#ANGST HERE

[kazimakuwabara]

Chains and TMNT Rise, for the brain rot.

I got a strange idea, so this is gonna have a bit more turtles than just the Rise. Just a bit. Also, nice try Nonnie, I haven't written for this fandom in ages.

Spoilers for The Rise Movie! And all tmnt verses.

***

Ripping a hole in the fabric of time wasn't easy. He had tried before. When Raph died, the first of their family lost to the Krang. Then when Cassandra fell. Then Pops. He gave up after Donatello. But not because he failed.

He'd gotten close with Donatello... really close.

His hands had reached through the veil, and grasped the fabric of the world, soft and springy in his hands. But when he pulled, the weave became chains, and the most he could do was rattle them. The ricochet of his hands tugging the chains had set off a reaction.

Like ripples of water, pathways spread out before him, not in a smooth line, but in a wobbling arc.

He reached for Donatello, and the arching waves showed him... many.

Donatello, stouter with a sharper beak. Walking in daylight, laughing without a care, a shined initial on his belt. He reached, but his voice wasn't strong enough. He wasn't corporeal enough. They didn't even glance at him.

Donatello alone in the rubble of a broken world. He leaned heavily against a staff, and wept over another version of... of himself. Another Michelangelo missing an arm, taller, older, and harder... dead at a young Donatello's feet.

Michelangelo cried out, and this Donatello turned, eyes peering at him from beneath white and purple fabric. He mouthed his name.

The chains rattled, and Michelangelo was somewhere else.

Dark, and underground. A subway station, maybe? It was old, but restored. Not for public use, but for living. Donatello, a different shade of green, with a sturdy hard shell, was standing next to a seated rat. This rat was older, very old; feeble, yet strong.

"No, my son, go back," This Splinter said, his voice a whisper, "Go back!"

"Is that... Mikey?" The Donatello asked. He reached out, and his Splinter stopped him with a boney hand.

Michelangelo turned away, rattling the chains again. He understood now. He was searching, not just tearing.

He rattled the chains again, and a crackle of white energy surged up through Michelanglo's fingers, cracking through the very being that made him up. A piece of himself fell away like a fleck of paper, and Michelangelo disregarded it.

Donatello... Donatello... Donatello!

He had to find his brother.

He shook the chains, and followed the curve.

A taller Donatello, with a gap in his teeth. He was working in a lab, and looked up at Michelanglo's appearance. The turtle blinked, his mouth falling open. He looked at him, and Michelangelo was about to turn away.

"Wait! Wait! Mikey! Mikey, is that you! Your hands? Look at your hands! Mikey! What are you doing to yourself?" The words were cutting through a fog. Far away, instead of nearby.

Michelangelo looked back at this Donatello, the turtle starting to walk towards him.

He reached... just... Just a little. He wondered if... what would happen if he touched this other version of his brother?

"Don?" a young voice said from an open door, and Michelangelo turned and saw himself. Round, short, and with spots on his cheeks like freckles.

Something about the youthful face unleashed something inside him, and he was angry.

Angry.

How lucky to be innocent. How lucky to have your brothers. How lucky that other Michelangelo must have been... and did he even know it? Did he appreciate it?

He didn't mean to get angry, but he came to his senses with a hand around the new Michelanglo's throat.

He could touch. He could touch. Which meant... It meant he could pull. He could find a Donatello and bring him home. He could find his family-

"Get your hands off my brother!" Someone was screaming, his shout muffled. Like he was speaking with fabric covering his mouth.

They dove for him, and Michelangelo saw a furious face, and cracked breastplate. They passed right through him, as if he was a ghost.

A tear fell from his face and he thought, 'I am a ghost... a ghost.'

"Are you okay?" the turtle that was him, but not him, not he, whispered, and Michelangelo looked back at him. Back into himself.

The round freckled face looked worried, and amazingly calm considering Michelangelo had him pinned to a wall and was strangling him. What was he doing?! Why was he hurting himself?

"Foul beast, you will unhand my son!" A voice roared, low and threatening.

A tall, very tall black shape lunged at him, an energy around nimble sure fingers. This Splinter was sleek and vicious, and he did not hesitate to attack Michelangelo, driving him away.

"You will keep away from my son! I will not go easy on you, no matter what shape you take!" the rat roared in Michelangelo's face.

He closed his eyes and shook the chains, tearing and pulling. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to hurt another version of himself. He didn't want to hurt another family, he just wanted his family! His family!

"ANGELO!" A voice he knew bellowed.

Michelangelo shook the chains, and spun into the arch. Another piece of himself flecked away from his hands.

He was in a white place.

With his back to him, standing alone in the empty white, was Donatello. His.

His!

"D... D... DON!" He shouted, and he could hear his voice.

The turtle shifted, looking at him over his shoulder. The room filled up with screens. Doorways, to paths that Michelangelo had a feeling he could take if he just... tried.

"DONNIE!" He shouted again.

"Don't come here Michael, don't come here. No, not you. Not yet," Donatello whispered, eyes wet and haunted. "Don't you dare."

Like a stab in his heart, his brother's rebuttal hurt him. He tried to step toward him, but translucent chains kept him at bay. He looked down, and realized these were the chains that were keeping him back.

He could break them.

He could break them, and change the weave. Knowing filled him. If he did... he'd shatter completely. But what did it matter if shattered? He curled his hands around the chains, sucking in a sharp breath. He could have his family back! Starting with Donatello!

He looked up, and a screen sailed by his face, mocking him with its imagery. It was all of them together, scaling the Brooklyn bridge. Pizza boxes piled high on Raphael's head. He was being cheered on as he tried to scale the bridge.

Everyone was there, and Michelangelo wanted to be there.

To be in that happy moment again.

He gripped the chains, prepaired the shatter.

"Michelangelo, you listen to me, and you get away from those, right this instant!" Donatello said, his voice echoing out at the turtle like a slap. He couldn't see his brother anymore, but he could hear him, and not just him.

All of the Donatellos.

All were talking to him.

"Don't you dare, Mikey!"

In the mocking image of happiness, he saw something else... something that hadn't been there before.

Casey. Casey Jones, as he knew him, was cheering Raphael on. He looked strange next to the younger versions of his family. Strange in the sense he was dressed like always, in the scraps, they could find in their efforts of the rebellion. But he was smiling, in a mixture of dazed wonder, confusion, and unbridled joy.

This was new...

"Leon! You better grab our baby brother right this instant, or I'll never let you live it down!" His Donatello's voice shouted, snapping Michelangelo from his daze.

"ON IT!" The roar of Leonardo's voice was enough to shake Michelangelo's grip from the chains. He let go, staring with disbelief at what he'd done, and then looked back up.

The room was all white again, but Donatello was there, his eyes wet with unshed angry tears. He pointed a finger in Michelangelo's face, "Miguel, if you try this shit again, I'm going to have to do something reckless, and violent with my hands, WITHOUT tech, and you know how I feel about that!"

Arms wrapped around Michelangelo's chest and he exhaled, unaware that he hadn't been breathing.

Donatello smiled, straightening his spine. Several figures materialized behind him like ghosts. Donatello grinned, "Attaboy Leon. You straighten Miguel out!"

Michelangelo was pulled.

He came into himself, watching a small hole in the fabric of reality closed up. It was the size of a golf ball... but it had felt so big in his hands. There had been so much.

He gasped, taking in a breath, and then was spun, and violently shaken, Leonardo bearing down on him, his eyes glowing with a blue energy that Michelangelo hadn't seen in years. Leonardo took in a sharp breath, his breath catching as he choked on the inhale, "What were you doing? What were you doing!?"

Leonardo pulled Michelangelo into a hug, the smaller turtle's arms hanging uselessly at his sides. They were burning as if he'd dipped them in hot boiling water, pulsing as if electrified. He couldn't move them, not because he couldn't feel them, no... no he was feeling too much.

"What did you do?!" Leonardo rasped, cradling Michelangelo's head, "Your hair it's gray... your face! Mikey!"

"Did you see him? Don... Donnie was there," Michelangelo whispered.

"All I saw was you standing in front of a glowing hall, literally flaking into pieces!" Leonard snarled, crushing his brother to his chest, "What the hell were you doing?"

Donatello had been there.

But so had... had another path. Another option. Something to do with Casey.

"Leo... I gotta tell you something."

There had been chains.

Chains that were keeping him out. He'd break those chains, rip the threads, and change the weave of the world. They were going to be a family again.

He just had to shatter all of himself first.

[bbbbbbbbatman]

Bruce keeping a tighter and tighter lid on his identity around the Justice League because with each new person to reveal their identity he realizes that he has fucked far too high a percentage of his co workers as Bruce Wayne and he has to take this secret to his grave

[merlinemryspendragon]

Do you think anyone saw us? I was not paying much attention to anything. Bridgerton S3E04 - “Old Friends”

[miss-americanbi]

was chatting with my brother about gravity falls (again) and i said something like “man, can you believe stan waited and worked for 30 years just for the chance to try and bring his brother back?” to which my brother responded, “yeah, it’s nuts when you think about it. i wonder if stan got trapped in the multiverse instead, if ford would do the same.” HELLO???

[hinamie]

quick itfs sketch page

[nkogneatho]

when you die, gojo is still in denial. they say there are five stages of grief, yet he still hasn't been past that first phase. he misses it a lot. your touch on his skin. the way you'd trace random lines on his thighs when you were so indulge in a book. and that sudden grip whenever you came across a thrilling part of it. he always chuckled at your sudden "whats" and "awws".

he misses how your voice would always get gentler when you spoke to him. your usual voice was a little loud but whenever you spoke to him, you'd be so sweet and calm.

he misses how you'd outshine anyone and everyone around you. even him. the strongest. your smile was brighter than the diamond on your engagement ring. but life is unfair, isn't it? he was so excited to turn you from his fiánce to his wife, only to find you dead and cold on the ground, the crimson blood filming the diamond, drenching it in itself.

but to this day, even after so many years, he still finds himself in denial when he accidentally (to what it seems like a hundredth accident) calls you his wife mid conversation with someone else. "oh my wife loves this...perfume," he says to the worker, his voice fading in the end when he realizes he was supposed to use past tense. "loved"

"why don't you gift it to her? i am sure she'll love it," the girl smiles. if only she knew.

but he buys it anyway. decorates it with pink ribbons and stuff, even when he knew you were not there to open it anymore. he comes home, sits in one dim light of the bedroom, unwrapping it. he sprays the perfume on one of your dress that he loved. your scent. god he misses it. the cerulean eyes mimic an ocean once again in the wait of his lover. a useless wait for you were never arriving on his door ever again.

[chloesimaginationthings]

The tragedy of being William Afton’s daughter in FNAF..

[yooo-lets-go]

Not made to last

[lorehappy83]

"Grant me your wrath, my dear. For I've become unworthy of your forgiveness"

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[peaktora]

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

[violynt-skies]

the parallels of rottmnt.

-

-

the way rottmnt portrays the cycle of sacrifice and generational trauma through the concept of the hamato tradition is so beyond phenomenal it’s really hard to articulate with just words how hard it really hits. there’s so many parallels btwn splinter & his history/family than can be seen within raph & leo that can also almost be translated to f!leo & casey in some ways, not to mention the parallels btwn karai and leo as well.

the way splinter tried SO hard to break from that cycle, the way he saw how it effected his family and himself and didn’t want to put his family through it again yet it seemed to be inevitable regardless. he never wanted to have to choose btwn his family and the world and yet even when he made that choice in S1, in the end he still ended up losing a family member (karai) in exchange for time to save the world.

and even though he tried to break the chain so hard, the cycle of sacrifice was still adopted into raph and leo in different ways which was later passed down to donnie and mikey.

not to mention the future timeline where they ended up losing EVERYBODY and in the end of the movie casey is met with the same choice of the world over family just as many family members before him have.

the sacrificial bone and need to protect is just so ingrained into the entire family, to the point where the same events just seem to happen over and over no matter what is done.

the cycle of love and loss, protection and sacrifice, family vs the world. over and over.

[tawnysoup]

Commission for @livesworthlivingau depicting a scene from chapter 5 of their Lives Worth Living ISAT AU fic!

CW blood/mild gore

~~~

[riaki]

ur highschool bully gojo was chefs kiss 💋 what do u think about them going to the same college and taking the same classes?? and the reader sitting next/talking to some other guy and satoru gets jealous?? arwahhhshdhshshs so many possibilities, i hope u continue writing it!!

hi nonnie !! thank you so much :) this is ur official part 2 ! i was struggling to think up some possibilities but this helped a lot :oo | read part 1 here ! -> cw: swearing, jealousy, i let it get fic length oops

(former) highschoolbully!gojo on the brain again… like. when you end up seeing him again however many months later, and you can tell that he’s changed. it’s not like its immediately obvious to anyone who doesn’t really know him like you (used to); but he’s a little softer-spoken and his smiles seem nine times more genuine. it’s not a hundred percent; the kind that really lights up his face instead of just barely falling short of his stark blue eyes, but it's something.

of course, you have nothing to base it off of, because when you do inevitably see him again it's the very definition of meet ugly.

college is a new frontier, but its also a clean slate. its your first time going into something so new without your old bestfriend at your side, but some faint flickering thought reminds you that it might be better that way. but the universe is against you from the very first day, when youre gettin yourself some coffee from the same chain you did the morning of that fateful presentation so many moons ago. you're too busy thinking to yourself what kind of strange parting ritual it is to relive your trauma to notice the lanky, white-haired boy who hits his head on the chiming bell over the doorway. people are giggling around you n sighing dreamily but youre too deep in the music pumping through your headphones to notice and your eyes are glued to the class schedule on your phone, trying to ensure you dont get lost on the first day when—

you blink and your ass is flat on the dirty floor of the coffee shop, and the first thing you register is that your stomach is soaked and burning. you'd spilled your coffee. it takes you a moment to realize, but when you do you're pissed. so you quickly get to your feet, trying to reign in what little of your ego you have left to give the offender who bumped into you a piece of your mind as you look up, then..

how unlucky do you have to be?

just like that, satoru's slid himself back into your life, after ramming through its locked gates. you forget that he always forgets the point of keys, both when it comes to his apartment (which you still have the spare key of in case of emergencies), and the door to your heart. to rub salt in the wound, the only thing that's stained with your coffee order are his shoes, which look like they cost three weeks of your old job salary, but it's all over your shirt. of course it is. because why not? make it look like you tripped and fell into a patch of mud on your way to the lecture hall and tack on an unwelcome reunion with your ex-bestfriend.

to you, it's like the cloud of gloom from your highschool youth has resettled over your head like a swarm of gnats on a dreary, hot summer day. the stars always seem to skew and misalign themselves for you. but for satoru, the stars have handed him one of those huge swirly lollipops that you only ever see being paraded about by toddlers. he recovers almost instantly, trading the burn on his feet and the way it sours your expression like he's just squirted pure citric acid into your throat for a pleasant burn of his own on his cheeks. but it's whatever. girls seem to like it when he blushes, for some reason. he won't question it, if it works on the only one he cares about.

he holds his hand out, ready to help you out like the good samaritan he's become— and it's like a real burn to his heart this time when you ignore it and stand up on your own, refusing to look up and meet his pleading gaze. might as well have taken an iron stoker right out of the fire and jabbed him with it. but he's gojo satoru! he won't be defeated by this one mere, maybe very significant reunion. he's got stamina.

so he offers to buy you a new drink, feels his heart sink when you shake your head (can't even spare a little 'no' in his direction), and talks enough for the both of you when you leave the dingy little store make your way down to campus and the lecture building. you clearly don't want to see him, but he ignores that in exchange to notice the way you shiver every so often. the previously searing-hot coffee that stains your shirt turns cold fast, and moisture n wind don't mix well. he wishes he could offer you some of his own warm coffee, no doubt sickeningly sweet, but he has some sensitivity now, apparently. so, in a brash moment, he decides to take his blazer off and drape it over your shoulders instead.

when you cross the threshold between city and campus, you expect him to yank it off your back and be on his merry way. but he keeps walking next to you, so you walk a little faster, and you absolutely loathe the cheeky little grin that curves the corners of his lips up to show a glint of teeth when he effortlessly keeps up. you curse his long legs when you find yourself winded, but at least you can lose him when you get there.

or, that's what you think. once again, your constellations break themselves to rebuild anew for satoru. you're about to call him a stalker when he follows you all the way to your classroom with that smirk that's growing exponentially until— oh, no.

your phone that's been on the schedule up until now desperately scrolls to the roster— and there it is. he's in your class. needless to say, not another word goes between you as you stomp in and take a seat. luckily for you, you've already corresponded with your roommate's brother (who's annoyingly cute, satoru notices) and agreed to sit next to each other. satoru takes the seat right above you and never stops kicking his freakishly long legs against the wood the entire time.

so yeah, it's obvious he's not a saint; he still has that undoable ego and he's cocky as fuck (as you have the misfortune of finding out when he quickly bullies your professor), but there's a certain familiarity in that no matter how ugly it might appear to others. and if you asked (which he really, really hopes you will someday), he doesn't hang around douchebags who use kids' foreheads for ashtrays and treat girls like they're candy from a glittery pez dispenser. and at least he's switched harassment targets. even though he has an overwhelming sense of superiority over others and never has his lips together for more than five seconds, and even though he has this hellish habit of clicking his pen whenever he's not talking (or when someone else is), it seems like he's changed.

and over time, you gradually find yourself warming up to him. the spunkiness that used to get on your nerves ceaselessly becomes an object of endearment, and you don't really mind the way he never seems to stop moving anymore. it's a nice sort of distraction in the lifeless still of the lecture hall, albeit the pen clicking still drives you near insanity. you notice he always does it obnoxiously and quickly when you're talking to your roommate's brother, but you ignore it.

and for satoru? he hates that he can kinda sorta really tell that you're the only one who can read him like he's a damn book, cus you slowly start to soften up in the nostalgia of his presence like cold playdough between warm fingers that tell you he may have finally caught you again after letting you slip the first time. and he notices it. this time, he's determined not to let you be the one that got away again. but youre really giving him a shit time outta it with the way you constantly entertain the guy who always has his breath in your face.

yeah, he's got a cute face that's sunkissed by freckles. yeah, his hair looks like he models for shampoo companies. and fuck, he has a nice voice. but what of it? satoru's the one with the mesmerizing blue irises and the cloudy white hair your professor wishes he had instead of sad little wisps of old age. still, as chilly days turn into frigid weeks, he gets the perfect backseat angle of the growing relationship between the two of you. the boy's kinda dumb so you copy off of satoru’s work when you need to (he has to hide the 1-0 scoreboard between him and the guy on a sticky note from you when you take his notes), but said guy’s always buying you stuff and lending you erasers and laughing when you flick the shavings at the annoying girl who never stops whispering in the front of the room.

satoru tries to act unbothered, and he almost convinces everyone. including himself. but the angry, burning knot in his chest that's entirely different from coffee stains suggests something more. that should be him at your side. him, making balls of paper with rude scribbles and silly doodles to throw at the people he knows you don't like. him, surprising you with little gifts and the cheap trinkets he knows you adore so much instead of all the luxury things he could afford. there's no way this punk could possibly measure up to him, right? but at least you and satoru are well on your way to becoming friends again. not as close as you used to be, but it's something. substantial. and he's learned to be patient in the time you've been gone.

but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't tired of it. he’s endlessly plagued with thoughts of increasing intensity— first, it starts out with just you. only you. the way he likes it. the way he likes your face, and your pretty eyes and your gorgeous lips and your soft hair and your figure and the complimenting clothes you wear. but it takes a turn; thoughts turn into dreams that turn into fantasies and he's lying when he says he doesn't enjoy them when he accidentally lets it slip during a group study session— and it’s all fine— but then, that guy appears. the brat who seems to sit a centimeter closer to you with each coming day. not only does he haunt satoru in real life, he’s tormenting his dreams, too. tainting the image of beautiful you.

needless to say, satoru starts to wake up with his hands gripping his damp pillow like he's choking it, acutely aware of the sweat sliding down his neck and over his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the dorm's air conditioner run and thinking of what it'd be like for dreams (the ones where he replaces the boy) to become reality.

it's a buildup. and soon, he reaches the apex; it's like a rollercoaster, that stomach-twisting moment when you reach the top of the rail that points to the steep descent downward. but this time, he hopes it's a thrill he gets instead of the usual falling fright; the one he got when he realized he’d slipped between your fingers in highschool.

and satoru finally comes to a grinding halt at the top of the ride one breezy fall day when he decides he wants you back in his life after you smile brightly at him and wave goodbye for the day. he’s tired of you having one foot in and one foot out of his heart; he wants, needs more. he always has, he realizes.

so he’s thinking about you and how to approach the feelings he’s realized during those long lectures, and one morning he comes up with some semblance of a plan when he’s high on the sugar from the fruit tea you bought him that morning. and he hopes that, by the end of it, he'll leave your apartment with your hand in his currently empty one, chilled with the remnants of cold condensation from the bottle.

soon enough, satoru finds himself extinguishing his nerves and raising a tense fist to knock on the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and a flimsy plan to ask you out on a midterm study sesh and maybe even a date, but he stops when he realizes it’s slightly ajar. a brief thought of what look might be on your face when he surprises you crosses his mind, so he lets himself in quietly, because he knows every single floorboard that creaks like the back of his palm from his childhood. he’s hit with a wave of warmth and an achingly familiar scent that twists at his heart, and your apartment is cozy and safe and it screams you and he thinks he catches sight of his jacket slung across the back of the couch in your living room, but he’s not sure so he takes a step forward and—

he’s greeted with the sight of that stupid guy with the nice hair and the freckles, and it makes his heart drop. but even worse, he’s kissing you and his arms are winding around your waist but you’re kissing him back with a slight hesitation that’s blinded to satoru by his shock and the fingers he thought would end up in his own tonight card through the boy’s hair and your lips glisten with the strawberry-kiwi flavored gloss he watched the boy give you a few days back and his world is turning red and he feels like his throat is constricting and he can’t breathe—

and he doesn’t even realize you’ve parted lips and you’re calling his name through the newfound tightness of his chest and the painful ringing in his ears thats even louder than any silence of a lecture hall, or the void that should’ve been filled with your voice during the time you were apart. but now satoru realizes he’d take that any fucking chance to have that again because it’s so much better than what he’s stuck with now. having you, but not really having you, because you’re there but you’re someone else’s and you’re not his and he isn’t yours. the best thing he could ever hope for was for you to own an article of his clothing and a piece of his shattered heart, broken into a million fragments. some cruel voice in his buzzing head reminds him to change the scoreboard to 0-100.

and he could buy you cheap hot coffee or earn your smiles from scrunched up paper balls or even hear your laugh with crude jokes, but there’s no point when he realizes he can’t buy you with caffeine or earn you with hitting the back of people’s heads with his bio notes or have you and your laugh all to himself anymore.

it’s almost pathetic, the way satoru’s voice cracks and changes. the look of unadulterated concern on the face of the boy who stole your lips just adds fuel to the fire.

“gojo? what are you doing here— hey, are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

he noticed you’d stopped calling him satoru a few weeks back. he should’ve seen it coming.

“huh? oh, yeah. i’m good. i think you’re the one hallucinating.”

he’d never told a bigger lie in his life.

satoru had left after excusing himself for intruding. how very unlike him to be so polite, you think.

so in the end, he leaves your apartment with something in his hand, after all. but it's not your own— just his blazer that you’d given back to him before he stepped out the door, taunting him with the faint scent of coffee and lingering perfume. his hope was foolish, so it seems. it’s too bad, he thinks. if it were him, he would’ve sandwiched you against your counter while he kissed. but it wasn’t. apparently, it was your turn for your stars to align at the price of his.

and so, gojo satoru, the boy force-turned man with a chipped ego and a completely broken heart, loses you again.

bonus bonus.. part 2….

[kittykalliarts]

For decades, the blank vision that Iudex Neuvillette wears near his heart has been subject to much discussion in Fontaine. Nobody remembers who it had once belonged to or why the ancient dragon protected it so jealously. It is said that if the Chief Justice would to stare at it for a long while, it would be sure to rain right after. Oh, how beloved that person must've been.

[dabigbird]

Like father like son