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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

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Where Your Feet Pass [2]

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Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Pregnant!Reader

nothing but bets and wagers

cw: depression, stress, medical situations, sexism, minor hurt, minor comfort

wc: 4.4k

You miss waking up to the scent of coffee.

There was nothing better than sliding out of bed and slinking off into the kitchen, still blinking the sleep from your eyes, where you would quickly be greeted by a fresh caffeine rush. Invigorating. Tantalizing. A delicious, earthy roast would coat your tongue as you savored the warmth of the mug seeping into the palm of your hands. Birds would chirp outside the window as your husband would approach you from behind where loving arms would wrap around your waist. Soft lips on your earlobe. A whispered promise. Rough stubble against your jaw.

It’s all a sour memory now — something that makes your stomach twist and flutter, and it’s not due to the tiny life growing inside of you. Now, you wake up in an empty bed. The only aroma that greets you is the strange mixture of a stuffy room and the rotten city air that drifts through your open bedroom window. Stale. Decaying. Getting out of bed is difficult now that you don’t have anything to look forward to. If it weren’t for the growing weight on your bladder, and your eighteen week ultrasound appointment, you probably wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all today.

Fresh cut flowers greet you as you exit your bedroom, and their blooms attempt to fight off the stale scent of your new apartment. They’re a beautiful gift from your supervisor, Lilah, that you received yesterday afternoon — complete with a get well soon card and everything. Curly handwriting. Soft, vibrant petals. They’re the only bit of color that exists in your otherwise pale and barren kitchen. You try to use it as a reminder to stay calm and positive; it’s certainly a better reminder than the hospital discharge papers you had sitting there previously.

The last week has been rough. More than rough. Despite your best efforts at decorating, your new apartment has become a prison. White cell walls — stuck in solitary confinement. Alone with your vicious thoughts. There’s nothing more in the world that you want other than to just go outside and enjoy the new summer weather, but with the way your hormones and emotions have been treating you, you’ve realized that’s not the best idea. If you go to the market and see a sweet husband with his kids one more time, you don’t think you’ll ever recover.

What was supposed to be you on a wonderful, calming medical leave has quickly turned into terrible, lonely self isolation.

No matter; everything feels less lonesome when you’re surrounded by good art. Or, maybe you’re still alone, but the colorful paintings you’ve spent half the morning hanging up in your studio are at least a bit comforting. That’s why it’s created, isn’t it? Not only to convey emotion and share a story, but ultimately to make the painter feel less alone? Brilliant turquoise water and soft lilac flowers; Monet’s work has been some of your favorites for as long as you can remember. It certainly brightens up the room, at least. You’re sure you remembered reading somewhere in your lease that you weren’t supposed to use nails to hang things up, but at this point you don’t care. If you get charged extra, you’ll just take it out of Isaac’s account.

Lord knows the bastard can afford it.

All goes well until you’re trying to hang up The Water Lily Pond. The minimal amount of nails you were able to steal from your soon-to-be-ex-husband have run dry, and you’ve still got more paintings to hang. Its ethereal bridge and rippling river will have to wait to be displayed in all its printed glory. No matter. You’ve got to get headed out for your appointment anyway, and maybe on your way back you can pick some up at a hardware store.

That thought makes you pause, and you stop in the center of your half decorated room. Your tongue shrivels up in your mouth. Prunes. Cracks. Turns to a dust that threatens to choke you. Maybe you’d be better off asking someone if they have extras instead.

There’s not much for you to write on. Just simple scraps of paper and old hospital papers you keep around yet can’t stand to look at anymore. You blindly rip off the corners of one of these spare pages and quickly jot down your message:

Hey, do you have any extra nails you’re willing to part with?

- 209

You don’t bother to sign off with your name. You doubt anyone remembers it, anyway, and your apartment number is plenty recognizable. All packed and prepared for your appointment, you make a quick drop by apartment 205 and slide it under Grandma’s door. You’re not sure if an old lady like her would even have what you’re looking for, but between her and Kyle, she’s certainly the less embarrassing one to ask. As soon as that slip of paper is out of sight, you turn on your heels, walk to the end of the hallway — bypassing the still broken lift — and try not to think about anything.

It’s something you fail at. Miserably. Clear mind turns foggy, you think of everything. How stuffy the bus is. How the perfume the receptionist is wearing makes your stomach upset. Synthetic. Strong. How dark the ultrasound room is. The hum of the machines. The warmth from the computer. There’s something sharp that itches your skin in the gown they have you change into, and you don’t like the feeling of the warm gel sliding along your stomach. The tech is putting too much pressure on your stomach. It’s uncomfortable. Pressing. You want someone to hold your hand.

Someone should be holding your hand, but you’re alone. Even though you know it’s better that way — isolated in that room, abandoned — it doesn’t ease the sting. A wave of thoughts wash over you in a salty assault as you wonder what it would have been like if Isaac was there. If he still loved you. If he hadn’t broken you the way that he did. Would his eyes light up at that black and white screen? Would he talk about how proud he is of you? It’s a voracious want — to be loved in the way you always thought you were; the way you should be.

“Would you like to know the gender?”

Gentle and soft, the tech’s voice pulls you out of your mind and you’re brought back to that dark room. Her eyes are trained on the screen as she taps away, taking measurements and tracking progress, yet they flicker over to you, waiting for your answer.

The lump that’s been forming in your throat all morning snakes down your throat painfully slow as you swallow. Before he had decided to get his dick wet, Isaac had insisted that the two of you do a proper gender reveal. Neither of you would find out the gender until later. He’d order catering, invite — mostly his — family; there would be pictures and glorious celebration. Proper excitement for the life the two of you would welcome into the world in a few months —

But now…

“Please,” you say with a smile.

But now, it’s just you.

Giddy, the tech carefully turns the monitor towards you while trying to maintain her angle on your stomach. She’s still pressing vexingly hard on your bladder, but you try not to think about it as you take in the sight of your unborn child as the image pulses on the screen. Dancing in fluid, the little blip floats across the screen with still forming appendages and round head. They’re still surprisingly small for how much room they’re taking up; rearranging your organs, pushing out so terribly on your stomach. Your throat constricts. This is your child.

Yours, and only yours.

“This is the head here, as I’m sure you guessed,” she continues, finger carefully ghosting over the monitor. “Arms, legs, torso… properly formed skull, kidneys look good, lungs are coming in nicely… missing those extra bits, so I’m happy to tell you that you’ve got a healthy little girl cooking in there.”

A girl.

You watch her on the screen. Moisture pricks the corners of your eyes, makes them sting bitterly. How joy can elicit such odd pain is beyond you, but you ignore it in favor of attempting to savor the moment. Her legs kick, and you feel that flutter inside of you. Butterfly wings. Gentle rain on glass. You smile, and it’s just as bitter as everything else brewing inside of you, but your laugh smothers it with honey.

“You’ll let me keep prints, right?” you ask.

The technician nods her head, and ignores the way your voice cracks. “Of course. I’ll print several copies for friends and family, if you’d like?”

“Please.”

Maybe Grandma will take a copy.

This tiny being caught on black and white film is the only thing you can focus on. Even as your OB rattles off about keeping your stress levels down and increasing your potassium intake; your daughter is the only thing you can see. She’s all that matters. Your doctor talks about how high risk you are, and you’re busy counting fingers. There’s concern about your health after you ended up in the hospital a few weeks back, and her words fall on deaf ears. She mentions bed rest, and you’re comparing the size of your daughter's head to the palm of your hand. Small. Impossibly tiny. Still growing. Alluring.

Your baby girl is beautiful already.

Once you’ve made your next appointment for four weeks out, you head back home with a weight lifted off your shoulders. There’s still something insidious lurking around the corner. Tethering you to some pole. Pulling at your feet as you walk up the stairs next to the broken lift. It’s always there. Somewhere hidden. Something unnamed. You ignore it as you open your door and check to see if Grandma has answered your note yet. There’s no sort of response from her, and judging by the fact she’s not in her usual perch in the enclave in the hallway, you imagine she’s out and about doing… old lady things.

Maybe she’s got a family, which is more than you can say for yourself at the moment.

Regardless, you have no interest in decorating the rest of your studio anymore; not when you have the greatest work of art in the palm of your hands. Gentle fragrance washes over you as you enter your kitchen and place the ultrasound photos next to your vase of flowers. You giggle to yourself. What a perfect little shrine. Not even born yet, and you’re already decorating your devotion to her.

Now, you can plan. Put your energy toward something more rewarding than stressing or self depreciation. There are outfits to be bought, essentials to stock up on; names. Beautiful names, regal names, lovable names. Names you get to coo at night when she’s wanting to feed; a name that rolls off of your tongue as you call for her when she’s older. Your lips curl into a trembling smile as your thumb rubs over the smooth surface of the sonogram. You are terrified, but you are so in love.

Then your eyes wander — because they always do — around the counter. That same, pale lettering on the card your supervisor gave you stares back at you like an omen. Haunting. Get well soon! Your throat tightens as your smile fades, and you remember that you’re living in a delusion. What happiness is there to be found carrying the child of a man who couldn’t stay faithful? Or at least not fuck another woman in your shared bed?

With your mood already ruined by Isaac’s mere existence, you push away from the counter as you yank your phone free from your pocket. It’s been neglected these last few days as you’ve been doing your best to ignore him, but whether you like it or not, you’re still stuck with him. Answering his questions, keeping him updated on the baby; because if you don’t, then he’ll find some way to torture it out of you anyway. You’d rather do it on your terms.

You pull up his contact. The last message you had gotten from him was one you hadn’t seen from this morning:

Good morning my lovely.

You try not to gag as you type out your response:

The baby’s a girl.

Rapid knuckles rap against the wood of your door, and you nearly jump out of your skin as you shoot a glare at the entrance. Biting into your lip, you close your phone and discard it back into your pocket as you peer through the peephole. You’re surprised to find Kyle on the other side wearing a grey t-shirt and a dusty, Union Jack cap. Confused, though not repulsed, by his presence, you open the door and greet him with tight-drawn brows.

“Hey.” It’s awkward. Short. You’re certain he can smell your confusion from a mile away.

Instead of calling you out on it, he holds up a small plastic bag that jingles like Christmas bells as he shakes it. Several, miscellaneous-sized nails jump around, bumping into one another with an odd melody. “Got your note.”

He holds the bag out for you to take — polite and cautious — and once you have them in your hands, you can’t help but squint at them. You could have sworn you had slipped that note under Grandma’s door. Well, at least you’ve only made a slight fool of yourself.

“Oh, right, thank you,” you say with a smile, as if this had been the plan all along.

“We’re not supposed to use nails to hang things up, but I always keep extra lying around. They’re more useful and less damaging than that peel-n-stick crap they want you to use,” Kyle humors.

“That, and they’re significantly better at hanging up paintings. Don’t have to worry about them falling off the damn walls,” you chuckle.

Kyle hums as the corner of his lips quirk up. Everything about him is kind and sweet — especially his eyes, which not-so-tactfully look you up and down, lingering on your swelling stomach. It’s a look you’ve gotten used to. Pregnancy has a way of drawing attention. “Need help hangin’ anything?”

You should say no — you want to say no — but you can hear your OB in the back of your mind. Keep stress levels low. Rest in bed as much as possible. And please, keep strenuous activity to a minimum.

“If you’ve got the time.” That sentence leaves your voice shaking. Half finished. Not entirely convinced. “It’s… always better to have a second set of eyes to make sure they’re even, anyway.”

This isn’t the first time Kyle’s been in your apartment. He was in here last week to help you move your monster of a mattress into your bedroom — which you’re still not sure if you’ve thanked him properly for or not. For some reason, your stomach dips when you bring him into your studio. It’s not a place many people see. Or, that many people ever saw when it was still your proper set up when you were living with Isaac. It’s bare bones and gutted, at the moment. A lonely easel sits in the center of the room with no canvas to hold, surrounded by a mixture of works from your favorite artists. Sunlight seeps through the open windows, painting the dull white of the room an alluring gold; for a moment, it almost feels like home.

“Did you paint these?” Kyle asks. He’s staring at one of John William Waterhouse’s paintings. Miranda. A beautiful, fair skinned woman with flaxen hair sits on a large rock on the grey shoreline of a windy beach. Her hands are folded in her lap, patient, as if waiting for something.

“I’m very flattered you think I could paint as well as Waterhouse himself, but that’s just a print,” you chuckle.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

With Kyle’s mastery at maneuvering canvases, and your keen eye, it doesn’t take long to turn your studio from a half finished mess, into a beautifully covered masterpiece. There’s hardly a single inch of wall visible in that entire room.Natural lighting reflects off of the myriad of colors, casting a vibrant glow throughout the room. You smile with your hands on your hips. This is the first bit of triumph you’ve felt in weeks.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Kyle hisses. He’s made the mistake of turning the studio light on, and the bulb overhead sputters and flashes at seizure-inducing speed. He quickly shuts it off, and looks at you with a sheepish grin before clearing his throat. “I’ve got an extra bulb too, if you need it.”

“Don’t worry about it, I put a ticket in with maintenance,” you excuse.

Kyle hums, but doesn’t look entirely convinced that’s going to fix your issue. Still, he keeps quiet as you lead him out of the studio and back through the kitchen toward the exit. Goodbyes are always awkward, especially for someone who was technically accidentally invited over in the first place, and you feel your palms sweating about it already.

While you’re brainstorming ways to excuse him, Kyle’s eyes are wandering. It’s only natural that they do. That floral arrangement is beautiful, after all. Pristine, bright daisies, dainty sunflowers; glorious yellows and greens and whites. It looks too cheerful to be propped up next to a get well card. You can feel the question burning the tip of his tongue, because it’s what everyone always asks. How are you? Feeling any better? Hope things are going well for you-

Your phone buzzes.

It burns a hole in your pocket. You know you shouldn’t look at it. It’s malicious. Evil. Writhing against your body, begging to be paid attention to. Attracting your fingers like a moth to a flame, and before you know it, your hands are ensnared in the web Isaac so painfully crafted for you.

The screen burns your eyes as you look at his message:

I was hoping for a boy.

That memory of Isaac talking about doing a gender reveal party haunts you. He spoke about it as if he were ecstatic; as if he would have been happy no matter the gender. That it was supposed to be a mirthful celebration of the two of you and your unborn child — is this what you had to look forward to? I was hoping for a boy? Would he have looked at you, dejected and torn apart over the fact that this child is a girl? Would he have cheered as loud? Smiled as big? Did he just recently turn into this fiend, or have you been blind this entire time?

How long have you been loving a monster?

“What’s this?”

Kind curiosity interrupts your thoughts, and you look up from your phone to find Kyle scrutinizing over the sonograms on the counter. Your daughter's beautiful features captured on translucent film are muddied against the dark counter top that sits underneath it. There’s hardly a head or torso to be seen in that mess.

“Oh, I had an ultrasound of the kid today. It’s a sonogram,” you explain simply.

He’s bending at the hips now, eyes squinting as he tries to make sense of it. There’s something oddly respectful about the way he doesn’t touch it. Like he’s worried about intruding if he does.

“Here, it’s easier to see if you hold it up to the light. Like this…”

You grab the sonogram off the counter, and you hold it up to the natural light pouring through the open window on the other side of the room. Kyle tilts his head, enamored by the way the image clears up. A whisper of a laugh hangs in the back of his throat.

“I’ve never seen one in person before. Neat thing,” he admits.

It’s strange being so close to him. You can smell brass and soot on his skin, an odd scent you’ve never encountered before, yet one that isn’t entirely unwelcome. Certainly better than the overdose of perfume your receptionist used.

“Do you know what it is?” he asks as you lower the sonogram. He looks at you with genuine curiosity as you lower the picture back to the counter.

“A girl,” you answer sheepishly.

Kyle grins so bright you swear it’s blinding. “Granny’ll be happy to hear that. She placed a bet that you were havin’ a girl.”

Your laugh erupts from your throat without warning, and you find your hand flying to your stomach by reflex. “Did she really?” He nods. “And what did you bet, then?”

His shining grin melts more into a cheeky smirk as he glances towards the exit before looking back at you. “I bet on it being a girl, too. Guess we’re both winners.” He pauses, eyes once again falling to your stomach before landing back on your face, eyes softening. “But no one’s more lucky than you, I imagine.”

Most days, you don’t feel lucky. If anything, you’re haunted. Carrying around some sort of terrible ghost that lingers in your pocket. Cunning. Malicious. But today, in that room, getting to see your daughter? Knowing that this is your daughter? It made you feel like the happiest woman on earth, if only for a moment.

“You might be right about that,” you giggle in agreement.

There’s a gentle moment the two of you share. A hidden jocundity that you weren’t able to properly share with anyone else. But it’s short lived. Smothered and snuffed out before it can properly blossom, and then you’re walking Kyle to the door. He hesitates to step through the threshold, fingers twitching with intent, digging deep into the pocket of his jeans before holding out a small piece of paper toward you.

You recognize it as the note that you wrote on earlier — and swore you gave to Grandma and not him — but it’s got extra writing on the back. A phone number; scrawled in some of the most perfect handwriting you’ve ever seen.

“Take this. Just in case you need anything else. I’m usually gone most of the day because of work, so texting or calling is easier. If it’s all the same to you,” he explains.

You slip the paper between your fingers before folding it into your pocket where you silently pray you’ll never need it. Kyle is a good man, truly. Sweet, charismatic, and more than handsome — a model citizen, you suppose. But you know how it looks. A — soon to be — single, hopefully soon-to-be-divorced woman, pregnant, and living on her own? If people don’t think Kyle’s doing charity work, they’ll certainly think more malevolent of you.

Gold digger, pathetic, lonely woman that can’t take care of herself, can hardly keep a relationship, only hanging around this poor sod so he’ll take care of her kid no doubt. Lord knows she can’t take care of it herself-

“Thanks,” you smile.

When the door closes behind Kyle, he notices Grandma has magically appeared in her usual spot. Old, creaking rocking chair, same frail hands working yarn into clothes; she sits unbothered. She wasn’t there when he first arrived home, but she’s apparated like a damn witch.

“Was that your doing?” he asks, thumb jamming over his shoulder as he approaches the ancient crone.

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear,” she chirps.

“The note, asking about extra nails? She didn’t slide that under my door, did she?” Kyle explains.

Grandma shrugs. “I didn’t have any. Figured an able-bodied man like yourself would.”

A peeved sigh passes between Kyle’s teeth as he fumbles for his keys, head hanging low. Gunpowder and dirt cling to his body like a second skin. Filthy. Rotten like he is when he’s out in the field. He’d spent most of the day out at the range. You probably thought he was disgusting.

“Well, a little warning next time, if you would. She looked at me like I was crazy when she opened that door,” he requests as he turns toward his door. He pauses, hand outstretched and ready to unlock the door, when he remembers something. “Oh, we were right. She’s havin’ a girl.”

Crooked, yellow teeth flash in a quick grin as Grandma chuckles and pulls her knitting close to her chest. “Oh, good. I’ve already knitted three pink hats for the darling.”

Her happiness is an infectious sort of jovial that seeps into even Kyle’s skin, but his smile is quick to fade when he thinks back to the flowers and card that sat next to those sonograms. Something so bleak next to literal gifts of life — get well soon.

“You think she’s alright? Living on her own, I mean,” Kyle asks, voice low and quiet as if the very walls will whisper his words to you if he’s too loud. “I know it’s not my place but… it’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

A tangible solemness taints the air, forcing Grandma’s smile into a down-turned frown. Then, her lips set straight as she gets back to knitting.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” is all she says in answer.

“You think she lost her husband? She’s got ring rash, but no ring,” Kyle ventures.

The sound that exudes from Grandma is something he’s never heard from her before. It’s sour, bilious even. Her hands begin to work twice as fast than they did before.

“A woman who loses her husband is beside herself. She’s got too much anger for that, Kyle, and I think you’re smart enough to figure that out, too,” she replies.

That was a possibility he had imagined as well. Some idiot bastard, abandoning his pregnant wife during her time of need. It’s not unheard of. There are a lot of odious people on this earth — he’s very aware. Yet, a part of him had hoped — as sick as it is — that whoever you had been with had only died. It’s a different type of betrayal. To be loved beyond death would certainly be more comforting than to be loved until that affection suddenly ran dry.

“Suppose you’re right,” Kyle mutters.

The key slides into the lock easily, like a knife through flesh, and it almost makes him laugh. Look at him. What a tricky little monster, trying to care for someone so soft when he can recall the way blood gushes free around cold steel.

“Keep an eye on her, Kyle. I’m getting old. Won’t be around forever,” Grandma says, tone too steady to be joking.

He doesn’t look back as he opens the door.

“Yes ma’am.”

#gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #f!reader #where your feet pass

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suiana · 1 year

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collab with my lovely pookie @yxami 😘😘😘

✎ yandere! reincarnator headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― obsessiveness , possessiveness, crazy Yan or smth idk etc.

(gn! reader x gn yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! reincarnator who's been pining after you ever since they first laid their eyes on you. they could just tell that you were meant to be together!

✎ yandere! reincarnator who's been toxic ever since their first life. their first life as a handsome guy... you thought it would have been fine to be with them but it turns out he's a little off in the head. oh well, it's fine, once his life ends you'll be back to walking this earth alone as usual once more, right?

✎ yandere! reincarnator who died in their first life while trying to get you to stay with them. no-! don't leave them! wait no, you're about to get hit! and he pushes you out of the way, blind to the fact that you wouldn't have died even if the truck hit you.

✎ yandere! reincarnator who didn't want to die, desperately wanting to stay with you as they makes a wish that gets granted by someone above, turning them into a reincarnator.

✎ yandere! reincarnator who had initially cursed the gods. no! they didn't want to be a reincarnator! they just wanted to extend their life a little longer so they could be with you till you both died! but then he saw you, the same as ever even after twenty years had passed. wait, did you not age..? were you... immortal?

✎ yandere! reincarnator who's astounded when you reveal that you're actually an immortal. oh..? so you'd be there for them in every life! ah! they just knew it! you two were just meant to be!

✎ yandere! reincarnator who pursues you in all of their lives. it doesn't matter because they'll find you. they'll find you and make you theirs. again and again and again. and you go along with it each and every time because you were bored.

✎ yandere! reincarnator who reincarnated into a female body in their latest life. oh... this body is so pretty... they'll have fun chasing after you in this new body ♡

✎ "y/n... I'm back~"

"my love... you'll never escape me."

they coo, dress fluttering in the wind as they stand in the middle of a field of flowers. they looked ethereal, almost angelic if it weren't for the blood staining their dress.

you sighed, shaking your head as you stared at the reincarnator. seriously, even after so many lives, after so many years, they were the same as ever. crazily obsessed and not right in the head.

you had tried to change them and their obsessive ways on multiple occasions, help them out a bit. after all, you had nothing better to do than spend time with them. your family was long dead and you were practically alone. though the help you offered obviously didn't work.

coming back in many different forms, they pursued your love in a more crazed way each time. they gradually got worse, mental health at a rapid decay with each reincarnation.

just a few lives back they wouldn't have considered murder yet they're doing it now so lifelessly? you were disappointed. but you supposed that it would make sense. they have lived multiple lives after all. and living multiple lives without any break... it really does take a toll on one's mental health. not to mention they were already crazy in their first life.

yet you couldn't help but stay with them in every life. they always found you after all. you had tried hiding away from them, yet as if some god was laughing at you, they'd manage to find you. it was like you two were actually meant to be.

so you gave in, allowing them to love you in their weird obsessive way. even at the cost of other people and their lives. you had tried to stop them, not wanting others to die just because of their obsessiveness but they never listened. it was a little sad but what could you do?

they just simply did not want to listen. and it seems like they were favoured by the gods for they were always born in a wealthy and privileged family. a family that would always cover up all their crimes...

you sighed, looking at the reincarnator wearing a floral sundress that was stained in red.

"just... come here already. let's go back."

they smiled, kicking away the body of a tall male they murdered after they caught him staring at you. you muttered a small prayer and stared at the dead body for another second before having the reincarnator hang off your arm.

"let's go~"

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #gn yandere #gn reader #yandere reincarnator #yandere reincarnator x reader #yandere reincarnator headcanons

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daughter-s-of-cain · 2 months

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5thcult · 2 months

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#southern gothic #photography #urban photography #rural photography #rural decay #rural gothic #female hysteria #female manipulator #midwest gothic #ethel cain #ethereal #abandoned #5thcult

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mysticstronomy · 22 days

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WHAT IS "NOTHING" IN SPACE??

Blog#433

Wednesday, September 4th, 2024.

Welcome back,

We can define physical reality pragmatically as all that which exists in the cosmos, and there is no such thing as complete emptiness in it. Quite the opposite, it seems that the more we learn about nature, the busier space becomes. We can contemplate the idea of a metaphysical emptiness, a complete void where there is nothing. But these are concepts we make up, not necessarily things that exist. Even calling nothingness a “thing” makes it into something.

Leucippus and Democritus, the Greek philosophers credited with the invention of atomism — that everything is made of tiny bits of matter that cannot be divided — suggested the joint existence of atoms and the void. Atoms make up everything that exists, but they move in a complete emptiness, the void.

As an exercise in the always evolving way we figure things out about the world, we can make a list of the things we know fill up empty space. (The list does change. For example, 120 years ago, it would have included the ether, the medium in which light was supposed to propagate.)

Starting with classical physics, the key concept is that of a field. A field is a spatial manifestation of a source. If an object sensitive to the field is placed within its range, it will respond in some way, usually by being attracted to or repelled by the source that creates the field.

In classical physics we know of only two forces, gravitational and electromagnetic. Every object with mass attracts every other object. You attract and are attracted by everything that exists — by butterflies and whales, by the Sun and all the planets of this Solar System and across the Universe.

The intensity of an object’s gravitational field grows in proportion to its mass and decays with the square of the distance to it. In that sense, space is filled with interconnected fields that link us to the rest of the Universe.

Gravitational fields extend their threads to all corners of space. Since fields carry energy, we can say that space is filled with the energy of these gravitational fields. Electromagnetic fields also have energy, of course. But since electric and magnetic forces can be attractive and repulsive, they usually are neutralized and rarely manifest themselves at great distances.

At the quantum level, space gets even busier. Indeed, quantum physics tells us there is no such thing as zero energy. In the world of atoms and subatomic particles, movement is constant, and there is an energy associated with a particle’s residual motion called zero point energy, or vacuum energy.

If we now connect this fact to the famous E=mc2 formula, which states that energy and matter may be interconvertible, it is possible for particles of matter to spring out from the energy of the vacuum — the energy of empty space.

The Universe itself could emerge in this way, as we have discussed. The fact that matter may come out of what we would call “nothing” shows that the “nothing” of quantum physics is far from a complete void. Virtual particles appear and disappear like bubbles in a boiling soup. In the current view of quantum physics, the void bubbles continuously with the creation and destruction of matter particles.

We met the concept of fields in classical physics, but it carries over to quantum physics with even more dramatic effects. We no longer refer to particles, in fact, but to the fields that create them. An electron or a proton is an excitation of the electron or the proton fields, respectively, like small waves drifting on the surface of a lake.

Particles are pictured as knots of energy moving in their fields, with physical properties like mass.

The physical picture that emerges is that of space filled with quantum fields that boil up with real and virtual particles. As the Fox said to the Little Prince in Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s fable, “What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” This is as true for love and friendship as it is for the “nothingness” of space.

Originally published on https://bigthink.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, September 7th, 2024)

"WHY IS EVERYTHING IN SPACE ALWAYS MOVING??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #universe #spacecraft #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography

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shintin · 11 months

Text

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

Back to masterlist

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

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luckshmi · 3 months

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Purva Bhadrapada | World Wanderer

Purva Bhadrapada, unfolds a cosmic dance that intertwines mythology, symbolism, and the mysteries of the universe. Governed by the celestial forces of Saturn and Jupiter, this Nakshatra is home to the enigmatic deity Aja Ekapada, often associated with the awe-inspiring form of Lord Shiva as Nataraja. This article delves into the profound symbolism embedded in Purva Bhadrapada, connecting the dance of creation and destruction with elements ranging from Hindu mythology to modern physics, exploring the dualities of existence and the spiritual journey

Nataraja - The Cosmic Dancer

In the ethereal realm of divine dance, Nataraja, the one cosmic manifestation of Lord Shiva, continues to unfold a mesmerizing tapestry that captures the essence of creation, destruction, and the cyclical nature of existence. This celestial dance, a sublime choreography known as Pralaya, resonates with profound symbolism that transcends the boundaries of mythology, offering a timeless allegory for the eternal transformation of energy in the cosmic order.

The untamed locks of Lord Shiva, a visual manifestation of asceticism, stand in stark contrast to his role as a householder. This duality encapsulates the multifaceted nature of Shiva, symbolizing his ability to seamlessly oscillate between the transcendent and the worldly. The unruly hair, flowing freely as he dances, represents a rejection of societal norms, an embodiment of the ascetic spirit that eschews material attachments while actively participating in the cosmic drama

The sacred Ganges, coursing through the tangled strands of Shiva's hair, assumes a pivotal role in the cosmic dance. Its descent from the heavens to Earth is not merely a celestial event but a symbolic act guided and protected by Shiva. This divine intervention not only breaks the fall of the sacred river but also alludes to the interplay between the celestial and terrestrial realms. The Ganges, now residing in Nataraja's locks, becomes a potent symbol of purity, spirituality, and the interconnectedness of the cosmic forces.

The crescent moon, delicately placed in Shiva's matted hair, holds profound significance in the cosmic ballet. Its waxing and waning influences Kama Dev, the god of nightly love, breathing life into the changing seasons that govern the universe. The rhythmic dance of Nataraja, guided by the lunar phases, symbolizes the perpetual cycle of birth, growth, decay, and regeneration. In this celestial choreography, Shiva orchestrates the cosmic symphony, ensuring the harmonious flow of life's eternal dance.

At the heart of Nataraja's dance is Pralaya, the cosmic dissolution that marks the end of an existing order. This transformative phase emphasizes the impermanence of the material world and the continuous cycle of creation and annihilation. As Shiva engages in the rhythmic dance, the universe dissolves into him, highlighting the profound truth that energy can neither be created nor destroyed; it only undergoes perpetual metamorphosis.

In Shiva's hand, the damaru, an hourglass-shaped drum, reverberates with a rhythmic beat that echoes the cosmic pulse. This incessant sound symbolizes the ceaseless recreation of the universe. The damaru's beats resonate with the vibrations that underpin the fabric of reality, creating a cosmic harmony that sustains the intricate dance of life, death, and rebirth.

The serpent coiled around Nataraja's arms in the cosmic dance further amplifies the symbolism within Purva Bhadrapada. The serpent, often a symbol of primal energy and kundalini, signifies the power over deadly creatures and echoes the transmigration of human souls. As the serpent sheds its skin, symbolizing rebirth, it mirrors the cyclical nature of existence, reinforcing the idea that life is an ever-evolving journey of transformation and renewal.

As Nataraja's cosmic dance unfolds, the symbolism embedded in each gesture and element becomes a profound meditation on the nature of existence.

Aja Ekapada

In this sacred Nakshatra, the celestial dance of Lord Shiva takes on profound layers of symbolism, weaving an intricate tapestry that extends far beyond the cosmic dance of Nataraja. Aja Ekapada, the presiding deity of this Nakshatra, emerges as a symbolic powerhouse.

Described as a kind of Agni, Aja Ekapada embodies the transformative power of fire. The flames of Agni in Hindu tradition represent not only the destructive force but also the purifying and regenerative aspects. In the context of Purva Bhadrapada, this fiery essence takes on multifaceted roles, resonating with the rituals of funeral rites, the tumultuous energy of storms, and the mysterious realm of black magic and occult practices. Aja Ekapada, in its fiery form, becomes a symbol of transition, where the old dissolves to make way for the new.

Purva Bhadrapada intricately weaves together various elements, creating a complex narrative that bridges Hindu mythology with the intricacies of our physical and spiritual existence. The mention of spinal nerves, sacrificial altars, and guardians of goddesses adds layers of depth to this celestial story. The spinal nerves, conduits of electrical signals between the brain and the body, symbolize the interconnectedness of our physical and spiritual selves. The sacrificial altars evoke the idea of offering and surrender, essential elements in the journey of self-realization. Guardians of goddesses suggest protective forces that guide and shape our spiritual path.

The symbolism deepens with references to tiger skin, pillars, and the fiery red color. Tiger skin, traditionally associated with Lord Shiva, represents the conquest of fear and the taming of primal instincts. Pillars stand as symbols of support and stability, echoing the cosmic pillar of the universe upheld by Shiva in his dance. The fiery red color, reminiscent of Agni's flames, symbolizes the intensity of transformation and the dynamic energy inherent in Shiva's cosmic dance.

Science

The intersection of Vedic symbolism and modern scientific concepts unveils a captivating tapestry that bridges the ancient and the contemporary. This essay further explores the profound parallels between the cosmic dance of Nataraja and scientific phenomena like the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, the Higgs boson, and the cosmic dance of subatomic particles. The metaphorical connection crafted by Carl Sagan serves as a beacon, guiding us through the seamless integration of ancient wisdom with our evolving understanding of the cosmos

The Einstein-Rosen Bridge, often colloquially referred to as a wormhole, represents a hypothetical tunnel-like structure connecting two separate points in spacetime. In the dance of Nataraja, we find intriguing parallels with the concept of the cosmic dance of subatomic particles, where the rhythmic beat of Shiva's damaru symbolizes the underlying pulse of the universe and a bridge in space and time. The concept of a bridge that transcends the ordinary dimensions of space and time echoes the transcendental nature of Nataraja's dance, a cosmic ballet that extends beyond the boundaries of conventional understanding.

In Vedic symbolism, Nataraja's dance represents the eternal cycles of creation, preservation, and dissolution. The Einstein-Rosen Bridge, if ever realized, would serve as a cosmic conduit, allowing particles and perhaps even information to traverse vast cosmic distances instantaneously. The dance of Nataraja, likewise, serves as a bridge between the material and the spiritual, embodying the interconnectedness of all existence.

The Higgs boson, often dubbed the "God particle," is a subatomic particle that bestows mass upon other particles through the Higgs field. The Higgs boson, as a fundamental particle shaping the fabric of the universe, parallels Shiva's role in creating different seasons and rejuvenating life through the waxing and waning of the moon.

Nataraja's dance, representing the dissolution of the existing order and the eternal transformation of energy, aligns with the transformative nature of the Higgs boson. Both concepts speak to the fundamental aspects of existence, emphasizing the interconnectedness of particles and cosmic forces in shaping the universe's intricate dance.

The dance of subatomic particles, a mesmerizing ballet occurring at the quantum level, mirrors the celestial dance of Nataraja. As particles interact and exchange energy, creating a dynamic interplay, Shiva's dance resonates with the intricate choreography of the quantum realm. The damaru's rhythmic beat in Nataraja's hand finds its parallel in the pulsating nature of particles, creating waves and resonances that echo through the cosmos.

The concept of the cosmic dance of subatomic particles delves into the interconnectedness of all matter and energy, akin to the interconnected gestures and postures in Nataraja's dance. The dance becomes a metaphor for the underlying unity in the seemingly diverse and complex fabric of the universe, where every movement holds significance in the cosmic symphony.

Carl Sagan, a luminary in popularizing science, drew a metaphorical connection between the cosmic dance of Nataraja and the scientific understanding of the 'cosmic dance' of subatomic particles. Sagan's eloquent exploration aligns with the broader theme of the essay, highlighting the synergies between ancient wisdom and modern scientific inquiry. The metaphor invites us to contemplate the cosmic ballet on both macro and micro scales, emphasizing the unity that pervades the cosmos.

Sagan's metaphorical bridge between the dance of Shiva and the dance of particles serves as a testament to the enduring relevance of Vedic symbolism in contemporary scientific discourse. It prompts us to consider the possibility that the ancient seers, through their symbolic language, may have intuited truths about the nature of the universe that are only now being revealed through the lens of advanced scientific instruments and theories.

Mad Scientist Archetype

One intriguing facet of Purva Bhadrapada finds resonance with the archetypal figure of the 'Mad Scientist.' Delving into the layers of this Nakshatra, we discern how its inherent themes align with the characteristics commonly associated with the 'Mad Scientist' archetype.

Symbolized by the two-faced man, encapsulates the theme of duality. This duality is not merely a surface-level contrast but a profound exploration of contrasting energies coexisting within an individual. The 'Mad Scientist,' often portrayed as a genius teetering on the edge of sanity, mirrors this duality. The scientist's transformational experiments and unconventional pursuits underscore a journey into the realms of both brilliance and madness, akin to the cosmic dance of Purva Bhadrapada.

Aja Ekapada, embodies the fiery essence of unconventional thinking and innovation. The 'Mad Scientist,' driven by a relentless pursuit of knowledge and discovery, often defies societal norms and embraces uncharted territories in the pursuit of scientific breakthroughs. Purva Bhadrapada's influence fosters an environment where unconventional ideas are not only accepted but embraced as a means of unraveling hidden truths.

Purva Bhadrapada's connection with occult practices, black magic, and mystical realms draws parallels with the 'Mad Scientist's' often secretive and esoteric experiments. Both explore the boundaries of the known and the unknown, pushing the limits of human understanding. The Nakshatra's association with Aja Ekapada as a deity of funeral rites and storms aligns with the archetypal scientist's relentless pursuit of unlocking the mysteries of life and nature.

The 'Mad Scientist' archetype frequently grapples with the ethical implications of their experiments. Similarly, Purva Bhadrapada, with its two-faced symbolism, reflects the dual nature of morality. The Nakshatra challenges conventional notions of right and wrong, encouraging a deeper exploration of the shades of gray that exist in the pursuit of knowledge and power.

This Nakshatra's emphasis on transformation and the eternal dance of creation, preservation, and dissolution echoes the 'Mad Scientist's' quest to transform not only the world but themselves. The scientist's pursuit of knowledge often involves a personal transformation, blurring the lines between sanity and madness, mirroring the cyclical nature depicted in Purva Bhadrapada.

Purva Bhadrapada's connection with the sacrificial alter and its association with Aja Ekapada as a deity of storms and black magic aligns with the 'Mad Scientist's' often sacrificial commitment to their visionary pursuits. The archetype willingly sacrifices personal well-being and societal acceptance in their relentless pursuit of scientific knowledge, echoing the sacrificial undertones embedded in the Nakshatra's symbolism.

The enigmatic nexus between Purva Bhadrapada and the 'Mad Scientist' archetype unveils a shared terrain of duality, transformation, and unconventional exploration. Both embody a ceaseless dance between brilliance and madness, pushing the boundaries of human understanding.

In the realm of cinema, the portrayal of Robert De Niro (PBP Moon) and James McAvoy (PBP Ketu) in roles associated with the 'Mad Scientist' archetype serves as compelling examples of the enduring fascination with characters who delve into the boundaries of morality, creation, and the consequences of playing god. Robert De Niro's depiction as Frankenstein's monster in the film captures the essence of the 'Mad Scientist' archetype. Dr. Victor Frankenstein's relentless pursuit of scientific knowledge leads to the creation of a creature he seeks to destroy, only to face the repercussions of his actions as the monster returns with a thirst for revenge. The narrative unfolds the classic trope of a scientist grappling with the unintended consequences of tampering with the natural order.

Similarly, James McAvoy's portrayal in a film centered around Victor Frankenstein underscores the archetype's thematic complexity. In this iteration, Victor collaborates with Igor Strausman for groundbreaking research on immortality, a quest that propels them into the precarious realm of manipulating life and death. The narrative takes a horrific turn, reflecting the archetype's tendency to unleash forces beyond human control. Igor, recognizing the potential havoc, attempts to intervene, highlighting the ethical dilemmas that often accompany the 'Mad Scientist' as they tread on the thin line between scientific advancement and moral consequences. These cinematic portrayals stand as poignant reminders of the archetype's timeless allure, exploring the intricate dance between genius and the unforeseen repercussions of pushing the boundaries of scientific exploration.

Jekyll & Hyde Archetype

In the exploration of Purva Bhadrapada's deep symbolism reveals striking parallels with the dichotomy embodied by Dr Jekyll and his malevolent alter ego, Mr Hyde.

The central theme of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde mirrors Purva Bhadrapada—the duality within a single individual. This Nakshatra encapsulates the idea that within the human psyche, contrasting energies coexist, often in an intricate dance that blurs the lines between good and evil. Dr Jekyll's internal struggle with his dual nature reflects the nuanced exploration of light and shadow inherent in Purva Bhadrapada.

Both Purva Bhadrapada and the Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde narrative revolve around the transformative power within. The Nakshatra's emphasis on creation, preservation, and dissolution aligns with Dr Jekyll's quest to transform his own nature. However, just as Purva Bhadrapada's dance entails a cycle of transformation, Dr Jekyll's experiments lead not only to his liberation but also to the release of the malevolent Mr Hyde, the embodiment of his darker impulses.

Purva Bhadrapada delves into the dual nature of morality, challenging conventional notions of right and wrong. Similarly, Dr Jekyll's experiment represents a bold foray into the blurred boundaries between societal morality and personal desires. The internal conflict faced by Dr Jekyll in resisting the temptations embodied by Mr Hyde echoes the Nakshatra's exploration of the fine line between righteousness and temptation.

The Nakshatra's association with Aja Ekapada, embodying fiery funeral rites and occult practices, parallels Dr Jekyll's unconventional scientific pursuits. Both delve into realms beyond the ordinary, challenging societal norms and exploring the mysteries that lie beneath the surface. The 'mad scientist' archetype, represented by Dr Jekyll in this context, aligns with Purva Bhadrapada's inclination toward unorthodox paths of knowledge.

There is a profound exploration of the consequences of unleashing inner demons. The malevolent aspects of the Nakshatra, symbolized by storms, black magic, and occult influences, find their counterpart in Mr Hyde's unrestrained malevolence. The collateral damage wrought by Dr Jekyll's experiments becomes a cautionary tale, underscoring the potential dangers of delving too deep into the mysteries of the self.

In the eternal cosmic dance symbolized by Purva Bhadrapada, we find echoes of Dr Jekyll's struggle, a timeless reminder that the exploration of one's depths is a venture fraught with both enlightenment and peril.

The cinematic landscape, adorned with diverse narratives, often unfolds tales that mirror the timeless archetype of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, encapsulating the nuanced exploration of dual personas within a single individual. In the Bollywood film "Chehre Pe Chehra," the enigmatic Rekha(PBP Moon) takes center stage in a narrative reminiscent of the classic duality of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde. The storyline unravels the complexities of human nature, unveiling the transformation of characters and the consequences of inner conflict.

Similarly, Michael Caine (PBP Sun), in a Victorian era setting, personifies the archetype in a cinematic rendition where scientific experiments into the dual nature of man yield a personality-splitting drug. His portrayal echoes the timeless struggle with the darker facets of the human psyche, bringing forth the uninhibited brute, Mr Hyde, who seeks violent and undignified pleasures. Caine's performance exemplifies the enduring allure of the Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde archetype, showcasing the perpetual fascination with the exploration of contrasting elements within the human soul.

In a comedic twist, Eddie Murphy (PBP Mercury)'s character in a narrative involving genetics and self-experimentation provides a contemporary lens to the archetype. The transformation from an extremely overweight genetics professor to an obnoxious figure after experimenting with a slimming potion mirrors the transformative themes of the Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde archetype. The narrative delves into the consequences of tampering with one's physical form, drawing parallels to the eternal struggle between light and shadow within.

Bipasha Basu (PBP Ketu)'s portrayal in a film called Alone, where an evil spirit seeks to wreak havoc in the life of Sanjana, with connotations of sibling rivalry and jealousy, bears semblance to the archetype. The dual personas within the character reflect the intricate dance between good and malevolent forces, akin to the timeless narrative of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

In these cinematic examples, the Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde archetype persists as a timeless and captivating theme, transcending genres and cultures. Each portrayal underscores the fascination with the internal struggle, the consequences of self-experimentation, and the perpetual dance between conflicting facets of the human psyche.

Fallen Angel Archetype

After delving into the layers of Purva Bhadrapada's symbolism unveils striking parallels with the poignant narrative of celestial beings descending from grace—a theme intrinsic to the fallen angel archetype.

Purva Bhadrapada, mirrors the fallen angel's descent from celestial realms into the complexities of earthly existence. This Nakshatra encapsulates the idea that within the celestial and divine, dualities coexist, often leading to a profound journey of self-discovery and transformation. The fallen angel archetype, speaks to the intricacies of navigating through contrasting energies and the challenges posed by the earthly realm.

The fallen angel archetype often involves a narrative of temptation and rebellion against the divine order. Similarly, Purva Bhadrapada's association with Aja Ekapada, embodying fiery funeral rites, storms, and occult practices, suggests a journey marked by the allure of forbidden knowledge and a departure from established norms. The Nakshatra's exploration of the boundaries between morality and temptation resonates with the theme of celestial beings succumbing to earthly desires in the fallen angel narrative.

In the fallen angel archetype, the descent is often accompanied by themes of sacrifice and the potential for redemption. Purva Bhadrapada's connection with the sacrificial alter and its association with a form of Rudra, storms and black magic aligns with the archetype's emphasis on sacrifice as a means of grappling with the consequences of the descent. The possibility of redemption, a recurring motif in the fallen angel narrative, echoes the Nakshatra's transformative energy and the cyclical nature of creation, preservation, and dissolution

Both Purva Bhadrapada and the fallen angel archetype occupy a liminal space between the celestial and the earthly. The Nakshatra's dance, representing the eternal cycles of creation and dissolution, mirrors the fallen angel's journey of navigating the delicate balance between divine origins and the complexities of earthly existence. The archetype captures the essence of beings caught between realms, embodying a poignant struggle for self-discovery and spiritual evolution.

Purva Bhadrapada's symbolism emphasizes the liberation achieved through the descent into the earthly plane. The fallen angel archetype, too, explores the concept of liberation through the transformative journey of descending into the human experience.

Both of these narratives invite contemplation on the complexities of existence, the interplay between divine and earthly energies, and the eternal dance between temptation and redemption—a dance that echoes through the corridors of mythology and astrology, captivating the human imagination across cultures and epochs.

High Priestess Archetype

The High Priestess archetype embodies the essence of occult wisdom, esoteric knowledge, and an intuitive connection to the cosmic dance—a dance that Purva Bhadrapada orchestrates with its transformative energies and mystical allure.

This energy is marked by an innate intuitive insight. Individuals under this influence possess a deep connection to the unseen realms, navigating the cosmic dance with a heightened sensitivity to the energies that surround them. Like the high priestess who guards the threshold between worlds, those attuned to Purva Bhadrapada can peer into the veiled mysteries of existence.

Purva Bhadrapada is a repository of occult wisdom, and individuals embodying this archetype hold the keys to esoteric knowledge. They become the keepers of ancient secrets, wielding the transformative power inherent in the cosmic dance. There is a profound connection to sacred rituals and ceremonies. Aja Ekapada's association with funeral rites, storms, and occult practices aligns with the priestess's role in conducting rituals that bridge the mundane and the divine. Purva Bhadrapada becomes a cosmic altar where transformative energies are harnessed through sacred rites.

This archetype mirrors the Nakshatra's dance of creation, preservation, and dissolution, revealing the cyclical nature of spiritual evolution. The priestess guides the seeker through the labyrinthine paths of transformation, facilitating a journey into the depths of the soul.

Purva Bhadrapada unfolds its cosmic dance through the lens of the mysterious high priestess archetype. It invites individuals to explore the depths of intuition, occult wisdom, and transformative energies, guiding them through the sacred rituals of spiritual evolution.

To be continued ..

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