#the look of regretting their life choices

[mariasont]

hi 🫶🏻 i was thinking maybe you could write spencer x reader inspired by taylor's I look in people's windows? for the plot it could be something like they were really close friends and reader was obviously in love with him but then he met meave and distanced himself from her, or maybe that he blames the reader for meave's death and is avoiding her, idk, whichever you prefer!!

i love your works, you're so good at writing!!

When the Swallows Come Again - S.R

a/n: hi my lovely you just know me tooooooo well. a swiftie plot line you ask? i am at your service

no but fr thank u so so sooo much for requesting i love YOU! 🫶🏼

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader (im pretty sure pls correct me if i added any use of pronouns)

summary: spencer blames you for maeves death…or so you thought

warnings: angst! (happy endings, yes ik im feeling gracious), talk of death, blood, guns, usual criminal minds stuff

wc: 2.5k

The asphalt beneath your boots felt gritty, the sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow. With one hand, you tried to guard your face from the snowflakes that seemed determined to kiss your skin. They might seem pretty from inside, but out here, they were just another reminder of your inadequate clothing against the biting cold.

The first rays of the sun began to stretch across the concrete, painting long shadows in its wake. Although you could have found your way in the pitch black if needed. Most places were still closed, but you knew that a coffee shop you used to love would be open. It wasn't your top choice, mainly because of the fact that you might bump into--

Him.

You knew it was him before you even saw his face, the hairs on your arm standing at attention as you stopped dead in front of the window.

It was Spencer, unmistakable even from a distance, his distinctive curls made into a celestial crown by the cafe's soft light. Your heart stumbled, plummeting down to your shoelaces. A thousand emotions crashed around you, a vortex happening to quick to untangle. These were feeling you had buried down, far deeper than six feet, hoping they'd never resurface. But that, you realized, was just wishful thinking.

You watched from behind the glass, feeling like a stranger to the world that Spencer now inhabited--a world where you once had a seat at his table. Now, you were the outsider, the unwanted observer. The sound of his laughter, which once was a comforting sound, now seeped through the door's crack, a mocking reminder of a severed tie. Your friendship was one that had bloomed like the first flowers of spring.

But flowers wither, and seasons change.

With Spencer out of your life, a subtle death crept over you, eroding you piece by piece. It was a death characterized by the loud allegations, the quiet of words left unsaid, and a friendship that had crumbled because he blamed you for Maeve's death.

Not just blamed, he hated you.

He hated you because you had tried to save Maeve, but you just weren't quick enough, because you couldn't beat the onset of gunfire, because you went in instead of him. You knew the cost: if he went in, he wouldn't have come back out. You didn't regret that choice. He's alive and breathing, and that's worth any cost--even if it means he never spoke to you again.

But there he stood, living and breathing--just as you intended, and suddenly your body seemed to malfunction. Your feet might as well have been part of the pavement, the snowflakes assaulting your face just as Maeve's blood did that day. Your heart threatened to burst, racing with a ferocity that set your veins on fire. You were scorching alive, and it was 17 degrees. 

In the aftermath, Spencer had taken himself off the grid, locked himself in his apartment, and you didn't take it to heart because his withdrawal was all- encompassing. He was avoiding everyone. But then he came back, and it was as if you alone were invisible to him. You tried, with every fiber of your being, to bridge to gap, for him to let you be his best friend again, but your attempts were met with biting remarks and thinly veiled jabs.

It was exhausting. But he was grieving so you felt like he deserved a pass. He had been through so much, more than anyone on the team. Surely, if anyone deserved a pass, it was him. However, even the most generous pass has an expiration date, and six months of disregard made it challenging to keep validating the same worn-out ticket.

So, you submitted your transfer papers to the narcotics unit. You wanted to say a proper goodbye, but you weren't sure he'd care. So, you didn't. You waited until the office was empty, then disappeared without a trace. 

But it didn't hardly matter that you weren't physically around him because you found yourself searching for signs of him in everything you did. 

When you pulled on your socks, memories of his mismatching habit surfaced, and the way he'd cheekily taunt you for your staunch preference for matching white ones. When you went to the grocery store, you'd unintentionally wander to the aisle with the dark chocolate almonds, his favorite.

Every time a swallow flitted across your path, you were reminded of him. "Swallows return to the same place every year, but not the same partner," he had once explained.

The thought always stuck to you, like gum on the sole of your shoe, because now it was a poignant parallel to your own stupid, fractured bond. Connections were never meant to endure. You knew that now.

It was too late to reverse course when he spun around, catching you red-handed. Your mouth flapped open, a fish out of water, as you willed your feet to moved forward. The need for coffee paled in the comparison to the need to leave. But his reflexes outmatched yours, and the door swung open before you could make an escape.

He said nothing, just stared, and you came to a near-instant stop, narrowly avoiding a collision. The frosty air of your breath fogged the space between you, briefly distorting your view of him, softening his edges into the Spencer you once knew.

Now that he was within arm's reach, you could discern the finer aspects of his face. He looked good, tired, but good. He always looked good, but time had sculpted his features into something more profound. His hair had grown out, curling at the ends, and a stubble now sketched the contours of his face. 

"Hey."

Had you not been so captivated by the shape of his mouth, the faint sound would have been swallowed by the buzzing in your ears.

"Hey," you whispered, but even that was too much for your shaky voice, breaking mid-greeting and leaving you exposed before him. "I'm sorry, I had no idea you'd be here. Um, I should probably just--"

You maneuvered around him, pushing down the vomit of words rising in your throat, consciously fighting the impulse to catalog every line of his face, cognizant of the fact that it might just be the last time you'd see him.

His hand clasped your wrist, and you were suddenly you were the newest member of the BAU again, rubbing elbows with the boy genius, telling him all your secrets with the exception of one. How madly in love you were with him. Were? Are? Past tense? Present tense? You tried not to think about it.

You were frozen in time—not solely from the physical restraint but from the searing sensation of his touch, a feeling you hadn't known in ages, as if igniting your skin through your sleeve.

"Wait, please," he pleaded, the desperation is his voice anchoring you to the spot. You turned back to face him, finding your faces nearly touching. You shifted, intending to create space, but his grip on your arm didn't drop, so you didn't move. "How have you been?"

The question threw you off guard, and it filled your stomach with an irrepressible swarm of butterflies, a feeling so alive against the biting cold that stung at your nose.

Your fingertips were going numb.

"I'm okay, you?" A complete lie.

You racked your brain for the last time you felt okay. Perhaps it was before Spencer had started talking with Maeve. You didn't even know about it at first, that might have been the worst part. He was your best friend, and he had omitted such a significant detail of his life from you.

He just started to distance himself, forging a gap between the two of you that seemed to rival the expanse of the Grand Canyon. Perhaps it was an overstatement, but as the events unfolded, the comparison felt justified. 

The change began imperceptibly, almost cruelly gradual. You would have preferred a quick yank of the Band-Aid, but it was a prolonged, painful peeling. The first sign was him not jumping at the chance to be partnered on cases like he usually did. Then, it progressed to him choosing seats away from you on the jet, and finally, it escalated to him leaving the room all together when you were in it.

It was an achy feeling, an all-consuming soreness that infiltrated every inch of your being. You didn't understand, didn't know what you did wrong. It wasn't long after this you found out about Maeve.

And then, as if fate had dealt its cruelest hand, she died, and suddenly it was your fault. You became the villain in his eyes, condemned for your hesitance, and because you refused to let him die. Maybe it could be seen as selfish, but without him, you would be nothing.

Yet here you were living without him all the same.

His inspection was more thorough than you were ready for. It stirred an urge within you to shrink away, to sprint into the anonymity of the dark streets, but your feet remained rooted to the spot.

"I've been better," he admitted, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite place.

"Oh," you begam, the syllable suspended in the frigid air, but before your thoughts could coalesce into words, Spencer cut through the silence.

"Why did you leave?"

Your brows pinched together, your mouth agape as a singular heartbeat was lost--and then several more. "You can't be serious."

He looked confused. "What? No, Hotch never really told us your reasoning."

The taste of a bitter laugh lingered at the edge of your lips. "Spencer, we don't need to do this whole act, okay? We don't have to pretend that I left for any reason other than you."

"Because of me?" His hands glided upward, pausing on your shoulder, and you loathed the part of you that wanted to lean into him. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding?" The words tumbled out, blinking away the tears of frustration that threatened to spill. "Spencer, I'm not stupid. I know you hate me. I know you blame me for what happened with Maeve. And I get it, you were grieving, and you had every right to be mad, and I just couldn't work there anymore."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," he cut in, his tone was sharp, yet somehow not unkind. "God, I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

"How can you stand there and say that?" you countered, your voice hurt and incredulous as you took a step away, the cold seeping into your bones and setting your teeth on edge. "You treated me like I was nothing, Spencer."

"Here," Spencer said, handing you his jacket. "You should know, prolonged exposure to cold weather can actually weaken your immune system."

"Oh," you said, slightly startled, feeling the warmth take hold in your cheeks. You rubbed your nose before pulling the jacket over your shoulders. It smelled just like him.

"I don't hate you, you know that, right?" Spencer's voice was soft, like he was whispering even though you were the only two on the street. "I'm sorry if I made you feel insignificant. You're far from it. You could never be nothing. But I was mad, and I let that get the better of me."

"But I tried, Spencer," you choked out, voice wavering, emotion thick in your throat. "I tried to save her. Maybe if I had more training, more experience... I know you wish I had let you be there instead, but I couldn't risk it, not with what I knew. And now our friendship is ruined and I--,"

"Hey, whoa, slow down," Spencer interjected, cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn't even noticed. "You think I blame you? Oh, my god, no, sweetheart. I was angry, yes, but it was because you were willing to step in front of a gun."

"You don't blame me?"

"Of course I don't," he breathed out as if he couldn't believe this is what you thought. "I'm so sorry for giving you that impression. It was never my intention."

Your emotions bubbled over into a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "I really missed you."

Spencer's heart seemed to shatter than mend in an instant as he drew you against him. "Can I kiss you?"

Giggles spilled out through chattering teeth, punctuating the air as a wide smile graced your lips. "You want to kiss me?" 

"I want to kiss you."

The idea almost seemed to sweet to be true.

"Okay."

He kissed you, and with each snowflake that settled into your hair, Spencer drew you in closer. In a way that you had only dreamed of. The biting cold was there, but it paled in comparison to the blaze that was now ignited through your body. 

It was perfect, everything you had imagined and more--real, warm, and grounding. 

He pulled away slowly, blinking the same speed, snowflakes dusting his lashes like delicate frost.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” he said, his voice rough, his breath wanting your frozen cheek at the same time.

You pressed a hand to his chest. “Spencer, you don’t have to explain.”

A moment passed, as if he were thinking about your offer, then his gaze found yours, piercing and profound, as if the solid ground you stood on was suddenly fragile.

“But I need to,” he said, the raw need in his voice pulling your straight back into the orbit of his words. “I was angry, yes, you almost got yourself killed. But I pushed you away because it was far easier than facing the fear that I might lose you too.”

The beats of your heart echoed loudly—thump, thump—in its bony cage as your fingers curled tightly into his shirt.

“Every time I looked at you, I saw what I could have lost, and that fucking terrified me.”

Spencer cussed, this wasn’t unusual, but the intensity behind it made you frown. His words, so honest, seemed pull you in, invading his personal space in an effort to get rid of yours.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

The sun was shining now, casting golden rays over the snow and Spencer’s face, framing him just as he was in your mind.

“Then let’s not waste anymore time.”

You love him. Present.

For a second you thought Spencer might be wrong because maybe, just maybe, swallows could return to the same place, and the same partner after all.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

[akazuki7]

Talk To Me

Gojo Satoru x Therapy

Contents: satoru being stupid, reader is a therapist, reader is sugurus sister, didn't adress it that much because my hands hurt and I'm lazy, mention of character death, I honestly don't think this is very romantic probably more platonic, I hate this actually for some reason, this is the longest shit I've written in a while

Note: Satoru doesn't know reader is sugurus sister because she has a different last name, and while she was studying at the same school suguru never knew he had an older sister reader knew she has a younger brother but she never approached him or said anything to him what she regrets the most

And do not attack me yall I don't know how therapy works okay? I've never been there even tho some people tell me I should go to therapy

"Suguru geto is dead."

Your hand froze, the pen you were holding punched a jagged hole through the paper, which became surrounded by a spreading pool of ink. You stared blankly at the damaged sheet, the room falling silent around you in a suffocating hush.

Your gaze slowly met the somber expression of the man seated across from you. "Why are you telling me this, Principal Yaga?" you asked, your voice laced with a veneer of mournful softness.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "He was your younger brother-"

"No," you interjected firmly, cutting him off. "I do not know such a man, so please do not speak of him to me here." The harshness in your tone was palpable as you released your grip on the pen, crumpling the ruined paper into an uneven ball and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket.

"You were always a terrible liar, you know," Yaga remarked, reaching a hand out to gently wipe the tears that had carved burning paths down your cheeks. "I would have believed you if your eyes weren't betraying so much grief."

"I'm not crying because of him," you protested desperately, though your futile attempts to stem the flow of tears proved fruitless.

"Child..." Yaga murmured, pulling you from your seat and enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You clung to him tightly, burying your face into the reassuring solidity of his chest as you surrendered to your sorrowful outpouring.

After some time, you finally managed to regain your composure. Yaga handed you a stack of files, and your eyes immediately fell upon a photograph of a white-haired man.

"There is someone I need you to help," the dark-haired man began. "Satoru Gojo." You uttered the name of the renowned child prodigy, staring at Yaga with a look of confusion.

"Satoru and Suguru were close friends, with a deep connection to one another..." Yaga trailed off, his expression heavy with concern. "The one who ended up killing Suguru... was Satoru himself. And he is not in a good mental state."

"I know I'm asking a great deal of you, to help the person who took your brother's life, but-"

"I'll help him," you interrupted, offering Yaga a weak, but resolute smile.

The man's eyes widened with surprise, but his gaze remained clouded with worry. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

You simply nodded in response, steeling your resolve to assist the one who had taken your beloved sibling from you.

___________________________________________

It's absolutely preposterous. No, wait - it's downright hilarious. Satoru Gojo, of all people, being forced into therapy? What a cruel twist of fate. He never wanted this, never needed this. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, he's been strongarmed into it, all thanks to Principal Yaga's meddling.

Surely, this has to be some sort of twisted joke. But alas, he has no choice in the matter. It's either submit to this ludicrous therapy session or risk losing his teaching position - a job he cherishes, as it allows him to continue molding his students, pushing them to heights greater than even his own.

And so, here he sits, in this cozy little room, across from a woman armed with a pad and pen, scrutinizing him through his thick black shades. How is he, a sorcerer tasked with the mastery of curses, supposed to confide in this simple human about the intricacies of his life? She likely doesn't even have the faintest idea what "cursed energy" is, let alone the trials and tribulations he faces on a daily basis.

But he can't ignore the neatly maintained amount of cursed energy emerging from her.

Of course, he has no intention of revealing anything of substance. If he so much as mentions the nature of his work, she'd probably have him committed to a mental institution faster than he can blink.

"So what brings you here today, Mr. Gojo?" the woman asks, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a saccharine smile plastered across her face.

Satoru huffs heavily, the irritation seeping into his tone. "I'm not here by choice. Principal Yaga forced me to come here."

"I know," she responds, and Gojo raises a brow, surprised by her candor. "And I can see that this is your first time here."

"I'm asking you why do you think you're here," the therapist probes, her brows furrowing as Satoru satoru shifts in his seat, crossing his legs defiantly.

"Because I was forced to be here-" he begins, only to be swiftly interrupted.

"Why?" she presses, her tone infuriatingly calm and measured.

Satoru falls silent, staring at her blankly, his irritation palpable. This is supposed to be his time to vent, and yet she keeps interjecting, undermining his attempts at explanation. He already finds her immensely grating.

"Mr. Gojo?" the therapist gingerly tilts her head, awaiting his answer. Satoru sighs heavily, the frustration clear in his voice.

"Because Principal Yaga thinks I'm in desperate need of therapy," he spits through gritted teeth, the mere recollection of that argument making his blood boil.

"What about you? What do you think?" she probes further, her expression maddeningly serene.

"That all of this is stupid. I'm not in need of therapy - I'm perfectly fucking fine," satoru retorts, turning his head away to gaze out the window, where the rain has now begun to fall. He's the strongest sorcerer, for God's sake - he doesn't require aid from anyone.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't need it," she calmly asserts, and satoru can feel his nails digging into the flesh of his biceps through his clothes, crescent-shaped indentations surely imprinting his skin.

His gaze snaps back to her, a scowl etched upon his features. "The hell you mean?" he spits, his tone dripping with venom. "I just told you I was forced to be here. Why the hell don't you understand that?"

"If you were actually fine, Mr. Gojo, you wouldn't be here," the therapist repeats, her saccharine smile infuriating him to no end.

"Since it's your first time here, I'll explain to you how therapy works-" the therapist begins, only to be swiftly cut off by satoru's acerbic retort.

"I know how it works. I spill my guts out to you, you give me some useless advice, write some bullshit on your pad, diagnose that I'm somehow mentally ill - blah, blah, blah," he interjects mockingly, rolling his eyes with palpable annoyance.

The therapist pauses, staring at him for a moment before chuckling softly. "Therapists aren't actually supposed to give advice, as we know that it won't help our clients in any meaningful way or may even make them feel worse. So we avoid doing that. Rather than giving you advice, we guide you to see how your feelings, thoughts, choices, and actions affect one another. And we teach you about emotions, thoughts, coping skills, facing fears, and more."

Satoru scoffs in return, unimpressed. It doesn't matter to him what her job description entails. How the hell is he supposed to feel comfortable when he's paying a person to listen to him? She doesn't genuinely want to hear his problems (not that he has any, of course). And who knows, she'll probably gossip about the shit he says with her friends.

"Now, how about you start telling me about your day?" she inquires, switching the subject, having likely noticed his lingering irritation. Satoru scoffs, as though that were a mind-numbingly dull question.

"My day? Same as any other day," Satoru shrugs. "What do you want to know? The weather? I took a very interesting dump in the morning? Got myself some food, did whatever the hell teachers do - the usual."

The therapist sighs, seemingly ready to give up on that line of questioning, or perhaps regretting having asked it in the first place. Even so, she jots something down on her pad, and Satoru isn't sure if what he said was actually so worthy of being noted.

"Do you seriously have to take notes? What was so important in my answer to write down?" he questions, his tone mocking.

"Everything you say is important, Mr. Gojo," she replies with a hum.

"Really? Is it really that important that I took a dump this morning?" Satoru laughs derisively. Therapy is a joke, as far as he's concerned.

The therapist looks at him with those eerily calm eyes once more, her irritatingly artificial smile still plastered on her face. "You're a teacher - what did you teach your students today?"

What.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me what subjects I teach?" Satoru looked at her suspiciously, wondering if Yaga had somehow explained to her that he is a sorcerer.

"You're a jujutsu sorcerer. There's no need for me to ask what subjects you teach," she replied calmly.

Satoru leaned in, his elbow resting on his thigh as he held his chin in his palm. "You seem to know a lot about me, doc. Just who are you exactly?" A grin appeared on his face, as he considered the possibility that she might also be a sorcerer like him. Outside of the jujutsu domain, humans don't typically know who Gojo Satoru is.

"I'm your therapist," she simply replied, and his brow twitched slightly. "You know what I'm asking, miss."

"What do you think?" She tilted her head, smiling at him. Of course, she would turn the question back to him - it always has to be about his feelings and thoughts in therapy.

"You are a sorceress," he muttered, no longer doubting the amount of cursed energy he felt in the room. She must be a skilled sorceress, able to maintain her cursed energy at a small, unnoticed level surrounding her.

But why would Principal Yaga assign a sorceress to him? Was this some kind of trick? The woman before him is probably not even a real therapist. Still, he's never heard of her name before - perhaps she's a sorceress from another nation?

"Close. I was a sorceress," she revealed.

Satoru's brow furrowed. Why did she quit? And why did she become a therapist? Just who is she exactly?

"Now, why don't we get back on track?" she inquired, smoothly switching the subject and ending his train of thought.

The rest of the session was simply her attempting to get to know him better, or rather, analyze him. However, satoru did not give her that opportunity. Why should he? Yaga had only instructed him to attend therapy, not that it had to be effective. Honestly, satoru did not particularly care about this endeavor.

Why should he divulge information about himself to someone he barely even knows? Not to mention, she is being paid to listen to him - she is not doing this out of her own volition or good-hearted intentions.

She likely does not truly care about his problems (not that he has any, in his opinion). So why should his feelings and thoughts matter to her? She is merely performing her job, nothing more, nothing less.

Satoru has no intention of pouring his heart out to a complete stranger he knows little about. He understands that therapy is meant to provide him with a safe space to be vulnerable and open about everything. But he does not feel comfortable in this room.

___________________________________________

Satoru sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist as he relaxes in the chair in front of her.

"You worry too much," he says casually. "Why don't we ever talk about your feelings? We only ever talk about me."

Satoru is aware that she only wants the best for him. He simply does not care. He is here because it is mandatory, not because he wants to be. He does not believe he needs therapy, despite her claims otherwise. As his therapist, of course she would tell him he requires this treatment.

It has been a month since their therapy sessions began, and satoru has not been the least bit cooperative. The only aspect he has enjoyed is the freedom to freely criticize the higher-ups without anyone chastising him or telling him it is inappropriate.

She would always listen intently to every word that came out of his mouth, diligently noting things down in her little pad. Honestly, not even his own students gave him the same level of attention that she bestowed upon him. He couldn't help but appreciate the fact that his feelings mattered in this space, that what he said truly held significance. He liked that. And he couldn't deny that he enjoyed her undivided attention on him.

"Because I'm your therapist, and I'm supposed to listen to you. Not the other way around." She sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "How many times do we have to go through this conversation?" She looked utterly exhausted, and he almost felt a tinge of guilt for making this so difficult for her. Keyword: almost.

He knew that she was simply doing her job. But he didn't care - he would make her tired of him until she gave up on him.

Yet, at the same time, the thought of her giving up on him left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't really want that.

He shrugged, smirking. "As many times as you want to," he said, with his ever-present sense of humor. "I can keep dodging questions all day, if you like. I'm perfectly fine just existing in this room while you try to wrangle me into being vulnerable."

"However, I can't say the same about you, doctor." He taunted.

"I am not trying to make you vulnerable, I'm trying to help you understand your feelings and maybe find solutions for your problems, Mr. Gojo," she said calmly, as she crossed her legs and leaned back into her chair.

Satoru rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand dismissively as he slumped against the back of his chair. "Help me understand my problems. Solve them. Figure out why I am the way I am. Heard it all before."

He knew he had to be here, in therapy, every week. However, that didn't mean he had to be vulnerable or cooperate with all this touchy-feely stuff. He simply didn't like that kind of thing.

"What makes you the happiest, Mr. Gojo?" She began asking him again. Seriously, how many questions did she prepare for him every time? He couldn't deny that he didn't dislike the fact that she worked so hard, just for him.

Hm.

It was a question he had genuinely considered. What made him the happiest?

"Fighting," he said after a pause. He gave a casual shrug. "I enjoy fights. They're fun. And when they get hard, it makes me want to try even harder. So... I guess that's what makes me the happiest - winning a difficult fight."

"The rush of adrenaline makes me feel... I don't know, excited? You know," he muttered, finding it somewhat challenging to articulate.

She scribbled some more notes in her pad. "Is there any fight that made you especially happy?" she then asked, her gaze shifting back to him from her pad.

"Mhm," he hummed, a small smirk forming on his face. This was a fun question for him. "Well... there was the time I got to fight a special grade," he said, the smile widening as he recalled the memory. "And that time I beat Toji. That's a really good memory."

"I would've died. But he didn't use a cursed tool, and didn't cut my head off," he chuckled, as if it were something to be happy about. "You should've seen the look on his face when he saw me, the one he supposedly killed, still alive and kicking."

"But I can't say I'm not grateful to him. Because I got to finally learn how reverse cursed technique works," he said with a wide grin on his face, and she followed suit by taking more notes in her pad.

He noticed her actions and stared at her with an exaggerated eyebrow raise. "Go ahead, make your notes about me being a sadist and liking to inflict pain or something. Then go back and analyze it with all your other therapist friends."

"I already said this before, whatever happens in this room will stay in this room, Mr. Gojo," she replied. "So be not afraid to spill anything to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked, amused.

"What's my diagnosis, doc?" He tilted his head, staring at her as she lifted her head up from her pad to meet his gaze. "I'm a very bad person, don't you think? I love the pain I inflict on curses, I love the way they fear me, the fear in their eyes makes me feel so fucking excited," he laughed loudly.

"And when their blood taints my skin and clothes, it's such a disgusting texture yet it makes me want to be covered more with their blood. It feels so fucking amazing," he stared at her, awaiting a visible reaction, but he was met with nothing but an empty smile and empty eyes.

He hates this. He hates her. She's just an empty shell.

"You're just as crazy as I am, doc. Aren't ya?"

___________________________________________

But before she could say anything, the session had already ended, and Satoru was quick on his feet to get out of there.

Satoru rolls his eyes at her words and sighs. He leans back into the chair and spreads his legs, getting comfortable.

"This is such a pain," he mutters. "Do we really have to talk today? There's nothing to discuss. I'm peachy keen."

"Mr. Gojo, I need you to be a little more cooperative," she uttered gently.

"Do you, now?" Satoru's tone was dry, like sandpaper, his expression unchanging. He tilted his head slightly to the side. He could tell she was running out of patience, but that didn't stop him from being intentionally difficult. In fact, it made it more fun for him. "Yes, it's for your own good."

Satoru chuckles a little bit. "Aaaand here's the old 'it's for your own good' trope again, huh?" He shook his head, feigning mock disappointment. "I thought we were done with that by now, honestly."

"I do think that you really need this," she said seriously. "Look, Mr. Gojo, you might show your playful and cheerful side to everyone around you, but that is only a way to make them feel safe around you. I don't know what it's like to be the strongest, but I know that it can get pretty lonely standing on your own on top."

"You make it sound like I'm unhappy or something," he replied, shaking his head again. "Is it really so crazy for you to think that I'm perfectly fine being by myself? That I prefer being alone?" A small smile appeared on his face again. "I'm not lonely, doctor. I get more attention than I want, actually."

"That's not it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I know you have friends, you're a pretty talkative person and also a person who's approachable." She gave him a small smile. "Still, being surrounded by people doesn't mean that you feel the warmth of comfort. You keep them around you but still hold a certain distance between you and them that you never let them cross. You never let people get too close to you, which is a problem because you're isolating yourself from the world even if you think you're doing the opposite."

His small smile faded, and he rolled his eyes as he began to look agitated. He sat up, leaning forward towards her, his elbows on his knees. "What's with the armchair psychology? Where are you even getting all of this? You don't know me. You can't just assume these kinds of things based on just a few therapy sessions."

"I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, and please do correct me if I'm wrong. But there are a lot of people who feel lonely even while being surrounded by people," she sighed.

"Regrettably, I struggle to forge meaningful connections with others," he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. "They fail to comprehend me. They do not know the true me. They would be unable to accept me as I truly am, so I ceased exerting the effort. I stopped attempting to force something that was simply never going to materialize. Therefore, I shall keep everyone at a distance, for that is what they deserve. I do not grapple with the kinds of issues you presume I do, so desist in your efforts to analyze me."

She replied softly, "They are unaware of your authentic self because that is the outcome you desire, Mr. Gojo. If you are unwilling to be truthful about your personality and emotions with another individual, can you genuinely call that a connection? A relationship? It is all constructed upon walls of deception, intended to keep them at bay."

Satoru's response was tinged with bitterness. "So you are asserting that the fault lies with me for people's rejection, correct?" He leaned forward, his arms crossed defensively over his knees. A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I have made attempts to be honest with others. I have exerted the effort before, yet all I ever received in return was judgment and fear. I shall not place myself in that position again."

"The fault does not lie with you that they do not like you. However, the fault lies with you in presenting a false persona to them daily. Allow me to pose a question - from all the individuals surrounding you, can you name a single person who truly knows you?" she inquired.

Satoru's expression darkened at her words, the façade he maintained for others striking a chord. How could she discern this about him? It irritated him, albeit slightly. His gaze hardened with annoyance.

"No," he admitted in defeat. "I am surrounded by those I call friends, yet not a single soul among them truly knows me."

"Why not try opening up to them?" she suggested. "I will not ask you to confide in me, for I understand you do not particularly enjoy conversing with me, and that is perfectly acceptable. However, I am certain that at least one person would be willing to listen. Believe it or not, if they truly care for you, they will accept you with all your vulnerabilities and flaws."

A scoff escaped his lips at her proposal. "I'd rather not," he stated firmly. There was a sense of finality in his tone, and he was resolute in his decision. He had no desire to open up to anyone. That struck him as a waste of time.

"Even were I to open up to someone, there is a zero percent chance they would genuinely accept me for who I am. It is merely wishful thinking on your part, and you know it," he added.

"I would be truly delighted if you felt inclined to open up, Mr. Gojo. I sincerely implore you to believe me when I say I am fully attentive and receptive to whatever you wish to share," she sighed.

"Yeah, yeah..." he responded dismissively.

Satoru maintained his smirk, genuinely impressed by her unwavering conviction. He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin pensively. "Why are you being so uncharacteristically kind?" he inquired. "Most therapists I've encountered are arrogant, know-it-all types. You, on the other hand, seem far too amiable. I'm not entirely convinced."

His expression suddenly hardened as he leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You're deceiving me," he declared. "You must have some ulterior motive. Therapists do not pose those ostensibly benevolent questions out of pure kindness. You must be attempting to extract something from me - perhaps a salacious story to sell to the press, or you may have a reporter willing to pay handsomely for such information. Or, it could be that you are merely trying to bolster your own image, and I am the unfortunate individual you intend to 'utilize.' Well, let me inform you of something, my dear."

He seized the arms of her chair, pulling it forcefully towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. Satoru could hear the subtle hitch in her breath, a sign of her surprise at his sudden, assertive action. Maintaining unwavering eye contact, he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You should understand," he whispered, "that I am no stranger to individuals who believe they have me all figured out. So no matter how genuine you may seem, my dear, I am not so easily cracked." With that, he reclined back in his chair, releasing his grip on her seat. "You'll have to try something else."

For a moment, she remained silent, before letting out a soft sigh and offering him a gentle smile. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Gojo." Her words, rather than indignant, carried a sense of empathy.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected her to refute his accusations, to insist that she harbored no ulterior motives. But instead, she had responded with gratitude for his candor.

He stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her facade of kindness to crumble. Yet, it never did. This woman, it seemed, was genuine in her compassion.

"If you feel uncomfortable in my presence, please do not hesitate to request a different therapist," she suggested, her tone measured and understanding. "I would be more than happy to make the necessary arrangements."

Satoru's expression darkened at her offer. "No," he said, his voice harsher than he had intended. He paused, taking a breath to regain his composure. "No, I want you," he stated firmly. "I'm cooperating, aren't I? If I wanted someone else, I would have requested a change long ago."

Satoru took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly at her gentle suggestion.

"You were more cooperative than before. And I appreciate that," she said, offering him a warm smile.

Satoru blinked in surprise. He had not expected such a genuine acknowledgment of his progress.

"So... what?" he asked, tilting his head as he considered her words. "You're saying you're proud of me?"

"I am. You're doing great," she hummed softly.

To both her and his own surprise, Satoru suddenly burst out laughing – a loud, unrestrained sound that filled the small space as he leaned back in his chair, clutching his stomach in an attempt to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he managed after a moment, taking a deep breath as he looked at her. "That... that just took me by surprise."

"No, please don't apologize," she quickly reassured him. "I must say, this is the most expressive I've seen you in this room." She chuckled lightly.

Satoru couldn't deny the truth in her words. His laughter finally subsiding, he smirked, crossing his arms. "Expressive? I guess if you count 'laughing like a maniac' as being expressive, I can agree."

He paused, a touch of amusement still in his tone. "I guess I'm improving, if I'm entertaining you."

"So, got something else to ask me, doc?" he inquired, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Tell me, do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?" she asked, her gaze steady and her tone sincere.

Satoru's features twisted into an expression of annoyance at the question. "Of course I know who I am," he retorted, the defensiveness evident in his tone. "What is this, a therapy session?"

"I'm not asking you about the position you've been forced into, and definitely not the personality made up," she said, shaking her head. "I'm asking you – do you really know who you are?"

He let out a dry laugh, the irritation seeping through. "Who I really am? What kind of question is that? Are you seriously going to ask me to define my entire existence right now? Are you expecting me to have some groundbreaking revelation or something? Because I hate to break it to you, doctor, but I'm tired of all this self-reflecting nonsense."

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you think about yourself," she sighed, her patience unwavering.

Satoru tilted his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes. He was doing this not because he genuinely wanted to, but to get her off his back.

After a few moments of contemplation, he responded, "The strongest. I'm unreachable, untouchable."

"If you ask someone else the same question," she trailed off, "what's the first thing that comes to mind when they think of Gojo Satoru? They'll reply with the same thing. But is it really what you want?"

He opened his eyes, looking at her with a furrowed brow. "What I want?" he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "What I want is for you to not ask me weird questions that have no point or answer. I'm perfectly fine with being unreachable and untouchable. That's how I's always been. It's the natural order of things."

"Is strength really what defines you?" she asked. He raised a brow. "What's your point?"

"Do you know who you are?"

"Tell me, will you be Gojo Satoru without your powers?"

This question - it struck a chord within him. He remembers the day Suguru left, and the question that had remained unanswered until now. He had chosen to ignore it, but now it was haunting him once more.

Without his powers? His powers had been such a central focus in his life; he'd never truly considered his life without them. He... didn't even know who he would be. He was Gojo Satoru, the strongest of the strong. Take that away, and who was left?

He couldn't answer that. He simply remained silent, looking down at his hands, his grip tightening on his knees as he felt a sense of defensiveness.

But then, he stopped himself, his grip loosening as he looked at her, still frowning but with slightly less irritation in his expression.

"The therapy session is over," she said softly. "I want you to think about this question and try to find an answer to it."

Satoru let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, the session was finally over. Despite being overjoyed that he no longer had to continue, his expression darkened a little, his brow furrowing in thought. He knew he would be thinking about this, whether he wanted to or not. She didn't even have to ask.

He stood up from the chair and left the room without giving her a last glance. He heard her say something about how he should take care of himself.

The drive back to the Gojo Clan's compound was spent in relative silence. Ijichi kept a watchful eye on Satoru, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were consumed by the question posed to him during the therapy session.

As the car pulled up to the gates of the compound, Satoru suddenly spoke. "Ijichi," he said, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, "if I weren't the strongest, would I still be Gojo Satoru?"

Ijichi's gaze shifted to Satoru, surprise flickering across his features at the unexpected question.

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "Your strength is a significant aspect of who you are, but it is not the essence of your identity." He watched Satoru for a moment, noting the expression on his face. "May I ask why you're asking this, Gojo?"

"Just something that I thought about," he said dismissively.

The rest of the evening was spent in a haze of thought for Satoru, tossing and turning in bed as he wrestled with his questions, doubts, and insecurities. They swirled in his mind, keeping him from finding respite. He had never felt so uncertain, so lost before. Who was he without the mantle of the strongest? What did he even have left?

He tried to shake off these thoughts, to push them to the back of his mind, but the questions persisted, gnawing at him like a relentless ache.

Gojo's thoughts returned to the question she had asked, "Do you know who you are?" He couldn't help but scowl at the recollection. He had taken offense to the question then, but now, alone with his thoughts in the quiet of the night, he found himself truly grappling with the magnitude of that question.

Who was he? This question had never posed a challenge before. He had always known who he was - the strongest. That had been his identity for as long as he could remember.

___________________________________________

The days that followed were restless, as her questions flooded his mind at all times - while teaching, on a mission, or at home. Her question occupied his mind constantly.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was no point in lying here, unable to sleep. He needed air.

Satoru grabbed his jacket and threw it over his shoulders before quietly making his way out of the room, the floor creaking under his feet in the otherwise silent compound.

As he walked, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating down the hallway, he couldn't shake off the persistent questions that had been plaguing his mind all night.

He reached the entrance of the compound and stepped outside into the cool night air. The stars twinkled above him, a blanket of sparkling lights against the inky sky. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the quiet and the solitude.

But even in the silence of the night, the questions stayed with him, refusing to give him peace. He found himself facing an identity crisis that gnawed at him like never before.

Satoru walked, the snow crunching beneath every step his feet took. He walked with no destination in mind, hoping that maybe the movement and the fresh air would help clear his mind. Yet, no matter how far he walked, he couldn't escape the questions that haunted him.

Suddenly, the thought struck him - perhaps he needed guidance. But who could he turn to? His mind flitted through the people in his life - Nanamin, Ieiri, Ijichi, but ultimately he dismissed each one. They would never understand what he was going through.

But the thought persisted. He couldn't shake off the idea of her help. She had already managed to get under his skin, planting this seed of doubt that had grown into this existential crisis. Perhaps she was exactly the person he needed right now.

Satoru clenched his fists, silently cursing to himself. He had always prided himself on being in control, but now, here he was, considering seeking help from the very person who had caused his turmoil in the first place.

But it was late at night, would she even help him if he called her right now? Would she help him without getting paid, without being in that stuffy room?

As the dial tone rang through the line, anxiety began to creep into his mind. What if she didn't answer? What if she hung up once she realized it was him? He had never called her outside of their sessions before. Why would she answer now?

After what felt like an eternity, the line clicked open, breaking the silence. Satoru's heart pounded in his chest. She had actually answered.

"Hello? How may I help you?" Her voice was sleepy and confused at the late call.

Satoru hesitated for a moment, the sound of her tired, confused voice sending prickles of guilt through him. Should he really be doing this? But he had already come this far; he couldn't back down now.

"It's me," he finally said, his voice low and a little apologetic. "Gojo Satoru. I - I need help."

"Mr. Gojo?" She was suddenly wide awake, she didn't expect him of all people to call. "Of course, where are you right now?"

"I'm... I'm outside," he replied, a hint of shame in his voice. He didn't know how to explain where he was or what he was doing out so late. "I was walking. But I can't stop thinking about that question you asked me in the session that day. And it's driving me insane. I - I need answers."

"Can you be more specific? I'm on my way— ah, shit!" She cursed as she hit her foot with something she wasn't able to see in the dark, she quickly put on her jacket and her scarf and went downstairs.

Gojo heard the clatter and curse from her end of the line, making him flinch slightly. He felt oddly guilty for waking her and even making her come out at this late hour.

"Be more specific?" he repeated, his irritation seeping into his voice. "Isn't it enough that you threw my whole world off-balance? Now you need more specifics...?" But his tone softened as he mumbled, "I guess it'd be better if you were here."

"No. Where are you right now exactly?" She asked, putting her shoes on and finally going outside as it had begun snowing. She quickly got into her car.

Gojo huffed out a sigh, glancing around to get his bearings, "I'm about three miles north of Jujutsu High."

He was still outside the compound, which meant he had walked a considerable distance in his thoughts. The snowflakes were slowly falling from the sky, each one descending gently to the ground. Gojo stood there, watching them fall, waiting for her to arrive and, hopefully, provide some clarity to his chaotic thoughts.

"Okay, stay where you are. I'll be there in 10 minutes." She said as she started driving. "Tell me how you've been feeling today?"

Satoru rolled his eyes slightly as he heard her questioning. This woman just didn't know when to quit. But he was here for an answer, so he might as well satisfy her with some small talk beforehand.

"I've been feeling lost," he admitted after a moment, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "Like everything I've ever known about myself has been turned upside down." He paused, a hint of resentment in his voice. "All because of what you said during the session."

"I see. It's good that you've thought about it, Mr. Gojo," she muttered softly.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Because right now, I feel like you've thrown my whole world off-balance. And for what? Because you wanted me to 'think about it'?" Satoru let out a bitter chuckle. "You're cruel, you know that? Or perhaps you just find pleasure in messing with my mind."

"A person needs to know themselves before trying to help themselves." She said. "You don't know who you are."

"And whose fault is that?" He muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. "I had this issue before, but I had somehow gotten rid of it. But now that you've planted this seed of doubt again, all I can think about is questioning who I am. It's maddening!"

He let out a bitter chuckle again. "Are you happy now, that I'm having this crisis?"

"Thank you for sharing your feelings." She said, as if trying to comfort him.

"Don't act so sweet, like you actually care about how I feel," he snapped. He was tired, irritated, and at the end of his rope. "You have no idea what this revelation is doing to me. My whole identity was built upon being the strongest. If you take that away, what's left of me? Who am I without that identity?"

She parked near Jujutsu High, getting outside of her car. "I do know what you're feeling right now, believe it or not I was in the same state that you were in." The snow crunched beneath her shoes as she started searching for him.

Satoru scoffed slightly, disbelief clear in his voice. "You know what it's like to have your entire identity shattered like this? Please. As if you could ever understand my struggle. I've dedicated my whole life, my very existence to be the strongest."

He shook his head, his expression a mix of bitterness and desperation. "But now, all I have are questions. Why am I here? Who am I, if not the strongest? It's like a never-ending abyss of uncertainty."

Here is the expanded version of the dialogue with more descriptive language:

She strode towards him, her eyes finally landing on his familiar form. "Turn around," she instructed gently.

Satoru's brow furrowed slightly, confusion etching across his features at her sudden command. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly pivoted to face her, his expression guarded, eyes wary.

"Where's your blindfold?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He blinked, surprised by her question. In the whirlwind of emotions, he had nearly forgotten about the blindfold when he left the compound. But what did his lack of the customary covering have to do with anything?

"I don't have it," he responded slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't want you to have a headache." She spoke softly, aware of his unique situation - the six eyes that made him perceive the world differently, often leading to painful migraines. Reaching up, she untied her own scarf. "Here, put this on."

Satoru stared at her, a mix of surprise and wariness evident in his gaze. He was unaccustomed to anyone showing him such genuine concern. She had already managed to see through his carefully crafted bravado and delve into the depths of his mind, and now she was extending this empathy? It was unsettling.

Still, he hesitated for a moment, torn between his reluctance and the throbbing ache pulsing at his temples. Finally, he reached out and gently took the scarf from her outstretched hand.

Satoru carefully wrapped the soft fabric around his eyes, tying it securely in place. It felt unusual, a stark contrast to his familiar blindfold, yet it offered a surprising sense of relief. The gentle pressure against his eyes was soothing, and the plush material was a comforting contrast to the chill of the night air.

He took a shallow breath, feeling a slight easing of the headache. He couldn't deny the scarf was helping, but it felt peculiar to be seen and cared for in this way.

"I want you to think about the moments in your life that didn't involve your powers," she said gently, her words a gentle nudge.

Satoru's expression darkened slightly at her prompting. His life had always revolved around his abilities, especially after discovering the rarity of his Six Eyes.

But the thought did pose an intriguing question. He had never truly considered the times when he wasn't constantly using or contemplating his powers.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "What if there are no such moments?"

"Right now, right here. You aren't using your powers," she pointed out. "I'm sure there have been many instances in your life where your abilities weren't the primary focus - going out with your students, spending time with friends, studying, taking walks, even just everyday tasks like eating or running errands."

Satoru's frown deepened slightly as her words sank in. She was right. In that very moment, he wasn't relying on his Six Eyes to protect himself or perceive the world around him.

He couldn't deny the existence of those more mundane, seemingly insignificant moments in his life that didn't revolve around his powers. Simple joys like laughing with his students, or the solace he found in the company of his friends - times when his abilities weren't at the forefront of his mind.

"You're human, Mr. Gojo," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "So, please, don't treat yourself as if you're not. Your power is a part of your identity, but is it really everything about you? That's the question you need to ask yourself."

Satoru's breath caught slightly as her words sank in. He had spent so many years defining himself by his power, by his role as the strongest, that it was difficult to imagine there was anything else to him.

But she was correct. His abilities were a part of him, but they did not encompass his entire existence. He was more than just his powers. He was a jujutsu sorcerer, a teacher, a friend, a human with emotions and a complex inner world.

"Now let me ask you again," she trailed off. "Do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?"

Satoru exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of clarity wash over him. He understood now what she was trying to convey. His identity was not solely tied to his powers. There was so much more to him than that.

He lifted his head, the scarf over his eyes lifting slightly. His voice was quiet but sure.

"I am Satoru Gojo. Jujutsu sorcerer. Teacher. Friend. Human. And so much more."

"Exactly." She chuckled. "I'm proud of you."

Satoru felt a flicker of something unfamiliar stir within him at her words. He had never heard someone express pride in him, at least not on an emotional level. Usually, it was about his prowess or his accomplishments in battle.

He gave a small snort, trying to downplay how her praise affected him. "You make me sound like a child, Miss Therapist," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh..sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way," She quickly apologized.

Satoru waved her apology away with a dismissive hand gesture. "No, no. I wasn't offended or anything like that," he reassured her. "It's just..a little surprising, that's all."

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head slightly. "People usually praise me for being the strongest, not for being...human. But it's not a bad feeling, to know that someone is proud of me as a person. So thank you."

"No. Thank you for being truthful with me, Mr. Gojo," She hummed softly.

A small chuckle escaped Gojo's lips, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know, I'm not sure why you're thanking me for doing the bare minimum," he teased. "Being truthful should be expected, shouldn't it?"

"I'm thanking you because I know how difficult it is to be truthful about yourself with someone and to be truthful with yourself," She chuckled.

Satoru's smile widened slightly. Her words carried a sincerity that resonated deeply within him.

"You're right," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not easy. In fact, it's damn near impossible sometimes." He took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh.

"Being honest with yourself, and with others...it requires a certain level of vulnerability and courage, and frankly, I'm not always very good at it."

Here is the response with more detailed and descriptive wording:

"That's perfectly understandable, you are only human and thus not impervious to imperfections. We all have our flaws, fears, and moments of fallibility at times. But that is what makes us distinctly human, what sets us apart from the animal kingdom. We have the capacity to learn and grow from our mistakes, to confront and overcome our fears, and to refine our shortcomings. " She spoke softly, her voice tinged with a gentle empathy. "You should never forget that you are just as human as anyone else—" Her words were suddenly interrupted by a delicate sneeze.

Satoru flinched slightly as the unexpected sound pierced the crisp, cold night air. On some level, he was somewhat relieved that her soothing words had been cut short, as they had started to hit a little too close to home for his comfort.

"Bless you," he murmured, his tone a curious blend of playful teasing and genuine concern. "It seems the frigid weather has gotten the better of you."

"Sorry about that...I'm just not terribly well-suited for cold climates," she admitted, rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to generate warmth.

Satoru couldn't resist the temptation of a mischievous smirk. Here he had been feeling vulnerable and exposed, and now the tables had turned, with her appearing to be the one struggling against the biting chill.

"That's not something one usually hears from someone who was living in the northern regions," he teased, unable to resist the opportunity to poke a bit of fun. "I thought the hardy folk up there were practically immune to the cold."

"Well, you see, I wasn't actually born and raised in these parts, i just lived some years there." she chuckled.

"Ah, I see," satoru nodded, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes. "So you're not a true northerner. That certainly explains a lot."

He paused for a moment, a mischievous thought crossing his mind. "But you'll never truly adapt if you don't embrace the cold," he declared dramatically. "And what better way to do that than by engaging in a good old-fashioned snowball fight?"

Without warning, she hurled a tightly packed snowball directly at him, the frozen projectile striking him with surprising force.

"You should be more careful!" She laughed as she scurried away.

Satoru was momentarily caught off-guard by her sudden attack. He blinked, stunned for a moment, before a wide grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's on now," he declared, his eyes twinkling with competitive delight.

He swiftly leaned down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it into a compact, aerodynamic ball, before launching it towards her with remarkable precision.

"Agh!" She groaned as the snowball hit its mark, but her laughter quickly followed. "Cheater!"

Satoru chuckled, not holding back a hint of smug satisfaction. "Cheat? Perish the thought, my dear," he declared, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. "I'm merely making use of my natural talents."

He quickly formed another snowball, his movements quick and elegant, and with a flick of his wrist, he released it, aiming straight for her. "I am, after all, the reigning champion of snowball warfare," he boasted.

"Hey! Go easy on me!" She laughed again, retaliating with a well-aimed snowball of her own.

"Easy? What is this, a snowball fight for beginners?" Satoru teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He dodged her projectile with effortless grace, his steps light and fleeting like a shadow.

He swiftly countered with his own snowball, a perfect shot that struck its target, causing her to stumble slightly. "Come on, you can do better than that," he taunted, reveling in the adrenaline of their playful conflict.

"No fair!" She whined as she threw another snowball, this time finally hitting him squarely. "Ha!"

Satoru let out a theatrical groan, pretending to be wounded by her snowball. "Oh, the agony," he clutched at his heart dramatically, a grin betraying his amusement. "I've been hit! What a catastrophic defeat this is."

Not one to be outdone, he swiftly retaliated, launching a flurry of snowballs in her direction with deadly accuracy. "You can't stop the king of snowballs!"

She deftly dodged his barrage of snowballs, her movements agile and nimble. "The rightful queen of snowballs will reclaim her throne!" She chuckled as she threw another well-aimed projectile.

Satoru raised an eyebrow at her declaration, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, is that so? The rightful queen of snowballs, you claim to be?"

He evaded her snowball easily, his laughter echoing through the night. "Well, let's see how rightful you truly are!" He retaliated with a series of perfectly aimed snowballs, each one a testament to his skill and precision.

Some snowballs found their mark, but she quickly retreated behind the shelter of a nearby tree, emerging to launch her own volley of icy projectiles in his direction. "You're cheating!" She accused playfully.

Satoru laughed heartily, his eyes glinting with a competitive spark. "Cheating? Or simply better at this than you?" he teased.

He ducked, weaved, and dodged her snowballs with a casual ease that made it appear as though he were dancing rather than engaging in a fierce snowball battle. "Admit it, darling. I'm just naturally gifted at the art of snowy warfare!"

"Nuh uh!" She laughed, her voice filled with playful defiance as the relentless snowball fight continued.

As the intense battle of wits and wintry wonders wore on, their laughter filled the night air, echoing through the trees. Satoru's competitive spirit was fully ignited, and he wasn't holding back. His movements were swift and precise, each snowball hitting its mark with remarkable accuracy.

"Admit it, admit it!" he called out, his voice teeming with playful taunting. "You can't defeat the Snowball King!"

"The queen will reclaim her rightful place!" She said playfully as she suddenly ran up to him and tackled him, sending them both tumbling into the soft, powdery snow. "The king has fallen!" She laughed triumphantly.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself falling, his balance thrown off by her unexpected attack. He landed on his back with a thump, sinking slightly into the snow, a look of mock indignation on his face.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be, queen?" he chuckled, his tone filled with playful defiance. "You really think you can take down the king with a sneak attack like that?"

"Yeah!" She laughed as she straddled him, triumphantly launching a handful of snow directly into his face. "Payback!"

Satoru sputtered and spluttered as the cold, powdery snow landed on his face, momentarily obscuring his vision. But the unexpected sensation of her sitting atop him, coupled with the icy touch of the snow, sent a shiver of exhilaration down his spine.

He blinked, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle as he grinned up at her. "Oh, you think that's payback? That won't do. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

And in a sudden, swift motion, he flipped them over, now pinning her down to the snow, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He took a handful of the icy powder and gently placed it in her mouth before she could react. "How does snow taste, my queen?"

She quickly spat out the snow, coughing and sputtering, but he merely laughed in response as he collapsed down beside her, both of them lying in the snow, their breathing heavy from the exertion of their playful battle.

After a moment of catching their breath, satoru turned his head towards her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, a result of the cold. He couldn't help but find her endearing in that moment.

"I would like to know more about you, miss therapist," Satoru murmured, his curiosity piqued. She was silent for a moment, contemplating his request. "What would you like to know?"

"I don't know... perhaps you could start by telling me why you decided to quit being a sorcerer?" Satoru's expression sobered slightly.

Here is the response with more detailed wording:

She paused for a moment before speaking. "I was previously involved in a perilous mission and perished back then, but I still clung desperately to life. So I made a binding vow, offering my cursed technique in exchange for the preservation of my life, I suppose." She shrugged, as if the matter was trivial. "I'm sorry to hear about your experience," I responded sympathetically.

"It's alright, the practice of sorcery simply was not meant for me. Instead, I have decided to become a therapist, helping people who are part of the jujutsu community, as I understand the daily realities they face as sorcerers."

He hummed thoughtfully as he looked back up at the sky. "That explains why I have never heard of you before," he mused. "Do you have any surviving family members?" he inquired.

"They have all passed away," she replied solemnly.

"I see," he said quietly.

"I apologize for-" he began.

"No need to apologize," she assured him. "I understand your curiosity."

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #not canon #jjk suguru #jjk satoru #geto suguru #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk geto #reader insert #therapy #sad thoughts #depressing shit #artists on tumblr #digital art #art #my post #my artwork #my art <3 #heavy themes #character death #im crying #i hate this #i hate everything #jjk 0 spoilers #gojo x reader #snow

[angelinthefire]

There is a “would Dean kill Cas to save Sam” poll going round I think you’d find interesting and which compelled me to unleash thoughts at you. I often wonder why fandom (both hellers and bronlies) ignores the fascinating examples in canon where Dean’s “Sam before anything else” ideology is threatened by Castiel. the BEST example of this is when Cas premeditatedly and with full agency breaks Sam’s wall as collateral damage — and Dean forgives him in the blink of an eye! If that were anyone else who’d done that to Sam they would be a dead man. Yes Dean was mad about it, yet the next season (BEFORE Cas redeems himself by taking on Sam’s hell trauma) Dean literally tells Cas “you were doing the best you could” (girl…).

Other key examples: Dean staying in Purgatory for an additional year to find Cas (rather than prioritising going back to find Sam, and this is after Cas broke Sam’s brain mind you); deciding to basically kill himself in s13 after Cas has died (despite Sam being alive and well); telling Chuck he’s wiling to kill Sam if it’ll bring Cas back. If the Bronly tenet that all Dean needs to be happy is Sam then hell, why does Dean beg Sam to let him die in the series finale.

I will note that Dean kicking Cas out of the bunker in s9 is thrown around constantly but there was literally a gun to Sam’s head at that point. Dean was tormented about it and still snuck off to see Cas although it may have been unwise in that situation.

Also interesting to note that Sam isn’t the only one; Castiel has also served as a threat to Dean’s other representations of family. in s6 Cas ~betrays Dean by colluding with Crowley, who kidnaps Lisa and Ben, which eventually leads to Dean deciding to memory wipe Lisa. In s14 Dean literally *blames Cas in part for Mary’s death*! And yet still forgives him?? (As s13 showed, Dean can live better without Mary than he can without Cas.) This is really intriguing/toxic element of Destiel that is hardly explored in fandom, which is that Dean associates Cas with danger to the rest of his family/his role as protector of his family and therefore his relationship with him is a weakness that he will regret. Add to the fact that Cas has proven time and again to not be a safe/reliable object of affection (see above examples, and also repeatedly leaving/dying) and it’s very plain why Dean would have reason to fear/suppress/compartmentalise romantic feelings between them — because they would be an even greater source of pain.

Curious to get your thoughts on this!!

Thank you for the message!

Regarding the first point: I think there's a fairly typical thing going on of fan simplifying characters and their motivations. Does Dean love and care about Sam? Yes. Was Dean's duty to Sam something that was drilled into him as something that he had no choice over? And something that was reinforced through their forced isolation from the rest of society? Also yes. So what happens when Dean has someone that he has grown to love on his own terms? And who he never has to worry about alienating, someone who could actually be part of his life? Something very interesting!

I looooove the s6/7 example so much, because Dean really isn't ever angry at Cas for hurting Sam, he's angry at Cas for not listening to him. And even then, not really - his anger at Cas in 7x01 is much more something that Dean is using as a sheild, something to cover his own hurt, than anything else. And then the second it looks like Cas is going to turn around and come back to him, all that anger evaporates.

s8 was soooo vindicating as well when it aired, because all summer the bronlies were like, "Dean's motivation in Purgatory will be that he's trying to get back to Sam!" And then it WASN'T. This is another thing too, that bronlies will try to make it out like Sam is the only one that Dean will go to extreme lengths for, that Dean isn't a *generally* nurturing type of person who *wants* a bigger family and to not be so socially isolated. But throughout the entire show, Dean is constantly drawing people around himself. And we do see how Dean is willing to go to great lengths for Cas. Of course, a lot of the time, Dean is convinced that he's powerless to do anything when it comes to saving Cas, but Purgatory was one time when he wasn't, and we see what happens.

(And the thing is I do get where the bronlies are coming from in their understanding of the show, in an abstract sense. Like objectively, if someone were to tell me that there's a story about two brothers, that only have eachother against the world, and they have a super-intense relationship, and all they care about is each other and fighting monsters, and there's a dark, gothic vibe to it, I could see why someone would be into that. Like it's not my jam, but abstractly, I see it. But the thing is, that reading of the show does not hold up to contact with canon - and none of them want to admit that.)

The series finale is so weird when you think about it. Because bronlies hold it up as a win. But it is Dean taken down to a place where all he has is Sam and hunting, and then deciding that he has nothing to live for.

s9 was just a mess. Kicking Cas out of the bunker was so contrived. And then what everyone forgets is how incredibly happy and jazzed Dean was when he thought Cas was going to be living with them. The thing I'm most bitter about is that they couldn't have given us at least one episode of Dean and Cas being absolutely goofy happy around each other before constructing a situation to get Cas out of the picture.

Your last paragraph is interesting, and something to think about. The way I see it, is that Cas has entered a special tier of relationships with Dean, where Dean will hold on to him no matter what. I don't think Lisa and Ben are a good example for your point, actually, because I think Dean blames himself for what happened to them more than anyone else, which is reflected in his final interaction with them when he says he hit them with his car and is happy they can go on with their lives (or something of that nature, I forget).

Mary's death is interesting though. The only thing comparable to something like that happening before is when Dean blames Sam for Charlie's death (and what Dean says to Sam - "I think it should be you on that pyre instead of her" - is actually way more harsh than what Dean says to Cas). But Dean does forgive Sam, and he does forgive Cas - again, they're on a special tier, where Dean values them no matter what. And you see that throughout the divorce arc, where Dean keeps checking in on Cas and showing concern for him, in spite of how he feels at the moment - like he knows througout that the rift him and Cas are going through isn't going to last forever.

I think all of Dean's closest relationships are toxic, just as a result of the way he was raised and the kind of life he leads. With Sam, John, Mary, Jack, and Cas. The relationships that aren't toxic are the ones where they aren't physically around each other that much (like Charlie), or with Bobby, who has the level of experience to not get caught up in bullshit. With all of them, the death toll doesn't really matter (like Mary endangered Cas too, and Dean forgave her). Dean just tends to not let go of the people around him.

I think a big barrier for Dean and Cas is actually neither of them having any kind of reference model for what they are to one another. All of Dean's romantic relationships have been filled with secrets, and the knowledge that his partner cannot share his life with him. Dean calls Cas his "brother" in s6 and s11, because to him, that's the closest you can be to someone. That changes to "best friend", which is better, because it doesn't have the same connotation of obligation and responsibility - your best friend is someone you actually like being around. And it's a title that is uniquely Castiel's.

And in general he has trouble categorizing Castiel. Like he keeps trying to put Cas in human boxes that he doesn't actually fit within. He repeatedly indicates that he thinks of Cas as just a guy, and then Cas acts in ways that defy that category.

So yeah, I guess I don't really think that Dean sees Cas as unsafe. It's more that Dean just isn't thinking of romantic relationships as a possibility for himself. And he doesn't quite know how to categorize what he and Cas are to each other (and the fact that Cas is a dude may or may not play into that, depending on how much you think Dean grapples with internalized homophobia). And they're both generally fucked up.

It's an interesting idea, though, that Dean sees Cas as a danger, that I'd be interested in seeing explored more in posts or fic.

#spn #destiel #my commentary #dean winchester #castiel #ask #anonymous

[wachtelspinat]

is there a particular reason you always wanted to come to Australia? Just curious :D Congrats on making one of your dreams come true!!! 🩷🩷

hey there! sorry for the delayed answer, but i'm (sadly) finally home again and currently catching up with everything that's piled up! the thing is i always wanted to come to australia since i was 18, like right after school, doing some work & travel. i‘m having a hard time remembering why australia in particular… i mean. besides the obvious points like the landscape, the wildlife, the welcoming people. i observed that it‘s a popular choice with germans in any regards (and to be fair i‘ve been a big mad max fan since i was 17 so… guess this played a not so irrelevant role).

but… it was quite expensive (you needed to have at least 3000,- euros as savings back then, i can imagine it‘s even more nowadays) and all those years i told myself that this was the reason i never went. when actually i chickened out. i was too scared back then and for the longest time after. there is a lot of regret i harbour for my anxiety-ridden 20s and all the things i actively avoided, but not appreciating and taking the opportunity the work & holiday visa gives you, i feared that this will be something that's always going to haunt me. (i am too old now to do work & travel, the cut off is at 30yrs.... which is a shame, really, because i've become a person that is so ready for it now... but i'm gonna look into different kinds of ways to stay longer maybe, to work there).

so yeah i guess ever since australia stuck with me. always with a little bitter "could've seen it" thought. and as the years went by i watched a lot of documentaries, and movies and shows, i learned about the history here and there, the incredible flora and fauna, really fell for the australian accent, dunno why, just love to hear it... befriended ppl who've been there and did work & travel and always envied their experiences. developed a longing for the vast extents of it all and the nothingness especially of the outback which's actually so full of things and life... and i have to be honest, being a team fortress 2 fan with sniper as one of my faves and a junker fan (and always forever and ever a mad max enthusiast)... it would be a lie to say i didn't romanticize the place maybe a bit on the basis of this. but believe me i'm not some kind of delusional fan who does "postapocalyptic vibes tourism" or sth like this. i pay my highest respect to the people who live and lived there.

so yeah, there's that. i'm just looking back at the best 6 weeks of my life so far and my expectations were not simply met, they've been exceeded a billion times and i am so. SO. happy, that i finally had the guts to just do it. i've gained so much personally. and at the end of the day we cannot escape our ways to an extent, i learned that too. but it's been a mindblowing experience especially in regards of self-concept which is hard to put into words.

#would y'all be interested in photos? #like i have to sort through them #got like over 3000 lmao #but yeah maybe just a little best of

[fiftysevenacademics]

I thought the transition between the part where Wei Wuxian, freshly minted necromancer, is torturing Wen Chao and then suddenly the next chapter, post-resurrection Wei Wuxian is dreaming in Lan Wangji's bed at Cloud Recesses while recovering from Jin Ling's stab wound seemed abrupt until this:

"...Don't...don't be mad..."

Lan Wangji was slightly taken aback. In a gentle voice he replied, "I am not."

"...Oh," Wei Wuxian murmured. He seemed to be reassured by hearing that and loosened his grip.

Lan Wangji sat down by Wei Wuxian's side. When Wei Wuxian had stilled once more, he made to get up but was stopped by Wei Wuxian grabbing hold of him once again.

Wei Wuxian clung to his arm and pleaded urgently,"I'll return with you. Hurry up and take me back home with you."

And that totally devastated me.

Because what had just happened in the previous chapter was Wei Wuxian yelling:

"Lan Wangji! Must you come at me like this right now? You want me to go to Cloud Recesses and be confined by the Lan Clan as punishment? Who do you think you are? What do you think the Lan Clan is?! Do you really think I won't fight back?"

The thing that completely guts me about this story is the regret. The characters, most especially Wei Wuxian, embark on courses of action and make choices that seem right at the time. But though we're in control of our own actions and choices, we have no control over their consequences, and only for the very lucky few do things go exactly according to plan.

A well-lived life will inevitably be filled with regrets for most of us and as we climb higher and higher on the pile of choices we've made over time, we can look down on and see so many other routes we could have taken.

How can one be happy under the weight of accumulated regret?

Wei Wuxian has more to regret than most, and in his fever dream, he's probably back in that old moment, begging Lan Wangji's forgiveness and grabbing the lifeline he's throwing out. Perhaps if he had returned to Cloud Recesses, told Lan Wangji the truth about his golden core, and given up his demonic cultivation, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.

That moment had been a turning point in his life, but he hadn't realized it at the time.

Now, it looks like Lan Wangji is saving him anyway, like his fate is always somehow in his hands, but Wei Wuxian is just beginning to understand this, after so many people have died, his family has rejected him, and he's died and returned in someone else's body. The dream shows that he recognizes he's being given a second chance and this time, he doesn't want to screw it up. But he will always have to live with the regret, and learn how to achieve some measure of happiness around it.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #wangxian #my stuff

[t1red-twilight]

OMG OMG can you do something with angst request #10 "i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore" with peter :)))))) Ive been sad and need some angst to match the mood and who better to ask!!!

bereavement

summary: “i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore.”

content/warnings: gn!reader, andrew!peter, angst, major character death, grief, descriptions of ptsd, disordered eating (if you squint)

notes: omg tysm!!! i GOTCHU girl (gender-neutral). i really really tried with this one, i hope you enjoy it. i hope you feel better, dear anon. this fic made me cry lol

word count: 1k

masterlist

you had had a grueling day at work. you hadn’t slept the night before; your head plagued with dreams and regrets that you would carry as long as you would live. everyone was bothering you in some shape or form, plus, you had forgotten your lunch.

all you wanted was peter. you opted to walk to his home instead of trying to bear the late night traffic.

when you saw him, your shoulders finally released the tension that they had been holding.

“hey, pete.” you sat down next to him. “you would not believe how hard work was today. a rude older lady harassed me about messing up one of her forms, even though she was the one that filled them out.” you slouched and looked at the ground.

the honks of busy city life filled your ears. the smell from the rain lingered. “i forgot my lunch again. i don’t have enough to eat out right now either, so i just didn’t have lunch. but that’s not a big deal.” stomach pains were something that you were becoming quite familiar with. inhaling deeply, you continued. “i canceled more plans. i know you don’t want me to, but i just want to spend any time i have, with you. I can’t bear to be further away from you.” the sound of him scolding you felt like whispers against your damp skin.

you reached up and wiped a lone tear from your cheek. smiling as wide as you could handle, you tried to ignore them.

“i want to move to somewhere quieter, but i could never leave you.” you fiddled with your fingers out of habit.

there was a pause. your ears rang. “you don’t ever have to worry about me leaving, okay? i promise. i’ll stay here as long as you need me too.”

you waited; your eyes trailed downward, head turned away. the street was still slick with the combination of the oil from the city mixed with the rain. your breathing was fitful now, tears soaking the neckline of your top.

“i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore,” you choked out, your hands rubbing the sockets of your eyes. you scanned the graveyard before returning your gaze to where peter rested.

Peter’s headstone was simple; he never would have wanted something grandiose. you and may picked out a simple granite. it was more may’s choice than yours, you had been too hysterical to even cope with the fact that the funeral you were planning was his.

even through hysterics, it never really hit you that he was dead. not until he sunk in an urn into the earth.

he always insisted an urn, better for the environment. neither you or may could handle having him sit on your mantle. you both decided that it felt too dehumanizing.

his headstone read: Peter Benjamin Parker: Lover, Son, Hero.

“it’s not getting any easier. i still love you more than anything, peter. i’m not capable of loving someone else, i think.

“you’ve ruined me romantically.” you laughed at the thought. it was a joke, even though it rang truer and truer as each day passed.

“you are the highlight of my existence. good lord, peter. you mean so much to me. there is nothing that i wouldn’t do to see you again. or, at the very least get your pillow to smell normal again. it reeks of me.”

-

peter died in your arms.

you could not quite recall the turn of events completely, but you could very clearly remember what he had said to you last.

he stumbled into your apartment through the fire escape. it got blurry after he thudded onto the carpet.

there had been some criminal ransacking the city who had a particular vengeance for peter. every time peter went out, he came back worse and worse. the name of the scum that killed him laid dormant somewhere in your mind. you refused to even think about him, as far as you were concerned, he was beneath you.

you had known that peter’s crime fighting could result in something serious, but pete had always insisted that everything was going to end up all right.

“i got him,” he had said. you ran over to help him. everything you remembered was from the third person, like you were watching yourself from above. you couldn’t recollect anything you said in response. “finally you’ll be safe from-”

from this point everything was crystal clear. you could name the shampoo still faintly straggled in his hair. it was your shampoo; now tarnished with the intense irony scent of blood that congested the throngs of your shared bedroom.

“peter, we have got to call an ambulance.” you were getting frantic. you tried as hard as you could to hoist him up, but he resisted. his arms rested atop your shoulders as you tried and tried to lift him up.

“it’s my time, love, it’s-”

“no. just let me get you to the hospital. if you hold on just a little bit longer, we can get you fixed up, okay?”

he inhaled like he was going to say something. his forehead fell to your shoulder.

“honey?” you shook him. “peter?”

“pete? peter?” you hand moved to his scalp. you tried to thread your fingers through his hair to no avail. the matting from his blood halted you fingers as soon as you began.

“c’mon, darling. stay awake, okay?”

“peter?”

your screech was pathetic as he laid limply in your arms. his chest was concave and his left foot had been barely hanging on.

-

you changed your shampoo after that; the smell of it only ever brought you that night. whenever you closed your eyes, you saw visions of peter. you could not decide which was worse: the memories where he was happy, or the play-by-play of his soul shrinking away from yours.

nights were now filled with television reruns, your ceiling, anything that could keep you awake occupied your time. when you were asleep you could be with him again. but, you never wanted to wake up. the hollow throbbing pains of having him ripped away from you again when you woke made you an insomniac.

you doomed yourself to repeat this cycle. it was as if you ever managed to get over peter, you’d lose everything that you had of him. so, you clung to every crumb that remained. even though those crumbs were slipping through your fingers like sand and disappearing with time as days passed.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker angst #x reader #angst #andrew garfield!peter x reader

[detransition]

from missmastectomy

A mastectomy has physical AND social repercussions. A therapist or a surgeon might tell you the obvious, like that you can’t breastfeed and that your breasts won’t grow back post-mastectomy, but they won’t tell you about what the mastectomy *feels* like. They can’t. They have never experienced it.

I can tell you, though.

I am 3 years post double mastectomy (top surgery, not cancer related). It is nothing like having a naturally flat chest. Even without my incision scars, my chest doesn’t have the same fat distribution on either side, though it’s small enough to be noticeable to me and not anyone else. I have sensation, but it’s very much dulled, especially on my nipples. I’ve seen it described as the chest feeling like a black hole and I have to agree.

I don’t look like I have a “male chest,” and a big part of that is because I have curves. Males and females FUNDAMENTALLY have very different chests and removing your breasts WILL NOT give you a flat, girly look or a male look. That is highly unlikely. You are much more likely to look like a woman with scars and just a generally “off” chest.

There’s so much trans art out there that just doesn’t represent what a double mastectomy looks like in real life. It is highly romanticized and often portrayed as ✨ cutesy scars ✨ on an otherwise masculine body. No. No no no, that is not what this procedure does! I promise you that when you look up trans mastectomy results, you are going to end up seeing the “best ones,” the most successful ones, often on transmen who pass quite well and already have pretty masculine body types.

You are far less likely to hear about the botched surgeries, which thankfully mine is not. The surgeries where people need multiple revisions, the surgeries where people lose ALL sensation, the surgeries where people develop chronic pain.

When you get a mastectomy, you are removing a body part full stop. There are going to be side effects because this procedure is no joke, and mine are comparatively mild. I get itching on my scars sometimes and a mild burning sensation, which can be triggered by stress. Even if it’s elective and you think you want this, your body will remember it has lost a piece of itself. It doesn’t matter how dysphoric you are. There used to be something on your chest and now it is gone forever and nothing will bring it back, barre more surgery that is nothing but an imitation of the real thing.

I cannot express to people considering this surgery how difficult recovery is and living with it afterwards, even if you’re happy at first. I was happy at first. But then I detransitioned and realized I had been taken advantage of by a sociopathic, money hungry surgeon as a teenager. Even if I had persisted as trans, I would still deal with the fact that my flatness was not natural, but surgically constructed. My body could never forget the physical trauma of being sliced into like that, no matter how much I thought I wanted it.

You are not a Mr. Potato head. These are serious surgeries and they have serious, life long repercussions. Your breasts are not baby feeders or male attractors - they are a part of your body, your temple. And your body will feel the loss, even if (at first) you do not.

Do not get this as an elective procedure. These surgeons are lying to you. They don’t care about you. All they care about is money. The next time your dysphoria acts up and you’re considering a mastectomy, don’t think about the fantasy you’ve constructed in your mind where you’re just a male with chest scars. Instead, think about the fact that I’m order to achieve this “look,” you literally need to maim yourself. Think about the total loss of sensation, the dangers of the surgery itself, the feeling of complete and utter violation you will live with permanently if you ever regret your decision.

And then make your choice.

thinking of detransition? you are not alone

#detransition #detrans #ftmtf #1st #detrans ftm #detrans female #ftm detransition #ftm detrans #actuallydetrans #actually detrans #mastectomy #top surgery

[tellmegoodbye]

-> Music Monday

We're back!!

The playlists and docs have been updated with the submissions from last week. Go give them a listen!

Daylight - Shinedown

I was diagnosed with a fear of getting too close Had to tell the ones I love, I was on the ropes

It's amazing what the hard times can reveal Like who shows up, who walks away, and who's for real

You saved my life, not once but twice You keep me free from falling You saved my life, make it all alright When I don't feel like talking You make sure I always see the daylight

To me, this song encapsulates the relationships between everyone on the show. It's about the people who lift you up and have your back no matter what.

Fade In / Fade Out - Nothing More

Just the other day I looked at my father It was the first time I saw he'd grown old Canyons through his skin and the rivers that made them carve the stories I was told

He said, "Son, I have watched you fade in, you will watch me fade out When the grip leaves my hand, I know you won't let me down Go and find your way, leave me in your wake Always push through the pain, and don't run away from change Never settle, make your mark Hold your head up, follow your heart"

When the morning comes and takes me I promise I have taught you everything that you need In the night you'll dream of so many things But find the ones that bring you life and you'll find me

This is an emotional one, y'all. Firstly, I implore you all to check out the music video for this song. Bring tissues!

This song reminds me of Carlos and Gabriel. It's about a father and son that have a complicated relationship and grow apart as they get older. In the end they get to a point where they want to reconcile, but unfortunately, it's too late. However, the father knows his son is going to go achieve great things. It's bittersweet, yet hopeful.

Moondust - Jaymes Young

I'm building this house, on the moon Like a lost astronaut Looking at you like a star From the place the world forgot And there's nothing that I can do Except bury my love for you

Yeah, I'm living far away, on the face of the moon I've buried my love to give the world to you

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love in the moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love in the moondust

This is the ultimate breakup-era song! Carlos is trying to build his life and his home while loving TK from afar. He knows he may have to let him go, and he'll bury his love if that's what it takes for them both to move on and for TK to find happiness.

Time - NF

That's when I look at you and tell you I'd be better alone Just the pride talkin', isn't it? 'Cause both of us know I'm the definition of "wreck" if you look into my soul Comes out the most when I feel I'm in a vulnerable place Made a lot of mistakes I wish I knew how to erase When I'm afraid, might get distant and I push you away But no matter the case, I'ma do whatever it takes

Yeah, way before I bought you the ring We were fighting back and forth like you were wearin' the thing Two passionate people not afraid to say what they think Lead to passionate conversation when it's hard to agree

And I know it hurts knowing that I carry this weight on my chest Making it difficult for me to open up and connect Lot of regrets, I apologize for all of the stress That's not what I meant to do, you know I love you to death

Even if we both break down tonight And you say you hate me, and we go to bed angry I know everything will be alright I'll be here waiting, I promise I'm changing I just need time

Time is a very universal song when it comes to relationships. It's about recognizing your own issues and working on them, not only for yourself but in order to be a better partner. This is what TK and Carlos do every day.

Tags!

@strandnreyes @goodways @nancys-braids @captain-gillian @lemonlyman-dotcom

@carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @literateowl @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos

@welcometololaland @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @heartstringsduet @theghostofashton

@goldenskykaysani @freneticfloetry @eclectic-sassycoweyes @whatsintheboxmh @honeybee-taskforce

@messymindofmine @fandomswonderland @kiwichaeng @reeeallygood @toomanycupsoftea

@firstprince-history-huh @fitzherbertssmolder @safeaswrites @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

#har rambles #911ls music mondays #music monday #911 lone star #music tag #if you saw me accidentally post this yesterday no you didn't

[punkeropercyjackson]

Team Parent Percy Jackson headcanons

Before i forget to do them again!!He is canonically but Rick dosen't expand on it and i also don't wanna hear any critisism because this is based off irl experiences and Percy used to his full potential because he deserves better

I wanna start off with the canon evidence:He's the eldest main hero in the franchise(T.oa is Not Real)and the most experienced one too,he feels the need to look out for younger people all the time and this is a springoff growing up a bully beater that was so set on protecting the innocent he never stopped even after getting kicked out of 6 schools by age 12,he's constantly compared to Poseidon as a foil to him whos's him but better,Hazel said he looked like a roman god which her dad is and Percy himself even compared his relathionship with Nico to acting like Sally does with him

He also said Sadie looks like his daughter and he specifically used 'mother' for the Nico part so darkskin afro-dominican and transfem bigender Percy is hashtag real <3

Nico and Hazel are his platonic soulmates by choice in every universe and they're known as 'The Dead Sea Siblings'.No Hoo retcons for Nico and Percy's dynamic and in fact between Botl and Tlo they spent the year bonding and reconnecting so when Hazel comes in to complete them they're a proper trio like they were always meant to be and Sally legally adopts Nico and Hazel after Tlo and after Boo respectively but they keep their birth surnames just for shortness' sake

He calls them 'Papito' and 'Mamita' and helps them take care of their hair and they have wash day together with Percy doing the work most often and Nico and Hazel lean on him for support both emotionally and literally when they're exhausted.They hang out almost 24/7 and the younger two are enrolled at a Special ED school as Percy convinced them to out of regret from rejecting Sally's offer to him when he was in elementary school because his internalized ableism was so bad already he had a meltdown and then a shutdown about it.He made sure to tell Nico and Hazel how smart they are too since he knows what it's like to have almost nobody say it to you

He guiltrips Poseidon into giving him money for Nico's chronic pain meds and mobility aids and helps Hazel out with girls,with her love life being as Mabel Pines-esque as she is(Nico is Dipper obviously)

He radicalized them as a multitype punk(afropunk,crustpunk,seapunk and solarpunk-The sea does not like to be restrained)so Nico's goth punk and Hazel's pastel goth punk.He taught them all they needed to know and takes them to safer punk activities like charity events and shows until they get old enough he's comfortable taking them on riots with him too.His battle jacket patches include a skull and a yellow diamond to represent them and a part of punk culture that appealed to him big time was the emphasis on children's rights in the form of older punks taking care of and protecting baby punks.Naturally he did Nico and Hazel's piercings for them too

He uses his powers to make beach days straight up tropical for them and just in general loves making kids happy by doing water tricks for them.He himself is pretty kiddy as a way of healing his inner child and having intergenerational friends where he gets to be the caretaker so he can give kids who're like he used to be a better childhood than he had which includes not making them be his therapist but the reverse is a huge help(Percy just like me fr fr).He loves legos,video games,cats,cartoons,princesses(also his type in women,specifically BLACK princess-y girls since i mean Andromeda?Duh)and pink is his second favorite color after blue

He looks like as much of a dad as he acts like.He's 6'4,thick as fuck(healthy fat and muscles mix),has long hair,super darkskinned and strongfeatured and radiates a vibe that puts off normies and makes children think he's trustworthy.The piercings(tongue ring,eyebrow,spider bite and forward helix on both ears)give him an edge that's oddly friendly

His cooking skills are on par with Sally's so he packs Nico and Hazel lunch and leaves them little sticky notes with positive words/gentle reminders on them.They share the bed often so they can all have good sleep schedules and it was Percy's idea with Hazel's convincing Nico after his initial hesitance out of worry his boney cold build would be uncomfortable to sleep with but they think he's as snuggly as a teddy bear and Percy having boobs thanks to being on estrogen in the past makes his chest comfortable to lay on(Nonsexually for them.If you make it sexual please repent and disintegrate,i literally grew up doing this with my relatives who're girls like me)

Has a 'Protect Trans Kids' banner in his room and a pin of it on his battle jacket.He's known as the cool punk Manhattan dude you go to if you're having gender troubles because he knows his shit and just what to say because of his extreme gender fuckery and obviously Nico and Hazel are his trans kids and inspired him to start handing out knowledge of transgenderism to younger generations in general and same goes for autism,even more so because he's literally the most autistic character ever

The little kids at camp consider him more their parent than their godly ones and some of them even call him 'Dad' or 'Mom'.It makes Percy tear up every time because it makes him feel like really succeeded in breaking the cycle of abuse and changing the system(as if he didn't straight up kill Zeus and cause a revolution he helped out on a lot)

Owns matching Aquapets with Nico and Hazel and it was their idea to buy them so they searched for ones together at thrift stores

He gets maddddddd if someone hurts younger people even if he dosen't even know them and jumps to their defense because it's a built in instinct at this point

Carries around a backpack with emergency items in case anything happens and has important facts about the kids memorized

Wholesome memes connoiseur.These are literally Percy core but he has an entire phone gallery of them saved for when his loved ones are sad:

I wanna make the obvious nsfw jokes but i also want to keep this post to be pg so imma just say Dilf Percy.Yeah that's it

#he's so hobie brown-coded #minus the last part for me because i selfship with hobie familially LOL #percy jackson #perseo jackson #black percy #latino percy #transfem percy jackson #bigender percy jackson #punk!percy #team parent percy jackson #hero and destroyer of olympus #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #black nico di angelo #trans nico di angelo #disabled nico di angelo #autistic nico di angelo #goth punk nico di angelo #trans hazel levesque #lesbian hazel levesque #autistic hazel levesque #pastel goth punk hazel levesque #princess of the underworld and the unknown #pjo #hoo #tods #perlex #x black!reader #💌 #summerposting

[jujutsustraycats]

I'm not as nice as Nami is. I'm not, so don't expect anything too flowery or sweet or diabetes inducing. But I am here for you if you ever need it. And you will undoubtedly need someone in the next two years, and beyond that.

I know you said you're not going on the usual charade of... Competitive exams, that most of the country likes. And that's already a good sign for you. But science is hard. It will be. Your grades might plummet into the fucking ground, or they might slightly waver. And that's OK. It's not the end of the world.

I don't really want to get too personal, but I was a pretty.. good student lmao. Until grade 11 I had a rep for being that student who got a 95+ on every single test without studying. I'd open my books the day before the exam, and pass with a 99 with no effort whatsoever. Yeah, I was that asshole.

You won't be able to do that in 11th and 12th. Or ever again, really. Prepare yourself for that. If you are like me, and don't study until the final day and expected to get a 99, change that right now. It won't happen.

Now, it's going to be about consistency. Smaller efforts, but good ones, spread across every day. Your routine matters. The amount of sleep you get, the stuff you eat, the way you work through your day, everything will matter now. And not just for now, for ahead, too. So make sure you take care of your body, and your mind.

Work, but don't overwork. Have fun, but don't ignore your responsibilities for it. Nami's message mentions chaotic fun— I wasn't that type of person, not really. My fun was cool writing or drawing. Chatting with the people I love. Video gaming. And it's lovely! I'm not going to tell you how to have fun. But you should, because those moments of laughter will carry you through these years.

You're going to make friends, lose friends, make enemies and forget enemies. It'll happen. But the connections you make now will impact the course of your life for the next two years. When you enter conversations, do so with conviction. Know what you think and feel, and don't sway. Listen to opinions but don't let them take over your brain without cross checking it with your own thoughts first.

I hope you have people you can depend on. If nobody else, you have me and Nami. We're here for you.

Adults will tell you a lot, over the course of these two years. Listen to everything, but listen to it with a critical ear. You're capable of knowing what is and isn't important to you, personally. Stick to your guns, but be open to new suggestions. People will make personal quips at you, and they will hurt. Let them. But don't let them stick onto your being and pollute your awareness of yourself.

Mmm.. I don't really have anything else to say, not in particular. I know South India is a lot different to where I'm at rn, so my experiences will not be the same as yours. But I get it. I do, and so you can shoot me an ask or a DM anytime. I will be more than happy to help. Whether it's homework or just a vent, go for it, okay?

And above all, don't look back at what used to be, and what might have been.

When you take decisions, take them with consideration of all the information you have on hand right now. And once you've taken it, don't look back. Maybe later, with extra information, you will regret what you chose. It can happen. But you should be able to look back, and tell yourself, "No. I made that decision after considering everything I knew then. And so I do not regret the choice I made then."

You'll hear this a lot, but a set routine really really helps. I disagree with Nami, I don't think you will need late nights or overworking if you set yourself a routine. My routine changed depending on my schedule for the next day, but always make sure you get a minimum of 6 hours of sleep and some exercise, okay? It'll take you a long way.

And above all.

Anything, really.

Nothing else matters.

But be kind to yourself.

:)

I'm smiling so much with tears in my eyes. Again.

Thank you so much, Lune. Really. I appreciate this so much.

#💛💛💛💛💛💛 #i'm having trouble putting what i feel into words but i'm genuinely grateful for your support. thank you. #and i repeat the same to you– you can also talk to me if you feel like it. i'm here to offer support too #and i appreciate you saying it like how you're comfortable with it that means a lot #asks: lune! #familia nami

[seefasterdraws]

better call ice king or whatever the fuck

#adventure time #fionna and cake #petrigrof #simon petrikov #betty grof #i have a singular braincell and it is dedicated to making everything about bcs all of the time #what if love wasn’t enough!!!! what if you made your choices! #what if you didn’t have any regrets what if you had the time of your life with him!!!! #what if there was a man who is jokes and then you look at him and realise he is so so so sad

[kitty-that-condones-violence]

The zesty red men club

#Arugh this took to long #Deadpool #spidypool #zesty red men #Lego99 #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #Spider-Man #shitty photoshop #pride month #The longer you look at it the more fucked up it gets #lego spiderman #across the spiderverse #atsv spoilers #i’m bad at tagging #meme #made by me #i hate and love this #i regret my life choices #sorry for the tags #Thanks to my friend for helping me come up with ideas

[thelordofgifs]

the fairest stars, continued

The "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" AU that has spiralled completely out of my control: time for a new post again! Parts 1-9 are here and Parts 10-15 here. Also now slowly being uploaded to AO3 here, though you still want tumblr for the latest version.

To recap:

Maedhros and Maglor are in Himring.

Maedhros has (somewhat, a bit, with caveats) recovered from his very bad unreality attack, and is now attempting to defend Himring from an army of orcs. Unfortunately 90% of his people aren't there.

Maglor has very much not recovered from being stabbed by Maedhros, and is not really in a great situation.

Fingon is busy trying to stop Curufin's war with Doriath. He's kind of managing to talk Thingol down from attacking Himring's assembled army.

Although his bright idea for accomplishing this was offering to execute Curufin.

Maedhros holds one Silmaril in Himring, Thingol has kept one in Menegroth, and the last one is still in Angband.

Dead characters who are nonetheless still in the story: Lúthien, Beren, Finrod, Celegorm.

When Maedhros' mother named him well-made, she was not picturing his prowess on a battlefield: but Maedhros was forged anew in the crucible of Angband, or perhaps more gently in his long months of healing by Mithrim's shores, and this is what he is good for, now.

And he is very good at war.

Under his command the defence of Himring rallies. Maedhros sets the few archers he has to rain down arrows on the arrows on the attacking orcs, and takes a small party out on horseback to drive them further back, and the fortress gains a little breathing space.

But there is only so much he can do with so few people – and people, at that, who are so strangely slow to respond to his command.

Not that they will disobey him openly, but he is far too aware of their suspicious eyes on his back, the wave of mutters that breaks every time he issues an order.

"And the way they look at me – as if I'm, as if I'm one of the Enemy's thralls – do you think—?"

"Nelyo," Maglor says instantly, "you are not a thrall."

Maedhros attempts to stop his frenetic pacing up and down Maglor's room. "Then why," he says. There is so much noise in his head. He cannot seem to finish the sentence.

"They're Curvo's people," says Maglor, and there is something hard and unfamiliar in his voice as he speaks their brother's name. "Who can say what poison he's fed them?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Maedhros blanches for a moment, draws in a sharp breath, and then says, "Curvo told me – he told me—"

"I know," Maglor says, reaching out a hand. "I know, and he lied. Come here."

Maedhros clutches at his hand. Maglor can feel his frantic, fluttering pulse beneath his fingers.

Maedhros can feel Maglor's, faint and irregular.

He tries to steady his breathing. Tries not to sort through the jumble of memories pressing against his skull (they're dead, they're both dead) and focuses on the present.

Maglor is here, alive, alive – although his pallor has worsened every time Maedhros can snatch a moment from the siege to visit him, and his grip on Maedhros' Silmaril is white-knuckled, and some nameless fear touches Maedhros as he looks at him.

"Should I send you away, dearest?" he asks.

Maglor's eyes widen. "What?"

"It isn't safe here," Maedhros explains, although he has little heart for his suggestion in the face of Maglor's obvious dismay. "If Himring does fall – I don't wish to put you through a hard retreat."

"Don't make me leave you," Maglor begs, his voice teetering on the edge of real distress. "I want – I want to stay here, and—"

"All right," Maedhros soothes. "All right. You can stay as long as I hold."

"You'll hold, Nelyo," Maglor says. "You always do."

In the face of this unwavering confidence Maedhros manages to summon a shaky smile.

When he is gone – and the sustaining warmth of the Silmaril with him – Maglor reviews his objectives, which are threefold.

One: stay alive. Not going very well tbh. He has not recovered from the blood loss. And more than that the world feels grey and cold to his eyes – he who has always loved sunrises – and he cannot stop remembering: the splintered haunted look in Maedhros' eyes, the way, before Maglor sang him to sleep, he was reaching for the knife to try again.

Two: make sure Himring doesn't fall. He cannot quite believe it will, while Maedhros is in command, but the news about the recalcitrance of the few soldiers they have is concerning. He should have realised that rumour would spread through the castle after Maedhros was found in a pool of Maglor's blood, should have blackmailed Curufin's lieutenant into keeping her mouth shut about it – but too late now. Hopefully Maedhros can rally them.

Three: keep Maedhros generally sane, and specifically unaware that he stabbed Maglor. Also not going too well. Maedhros is growing stressed and paranoid. He's noticed that Maglor is healing very slowly (or not at all, to be more accurate). And – as today's incident shows – he will remember, sooner or later.

A dire situation all round, Maglor concludes, and he is not sure how much longer he will have the energy to attempt to handle it.

Where's Fingon when you need him?

Exactly where he should be, actually!

Fingon is mostly succeeding in his objectives.

The Sindar have stood down.

(Thingol agreed to his terms. That’s what matters, right? Not the vague flash of disgust in his eyes.)

“Are we going back to Himring?” Curufin wants to know. “They’re in danger.”

I have to kill you, Fingon thinks, and says aloud, “Yes, we are. But if you’re lying to me again, Curufin…”

He lets the threat trail off.

Anyway. More pressing concerns for now.

He sets a hard pace back through Himlad, reasoning that even if Curufin is lying there won’t be any harm done in getting back to Himring quicker.

Curufin has been trying to make contact with Maglor again, but his brother’s mind is closed – worrying.

All he gathered from Maglor’s brief use of ósanwë was the scent of blood and panic, the sound of orc-horns in the distance and a terrible pain in his side.

Has Maglor been injured in battle? Surely not; his leg can’t be mended enough for him to fight yet. But then what’s wrong with him?

Curufin definitely isn’t going to try touching Maedhros’ mind, considering the state Maedhros was in when he left Himring.

This is such a mess. And it’s all his fault. And Celegorm is still dead.

Be better, Fingon told Curufin – but now he won’t even look at Curufin, and Curufin’s hand is still burned and he doesn’t think it will ever heal.

Does he even want it to?

Back at Himring, Maedhros watches as the orcs press closer. If they manage to surround the great hill completely—

[look I know nothing about military stuff. in lieu of any actual manoeuvres or strategies we are going to assume that the Bad Thing that needs to be prevented is the fortress being encircled. got it? cool.]

“Harass them from both flanks,” he orders. “Keep them contained, don’t let them spread out.”

His paltry force obeys, but with plenty of murmuring.

The patrols, Maedhros catches, and His own brother.

He doesn’t know what they mean. He doesn’t know how much longer he can possibly hold. He doesn’t know where Fingon is, or whether he’s succeeded at preventing a war with Doriath, or why Maglor isn’t getting better.

When there is nothing left but the clamour in his head and his racing pulse, there is still war, at least: still the swift brutal swing of his sword though orc-neck after orc-neck, the splatter of black blood against his breastplate and the deadly dance of the battle-field.

(Still the gentle light of the Silmaril in his pocket. Still Maglor, breathing. But those are harder to hold on to.)

Himring will not fall. Himring must not fall.

As the weary battle for the fortress continues, its chronicle is woven by steady, skilful hands in the House of Vairë.

Míriel Therindë’s grandson has little difficulty finding her tapestries in the Halls of Mandos.

He is staring at them in transfixed horror when he feels a presence behind him.

“Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I imagine,” says Finrod, coming to sit beside him (metaphorically. since spirits can’t really sit. you know the drill). “Looking at the tapestries.”

Celegorm snorts impatiently. In life he had a tendency, when frustrated, to slip into the language and mannerisms of whatever bird or beast he felt most appropriate to the situation – elves are simply too stupid to talk to being the clear implication.

Finrod is absurdly pleased to find out this is still the case.

Or maybe it isn’t absurd, he tells himself, maybe it’s natural to want to believe that this is still the cousin he grew up with, that a person can betray you and turn your kingdom against you and still have some parts worth saving.

“I meant,” Celegorm is saying derisively, “what are you doing in these Halls? I thought your dear cousin won you a special boon.”

“Impressive you can still speak of her, after what you did,” observes Finrod. “But yes, Mandos did tell me I was to be re-embodied. First of all the Exiles, you know.”

“And?” Celegorm presses, after he is silent for a time.

Finrod smiles at him. “I told him thanks, but no thanks,” he says.

Celegorm splutters for a bit. “What?” he manages at last. “Ingoldo, have you lost your mind? How – why – is this all out of some misguided form of pity? Or are you just flinging it in my face that you can choose to leave and I can’t?”

“Lúthien reminded me,” Finrod says seriously, “that we always have a choice.”

Back in Himring, Maedhros is being pressed hard.

They are so badly outnumbered, and the orcs keep coming and coming, a never-ending river.

If Himring falls, Maglor dies – for there is no chance of his surviving a hurried retreat, Maedhros can see that even without fully understanding what ails his brother, and he has refused to be sent away in advance.

Himring can’t fall, Maedhros tells himself.

(To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well – how those words echoed in his ears four hundred years ago, as he watched his high stone fortress built. He realises, now, that he always expected Himring to fall.)

The orcs have pushed them back to the south of the hill, almost closing off the circle, cutting off their last path of retreat.

Will he burn with the house, then – like Amrod, like his father? The prospect would not be so awful were it not for Maglor.

Nothing lasts forever; Maedhros understands that as few other elves do, and has done since Angband.

But Maglor – Maglor has to live forever – Maglor is dying—

To the south-west sounds a clear silver horn, the horn of Fingolfin.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #maedhros #maglor #fingon #curufin #finrod #celegorm #look a vaguely nice section for a change! no stabbings or mental breakdowns #some maedhros pov that didn’t shrivel my soul to write #curufin continuing to regret every life choice he’s ever made

[glitch-pep]

Funky Outfit Time! >:D

Tmosth but with the gang!

MASSIVE shout-out to SmileyFace098 on DeviantArt for compiling all of the game assets!

[For the record: Milo and Charlie are NOT genderbent in this, the fake screenshot above takes place soon after the exchange underneath, and Charlie's height in this is wrong because I needed her to be visible above the text box.]

I never shaded my art like this before so let me know what you think! (I'm still figuring it out, it might look a bit messy.)

#Milo asked 'Is anyone gonna use these lashes?' and didn't wait for an answer #Charlie thinks she's hot shit dressed like that (she isn't) #Mina is regretting her life choices but at least she's looking cute with those pigtails #I don't have anything for Molly but I love her #I'll make a seperate post with the sketches n stuff #I added Charlie's guitar just for funsies I know that Rogue didn't have one #Although her ass does not know how to play lmao #If anyone spots the lil details I put in the designs ily #Anyways I spent my whole winter break drawing this so yeah #I gotta start working on some oc lore stuff #For real this time /srs #my ocs #my oc's #my art #my oc #milo #molly moon #mr. t. bear #mr t bear #charlie #mina #tmosth #the murder of sonic the hedgehog #chaotic crossover au #funky outfit time

[silver-grasp]

I'd seen the screenshot of "I, Wu Xie, also have fans" but the full sentence + context is SO much funnier

#xiaoge~~ I know everyone is obsessed with you always but LOOK I have fans too!! #just talking out loud to the air like xiaoge might be able to hear him. which to be fair I'm p sure xiaoge shadows him a lot so #also the way he's visibly regretting all his recent life choices re: teasing hei xiazi lol #like Oh No the karma.... #dmbj

[mihai-florescu]

I am plagued by theatrical productions i'll never see... it's not like a book i can pick up at any point and return to with new insights as an omniscient reader. No one experiences a play the same but the momentality of it makes you more aware of your role, be it on stage or the audience, the story flows because of your presence at this exact moment. And there are countless plays at this very moment everywhere in the world, there is so much i will never know or experience? It will just be lost to time, to others' perception and memory?

#i wonder how my life wouldve progressed if i hadnt distanced myself from theatre or generally the world #i needed the control and static state of books and games but i regret casting theatre aside? #it wasnt entirely by choice and my transitional phase in the first lockdown was by watching 1-2 films a day but those are really #not the same at all. they made the transition to getting lost in books easier but still #there is nothing like theatre #but it's also tainted by highschool memories (yes yes i say do not let others ruin things for you but i also used to be more passionate then #even if most called me robotic or a bitch. well. i didnt discourage it either. i lost my point #) #this post was triggered by looking into the tokyo grand guignol. not for the reasons i was looking into the french one last week #entirely coincidental but it made me laugh in the way coincidences seem too scripted in timing #nevertheless. it was still coincidental