waited until the room was nearly empty, shuffling awkwardly near your desk.

“soooo, uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “you read it, huh? like… really read it?”

you didn’t look up from the stack of papers you were organizing. “i wouldn’t have graded it if i hadn’t.”

he let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against the desk. “not what i meant. did you get it? like… the deeper meaning?”

you finally glanced up, meeting his gaze. his usual bravado was still there, but there was something softer underneath it, something almost nervous.

“i got it,” you said quietly, and for once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback.

his grin softened, and he straightened up, spinning the paper in his hands again. “cool. just… cool.”

and with that, he left, his usual bounce in his step. but as he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, giving you a look that said more than words ever could.

you shook your head, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. whatever this was between you and gojo, it was unspoken and strange, but maybe, for now, it didn’t need to be anything else.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

it was a rare sunny day on campus, and most students were sprawled out on the grassy fields, reveling in the freedom of post-exam bliss. the air buzzed with chatter and laughter, a stark contrast to the usually tense corridors filled with murmurs of last-minute cramming. and yet, instead of being the ringleader of some over-the-top celebration, gojo was trailing behind you like a shadow, a paper box of samosas balanced precariously in one hand and a bottle of mango lassi in the other.

“seriously, gojo,” you said, glancing back at him. “don’t you have somewhere else to be? like, i don’t know, with your friends?”

“what, and miss the chance to see you enjoy my samosas?” he quipped, flashing that obnoxiously bright grin. “besides, i’m everyone’s favorite. they’ll be fine without me for a bit.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t shoo him away. in truth, the quiet after exams was unnerving, and his chatter filled the void in a way that was oddly comforting.

at some point, he insisted on feeding you. the first few times, you outright refused, giving him a look that could curdle milk. but then, for reasons you couldn’t quite fathom — maybe the post-exam haze, maybe the sheer persistence in his puppy-dog eyes — you caved.

“fine,” you relented, leaning slightly forward. “but if you drop even one crumb —”

“relaaax,” he said, his voice dipping into something annoyingly smooth. “you’re in good hands.”

and to his credit, he was careful, holding the samosa with an exaggerated delicacy as if it were made of glass. you bit into it, the crunch loud in the quiet that had suddenly fallen between you two.

he beamed like he’d just won a nobel prize. “seeee? told you i’d make the experience unforgettable.”

“unforgettable, my ass,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lips.

gojo laughed, the sound loud and unrestrained, drawing a few glances from passersby. “you just admitted i’m unforgettable. it’s okay, teach, you don’t have to hide your feelings anymore.”

you smacked his arm lightly, and he let out a mock yelp, clutching it as if you’d injured him.

the box was gone faster than you expected, mostly thanks to gojo’s bottomless pit of a stomach. he flashed you a sheepish grin, crumbs still clinging to the corners of his mouth.

“uhhh… i think i ate more than half,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“think?” you snorted, shaking your head.

the two of you started walking aimlessly around campus, the kind of companionable silence that only came after shared food and banter settling between you.

at one point, gojo said something so utterly ridiculous — something about how samosas were the perfect metaphor for love, with layers of spice and warmth. you snorted so hard, you nearly tripped, your laughter ringing out clear and unfiltered.

“god, you’re such an idiot,” you said, whacking his chest lightly, only to immediately regret it.

why was his chest that solid? it was like hitting a brick wall wrapped in a hoodie.

“owww,” he said dramatically, rubbing the spot as if you’d actually hurt him. then, before you could pull your hand back, he caught your wrist.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice losing its usual playful lilt.

you froze. his hand was warm around your wrist, his touch firm but gentle, and when you looked up, his eyes were — god, they were so blue, it was like staring into a summer sky.

the world around you seemed to blur, the distant hum of campus life fading into nothing as he took a half-step closer.

“you ever notice how weird this feels?” he murmured, his tone uncharacteristically quiet. “like… i’m standing here, and you’re right here, but it still doesn’t feel close enough.”

his forehead brushed against yours, and suddenly, you forgot how to breathe. the space between you was practically nonexistent, and yet, it felt like he was somehow closing a gap you didn’t even realize was there.

“gojo…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but the rest of the words died in your throat.

“satoru,” he corrected softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

the proximity was overwhelming, every detail amplified — the faint scent of whatever cologne he wore, the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheekbones, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

“don’t worry,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, “i’m not gonna kiss you. not unless you want me to, of course. i’m not that forward.”

the laugh that bubbled out of you was equal parts disbelief and nervousness. “you’re literally the most forward person i’ve ever met.”

“yeah, but not with you,” he admitted, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart stutter.

you pulled back slightly, breaking the moment before it could swallow you whole. “you’re such a drama queen.”

“and yet, you still stick around,” he teased, his grin returning, but this time, it felt softer, less of a mask and more of a truth.

as you walked back to your dorm, his hand brushed against yours, and though neither of you said anything, the warmth lingered long after he’d waved goodbye.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

it was a friday night, the campus buzzing with whispers of the party of the semester. gojo’s name was on every other tongue, along with exaggerated promises of free drinks, loud music, and the type of chaos only he could orchestrate. you tried to brush it off as you walked past clusters of students gossiping on the quad.

“you comin’, miss?” one of your more confident students called out, giving you a cheeky grin.

“unlikely,” you replied, raising an eyebrow but offering a small smile. “don’t think i’d blend in at a college party.”

“oh, trust me,” another chimed in, “you’d be the star of the night. even gojo would agree.”

you waved them off, feigning nonchalance, but the comment lingered.

it wasn’t like you wanted to go to his stupid party. you were a teacher, not some college kid with zero inhibitions. and yet, there was something about the idea of gojo hosting this wild bash, completely in his element, that gnawed at you.

you sighed, staring at your reflection in the mirror. the bindi perched perfectly on your forehead, your jhumkas catching the light as you moved. why not? you were in japan — far from home, far from prying eyes, and definitely far from anyone who’d lecture you about propriety.

dressed in a fusion of your traditional style and something a bit more casual, you hailed a cab, heart racing as you approached the house blaring music loud enough to rattle the street.

the party was exactly what you expected — students spilling out onto the porch, laughter and music mixing with the smell of cheap alcohol. heads turned as you walked in, your attire catching more than a few curious glances.

you ignored the whispers, stepping further into the house. the atmosphere was electric — lights flashing, bodies swaying, drinks being passed around.

and then you spotted him.

gojo was in the middle of it all, a drink in hand and a stupidly wide grin on his face. his glasses were slightly askew, and his cheeks were flushed, the telltale signs of someone thoroughly drunk.

you were about to turn and leave — because clearly, this was a terrible idea — when his voice rang out.

“oh. my. god,” he said, pointing vaguely in your direction. “you look… so familiar!”

you froze. surely, he wasn’t —

“no, seriously!” he stumbled closer, squinting at you. “you remind me of someone. someone important.”

he was too close now, his breath smelling faintly of vodka and whatever sweet mixer he’d drowned it in.

“you’re drunk, satoru,” you said, your voice steady despite the laughter bubbling up inside.

“i’m not that drunk!” he protested, swaying slightly. “okay, maybe a little. but listen! you look just like — like her!”

“her?” you prompted, folding your arms and trying not to smirk.

“yes, her!” he exclaimed, his voice dipping into something uncharacteristically soft. “she’s… she’s amazing. drives me insane, but in a good way, ya know? like, i wanna punch a wall and write poetry at the same time.”

“sounds intense,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“it isss! she’s so smart, and — and kind, but also terrifying,” he continued, his words slurring slightly. “she doesn’t take my shit, which is honestly hot as hell. and her laugh — oh my god, her laugh! s’like… like a warm hug, but for your ears.”

you bit your lip, trying to hold back your laughter. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

“i doooooo!” he groaned dramatically, leaning against the wall for support. “but she doesn’t even like me! well, maybe she does? sometimes? she whacked me the other day, and i think that’s a good sign.”

at that, you couldn’t help it — you burst out laughing, the sound lost in the thrum of the party. gojo blinked at you, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning realization.

“wait a second…” he said, leaning closer, squinting as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “no way.”

“yes, way,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a soft chuckle.

his jaw dropped, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“oh my god,” he finally managed. “you’re her! you’re you!”

“brilliant observation,” you teased.

he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “this is so embarrassing. please tell me you didn’t hear all of that.”

“every word,” you said, grinning.

“kill me now,” he muttered, sliding down the wall dramatically.

“don’t worry,” you said, crouching down to his level. “i’ll keep your little rant our secret.”

he peeked through his fingers, his cheeks somehow even redder. “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

“maybe,” you admitted, standing up and offering him a hand. “come on, let’s get you some water before you embarrass yourself further.”

he took your hand, his grip surprisingly steady despite his inebriated state. “thanks… for not, like, running away or something. you’re cool, you know that?”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless.

as you led him toward the kitchen, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — this ridiculously charming idiot was starting to grow on you.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo wanted to be anywhere but here. 

okay, scratch that — he wanted to be here, with you, but also wanted to dig a hole in his living room floor and yeet himself into it. his brain, muddled with alcohol, was doing its best to keep things together, but with you suddenly here — looking like that — his chances were rapidly dwindling.

he adjusted his arm around your waist, a loose but deliberate gesture that made his heart stutter. it was a casual hold, or at least he hoped it looked casual, but the warmth of your body pressed lightly against his side was sending his brain into overdrive.

“and this,” he said, gesturing grandly with his free hand to what was very clearly the kitchen, “is where the magic happens.”

“the kitchen?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your lips quirked into a smile that had his knees dangerously close to giving out.

“obviously?!” he said, leaning into the theatrics to keep himself from spiraling. “you see that microwave? legendary. best instant ramen in town. and that fridge? it’s seen things. horrors, really. we don’t talk about it.”

you laughed, and he swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“right, sure,” you said, shaking your head. “what about actual food? do you ever cook anything that’s not from a packet?”

he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “are you accusing me — me — of being a heathen who doesn’t know his way around a kitchen? i’ll have you know, i make a mean lassi.”

“oh, do you now?” you teased, clearly enjoying his antics.

“absolutely,” he said, grinning. “one day, i’ll prove it to you. you’ll be begging me to cook for you every day.”

“we’ll see,” you said, but there was a softness in your voice that made him wonder if you actually meant it.

his heart was racing now, the alcohol loosening his tongue in dangerous ways. he should probably stop talking. any second now.

“you know,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he glanced down at you, “i can’t believe you came.”

“why wouldn’t i?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him, your expression curious but open.

he wanted to say because i thought you’d never want to be in the same space as me outside of class, but that felt too raw, too real. so instead, he shrugged, trying to play it off.

“i dunno,” he said, looking ahead. “you just… don’t seem like the house party type.”

“i’m not, usually,” you admitted. “but… i figured, why not? life’s too short to say no to everything.”

“huh,” he said, his voice softer now. “that’s… cool. you’re cool.”

“am i?” you asked, laughing lightly.

“so cool,” he said earnestly, and then immediately wanted to slap himself. shut up, satoru. shut. up.

but then you smiled at him, and he thought maybe he didn’t mind sounding like an idiot if it meant he got to see that look on your face.

as the two of you tried to navigate the packed living room, someone bumped into him, and instinctively, his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer. you didn’t pull away, and he was pretty sure his heart was about to explode.

he tried not to think about how you fit so perfectly against his side, or how your scent — something faintly floral and familiar — was making him dizzy. he definitely tried not to think about how easy it would be to lean down and —

nope nope nope. bad idea. terrible idea. the worst idea.

“you okay?” you asked, looking up at him with a hint of concern.

“y-yeah!” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. he cleared his throat, forcing a grin. “totally fine. just, uh, making sure you don’t get trampled.”

“how chivalrous,” you said, the corner of your mouth twitching as if you were holding back a laugh.

“always,” he said, his grin widening despite himself.

but inside, he was panicking. this was too much. you were too close, too warm, too everything. he needed to get his shit together before he did something stupid, like —

confess to you.

kiss you.

pass out.

or, god forbid, all three.

oh shit.

the bass thudded in your chest, a constant pulse that seemed to sync with the frenetic energy of the house. people were dancing, shouting, laughing, and the chaos around you was almost comforting in its anonymity. that is until satoru — flushed, swaying slightly, and clearly far more drunk than you’d initially realized — gripped your arm like it was a lifeline.

“i need to tell you something,” he blurted, his words loud but barely cutting through the music.

you blinked at him, trying to read his expression in the flickering multicolored lights. “what?” you shouted back, leaning closer to hear him.

he leaned in too, his mouth near your ear. “i said, i need to tell you something!”

“okay! so tell me!” you yelled back, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“i…” he trailed off, his face scrunching up in frustration as he tried to string his thoughts together. he took a deep breath and then, to your utter horror, yelled at the top of his lungs, “I LIKE YOU!”

you froze, sure you’d misheard him. the bass was too loud, the room too crowded, and his words had gotten lost somewhere in the noise.

“what?!” you shouted, your voice rising in disbelief.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his cheeks flushed red— n ot just from the alcohol, you suspected. “I SAID —”

but even in his drunken state, he realized the futility of trying to out-shout the music. with a sound of pure exasperation, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd. your protests fell on deaf ears as he led you to a slightly quieter corner, away from the worst of the noise.

“what are you doing, gojo?!” you hissed, but he didn’t answer.

instead, he pressed you gently against the wall, his palms flat against the surface on either side of your head, caging you in. his head dipped low, his nose brushing against yours, and your breath caught as his blue eyes, even hazy with alcohol, locked onto yours.

“i said,” he murmured, his voice lower now but no less intense, “i like you.”

your brain barely had time to register the words before he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. it was desperate, clumsy, and so full of unspoken emotion that it stole the air from your lungs.

you gasped against him, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his shoulders. the solid warmth of him under your fingers was grounding, but the way his body pressed against yours, shielding you from the world, sent your heart into a frenzy.

his lips moved against yours with an urgency that bordered on possessive, and when he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, a small sound escaped you — something between a gasp and a moan.

that was when he pulled back, just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

“don’t… don’t pull away,” he whispered, and the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache.

“gojo —”

“call me satoru,” he cut in, his eyes fluttering shut as if even saying the words was too much. “please.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his body seemed to sway, his weight leaning more heavily against you.

“satoru, are you okay?” you asked, your hands sliding to his chest to steady him.

“huh?” he mumbled, his voice distant. then, with a slight slur, he muttered, “oh, no. no, no, no —”

and just like that, the man crumpled.

“satoru!” you yelped, barely managing to catch his ridiculously lanky frame before he hit the floor completely.

someone nearby shouted, “man down!” and the phrase seemed to echo through the room, followed by a ripple of concerned and amused voices.

“oh my god,” you muttered, crouching down beside him. his head lolled slightly, and his mouth was parted as he let out a faint snore.

he was out cold.

you pressed a hand to your face, your cheeks still burning from the kiss. the memory of his lips on yours was vivid enough to make your knees weak, but the reality of the situation — of this ridiculously tall, ridiculously dramatic man passing out at your feet — brought you crashing back down to earth.

“can someone help me with this idiot?” you called out, your voice tinged with equal parts exasperation and concern.

a couple of guys came over, one of them laughing as he said, “dude’s got no tolerance, huh?”

“none,” you muttered, sighing as you tried to get a grip on yourself — and satoru. his confession and the kiss replayed in your mind, and you knew you were in for a long night of trying to sort out your feelings.

for now, though, you had to deal with the immediate problem of hauling his ridiculously heavy frame to a couch. the emotional fallout could wait until tomorrow.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

the room had descended into a chaotic mess of unsolicited advice, mostly coming from half-drunk college students who thought they were experts on everything, including reviving a passed-out satoru.

“try shaking him harder!” someone shouted.

“just pour water on his face!” another chimed in.

“give him coffee. wait, do we even have coffee?”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. amidst all this nonsense, nanami stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression screaming this is beneath me.

“he’s not dead. just let him sleep it off,” kento said flatly, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“oh, thanks for the revolutionary advice, nanami,” you snapped, the sarcasm lacing your words.

then there was geto, leaning against the wall with an air of detached amusement. “honestly, i knew this would happen. saw it coming a mile away,” he said, flipping his hair dramatically.

“yeah? well, maybe next time warn the rest of us,” you shot back before turning your attention back to satoru’s unconscious form.

you knelt beside him, sighing deeply. “alright, everyone back off. i know how to handle this.”

“what are you gonna do?” someone asked, curious.

“something tried and tested.” you raised your hand high and delivered a firm slap across satoru’s cheek.

the sound was loud. so loud, in fact, that the room collectively gasped.

satoru bolted upright, clutching his face as if you’d just smacked the soul out of him. “what the hell was that?!” he screamed, his voice loud enough to rival the bass music that was still pounding in the background.

“welcome back to the land of the living, drama queen,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

“did you just slap me?!” he exclaimed, his wide, watery eyes staring at you like you’d betrayed him.

“oh, i’m sorry, was that not enough? i can do it again,” you said, raising your hand threateningly.

“no, no! i’m good! fully awake!” he yelped, scooting back like a scared puppy.

“good. now drink this,” you said, handing him a bottle of water.

satoru grabbed it, but instead of drinking, he sniffed it suspiciously. “this isn’t vodka, right?”

“no, genius,” nanmi said, stepping forward and plucking the actual vodka bottle from the floor. “this is vodka, and you’re done with it.”

“oh, c’mon, nanaminnnn, don’t be such a killjooyyyy!” satoru whined, though his pout faltered when you shot him a glare.

“shut up and drink the water, satoru,” you snapped.

he obeyed, gulping it down dramatically before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “ugh, water’s so boring.”

“you want excitement? i’ll slap you again,” you threatened, and a few people in the room snickered.

“you’re so mean,” satoru muttered, but then his gaze softened. “wait… you stayed.”

you blinked. “what?”

“you stayed,” he repeated, his voice quieter now. “even after… you know.”

“oh, you mean the part where you screamed out a love confession, kissed me like your life depended on it, and then passed out in front of half the student body?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“don’t remind me,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i wanna die. nanamin, can you just — i don’t know — throw me out a window or something?”

“tempting,” kento muttered.

“look, dork,” you said, kneeling back down in front of him. “you’re not getting out of this one. you did all that, and now you have to deal with the consequences.”

“oh god,” satoru mumbled, peeking at you through his fingers. “what are the consequences?”

you tilted your head, pretending to think. “well, for starters, you owe me samosas for the rest of the semester.”

“done,” he said immediately.

“and,” you added, leaning in slightly, “you have to stop being such a dramatic idiot.”

“that one’s harder,” he said, flashing you a sheepish grin. “but for you? i’ll try.”

“good.” you stood up, brushing off your knees. “now, get your act together. and maybe next time, don’t drink yourself into oblivion before confessing to someone.”

“wait, does that mean —” he started, his eyes lighting up.

“i didn’t say anything!” you cut him off, walking away as the room erupted into laughter at his bewildered expression.

“she likes me,” satoru whispered to himself, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

“oh, shut up, satoru,” nanami said, but even he couldn’t entirely hide his smirk.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

it was almost miraculous, really, how none of these college kids managed to piece together the details of what actually went down at gojo’s house party. you’d think with all the drunken chaos, someone would’ve remembered you storming in like a heroine, slapping satoru awake, and then, well, the incident. but no. all they seemed to retain was that the super cool, smoking-hot assistant professor had swooped in to save satoru from... something.

the specifics? conveniently erased from their collective memory, thanks to cheap vodka and loud bass.

but you? you weren’t so lucky. gojo’s confession — or whatever that messy string of drunken words and one life-altering kiss could be categorized as — played on a loop in your head. not that you wanted it to, but come on, how were you supposed to forget the feel of his lips against yours, the way he’d pressed you against the wall like he couldn’t get close enough? and then, the audacity of the man to crumple to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut? you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to slap him again or — ugh, no, you weren’t finishing that thought.

“stop,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples as you sat at your desk, the pile of papers you were supposed to grade staring back at you accusingly. “focus. you’re an adult, not a hormonal teenager.”

and yet, that little voice in your head — your grandma’s voice, no less — crooned in your mind, “what kind of boy is he? does he play cricket? is he an engineer?”

“no,” you grumbled under your breath, “he’s an overgrown man-child who flirts through samosas and makes me question my entire existence.”

the reality of it all was... you weren’t equipped for someone like gojo. back home, dating was simple. boring, but simple. you liked someone because they played cricket well or because their math grades could rival einstein’s. the bar was low, and your teenage self still barely scraped over it.

but satoru? he wasn’t just attractive in that this-is-gonna-get-me-into-trouble kind of way. no, he was ridiculously charming, stupidly funny, and utterly chaotic — so much so that he somehow managed to bulldoze his way past every defense you’d painstakingly built.

and that left you here, with a pile of grading untouched, your thoughts veering dangerously off-course.

what do i even do with him? you thought. he’s not even the type i should go for. he’s immature, irresponsible, a complete disaster of a human being…

... and yet, all you could picture was his stupidly lopsided grin when you’d handed back his essay. that grin that said, you gave me a B-, but i’m taking this as an A+ in your heart.

and then your mind went straight to climbing him. like a tree. a tall, stupid tree with an even stupider face.

“oh my god,” you muttered, dropping your head onto the desk. “get it together, girl.”

you groaned into the wood grain, mentally kicking yourself. this was getting out of hand. you needed to lock it in. focus. channel your inner no-nonsense professor and figure out how to deal with gojo without losing what little composure you had left.

and maybe — just maybe — figure out how the hell you were supposed to climb a man-child and maintain your dignity in the process.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo had been avoiding you — not intentionally, of course. he would never do that on purpose. it was just… he was terrified. 

gojo satoru, the guy who could ace a test he barely studied for, host the best parties on campus, and make a joke out of literally any situation, was absolutely crumbling under the weight of his own feelings. gojoism did not account for feelings like this. and yesterday? he’d completely fallen — literally and emotionally. now, there wasn’t a subreddit or thread in existence that could save him from the mess he’d created.

his shift was dragging, a mix of customers and yelling from his half-indian, half-japanese manager filling the air. his coworkers kept glancing at him like he was a stray dog caught in the rain, but he didn’t care. he was in the middle of wiping down tables when he caught sight of you through the window.

you. walking by. not even glancing toward the restaurant.

his heart sank. did you hate him now? was this how it was going to end?

without thinking, gojo bolted out the door, ignoring the string of colorful curses his manager hurled at him. “oi, boy! you’re paying for this if you don’t get your ass back here!”

he didn’t stop. the second he caught up to you, he practically tackled you from behind, arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost dropped your satchel.

“what the hell, gojo —”

“please don’t move!” he blurted, his face buried in your shoulder and neck, his lanky limbs curling around you like some desperate octopus. you froze, unsure whether to be annoyed, amused, or alarmed.

“are you serious right now?”

“yes! extremely!” his voice was muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “listen, i’m an idiot. the biggest idiot ever. i shouldn’t have kissed you like that while i was drunk. or passed out. or confessed. or all three. god, that was so stupid. i’m so stupid.”

you sighed, your heart racing at how tightly he held you. “satoru, what are you doing?”

“i’m fixing this. please, just — lemme say this. properly this time.” he tightened his hold even more, as if letting go wasn’t an option. “i like you. a lot. like, so much it’s actually pathetic. and i know i’m a dumbass most of the time, and i mess things up, but i promise i’m serious about you. so, like… if you don’t feel the same way, you can say no. just don’t hate me, okay? i can’t deal with you hating me.”

you felt his breath against your neck, his voice wavering just enough to make your chest ache.

“satoru…” you started, turning your head slightly to glance at him, his stupidly handsome face now fully pressed against you.

“say something,” he mumbled, the weight of his confession sinking deeper into the air.

you turned in his arms, making him loosen his grip just enough for you to face him. his blue eyes were wide and unsure, a rare sight from the usually cocky gojo satoru.

“you done?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“uh… yeah?” he said, unsure.

without another word, you grabbed his collar, pulling him down to meet you as your lips pressed against his. the world seemed to fade away — his coworkers, the restaurant, the yelling manager. all of it dissolved as he melted into the kiss, his hands sliding down to hold your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

when you finally broke apart, his lips parted in shock, his cheeks flushed. “wait, does this mean —”

“yes, you absolute idiot,” you huffed, shoving at his chest lightly, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

he grinned, wide and stupid. “i knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“oh, shut up before i change my mind.”

“never,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, completely ignoring the cheers of his coworkers from the restaurant door.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

did you expect to be leaving japan with a full-grown manchild trailing behind you? absolutely not. but here you were. did you expect to cheer for said manchild when he finally got his degree? obviously. the man deserved it — barely, but he did.

you’d both agreed to keep things under wraps, citing the whole student-teacher dynamic as a big no-no. so, of course, when the graduation ceremony rolled around, satoru had to make things dramatic. he dropped to one knee — mid-stage — held his degree out like a trophy, and loudly declared, “this is my phd in loving you!”

“that’s not a phd, satoru,” you muttered, face buried in your hands as the crowd chuckled.

“close enough!” he beamed, earning a mix of applause and groans from his peers.

graduation break was spent in the usual push and pull — you pushing him away from his over-the-top antics, him pulling you right back into his orbit with that ridiculous grin. every time his pout got too exaggerated, you’d give him a quick kiss just to shut him up, which only made things worse because he’d cheer. cheer. in public. like a child who just got a gold star.

“you’re the worst,” you mumbled after one particularly dramatic cheer, covering your face as passersby laughed at his antics.

“and yet, here you are, willingly in my presence,” he shot back, smug as ever.

“god help me,” you groaned.

satoru, of course, wasn’t just sunshine and chaos with you — he had this annoying charm that endeared him to literally everyone. the aunties who came by the restaurant giggled like teenagers when he served them, and the little kids gathered around him like he was a walking anime character. “white-haired older brother” became his unofficial nickname, and satoru leaned into it hard, regaling them with wildly exaggerated tales of his life.

“and then, i fought off a gang of ninjas to save her,” he’d say, winking in your direction.

“satoru, stop lying to children!”

he’d just shrug, grinning wider. “it’s not lying if it’s entertaining.”

it was funny how he’d originally gotten the part-time job just to talk to you, but now he genuinely liked it. still, some habits died hard — he continued to bring you samosas daily, despite your protests.

“satoru, if you don’t stop, i’m going to develop a permanent aversion to these,” you warned, eyeing the familiar paper bag he held out to you.

“blasphemy!” he gasped, clutching the bag to his chest like you’d insulted his firstborn.

eventually, he started pestering you about meeting your parents.

“so, when can i meet them?” he asked one afternoon, grinning like he’d already been invited.

“never,” you deadpanned, whacking him on the chest for good measure.

unbeknownst to him, you’d already told your parents about him. they were eager to meet the man who’d apparently stolen your heart and managed to survive your stubbornness.

all in due time, though. for now, satoru could continue proudly showing off his “phd in loving you.” and maybe, just maybe, you were okay with letting him.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

[epilogue]

it felt almost surreal how gojo transitioned from serving at the restaurant to outright owning it. the previous manager had retired with teary eyes, handing the keys over to satoru with a heartfelt, “please, i beg you, don’t ruin this place. my wife and kids will haunt you if you do.”

gojo, in true fashion, had laughed, draping an arm around the man. “don’t worry! i’ll make this place legendary. maybe even name it after me.”

“over my dead body!” the manager had shot back.

and, of course, satoru didn’t miss the chance to ask you, “so, when’s it gonna be us? two kids, a little restaurant legacy — what do you say?”

you smacked him on the back of his head, rolling your eyes. “focus on not burning the place down first, romeo.”

under gojo’s ownership, the restaurant thrived — though not without his signature flair. he introduced a new “special offer,” one that quickly turned into a local superstition: if two people shared a plate of samosas, they’d fall in love, and their love life would prosper.

“just like us,” gojo would tease every chance he got, holding up a plate dramatically.

“you’re insufferable,” you’d reply, trying not to laugh.

but you couldn’t argue with results, especially after dragging this white-haired menace home to meet your parents. they’d absolutely adored him, of course, stuffing him with so much food you swore he left glowing.

“your mom’s cooking? divine. i’d marry you just for the biryani,” he joked, leaning back against the car seat as you drove to the airport.

“good to know your priorities,” you shot back, though your smile betrayed your words.

and as much as satoru joked about weddings and kids, the two of you agreed there was no rush. after all, between the restaurant, his endless antics, and your job, life was already chaotic enough. not that gojo made your work any easier — especially during exam season.

“paper checking is ruining us,” he’d complain dramatically, sprawled across the couch as you ignored him in favor of a particularly stubborn essay.

“us?” you raised an eyebrow, not looking up.

“yes, us,” he insisted, standing up to scoop you into his lap without warning.

“satoru!”

“what? if you’re gonna ignore me, at least let me help,” he said, plopping a spoonful of biryani in your mouth.

you glared at him, but he just grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. and as much as you hated to admit it, moments like this were when you realized just how good life was.

chaotic? absolutely. ridiculous? always. but trading it for anything else? not a chance.

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[alexandraisyes]

500 FOLLOWERS

Wow. 500 of you. That number feels surreal, especially after everything these past few months. (Don't scroll away there's a surprise at the bottom of the post.)

In July, I faced harassment over a rumor about being hired as a TSAMS writer. In August and September, it escalated—stalking, harassment, and widespread slander over SolarNexus, a ship I don’t even ship. October brought betrayal as someone I trusted turned out to be a predator, slandering our friend group, faking their death, and running away upon confrontation. Last month, I had to take a stand against someone sharing NSFW with minors, leading to more slander and harassment.

Now it’s December, and honestly, fandom discourse feels inevitable. But you know what? I don’t care.

This community has been so supportive to me throughout this. I have grown close with friends, made new ones, and gained so many supporters and I don't know how to say thank you enough. I've reached so many of my goals for this year, and there's always going to be more work to do.

I'm starting a new fic. I'm updating my old ones. I'm making art for a voice actor. I'm a mod in the community server. And I'm finally working on a project again that I started in August.

I’ve been really hesitant to show this project off on main, beyond reblogging things here and there. I won’t reveal which character I specifically play—though it probably wouldn’t be hard to guess.

This project started as a way to support the mod who plays Lunar, who was receiving harassment simply for enforcing their boundaries. Yes, you read that right—they were harassed because they didn’t want to post negative confessions. When we saw that happening, my friends and I got together, and I said, “Haha, wouldn’t it be so cool if we just made a bunch of confession blogs to dunk on the haters and roleplay and shit?”

Within 24 hours, two new blogs popped up. One hasn’t done anything to hurt me, so I won’t name them, but we all know who they are. The second? Biased-tsams-confessions—a blog that was one of the leading forces behind the harassment I faced in August. They would flip their lid if they knew I was the leading force behind TSBS CVAU and remain its head administrator and manager. Honestly? That makes me even prouder of this project.

Of course, I couldn’t do this alone. A huge thank you to my partner in crime, @lyrical-hue, who has been my rock throughout this journey. They’ve helped smooth out the bumps along the way, making sure I don’t handle everything solo.

I’m so excited to finally share this project with my fanbase publicly. We’re expanding our world and currently looking for new members to join the group! If you’re interested, you can apply here:

Okay so now the real question. How am I celebrating this milestone? The past two times I made a post like this I did a raffle (one of which I'm still finishing the artwork for). This time I'd like to do something different.

I want to make some free emotes for the community. My community. To give back some of the support I've been given.

To be applicable for this, reblog this post with references of your character designs, AU designs, OCs, or sonas. As many as you want. They can be your own characters, or personal designs for preexisting characters. Or even just. Characters. I will literally just take canon designs of characters too. I'll even take requests for my own designs. As you can see there are a LOT of emotes there, so I need a LOT of characters from the community.

RULES:

Characters must be submitted through REBLOGS

You do not get to choose which emote is made, I do, I'm doing this for free after all

You HAVE to be following me, this is an event to celebrate my followers after all.

And uh, yeah that's kinda it. If you want to join the discord you can join here:

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Ten

Summary: Out in the country, feelings are revealed.

Notes/Warnings: 18+ mentions of arousal, dated beliefs in god/s, dated beliefs between men & women. Art/photos of sculptures used in collage are to display & give an example of some possible moments that take place in the chapter.

❤️s, comments, feedback, reblogs are all welcome and appreciated. It’s a longer chapter, but didn’t want to interrupt some of its flow. Thank you for reading! ❤️

There were so many people at the Villa, you were taken aback. So you were grateful for Aelia, at least you knew her. She showed you around while Geta tended to some matters.

Feeling terribly flustered, you found yourself outside. You smiled, spotting a small pond. Gathering your clothes, you sat down beside it. The sun was warm and the grass was soft. Seeing little fish swimming made you smile.

Leaning closer to get a better look at them, you saw your own reflection. You gasped. You had not realized how much of a lady you had become. You wondered, if your mother would recognize you. Did being around the emperor truly do this to you?

“There is the sweetest blossom of Rome. She is near fresh water. Neptune, I pray does not see you and fall in love.”

You blushed and glancing back at the clear, water smiling as a fishes swished by.

“Geta, such honey like words. Be careful we should not upset the gods.”

“I merely hope he realizes my gratitude to have such a blossom such as you.”

Your cheeks remained aflame with his words

“You are in touch with them more than I. Surely, they are aware of your true emotions.”

“I certainly hope so.”

With a soft sound, pushed himself away from the tall tree that had given you shade and he drew close; his clothes brushed you as he knelt near you.

“I already feel the good humors for being here.”

“It is the same for me. Though, I fear I may lose my way in those hallways at least once while we are here.”

You shyly looked away. A chuckle from Geta made your cheeks feel warmer.

“I had to reorient myself as well.”

Your eyes grew as you looked back at him. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Yes, I have some new furniture, works of art that have acquired since I was last here. Accommodations were also made for you.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

********

He swallowed, the good humors filled him to brim when he was around you. It made him restless. Made him want to do a great many things.

He slipped his hand into the folds of his clothing. His fingers easily found the small pocket that had been sewn into several of his garments. Usually he carried with him a small leaf, that he would urge Caracalla to chew on when he had one of his fits or just fretted.

Now, it held something different. A little trinket. A bracelet. He had been looking at the jewelry that he had debated wearing at the villa. It was the least he could give you for saving his life.

“Geta, are you alright?”

He rose his eyebrows. “Yes? What? Why do you ask?”

As he glanced at you he could see concern splashed on it.

“You appeared to be elsewhere, you had grown silent.”

“I am good. Very good.” He nodded. He let his fingers brush against the small treasure a final time.

“I have a gift for you.” Geta said softly.

Glancing around, he did not know why, it was not as if he cared for the words or thoughts of others. Drawing closer to you, where you sat by the pond.

“It is not everyday when one takes an active hand in saving my life. I found this treasure.”

He took his closed hand from the folds of his clothes. He opened it. The sun rays happy danced on its accents. It was lovely, gentle like you were. Not has bold as some of the pieces him or Caracalla would wear.

“Oh, Geta. I…I don’t know what to say. Such finery for me.” Your voice shook.

It caused him to inwardly tremble.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s just, by the gods I never even wished.”

“That is why your emperor has bestowed it upon you, not them.”

“Yes. You have.”

“Allow me then to slip it on you.”

You nodded. “Please. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

Easily he moved the metals as they should. He grazed his thumb over the bracelet.

“I like it. I chose wisely.” He placed your hand back into your lap.

“Oh, it is wonderful.” You brought your hand to your shoulder.

“Very fitting for one who saved me.” He smiled.

He watched as your eyes twinkled, your face became as brilliant as the sun above. His heart raced he wanted to kiss you. He would.

You trembled at the suddenness of it. But then he felt as you melted against him. Your lips responded to his.

Easily, moving just the right way he hung over you as you easily laid back. Your hair became even richer in color as the loose strands from the ribbons laid in abandon against the soft green grass. His heart beat harder as he hung over you, he anchored one of his hands in the soft earth.

Breaking the kiss so he may take a breath and allow you one as well, he smiled as you reached up and your fingers nestled in his hair.

Drawing close to you once more, his nose, his lips grazed your cheek. “You are as lovely as any nymph lucky enough to have caught the eye of a god.” He whispered in your ear. “But tell me dear nymph you will give chase and make me chase you?”

He pulled back so he could look at you as you spoke.

“Only if he wishes it.”

He smiled. “Good. Right now, I do not. I do not wish to live the tale of the mighty Apollo and Daphne.”

As he spoke those words he saw your eyes become watery.

“You know of their story.”

You nodded.

He swallowed. The words came and knot that had been tightening unbeknownst to him loosen ceased to be.

“My dear blossom.” He whispered in your ear. “I have come to care. Perhaps, my elation, my tenderness is from all that transpired. But, I promise to take care of you and devote my affections solely to you. Please do not wither into a tree where all I can do is only admire from afar.”

A tear slipped from one of your eyes. “No, I promise, as long as we can share a tenderness I will not take root and become a mere tree.”

His lips met yours.

********

You felt wonderfully rejuvenated. He had ordered a bath for the two of you. Any of the knots that had held over from the carriage ride were now gone. Now, candles flickered making shadows dance as the two of you lounged and ate.

Occasionally, you couldn’t resist looking at your wrist where the bracelet twinkled. You would not worry about what may or may not happen when you would be seen wearing it.

“How long will we be here at the villa?”

Geta, shrugged. “A few days at the very least. I already feel much better and it’s only been a day.”

You nodded and happily nibbled on the fish that was on your plate. It was fresh, mich fresher than what was served at the Domus in the city. It reminded you of the fresh fish your mother would serve your family.

“It is very different than the city. I had forgotten one can hear bird calls floating on the breeze.”

“They sound different than in the city.”

You nodded once again. “There they only know of their cages.”

“Beautiful cages, I had an artist craft a lovely one.”

“They were lovely and safe in it.”

A rich chuckle came from Geta, you glanced at him.

“Dondas, is also not harassing any of them here.”

You giggled. “Dondas is cute.”

Geta rose an eyebrow. “He’s a menace.”

“At least he makes Caracalla happy.”

“That is true.” He took a sip from his wine. “Speaking of animals, have you ever ridden on a horse?”

You looked off as if you could see the moment. “Only once.”

You still could remember the feel of the animal, how your mother had controlled the straps of rope used to control the animal.

“Oh?”

“The day, I learned how to treat a wound. My mother had snatched me up when she went to retrieve what was needed. I was small enough to ride with her and hold the items.”

“You need to have a real ride.” A pleased look came over him.

You watched as he pressed his lips together, while glancing at his arm. “Should you look at it again?”

“Yes. We don’t want darkness to seep in.”

“I will have them fetch whatever you need.”

*******

“Aelia?” You glanced at the woman who stood by the door. “Do you wish to watch me check on our Sire’s arm?”

“Oh? Yes. This is very fascinating. Never seen anything like it.”

He slipped from the top of his robe. The soft fabric pooled around his waist. His chest, resembling some of the carved statues you had seen in the gardens.

“It may still sting.” You said softly as you met his eyes.

He nodded.

Gently, you peeled back the cloth. It looked good. Not dark. Soon you poured some of the vinegar and clear oil on it to clean it.

Geta hissed.

You glanced at him under your lashes. “It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

“I do not like it. I will be fine.”

******

You reached up to the broach that was the cause for all of this. Your finger traced the edge of it.

Geta’s and Aelia’s voice were only murmurs to you has you stood by window that led to balcony. Should you undo the clasp that held the fabrics of your clothes together, you wondered.

He had not dismissed you. Did he need you? A flutter excitement filled you. How he had wanted to be you before the party had stolen your breath. Apart of you should be scandalized, you were no harlot despite being his but it had felt so good. you enjoyed being joined with him.

You gasped as a warm hand settled on your stomach and you were pulled close. You’d know his strong frame now anywhere.

“My sire.”

An admonishing sound came from him. He was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Geta, my emperor you wish to be this close?”

You turned your head just enough to see the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

“I do.”

You felt as he held you tighter against him. A gasp came from you as his arousal pressed against you. Your heart squeezed. Not in fear but in anticipation.

A soft, low chuckle came from him. “You feel what you have done to me.”

You nodded.

“You have entranced my loins.”

“I have?” You managed. “You have quickened my heart.”

“Oh? Have I?” His voice grew deeper.

You felt as his hand drifted up your torso, which made it beat harder.

“My emperor?” You breathed.

“I want to feel.” His hand then laid where it beat. A soft sound came from him. “I enjoy causing this response in you.”

You trembled as his hand then slipped under the soft fabric that had been wrapped around and draped from you. It was even warmer and softer feeling as it laid against your skin. His rings were a cool contrast.

Lightning then streaked across the ebony sky, and thunder crashed as if drums from all over were struck. Without a thought, a cry of surprise came from within you and turning you nestled against Geta. You easily found his throat and hid your face there. He smelled of honey, fruits. It was very pleasing, it felt right.

You felt as his hand rubbed your back. “My little blossom. Jupiter is just sharing his pleasure with us. From his perch in the sky above, he saw and heard us. He gave us his blessing.”

You didn’t move you. “Even though, I am just a girl who was blessed that you made me yours.” You whispered.

Despite the twinges of worry that prickled you, deep inside the desire to press your lips to his throat grew.

He chuckled. “Jupiter is very pleased. I saw you and made you mine, just as he goes after what he wants.”

The sky once again brightened as lightning streaked across once again, thunder rumbled not long after.

Hearing his words, you felt reassured. Making Jupiter happy was above all. Geta followed close to the mighty Jupiter. You felt such a great honor in all of this.

Following your urges, you pressed your lips to his throat.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @laura-naruto-fan1998 @helsa3942

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

[eybefioro]

(Open the image for better quality || Time-lapse and ramblings under the cut)

@goodomensafterdark SEE I'M TAGGING U NOW 💛

More than a week ago I woke up with the vision and had to try to draw it XD (literally. Usually I'm up at 6:30 am but that day I woke up at 5:50 with this in my head lol). I couldn't finish it in time for the GOAD rare pair week but I hope it still counts <3.

So in my head, Muriel is taking Eric to a flight. This is based in a headcanon that Eric lost his wings, and that headcanon is based in absolutely ✨️nothing ✨️ lol I also took inspiration from a meta post that has been circulating lately, about Muriel being nightingale coded (This one). So I tried to make their wings look like the bird!

Pretty birb. Hope you sing very loudly in s3.

This one was quite challenging to me. First of all bc I tried to come up with a pose by myself, without tracing over something (I used bridal carry poses as ref tho). Second bc I decided I wanted to make it look like they were pretty high, so obv I needed so fish eye perspective for the back ground...

(Perspective tou can barely notice with the character on top lol)

... but most importantly bc I wasn't following any specific art style. Up until now, 90% of the stuff I made I was trying to mimic an animation. That made EVERYTHING easier. I didn’t need to make many choices; I already knew how things were supposed to look like, I had a direction. Trying to draw something in """my""" art style was SO HARD. I had so many choices to make. So much freedom made me feel directionless lol

Sooo about this pair. I LOVE MURIEL AND ERIC. I see them more as siblings, but it's always a joy to read them in different settings. I just feel like they complete each other sooooooo well.

Muriel spent idk how long alone, but Eric is many; they'd never be alone again. Eric has been treated badly and violently by everyone, but Muriel would be nothing but soft with him. Muriel is curious, and has yet to know many things about the world; Eric lived so many different experiences and seems to know quite a bit about things. Eric loves to ask questions and tell jokes, and Muriel would love to hear him.

And also.... they'd be so freaking cute together. Aaaaaaaaa

I'm my head this is happening after The End Of The World Part 2: Electric Boogaloo. They met in the chaos and just clicked, and now are discovering what to do with their new lives together. (Muriel is showing him the joy of flying again!!) That's why you see Muriel with different clothing, even if it still follows Heaven's colour scheme, and the tartan they used to wear. They're experimenting, and the same goes for Eric (he wanted to look like a christmas tree, what can I say). Crowley and Aziraphale sometimes visit the shop, where now Muriel lives (and that's why you see a black and yellow Bentley!! Aziraphale calls her little bee when Crowley isn't listening.)

I had lots of fun drawing this. I have to thank @elenthyaolyenths again for teaching me how to draw her wings and giving me support, and the same for @gribouli that is teaching me more about colour and light/shadow. Yall are amazing 💛💛💛

Last silly detail that I love:

They're wearing a bit of each other!!

[theartsynebulawhodoodles]

matching bracelets. Color X Killer One Shot and Art!

{Comfort, cuddles, LOTS OF KISSES ON THE FACE, relaxation, loneliness, soothing, can be interpreted as romantic or platonic, lots of affection, hugs, snuggles, reassurance}

[Tw: This contains themes of loneliness, possible separation anxiety (depends on how you interpret it), and a mention of keeping everything bottled up and hidden, Nightmare being cruel to Killer reference (not sure if these two needs to be mentioned, but just in case!)]

[Mention! Not everyone experiences loneliness the same way! This is written by perspective!]

ART AND FANFIC UNDER CUT!

“Hey, Killer, I brought rubber bands!”

Color’s soft and cheerful voice was heard as the two sat outside together. The birds chirping and the grass ruffling under Color’s feet the only other things heard in the tranquil environment. Killer looked up from the ground, tilting his head.

“what are we going to do with those?”

Killer asked, confused by it, looking at all the different colors inside the box. Color smiled and sat down next to Killer, placing the clear box onto the ground. Color’s rainbow flames swirled around like smoke in their air, a sense of joy apparent in his expression.

“Cmon, I wanna make bracelets! It’s fun, trust me!”

Color spoke in an excited and happy tone. Killer never seen him so ecstatic. He would do anything to keep that expression on Color’s face, so, he complied.

“well, if you wanna do it. How do we make them with rubber bands though? don’t we need…string or something?”

Killer asked, confused by the presence of rubber bands in this task. Weren’t they supposed to be used for hair or something? Color soon guided his hand into Killer’s, firmly yet warmly grasping it. Color brought Killer’s hand close to his. Killer’s eyes started to sparkle from the close touch, which looked like little stars in the night sky.

“Heh, see? You are excited. Look, you have stars again!”

Color pointed out with a lazy smile and a chuckle. Killer immediately got flustered and hid his face in his jacket. The little stars in his eyes always appear when he was happy, and it was still a process to let them be seen without embarrassment. Color kissed Killer’s forehead, smiling at him before opening the clear box.

“Alright, let me show you an easy pattern to do. So what you do is-“

Color plucked a red rubber band from the box, putting it into an infinity sign before placing it on Killer’s fingers. Then, he grabbed another one, a black rubber band, and placed it without crossing it onto Killer’s fingers.

“Now, you place the crossed one onto the top rubber band. Keep doing this, without crossing the new ones of course, until it’s long enough to wrap around your wrist!”

Color said with a smile. Killer’s eyes sparkled slightly at Color’s smile, looking down at his fingers. He began to do what Color said, continuing to make a bracelet. Color’s happiness motivated Killer, and he wanted to see him smile. Color began to work on his own.

After a while, the two eventually created their bracelets. Color’s was rainbow, and Killer’s was red, black, and white. Color looked at Killer with a smile.

“Look, we made matching bracelets! I know they aren’t completely matching- but we made them together.”

Color said with a soft smile. Killer was filled with joy seeing Color so happy and full of life. He wanted to see it more. Killer slowly smiled with Color, hugging him tight.

.

.

.

But it was only a memory. Now Killer sat alone in his room, staring at the ground with his hands clasped together. His eyes focused on the ground, his soul feeling like an anvil inside of his chest. He felt so…hopeless. He couldn’t sense any tranquility in himself.

It was always his weakness to be alone. It reminded him of so many things, and now it made him feel lonely. Loneliness was scary to him. He remembered what happened to him last time he was lonely, how his soul screamed out for somebody, and someone who planned to hurt him came. He was scared of it happening again.

How can he be vulnerable? Who was going to see the opportunity and just hurt him over and over again? Who can he trust? And even if he told someone, who would actually believe him? After all, people saw his friends and said he wasn’t lonely cause he had friends.

He decided to remain quiet. he knew it wasn’t the best choice, but what could he do? He didn’t want to go through the same thing again, and again, and again. But while he was cycling through those thoughts, he looked down at the bracelet. The red, black, and white rubber band bracelet.

He stared for a bit, his mind traveling through all the thoughts, all the memories he had with Color. Color would never harm him, Color wasn’t like that. So, he decided to be vulnerable in front of him, for the first time. He picked up his phone, opening up his messages and clicking on Color. He pressed the call button. It was an act of courage he was so grateful he done instead of staying quiet.

Soon, Color picked up.

“Kills? Why are you calling?”

“hey, uh, i’m in a rough patch. can you…stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Of course. I’m coming over right now, but please, talk to me.”

Killer began to tear up. The re-realization that Color cared about him circled in his mind, his heart swelling and tightening.

“i need you here. I feel lonely- i am terrified. nightmare keeps popping into my mind. p-please, come to me, i’m scared..”

Killer pleaded, soft sobs soon escaping his mouth.

“I’m almost there. keep taking deep breaths, you’re strong, okay?”

Color spoke to him. After a minute, Color arrived. Killer immediately ran into Color’s arms, sobs escaping him. Color immediately hugged Killer back, rubbing his back and softly whispering to him.

“It’s okay, I got you, I got you..”

Color whispered. Killer continued to sob, finally letting himself be vulnerable in front of someone. It’s been years since he done this. Color looked at Killer, caressing his face before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

“Let me see your starry eyes, Kills.”

Color whispered softly, worry in his rainbow lit eye. Killer hesitated, before looking up, letting the teeny tiny holes of light that looked like stars shine at Color. Color softly smiled, kissing Killer’s tears away, a bit of black goop appearing on his lip.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on, okay? You are worrying me sick.”

Color whispered, slowly guiding Killer out of his room and to Color’s room. Color knew that Killer’s room could be a danger to him at times because it could bring back bad memories of the past because of it being a smaller room, and more trapping to Killer, like he was trapped. The messiness makes the room feel more small and trapping to Killer. Once inside Color’s cozy and more spacious room, Color led Killer to his bed, sitting him down. Color placed a hand on Killer’s arm, rubbing it.

Killer hesitated, shaking slightly in fear of opening up. Yet he took a deep breath, letting the bright light that is Color immerse him in a state of comfort.

“i’m fearful, color. i feel so far away from you. i feel so far away from everyone, even horror and dust, hell, even delta. but i’m scared of telling anyone this, what if they turn out like nightmare? what if they don’t listen?”

Killer whispered, tearing up as all the emotion he buried deep down into his soul freed from its bindings of pretending everything was okay. Killer grabbed Color’s hand and squeezed it, his fingers twitching. Color nodded at his words, slowly moving his hand to Killer’s waist and slowly moving him into his arms for a embrace, knowing he couldn’t look him in the eyes in this state and just wanted to be held. Color whispered to Killer, comforting and soothing the poor skeleton.

“Killer, I want you to listen close, okay? Nobody will betray you, okay? Nobody will do that to you. We care for you to the moon, back again, and beyond the moon. I want you to know that we love you. I love you. And I always will love you and be here for you. I’ll be your greatest supporter, okay?”

Color reassured him, slowly laying down while Killer was on top of him. Killer looked at Color with tears running down his face, his hand gently clenching Color’s shoulder. Killer soon let himself lay his head on Color’s shoulder and curl up in his arms. He shivered, looking up at Color.

“you mean it?”

Killer asked in an unsure tone. Color softly smiled, caressing Killer’s face with both hands, before placing another kiss on his temple.

“Of course. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t, huh?”

Color said, a soft chuckle coming from him to lighten the mood. Killer nodded, slowly leaning up and lightly kissing the corner of Color’s mouth. Color smiled, a soft rainbow blush appearing on his face. Color caressed Killer’s skull as Killer lowered his skull onto Color’s shoulder, Color whispering a soft question.

“I know you want to be like this for a while, so, do you want me to play your favorite song? Maybe some white noise? Pink noise?”

Color asked. Killer looked up at him, the stars peeking out in his eyes again as he responded.

“no. your breathing is all i need.”

Killer whispered back in a loving and more relaxed tone. The twos hands clasped together, their matching bracelet clasps slowly attaching together. Killer’s soul lifted up, Color’s touch gentle as he caressed the soul. Color gently kissed the soul, which made a sense of relaxation pour over Killer. The loneliness was now replaced by the comfort of his beloved Color. He was now at peace.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Lackadaisy Enrichment

[pokimoko]

haunting the narrative -> haunted by the narrative -> haunting the narrative -> haunted by

[nyatbinary-81]

@vulpixisananimal

[Soothing Restful Song]

[You hear a bell. Chiming, tolling, calling your name.]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[goobygnarp]

.

[danwhobrowses]

Okay so I was gonna do a big gush over all the new Bells Hells outfits on the recent cr episode (a surprise since I had expected that they'd show them for the live show), but instead I'm gonna encourage you to check out @agarthanguide who is answering asks about the process of designing them, they're very insightful, and I'm sure they're more than happy to answer more - within reason ofc.

[spark-circuit]

me at my bookstore job to the 27th young adult straight edgy fantasy romance to come in this month

[dye-it-rouge-et-noir]

"For particularly important things, it's always more reassuring to write them down like this." - Zhang Beihai

[ID in alt text]

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 2 thoughts

(racing against time because a thunderstorm is rapidly encroaching but i need to know what happens next)

and for once, a storm did not disrupt my streaming experience! but i almost wish it did. because this episode made me very sad. let's jump in.

we got another “previously on the X files” at the start... is that what is gonna happen every time now?? not sure if i like that or not. but i'm sure it was useful back when you had to wait a week in between episodes, to jog the memory.

noooo not the alien gassing scene again!!! it was featured in our recap. and it was just as evil as the first time.

so now the story begins.

we're back in New Mexico. Albert is talking about the story of the gila monster. it is a great story! i wonder if they had cultural consultants for this season, or hired an Indigenous writer.

Albert announces that a great event took place on the plains!!! a white buffalo was born on the same day mulder was revived…. this is a powerful omen of great changes.

(and the buffalo didn’t look white, but tbh, probs hard to find one for such a scene, so perhaps washed out lighting was the best they could do. i understand the constraints)

does the theme sound slightly off? almost like it starts on a different beat now. OH they cut the whole thing short. well that would explain the difference i felt. why would they do this to me? i was well-accustomed to the rhythm! can't a girl groove a little?

okay, NOW we're back to the gun off between scully and skinner. and it’s tense!

mulder bursts in and I’m CACKLINGGG. please, this had to be the last thing he was going to expect. his boss and his bestie with guns in each other's faces. i’m cryinggg

(also her face. her face when she sees it is him. it's sooo good)

“you okay, scully?”, he asks, adding his gun to the fray “yeah”, she says, as she looks at the man back from the dead... ohhhhhhh... the sense of relief

and OHHHH they BOTH pull guns on skinner to get the tape back!! i'm SOOOOOOO seated. this is juicy.

and i hate to say it, but skinner is lowkey making sense here with his campaign to keep the tape. he says that they don’t want it back in "their" hands. skinner seems deeply confused regarding whatever the hell just happened but they finally agree that he should hold onto it for now.

this next part, when they leave his place. man. i'm just gonna keep it verbatim because it captured a lot of emotions:

"OHHHH LOOK AT HER FACE WHEN THEY GET ALONE TOGETHER OHHH SHE’S SOOOO CUTE OHHH THE LITTLE SMILE OH I’M DEAD"

it was SO sweet. she couldn't believe it. he tried to say something but she cut him off, saying she went to his father's funeral and told his mom she would be okay, because she knew it. she didn't know how, but she knew it.

(they were leaned in so close for so long... for a split second i thought they would kiss and then the elevator closed... ohhh. maybe they did and we just didn't see it)

((maybe this is the part where they kissed in the bloopers i have seen floating around? if so. i get it. i think i would have done the same had i found myself acting in such a scenario))

but the sweetness cannot last, and we are back to the hospital, where poor mrs. scully is dealing with learning her OTHER daughter was shot in the head. the head!!! a terrible place to be shot!!! they put melissa in an induced coma!!!!! melissa did not deserve this and scully doesn’t even KNOW this has happened!!

ohh, i’m sad. but we’re back with the lone gunmen, and things are okay in scully’s mind, because mulder’s back and they have a trail to chase and she doesn’t know yet that her sister was shot in the head. and i’m sad because she doesn’t know such a horrible thing happened, but also i want to be happy because she’s happy. her face when she saw him. i will think about it for decades.

operation paper clip mentioned... ah, yes, i have heard of this. they mention a nazi named “Victor Klemper”... is he real? verdict is in, one search later: victor is NOT real. but he has a very similar name to a real famous german historian!

“what would he be doing in a photo with your father”, asks scully. and why did she say this in a manner that was, to me, seductive? you know what? i think honestly it’s a me problem. shame on me for being distracted from the narrative by such things.

frohike and mulder reunion!!! it is sweet. but only for a moment is it sweet, because he breaks the news on scully's sister, who is horrified.

she runs really fast to try and go see her, but mulder catches up to her in the stairwell when she is almost out the door, and says the people who meant to kill her will be waiting at the hospital. oh, and melissa's earlier words from s2 episode 8, about mulder trying to get even, are prophetic here… “cause the only thing you can do for her right now is to try to crucify them", he says. it is a shame her wishes for peace and acceptance instead of violence couldn't be honored, and that going to visit her wouldn't be safe.

at the UN alien council. they are discussing this "serious mistake", of shooting melissa instead of scully. OH! the man from the funeral is there!!!

(for the sake of this episode, he shall bear the moniker "funeral man". but if he has a real name, please feel free to share. i'm asking you to do so. because i come up with these things on the fly. and i really could read the credits i guess but this is mostly just a one person operation with google only serving to check historical accuracy, not things as risky to spoilers as the NAMES of the CHARACTERS!)

((but i did see cig man/cancer man referred to in my notes once as "csr" which actually made sense. because i had spun one of those "fuck marry kill" wheels on here and gotten "csr x files" and i had no idea who that was referring to. but it turns out i did know him. kill btw))

funeral man is calling out cig man’s “ridiculously ineffectual assassins”, which, honestly, what did we expect from krychek? and oh, he is digging INTO cig man. it's enjoyable to witness. he’s being called out for mulder not really being dead AND the tape not really being in his hands like he claims. cig man LIES (average thing for him to be doing, all things considered), and tells the others on the alien council that “i’ll have it here for you tomorrow” which is an awful big promise. a very very big promise. 

next scene: a greenhouse! it's quite lovely until it isn't, because the old man tending to the flowers is victor, a nazi who got clemency under operation paperclip. so a very very bad fellow. scully is being mean to him, but obviously he deserves much, much, much worse. 

he asks about a formula and scully knows it, then says the photo was from west virginia. those are the only cryptic clues he offers. okay, off to a very mountainous road trip. god bless their poor souls. dealing with motion sickness on top of all the mess at hand.

funeral man is receiving a call from victor. they know each other? he snitched that mulder visited the greenhouse. and victor says funeral man was “venal”. new word learned! meaning susceptible to bribery!! is this the truth...?? i mean i THINK mulder comes from money due to the whole martha's vineyard thing, but does he have enough to buy his way out of this?

also. let's ask the real question. why is victor calling and dropping clues. is it fun for him.

anyway, the rest of the alien subdivision of the UN says that they are calling in “their friends who will handle this matter more satisfactorily” because krychek obviously sucks at his job 

KRYCHEK SPOTTED at the hospital! wait no it was actually just another random well-dressed guy stalking about. BUT YOU KNOW WHO IS HERE: ALBERT!!!!

did he come all the way here from New Mexico or was he is in the region... 😭😭 Albert, you deserve more than this earth will ever give you. so much has been taken from you. and yet you continue to give.

our agents are pulling up to west virginia. it looks like a ghost town, and i’ve heard that is an accurate depiction. they walk into an abandoned place. with bats in the building!! be careful!! they are rabies vectors!!!

(can you imagine if the show just ended here because mulder got rabies and died. pause to imagine this with me. then i will walk you back to the stuff that actually did happen)

ohh, and as they enter this place, the score is going wild!!! i'm rocking with it. i love a good score. the suspense is building. i ALWAYS want there to be violins to indicate suspense.

they find some locked doors with keypads, and they’re putting in 27828. it’s not working so he’s like "are you SURE scully?" and she says “i’m positive, Napier’s constant is the basis of all natural logarithms” and i giggled. and maybe also kicked my feet and twirled my hair. 

(i am learning, through this liveblog, that nothing makes me blush more than pretty people reciting semi-obscure facts. make of that observation what you will, because op will be contemplating it for a while)

they finally get it open!! i never doubted your number skills, scully. but before they go in, she’s worried about how he’ll feel!!!! what if his father was a bad guy :( “I just know how it would affect me” :((((( she is so thoughtful...

(i'm torn between making a genuine observation on the fact that despite she just learned her sister is dying, she still makes time to be certain mulder is okay with proceeding because it could be upsetting to him. and the other thing i'm thinking about is that that one meme that says "pearl is so kind" and i'm just imagining scully there instead of pearl. i suppose there is room for both)

back to skinner’s office. cig man has arrived. skinner is approaching him like an animal its prey, while bill clinton looms over the corner. 

skinner says he MAY have found the cassette and cig man is PISSSSSED at the implication he would “work deals”. well king!! you may have no choice!

(i hope that what skinner REALLY has is an identical cassette that just has syllables that LOOK like Navajo code but actually mean absolutely nothing. that would be evil and entertaining to me)

cig man looks like he is gonna CRY he is so desperate! but he is basically saying he’ll kill skinner if he has to, so watch out. and AGAIN. banger tv score as all this goes down.

our agents are in an old mine. it’s very dark and full of records!

(turns on the lights and sees the rows of cabinets stretch for what seems like eternity) “lots of files” “lots and lots of files” <- so true

mulder kinda sounds like he’s gonna have a breakdown. all the files have tissue in them... gross???? he asks when she was born so they can check that year’s files AND SEE IF SHE IS IN THEM. OH GOSH. 

and they find her file right away!!! it has a tissue sample and everything, and it’s recent, and that means the project must still be ongoing, despite how abandoned this mine is.

THEY FIND HIS SISTER’S FILE!!!! we are getting so close to answers. but there is a sticker over her name, because the file was originally his. so someone swapped his sister for him???

he’s freaking the fuck out at some large noises, and he runs and leaves her in the archives. something is hissing. AN ARMY OF ALIENS SCAMPERS BY???? they are running from something. HUH??? dana scully alien encounter??? did they just run by her or was that a different corridor in this endless mountain maze. did she see them. it was like a stampede. very hard to miss.

it seems that the aliens from the spaceship are coming and mulder is drawn to them. HIDE! HIDE FROM THEM! THEY WILL TAKE YOU!

he sees a GIANT spaceship flying over the compound. like giant and it’s super bright and it just. flies over. well, I guess west virginia isn’t a bad place to hide such things. due to the lack of people there.

this is not a dig at west virginia it's just rather sparsely populated.

scully is down in the archives still, and a whole lot of people are rolling up with guns. NOOO!! they are shooting at him!!!! with a stormtrooper aim. he is escaping their bullets as if this is just a jungle gym for him.

REUNION in the dark archives!!! scully found a back way out, where it seems the aliens left!!!! they're running into the woods together!!! it’s almost romantic!!!

skinner cam. he’s in maryland. at a nice little diner in the middle of nowhere. WITH OUR AGENTS!!!!

mulder says the hit squad looked like CIA, and i assumed there was some CIA-FBI tensions, but i’m unfamiliar with the lore, in terms of both real life and txf universe. it seems it’s severe though. skinner says he’ll negotiate their lives for the tape but mulder is like NO the public deserves the truth. which is lovely. i love ideals and sticking to your morals. and he’ll die for it bitch!!! he did once!!

“in your wildest dreams, what do you possibly hope to find, agent mulder?” “why they killed my father. and what happened to my sister” ohhh mulder sounds so scared and hurt... because he is. all this talk of truth and morals guiding his life but also this whole thing is so intensely personal for him, it seems impossible to separate one cause from the other. ohh i'm emotional. 

“and what they did to agent scully”, he adds OHHHHH oh man. his family. they took his family. and he needs revenge, he needs to know. and she is included in that. MAN.

scully says they should make the deal, he says “what makes you think there’s any such thing as justice?”, it’s heating up. again, i say: replace the cassette with out of context Navajo syllables. hire me for the FBI.

i was concerned about scully advocating for the deal- does not the truth mean something to her? of course we know it does, but she is being realistic. the truth won't mean much if they're on the run forever, and there is no one to corroborate their story. but she clarifies:

"i want exactly what you want. but i need to see my sister” :((( they both look so sad

“it’s up to you, scully” he’s mad and torn but he leaves the choice to her because her opinion is the one he cares the most about :( and really there are no good options, it's an awful situation

she said to make the deal, but not hand over the tape until mulder says to. hmm. will this plan work?

“i’m sorry about your sister, scully”, he finally says, and she replies that “i just need to know she’s going to be okay”. but i’m not sure it’s looking so good for her and that makes me SO SAD. on the ride home, she sits in the back and lets mulder take shotgun. and i realize, this is because she’s probably gonna cry back there and try to hide it. OUGH.

albert back at the hospital! he prayed over missy for two days. have we said thank you to him? and if so we should keep saying it until we all perish.

but he has received news from the north: the white buffalo calf that was such a strong omen is no longer drinking its mother’s milk. and the mom is sad, and then she died. this is not a good sign. “for something to live, another thing must often be sacrificed”, he says, and it becomes clear someone is not making it out of this episode. i hope against all hope it was krychek that was going to bite it.

it was not :(

skinner here at the hospital to see melissa. he tells scully’s mom that dana is okay, but in a very serious situation they hope to reverse :( 

albert points out that some guy has been snooping in on their room (and it wasn’t krychek, whose name corrects to all caps in my phone, because i only speak of him with hate in my heart) but just some other similar looking guy. skinner says albert, you stay here, i’m going off. hopefully for some hospital violence. hospital violence ensues!!! and this time krychek IS there.

but the violence does not go in the direction i hoped for, which was for skinner to kick some ass. it's three on one, they beat him and leave him in the corner and take the tape!!!! noooooooo!! poor skinner, i was coming around to you.

also leaving this next part verbatim because it is funny:

"fucking krychek i hate everything about you and i hate your new slicked back greaser hair and i hope you trip and fall and all of your limbs fall off and the doctors wonder how they can even happen because they have never seen it before WHAT NOW HE’S RUNNING??? the car blew up before he ran away. and the folks he was running from SEE him running away so he literally can’t even do a good job at bailing"

(if you need a translation: krychek's fellow assassins stopped to grab some drinks, so he pocketed the cassette and left before their car blew up)

back at the greenhouse. our agents are looking for victor, who apparently died yesterday. and funeral man is here!!! they openly accuse him of killing victor. he does not deny this claim.

funeral man is going on about roswell, operation paperclip, and mengele. he’s going on about hybrid orchids and mulder realizes that victor must have been trying to create an alien-human hybrid. which would explain the smallpox vaccination scars in the alien bodies found in New Mexico. FUNERAL MAN. WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON??

he's on the side of whoever can solve his little riddles i guess

mulder is MAD his dad was involved with this, but scully says it can’t be true, because DNA wasn’t even a thing people knew of until 1944. i mean, they’re lying about a whole lot. why not lie about the timeline of DNA discovery, too?

funeral man says men like mr. mulder were instructed to gather genetic data on the general populace, and that his dad had objected strongly to its true purpose. allegedly this experiment was for post apocalyptic identification, which doesn't really make sense to be, but okay. hundreds of millions of americans had their info collected from smallpox vaccine data.

scully is saying that it’s all a lie, that he’s saying everything mulder wants to hear, and i'm agreeing with her. funeral man says “why would i lie to you?” um better question: what would you gain by telling the truth??

mulder flat out yells that she was abducted by aliens and this doesn’t go over well as you can probably guess. she is working overtime to NOT think about that. so she walks away from the whole thing.

leaving just the two conspirators. OH, listen to this: funeral man claims they took his sister as insurance because his father threatened to expose the project!! “you also threaten to expose the project. you’ve become your father” <- hmm. that is a bold claim. because mulder has never willingly engaged in the creation of alien-human hybrids. 

chat, do we believe him? i feel that samantha’s abduction being an act of random and horrific tragedy seems more likely. and possibly more poignant. 

krychek is on the phone with cig man. “i’m alive. isn’t that a surprise?” “yes, yes, good good good. where are you?” <- LMAOOOO king of playing it casual

“somewhere where you’ll never find me, you double crossing son of a bitch” hmmm. the double crosser gets double crossed. shocked pikachu face. he threatens to make cig man “famous”, which i wouldn't be opposed to, which is NOT the same as endorsing him or his actions. 

cig man says there is no deal to make regarding the files and the agent’s lives. oh, so he thinks he can just have both, i see how it is

very sudden cut to mulder at his mom’s house at 2 am. asking his mom if she ever had to choose a favorite child. she keeps denying and denying until:

“no. i couldn’t choose. it was your father’s choice. and i hated him for it. even in his grave i hate him still” OHHHH this is adding validity to the theory that funeral man was telling the TRUTH???? poor Samantha :(

wait this is SO sad. and to think of how harsh his dad was to him while he was alive. how he must have expected the absolute best from his son because he knows he chose him over his sister. and how the only consolation for having to make that choice is to expect his son to be Perfect. which could never happen. just leaving him in deep distress. man. that is truly messed up.

man. i feel like we need space for that revelation.

but cig man is at skinner’s office. lighting up. as usual. skinner says he has the tape in exchange for the safety of the agents, but cig man says he knows skinner is bluffing

HOLY FUCK: “you ever wondered what it would be like to, uh, die in a plane crash? of botulism? even a heart attack?” <- HUH???? his melodic cadence makes this even scarier. goodness that escalated quickly.

“i’m not finished yet” (skinner fetches Albert) ALBERT??? I LOVE HIM TOO MUCH FOR HIM TO BE AT THIS SCENE. GET HIM OUT OF HERE. KEEP HIM SAFE. OH: ALBERT CAN RECITE EVERYTHING FROM THE TAPE. 

albert please do not bring this risk upon yourself, i mumble to myself OH! he told 20 other people from the tribe. “so unless you kill every Navajo living in four states… that information is available with a simple phone call. welcome to the wonderful world of high technology” wow. skinner if you had access to the tech i know about i think you would be so pleased. or maybe not. regardless, a good play. just KEEP albert safe i am NOT messing around.

cig man gets scared and leaves. as he should!

mulder at the hospital. scully is sitting alone. NO??? NOT MELISSA??? 

no, it can't be true, but it is: melissa died in surgery.

they both agree they need to get back to work so they have something to keep them from going insane with grief. their whole exchange was very emotional and powerful, but i was too sad to make extensive notes, so i'll have to circle back to that someday.

and she says “i’ve heard the truth. now what i want are the answers”. he holds her while she sits and stares at her sister's empty hospital bed. 

NOOOOO. i am filled with such sadness. scully now has to live with this belief that her sister died for her, and that she didn’t get to say thank you. and i’m very sad because i liked melissa a lot and scully deserves no pain. and her poor mother... oh, there are real tears in my eyes while i type this.

and mulder, forced to know that his father chose him over his sister, that his father was involved in what he sought to destroy, that had his father picked any other line of work, he could have had a normal, happy childhood. what the fuck. this is sooo evil. i’m sad!!! yeah i’m crying about the damn alien show. so what!!! so what!!!

listen, just because an episode is sad, does not mean it wasn’t good. it was a very good episode. i’m just sad. sometimes multiple things can be true.

grief of our main agents and their families aside, my top concern is Albert. is he going to be safe and protected? can he continue to spread the oral tradition? maybe get it written down too, for extra insurance? typed up? saved? backed up? written in notebooks? stored in archives? is he even telling the TRUTH? do other Navajo men actually know to recite the files and how to decode them? that seems like it will take a very long time to learn.

my main takeaway from the episode is to not work for the government because they will ruin your life.

it was a good episode. a great episode, even. but I’m gonna need about 30 beach episodes to make up for it. and also for the og theme to come back because you can’t change that up on me once I’m in a pattern.