#despite still struggling with grief and depression

[msviolacea]

Happy birthday to me. It’s a very weird mood day for a variety of reasons, but I’m going to focus on the fact that I have pumpkin cake, a day off on Friday, and plans to go to the Ren Fest on Sunday. 

If you feel like celebrating, send me the name of a song you’re digging right now. Birthday is always a good day to make a new playlist!

[pirateborn-a]

     thinks ab love as strength thinks about love as strength and how roger loves Life and his friends So so much and how it drives him and how he truly believes in love without question and how that in turn inspires the same kind of devotion and---

[wormieapple]

please understand that i will never and can never condone John Winchester’s actions but some of y’all really don’t understand what “he did the best he could” means.

he neglected and at the very least emotionally abused his kids, and there’s a pretty good argument that he might’ve physically abused them as well. he isolated them, prevented them from forming any lasting relationships outside of immediate family, left them alone for days if not weeks on end with firearms and very little food. And that’s not even the half of it. and everything he did was a manifestation of grief and drive to protect his family. which does not in the slightest justify how he treated sam and dean, but it does lay out his morals and motives pretty clearly.

He loves his kids, he really does. and while struggling to deal with his own trauma he was doing everything he could in his mind to keep them safe. but that doesn’t make his best enough, not by a long shot. that doesn’t even make his best efforts good efforts. at the end of the day he abused his kids and royally fucked up their ability to cope with their own grief and trauma in ways that i cannot touch with a 10ft pole rn or i’ll be writing 57 essays right here and now.

and again i hate john just as much as the next person but he did not set out to abuse his kids. he didn’t have nefarious intentions when it came to how he raised his kids. he was a good person who turned into an abusive asshole due to grief, paranoia, and alcoholism. and it makes perfect sense that sam and dean still love him even if they recognize the damage he did to them. because they also know how hard their dad tried, and they’ve said as much several times. and i get it cause that’s how i grew up. my dad did everything he could despite his grief, despite his depression, despite working 14 hour days in poverty and homelessness, and he still neglected and emotionally abused me. not because he was a bad person, but because he had no tools to deal with everything he was going through. and his best wasn’t enough, his best failed me. and i still love my dad cause not every memory was bad, and he does truly love me and my siblings. And i’m lucky in a way that sam and dean never were because my dad recognized where he failed us, owned up to what he did and tries everyday to repair the damage he did.

I have closure, and that’s something sam and dean could never really have. but they do have the clusterfuck of emotions that is he tried his best and it wasn’t enough.

[dee-writes-smut]

LILIES (Chapter Six)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY moving on from Eris is impossible, the grief you carry around is unbearable even with the help of your new (ish) friend Lucien.

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, arguing, leaving, grief (over someone who is still alive), major injuries, labor, brief descriptions of blood, Beron (iykykyk), themes of depression, mentions of reader not taking care of themselves, mentions of eating struggles

AUTHORS NOTE only two more chapters to go until it's all over!! I am so sad to see this amazing experience start to come to an end especially because I treasure each and everyone of you who has enjoyed my writing and decided to come along for the ride. Try not to kill me after this chapter, k? >:)

SERIES MASTERLIST

The days following Eris’s departure were a blur of heartache and despair. Each morning, you woke with the heavy realization that he was truly gone, the emptiness beside you a stark reminder of the love and companionship you had lost. You found yourself drifting through the hours, your mind replaying the moments of your last encounter, the anguish in Eris’s eyes haunting you.

Lucien was a constant presence throughout that week, his concern for you unwavering. He visited your chambers multiple times a day, bringing you meals and ensuring you were taking care of yourself and the baby. Despite your best efforts to hide your pain, Lucien saw through the facade, his keen eyes missing nothing.

“Have you eaten today?” Lucien asked gently one morning as he entered your room, carrying a tray laden with food.

You looked up from where you sat by the window, staring out at the gardens below. The vibrant colors of the flowers seemed muted, the beauty of the world outside failing to penetrate the numbness inside you. “I’m not hungry,” you replied softly, turning your gaze back to the view.

Lucien set the tray down on the small table beside you, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “You need to eat,” he insisted, pushing a bowl of fresh fruit toward you. “For the baby’s sake, if not for your own.”

At the mention of your baby, you placed a protective hand over your swollen belly, feeling the gentle flutter of movement beneath your palm. “I know,” you sighed, picking up a piece of fruit and taking a small bite. The flavors were bland, your appetite dulled by the overwhelming sorrow that clouded your mind.

Lucien sat down across from you, his gaze unwavering. “I’m worried about you,” he admitted, his voice filled with genuine concern. “You can’t go on like this. You have to find a way to move forward, for your sake and for the baby’s.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, unable to meet his compassionate gaze. “I don’t know how,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Everything feels so hopeless without him.”

Lucien reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he said softly. “You’ve faced so much already, and you’ve come out the other side. You can do this too.”

Despite his comforting words, the days continued to blend together in a haze of grief. You spent most of your time in your chambers, the outside world seeming distant and unimportant. Lucien’s visits were the only interruptions in your solitary existence, his presence a reminder that you were not entirely alone.

As you sat by the window, your eyes tracing the familiar paths of the garden below, memories of the walks you and Eris used to take together filled your mind. You recalled the way his hand would fit perfectly in yours as you strolled through the winding paths, the conversations that ranged from deep thoughts, insecurities, and fears to light-hearted banter about nothing at all. Those moments had felt like pure magic, a respite from the chaos of the world, and a testament to the bond you shared.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden light, Lucien entered with a gentle knock. “I brought you something special,” he announced, holding up a small box. “I thought it might cheer you up.”

You managed a small smile, appreciating his efforts to lift your spirits. “What is it?”

He opened the box to reveal an assortment of your favorite pastries, the sweet aroma filling the room. “I remember you mentioning these once,” he said, placing the box on the table. “I had the cook make them for you.”

The gesture touched your heart, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of warmth. “Thank you, Lucien,” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “You’ve been so kind to me.”

Lucien smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s the least I can do,” he replied. “You’re important to me, and I want to see you happy again.”

Lucien coaxed you out into the gardens the very next week, his persistent kindness finally wearing down your reluctance. At 39 weeks pregnant, every movement was a chore, and you had been experiencing intermittent pains that you brushed off as mere discomfort from carrying your child. The idea of visiting the gardens, a place where you and Eris had built so many memories, filled you with a mix of nostalgia and pain. But Lucien’s gentle urging and genuine concern convinced you to give it a chance.

“Come on,” Lucien said, his voice soft but insistent. “The fresh air will do you good, and the gardens are beautiful this time of year. It might help to clear your mind.”

“I don’t know, Lucien,” you said, placing a protective hand on your swollen belly. “It was our place, where we grew to know and love each other. I’m not sure I’m ready.”

Lucien knelt beside you, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know it’s hard. But sometimes revisiting those places can help us heal. You don’t have to say anything, just let the garden work its magic. And I’ll be right there with you.”

You looked into his earnest eyes, seeing the care and concern that had been your lifeline these past few weeks. With a deep breath, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Lucien helped you up, and you both made your way to the gardens. The sun was warm, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The familiar pathways brought a lump to your throat, each step a painful reminder of the love you had lost.

As you walked, the intermittent pains in your belly became more noticeable, but you brushed them off as mere discomfort from being on your feet. Lucien pointed out various plants and flowers, trying to distract you with light conversation. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself beginning to relax, the beauty of the gardens working its magic as Lucien had promised.

“You know, I’ve always loved this part of the garden,” Lucien said, stopping by a cluster of vibrant roses. “It reminds me of home, of simpler times.”

You managed a small smile, your mind drifting back to the countless times you and Eris had stopped at this very spot, sharing stolen kisses and whispered promises. The memory brought a fresh wave of pain, but also a bittersweet comfort.

Lucien’s voice broke through your thoughts. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

“I’m okay,” you lied, wincing as another pain shot through your abdomen. “Just a bit tired.”

Lucien frowned, his sharp eyes noticing your discomfort. “Are you sure? You seem a bit… off.”

You waved off his concern, not wanting to worry him. “It’s just the baby being active, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

He nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. “Alright, but if it gets worse, promise me you’ll let me know.”

“I promise,” you said, trying to sound reassuring.

As you continued to walk, the pains grew more frequent and intense, but you were determined to push through. You didn’t want to spoil this moment, this brief reprieve from the constant ache of your heart. But as you neared the center of the garden, where a small fountain gurgled peacefully, the pain became too much to ignore.

Lucien’s eyes widened in alarm as you doubled over, clutching your belly. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with panic.

“I think… I think something’s wrong,” you gasped, the realization finally dawning on you that these weren’t just random pains. “Lucien, I think I’m in labor.”

His face paled, but he quickly sprang into action. “Okay, we need to get you to the medical wing, now.”

As Lucien hurriedly pushed you through the ornate hallways of the palace, aiming for the medical wing, your discomfort escalating with each moment, the last thing either of you expected was to run into Beron. The formidable lord of the Autumn Court was not supposed to be aware of your presence within the palace, a secret Eris had helped to keep. Yet there he stood, emerging from a shadowed alcove, his sharp gaze landing on you with immediate suspicion.

“Lucien, what is this?” Beron's voice cut through the tension, as cold and unwavering as the stone walls that surrounded you. His eyes flicked from you to Lucien, narrowing in displeasure.

Lucien, momentarily taken aback, recovered quickly, his arm instinctively tightening around you as if to shield you from Beron’s piercing gaze. “Father, she needs help. We were just—”

“Who is she?” Beron interrupted sharply, stepping closer. His towering presence felt oppressive, his aura exuding authority and control.

You could see Lucien hesitate, his eyes darting between you and his father, weighing his words. “A friend who requires immediate medical attention,” he attempted to explain, his tone carefully neutral.

Beron’s eyes finally settled on your swollen belly, his suspicion turning into derision. “A friend, or another of your irresponsible entanglements?” His voice was laden with scorn. “We do not run a charity for wayward souls here, nor do we harbor strangers without my knowledge.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened visibly, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Beron cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I will not allow it. Remove her from the palace immediately. She is not to receive aid here.”

Panic flared in your chest as you clutched at Lucien's arm, your other hand pressing against the waves of pain that threatened to buckle your knees. “Please,” you managed to gasp out, the effort leaving you breathless, “I need help.”

Beron’s gaze on you was unyielding, his decision firm. “Take her to the city or wherever you wish, but she leaves the palace grounds now. We will not be involved in this farce.”

Lucien, a mixture of anger and desperation painting his features, tried once more. “Father, she’s in labor, she could die if—”

“Not our concern,” Beron interrupted coldly. “You know my rules, Lucien. Now, obey them.”

Defeated and running out of time, Lucien nodded curtly to his father, the resignation in his eyes cutting deeper than any words could. He supported you gently, leading you away from the medical wing and towards the main entrance of the palace. Each step was agony, and your mind raced with fear not only for your unborn child but also for the lack of compassion from someone you had hoped might show even a trace of empathy.

The cool evening air of the Autumn Court hit you as Lucien guided you through the palace gates. The streets seemed darker, more foreboding than ever before, and as you stepped into the unknown, supported by Lucien, the harsh reality of your situation settled heavily upon your shoulders. You were alone, vulnerable, and in desperate need of care, cast out by the very power that ruled the land you now walked upon.

Lucien's steps quickened through the dimly lit streets of the Autumn Court, each of his movements marked by a desperate urgency as he supported your faltering steps. The pain rippled through you with increasing intensity, a relentless tide that drained your strength and muddied your thoughts.

"Please, Lucien, I can't," you gasped, the sharp spasms of labor gripping you tightly, forcing you to a sudden, halting stop. Your hands clung to him, your body bent in agony.

Lucien’s face was a mask of concern, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of help. "Just a bit further, we’ll find someone, a healer—anyone." His voice was strained, a thin veneer of calm barely concealing the panic beneath.

You shook your head, each movement a stab of pain. "No, I—I need Eris. Please, Lucien, find Eris. I can't do this without him," you pleaded, tears streaming down your face, mingling with the sweat of your brow.

Lucien hesitated, his gaze torn between you and the path ahead. "I don't know where he is," he admitted, his voice cracking with frustration. "And we don’t have time—he might be miles away."

But the pain was overwhelming, and in a heartbeat, your legs gave way, pulling both of you down into the gritty cold of an alleyway’s cobblestones. You collapsed against the hard ground, the rough edges biting into your skin, Lucien scrambling to cushion your fall.

"I can't walk anymore," you cried out, the words a choked sob. "Please, just go. Find him. Leave me, I can't—"

"No!" Lucien's response was vehement, his hands gripping yours tightly. "I won't leave you alone like this." His eyes darted desperately from your pain-contorted face to the empty street. There was no one, no help in sight, and the realization of your isolation seemed to settle heavily upon him.

He rushed you to every shop down the street, dragging you along as best he could, but it was late, and the few healers he could think of were not answering, their shops closed, their homes silent.

"Please, Lucien, you have to go—find Eris," you begged again between contractions, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Lucien looked down at you, agony etched across his features, torn between his instinct to stay and protect you and the desperate plea in your eyes. Finally, with a heavy heart, he nodded, squeezing your hand one last time. "I’ll find him," he promised, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Hold on, just hold on."

With that, Lucien stood, casting one last look at you lying vulnerable and writhing in pain, before turning and running back towards the palace, leaving you alone under the shadow of the night, hoping against hope that he could bring back Eris in time...

Alone and in agony in the shadow-strewn alleyway, you lay curled on the unforgiving cobblestones. Each contraction was a fierce, unrelenting wave of pain, tightening its grip around you, pushing you to the edge of consciousness. But now, an even more terrifying sensation joined the physical torment—a warm trickle of blood that stained your legs, a stark and frightening indicator of how dire your situation had become. Your skin, once flushed with the warmth of life, now felt clammy and cold, your body sweating despite the chill in the air.

Your mind, a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions, relentlessly circled back to Eris—his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the gentle timbre of his voice when he shared his deepest insecurities and dreams. The ache for his presence was overwhelming, engulfing every other sensation. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the grime of the alley, each one a testament to your regrets and the secrets you had kept hidden—most of all, the truth about Lucien being the father of your child. This secret had fractured the foundation of your relationship with Eris, driving a wedge between what could have been and what was.

Amid the despair, you made a silent, fervent vow. If you made it through this night, you would cast aside all shadows of deceit. Lucien would hear the truth about everything, and you would pray for Eris’s forgiveness and understanding. Determination to no longer live behind the veil of secrets fortified your resolve.

Raising your head with great effort, blurred by pain, your gaze fell upon a small miracle—a cluster of purple lilies pushing through a crack in the cobblestones. Their vibrant petals stood out defiantly against the oppressive grey of the alley, a splash of color in the darkness. These flowers, thriving against all odds in such an inhospitable environment, became a beacon of hope for you. Their resilience was inspiring, their beauty a stark reminder of life’s persistence even in the most unforgiving circumstances.

You clung to the sight of the lilies, letting them anchor you through the waves of pain. They became a symbol of your own will to endure, to persist through the darkness and fear that enveloped you. Each painful contraction was met with a whispered promise into the chilly night air—promises of honesty, of love reborn, of a future where shadows would no longer darken your path.

In that desolate alley, under the dim glow of distant streetlamps that fought their way through the thick fog, the purple lilies stood as silent witnesses to your struggle. They seemed to encourage you to hold on, to fight through the pain and despair for your unborn child, for Eris, for the chance at a cleansed and open future. With each labored breath, you held onto the hope that Lucien would return swiftly, and that perhaps, he would bring Eris back to your side, in time to mend what had been broken and to welcome a new life together.

As the city's misty tendrils wrapped around the winding alleys, Lucien's footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, each one a thunderous drumbeat in the night. His breath came in ragged gasps, a desperate symphony of exertion and urgency. The dim light of distant streetlamps flickered overhead, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, a relentless rhythm driving him forward with single-minded determination. The weight of his fear and concern for you hung heavy on his shoulders, urging him to push himself harder, faster, toward the medical wing where he hoped to find help for you.

The narrow streets seemed to blur together as he raced through them, the buildings looming like silent sentinels in the night. Shadows flickered and danced at the edges of his vision, teasing him with glimpses of what lay beyond. Every corner turned, every alley crossed, brought him closer to his destination, but the distance felt insurmountable, the obstacles in his path endless.

His senses were heightened, every sound magnified—the distant cry of a night bird, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the faint echo of footsteps following his own. He dared not look back, for fear of what—or who—he might see.

Every fiber of his being was consumed by a single, relentless thought—to find help for you, to ensure your safety and well-being. With each passing moment, the weight of his fear and concern grew heavier, driving him forward with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

As he rounded a corner, his foot caught on a loose cobblestone, sending him stumbling forward with a sharp curse. But before he could regain his footing, he collided with a shadowy figure that loomed out of the darkness.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as Lucien recoiled, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped animal. But as the figure stepped forward into the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, Lucien's breath caught in his throat.

"Eris?" he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. But the figure said nothing, its features obscured by the shadows, before vanishing into the darkness once more.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta @talesofadragon @thecraziestcrayon @asaucecoveredsomething @starryhiraeth @darling006 @rosewood-cafe @saltedcoffeescotch @dumblani

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Mother

Synopsis: In the aftermath of her death, Aemond struggles to hold back his emotions of overwhelming guilt | Mini-Series Masterlist

Warnings: death, grief, sorry this part is also kinda sad oops

After her death, Aemond was a shell of the man he used to be. Only eating and drinking enough to get him by, nothing was pleasurable anymore as a depression seemed to grip the prince with such an iron fist that seemed to not let go.  

Aside from the tears he shed on the night she died, he had not allowed himself to shed any tears since then, which worried Alicent to no end. Every day, his mother would knock on the door and let herself in, knowing that he could not find the strength to get up himself. Sometimes three days in a row she found her son laid in front of the fire, either staring into the flames with a painfully emotionless face, or asleep, all in the same position. 

She came in to greet her son, clothe him, perhaps to have him regain some sort of routine, attempt to speak to him and leave. He rarely replied to any of his mother's attempts, but lately he had resorted to giving one- or two-word answers, although these efforts seemed to bleed him dry.

Alicent seemed so small against her son when she dressed him, he was a man grown for certain, but when she did these small tasks for him, she felt like he was a child all over again. A wave of melancholy rushed through Alicent when she saw her son, all grown but succumbed to this never-ending pain. A pain she could not help to resolve.  

She had died and it had been nobody's fault. Aemond did not know where to place this hate, this grief. He almost needed something, someone to blame. And as easy as it would have been to blame this child they both helped to bring into the world, he could not find it in his heart to do something so cruel to something so young and innocent.  

To something that was just as much hers as his.

Since then, he had never returned to those chambers and instead swapped with Alicent. He could not bear to see the possessions around him, strewn around as of they would be returned to when he knew they would not. The portraits of her, he did not know if they had been taken down or not, but equally he did not wish to see them. Perhaps he feared that when he saw her face immortalised in the painting, he would feel as if he had betrayed her.  

Today was any usual day grieving for him. Alicent had already come to dress him but he had not wanted to wear his leather tunic, so walked around in his undershirt and leather bottoms. Some days he barely bothered to put his eyepatch on. This was one of those days.  

He had been sitting in his armchair in front of the fire, watching the flames in the dark despite it being daytime, he usually kept the curtains closed. His peace was interrupted with a loud knock at the door, one that did not sound like his mother's this time. He barely looked up, a sigh escaping past his lips as the person behind the door did not wait to be allowed in.  

In the corner of his eye he noted the arrival of his brother, Aegon. Aemond did not say anything to welcome him.

"Do you intend to lock yourself in here forever, hm?" Aegon asked suddenly, walking over to the fire to meet his brother there. In a way, Aegon felt saddened to see his brother like this and he didn't like it. But emotional vulnerability was far past Aegon now and his mother's kindness had not resulted in anything, so he thought he would play the bad big brother and see how it would turn out.

Aemond was aware this was just a way to get some different emotion out of him, but his gaze never left the fireplace, his fingers tapped on the armchair in annoyance.  

"Alright, if this is how it will be, so be it" Aegon said, taking the seat across Aemond and clasping his hands together, as if he himself was nervous, "You need to remarry"

The words hung in the still air and Aegon could sense his brother was getting angry, as he watched his brother's fingers grip at the arm, his knuckles turning white.

"You are without a wife and only have one son and though for some lowly Lords this is enough, you must remarry and have more, to secure this house"  

"I will do no such thing" the words were harsh, not granting his brother his gaze.

Aemond's voice almost sounded foreign to him, he had spoken so little and did not know how long it had been since that fateful day. He had only seen Aegon a handful of times since then, all of which had been wordless, so Aemond wasn't shocked that this was what his brother would say when they eventually would, something so hurtful.  

"You are a Prince of the realm, a marriage will secure our future. Anyone you marry, you will only bed, put an heir in and you will not have to speak to them"

"I will not do it"

Aegon shook his head, anger rising up inside him by the second, "Do you know how long you have confined yourself to this pathetic solitude? I bet you do not even know how old your son is"  

Aemond had no response to this and could think of no answer himself. It is true he had been so lost in his grief, he indeed did not know how long it had been.

Aegon suddenly stood to stand closer to Aemond, looking down at him, "Brother, as much as I sympathise with you, y/n is dead-"

Almost shocking himself, Aemond stood quickly and pulled his brother by his front, drawing his dagger from his side. Aegon's struggling was futile as Aemond's forearm pinned him against the wall underneath his chin, gripping the dagger and pointing it towards his brother. Aegon struggled against his one arm, strength was unmatched when it came to Aemond and perhaps he had been wrong in antagonising him. He had known the answer to this as he observed his brother's expression, a mix of grief, anger but also regret.

"Do not say her name" Aemond warned, pushing harder against his brother's neck, all notions of him being King were gone. Now they were simply brothers, "You may do whatever with and speak about your women as you see fit, but do not think to talk about my wife" his words hissed as they came out, "What I have with her is mine. Only mine"

"Do you believe that if you had been here that night, anything would have changed?!" Aegon argued back, only making Aemond more and more frustrated, "You may hate yourself, brother, but do not hate what you cannot control"

"I could have helped her" Aemond's comeback came quieter this time, chest heaving, "I could have been there"

"There are no wrongs to right! No sins to forgive! The only sin you are guilty of is not being a father to your child!"

There was a silence now, an epiphany ran through Aemond's head.

"Her child…" Aegon finished.  

They stayed like this for a moment, the tension hanging fresh in the air between them.

"You cannot carry on like this, brother" Aegon said simply. Aemond seemed to falter slightly, eyes fluttering with emotion and at the effort trying to keep it back. "I have not been the father my children deserve, but do not resort to abandoning them, like ours did to us"

These words made Aemond break his gaze with his brother and a choked sob seemed to escape his throat as he shut his eye, the grip on his dagger and the force behind his arm faltering. Had he really resorted to treating his only son the way his own father had treated all of them, almost as if there was no father at all?

"She…she would be so disappointed in me…for what I am…" Aemond seemed to sob with no real tears falling down his face, it was more of a pained cry, feeling that stabbing feeling inside his chest once again. A feeling he had buried, now surfaced with a vengeance, "I don't know how to do this without her…"

Aemond had not realised he had melted to the floor on his knees, barely clutching the dagger in his hands. Despite not being the closest brothers, seeing his brother in such a state shot a pain through his heart. In his older years his brother had always been so strong, a skilled swordsman, a veracious reader, tall and domineering. So, to see him like this felt like taking several steps back and he wanted nothing more than to cure the hurt that had taken its place in his soul.

Aegon followed him and got to his knees, hands coming to his brother's face to force their gazes to meet, Aemond's eye was glassy, wanting to let all that pent up emotion out, but felt like in the company of his brother he could not.

"Look at me"  

Aemond followed his order slowly.

"Go and see your child, be his father and pull yourself out of this misery, brother" he said quietly, for the first time instilling some sort of brotherly wisdom upon him. When Aemond barely responded, Aegon lifted his head up again, "If you will not do it for me, or mother, do it for her"

These words seemed to silence Aemond's choked sobs and he looked at his brother once more, really processing what he had said. Eventually Aemond nodded, he could not let her death by bringing their child into this world be in vain. Aegon seemed to find this response satisfactory and moved his hands to his shoulders to squeeze them lovingly.

"Get dressed" Aegon patted his shoulder and stood to leave, leaving his brother to stare at the ground for a while. Aegon held the door and looked back before leaving the room, emitting a small sigh of relief and hope, hope that his brother would finally break out of this depression. Hope that his mother would no longer have to bear the burden of essentially raising his brother's son alone and bring her out of her own melancholy.  

Aemond eventually dug for the power to bring himself to his feet, letting his dagger slip through his fingers to rattle against the stone floor. He grabbed the curtains that kept him in this darkness and pulled them aside, allowing himself this moment to look upon the outside world he had long left behind. The first thing he noticed was the season, flowers which would usually bloom a good half a year since he could last recall were blooming. Aegon's words echoed in his brain, had he really shut himself away for months at a time?

The sun was still quite low in the sky, telling him that it was early in the morning. It hurt his eye slightly to watch as the sun scanned the landscape, igniting the gardens of the Red Keep a wonderful green colour. His gaze found the gardens, now littered with flowers and trees, and remembered how he had courted her there, many years ago…

He took in a deep breath and slightly begrudgingly started to dress himself, enough so that he would at least be presentable, enough so that people would at least recognise him as he used to be. Carefully, he picked up his eyepatch which had its place at his bedside and had done for several weeks, holding it now felt foreign and felt even more so when he had attempted to attach it, straightening out his leathers as he did so.

Being out in the corridor felt different, felt wrong, despite growing up here. The door felt heavier, his footsteps also and everything around him felt somewhat oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. It was a sunny day and yet in these corridors it felt like it had on that night, dark and damp with that familiar feeling of despair hanging in the air.  

Aemond seemed to take a deep breath in and stood in front of what used to be his chambers, the ones he had shared with her…

He looked down to the handles, a slow hand reaching out to grasp it. But his fingers shook with anticipation, and he pulled back to form his hand into a ball, eyes closing as if pushing past a mental wall. He could feel the hot tears welling up inside him as he remembered this was where he stood all those moons ago, his mother chasing him down the hallway. He could almost hear the raging wind and rain stripping onto stone. These thoughts plagued him until he looked back down at the handle and slowly pushed it open.

A flash of bright light was before him, the windows had their curtains drawn all the way across, spreading the sun's rays on everything inside the room. He seemed to squint slightly before his vision was restored. A wave of nostalgia seemed to literally bring him back, swallowing him whole.

The bed was made with the same bed linen and when his gaze met the pillows, a flash of her appeared and disappeared with equal speed. He had seen her body, laying still in that very spot, the one white sheet had been soaked a dark crimson, so much so that they say they had to replace the mattress also. It had all been burned long ago. He could see, even now, your bloodied hand outstretched to reach for something, seeming to reach for him in this very moment.  

But you were not there. The bed was made tightly and well.  

The rest of the room was the same, the table, armchairs, one had been hers and one had been his. Now they both remained empty. Before he knew it his body had made its own way to what used to be her armchair, her book was still placed on the table next to it, with a bit of paper sticking out. A chapter she would never return to. He expected his touch on the object to give him some warmth, but it was unfortunate that the object gave him no comfort.

One thing in the room that was different had caught Aemond's attention. There was a small bed, low to the ground that had been placed in front of the window. Aemond's attention stood as a small noise seemed to come from the tiny bed and he felt his heart hammer in his chest. His fingers lingered on the armchair a moment before daring to walk over to the sound. She would make fun of him if she could see him now. In Aemond's moments of doubt, she would often say 'a prince of the realm, rider of the mighty vhagar and the most skilled swordsman in the land, scared of his own child'.

Perhaps she had been right after all.

He felt the air escape his chest when he looked into the padded cot to see a child, his child…their child. He was easily a few months older than he looked and he was asleep, breathing slowly and soundly. His chubby, small hands were at his side, one gripping onto the blanket next to him.  

Aemond had not realised that his eye had begun to well with tears until one had slid down his unmaimed cheek past his slight smile at watching his child. He knelt down in front of the cot, arms laid on top and simply watched the small person inside, suddenly finding himself curious about his son. He could not see all of his features, as he had his face buried into the blanket, which made Aemond's heart swell with a fatherly love. In a place he thought barren.

He reached down quietly and brushed the blanket away from the child's face, a small whimper escaped the baby at the disturbance and Aemond huffed a laugh and lovingly dragged his thumb over the soft cheek, seeming to calm instantly.  

As Aemond observed his son, his eye landed upon something that made his eyebrows furrow in confusion. His fingers took some of the blanket, it seemed familiar somehow. His suspicions were confirmed when he came across the embroidery, he bought his hand to his mouth to muffle any soft cries that came out. His son had his face buried in his mother's dress. The dress she most often wore and the one she was always fixing, hemming and adding small touches to.

This revelation seemed to sway Aemond slightly and he bought all his might to not sit there and cry at the sight and at the despair that would be, that she would never meet her sweet son.  

A hurried figure opened the doors to the chamber and Aemond looked up to see his mother at the door, she looked absolutely haggard and worn out, one heart placed to her chest in shock.

"Aemond…" she breathed, still processing this very different view of her son, especially after the last few months he had, "…I could not find you…" she seemed to hesitate coming into the room for a moment.

The baby inside the cot, with all the commotion seemed to whimper awake, causing Alicent to come to his side immediately, kneeling opposite Aemond to place her hand against his back.  

"It's alright…it's alright…" she soothed as the baby slowly woke up.  

Alicent's eyes seemed to wander to her son's who was still gripping the dress. Her brown, warm eyes met her son's, "He will not sleep without it" Alicent said suddenly.

Aemond nodded and smiled back at his mother sadly, refusing to let his tears fall once more.

The baby inside rubbed its eyes with small babbles and whimpers and Alicent offered her hand to the child who grapsed it in their chubby fingers.

"He is the image of you, Aemond" Alicent started, as the child looked up at her with eyes full of joy, "He barely fusses at all"

It was more obvious than ever that Aemond had not yet said a word as he stared teary eyed at his child, who was looking up at Alicent. Suddenly, Aemond's hand covered his mother's lovingly, the Queen looked up to meet her son's eyes again.

"I cannot thank you enough, Mother" he said, voice wracked with emotion, making Alicent's own eyes start to glaze over, "I abandoned him when he needed a parent the most. I can never repay you for raising my son…but I will do my best"

Alicent offered a sad smile before bending down to pick up the child and rest him on her hip, "Oh little one, you are getting heavy"

"Ve…vēzos" the child squawked, pointing outside excitedly. Sun. Aemond stood and observed him, swelling with pride.  

"He knows Valyrian" Aemond asked, Alicent nodded,

"Only bits and pieces, the maesters teach him. But at the moment he only babbles as babies do. You were not much of a talker" Alicent smiled.

After a moment of silence, Alicent placed the child against the window seat, so that the curious child could look out the window at the flowers and greenery below, "I'll leave you" she simply said as she took her leave.

When she had left, Aemond was left very much feeling as if he didn't know what to do. He realised he still had his wife's dressed clenched in his fist, as if never wanting to let go. And once he took a seat on the end of the bed, he released to fabric to inspect , feeling those races of nostalgia and despair rolled into one once again seeing all the little details she had added to it over the years. He bought the fabric to his lips, to kiss the embroidery and breathed in, and let out a choked sob at smelling her perfume again.  

Before he knew it, he was sat, head in hands and weeping with his wife's dress fisted in his hands. He could feel the tears drip off his face and hit the stone floor, the little taps they made as they did so. But at the same time he could not stop. It was not a nice cry, it was a cry where you could not catch your breath and every one you took in, felt like it rattled through your body. Every time he thought come on, get a hold of yourself, your son is in the room he descended further into a sob.

He had to pull up his head, when a small chubby hand seemed to pull at his boots. He stared in confusion as his son, wobbily pulled itself up to its feet to smile right into Aemond's face, one finger pointed against Aemond's unmaimed cheek,

"li…limago…n…" the child eventually said. Cry. Aemond wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and took the child's hand softly. Contrary to what Alicent had said, Aemond could only look at the child and see her.

The child began to whine about not being held, so Aemond tucked both of his large hands under the child’s arms to lift him to the bed beside him, resting him atop his lap firmly. The child began to play with his father’s long hair, now nicely combed, perhaps seeing that the colour was the same. After the tears had stopped, Aemond found himself staring down at his child’s concentrated face with a smile on his own.

Looking up, Aemond clocked the portrait that hung on the wall in front of him on the crest of the fireplace. The wood around it was a dark cherry red and it was the largest portrait he ever commissioned. Immortalised there was him and his wife, years ago. He caught his own figure first, one hand resting on the painted chair, his gaze drawn to the figure sitting in it. And when his own eyed dragged over to her, as if she were really right there, her eyes staring back at him with that sweet smile, he felt a heavy breath go down his throat.  

She was sat there in the very dress he was holding, hands clasped at her front, hair curled and styled to fall over her shoulder. What made Aemond shudder the most was the way her eyes seemed to stare at him through the painting, a chill rattling down his spine.

“Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha jorrāelagon” he said quietly. I am sorry, my love.  

He whispered it like a prayer as his hand cradled his son’s back. A wave of guilt came over him.

“ñuha... ñuha...” the child imitated.

Aemond seemed to smile at this and stood, seating his son at his hip. Dress still in the child’s hand, Aemond presented the painting to his son, the small, wide eyes of the child looking up. A look of curiosity on his features.

“Kepa...” the child said, pointing at the figure dressed in black.

Aemond nodded, “Kessa, Kepa”

The child’s finger wandered over to the other figure, the one that made Aemond’s heart stutter. He could feel his son’s hesitation, the way his eyes searched for an answer as to who it was.

Licking his lips and taking a deep breath, Aemond finally managed the words, “Muña”

His son looked at Aemond as if by surprise and with a wide, innocent smile turned back to the painting, his small hand laid flat against it.

“Muña”

[atthebell]

i think people are misunderstanding what cellbit was worried about when it comes to roier-- i don't think he's at all concerned about roier being upset with him killing people. he just thinks roier shouldn't be trapped in purgatory with them, that this kind of suffering is undeserved for his husband and that roier, unlike him, is capable of continuing on despite the loss of richas.

and he has evidence to support this, in a way-- roier has been depressed since really before bobby died, and it's really defined his character how much his son mattered to him, but he managed to keep going. he managed to build a life for himself despite his grief.

cellbit, at the moment, doesn't think he's capable of that. he thinks his only option is either to die (which he's been prevented from doing) or to continue on as the monster he's always seen himself as, to kill and torment because that's the only thing he's good at when the chips are down, and that he deserves, because of everything he's done, to be stuck here fulfilling the whims of the watcher.

and he doesn't want roier trapped in this state with him. he wants roier to have the possibility to be happy, even if he doesn't realize how much roier loves him and how devastated he is without him.

it's not about roier seeing cellbit as a killer, even though i do think that's something he still struggles with generally in terms of his self-worth. it's about him wanting roier to have the chance to live outside the place that fully broke him when he watched richas die.

[thisonehere]

Hello! How u doing?

Can I request some comforting fluff with Kuai Liang, pretty please? :'D

Like, reader is sad and hurt... maybe he promises to always take care of them? Feel free to add anything or anyone you feel like!

And sorry if it's too vague, I'm a little sleepy rn... Anyways, I love your writing! 💕

You got it!

In my arms

Kuai Liang x sad!reader

A/n: Say no more, I have lots of ideas lol

Tags: Fluff, MK1, Request, SFW, some angst

C/w: None

"Y/n," Kuai's words, soft like cotton, bounce off the walls into your ears. His voice is heavy with concern. You jump in surprise at his voice, you were so sure you had been alone. That is something you got used to for quite a while.

Kuai had been busy for the longest. He wasn't there as much as you wanted-no-as much as you needed him to be. You had been going through something for the longest. Something had happened that left you grieved.

Kuai didn't see this but you had been suffering for quite some time. He didn't hear your cries at night. Every time you looked to him for support, he wasn't there. He was off somewhere attending to some clan buisiness. You were here in grief.

Many times you didn't leave the house that much, you struggled to get out of bed, you often found yourself unable to take proper care of yourself because of how depressed you were.

Kuai had found you having a mental breakdown, one of countless others you've had. The moment you are aware of his presence you attempt to hide your face. "I'm fine." You insist as you quickly try to wipe your tears and regain your composure.

"Y/n..." Kuai softly says again, he slowly nears you. "I'm Fine!!!" You don't mean to snap at him but you do. This sudden action makes you feel so ugly inside, you've felt ugly for the longest. Like inside you was wrong, that you were disgusting and broken.

You jolt in surprise as you feel Kuai's hand touching yours. His skin is so soft, so warm. Yours is so dry, so cold, you think.

Kuai can feel his heart break in such a state. He never knew you were going through this. You seemed fine on the outside, you always gave him an enchanting smile, a lighthearted laugh. You gave no hint of anything going on inside.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He says, begging more than asking. He thought that you were fine, how he wishes he knew. You could hear how desperate he was to hear you, to reach out for you.

You try to turn away from him, too embarrassed, how you possibly gave him? Suddenly, you feel his warm hand spread across your cheek, bringing back to look him in the face. His eyes are so loving, so passionate. It's obvious that want-no- needs to know what's wrong.

Despite how eager he is to listen, you are still so ashamed. You fight with your mouth to open and force the words out. You do your best to explain, it was hard at first but the words seemed to flow out much more easily as you talked more. Kuai just stares into your eyes as you explain, taking in every word like his life depended on it.

You felt so ashamed and embarrassed and hideous. Before you can even finish, you turn away from him, you can't face him. You feel the burning hot tears run down your cheeks as your sight gets blurry from all these tears.

Suddenly, you feel Kuai's warm hand spread across your cheek as he gently pulls you back to look at him. "It is alright, I'm here." He encouraged.

You find yourself sobbing uncontrollably as Kuai quickly scoops you into a warm embrace. He lays your head on his chest and rubs your back. The sound of his heartbeat coupled with his warm hands bring some level of comfort to you and it eventually calms you down.

"Y/n, please forgive me. I should have been here for you." He says, his arms wrapping around you tighter, as if you would fade away at any second and he would lose you. "I will always be here for you, I'll always take care of you, that I promise from this moment."

Before you can provide any possible protest, Kuai picks you and Carrie syou bridal style to your bed and gently lays you onto it. He wraps the covers around you. "Kuai, I-" you try to say, but he shushes you as he sits beside you. "Everything is going to be alright, I'm here." He says as he lays next to you, his eyes beam with love and adoration for you. This settles your nerves as you finally find some form of peace.

You slowly fall asleep in his arms, though this doesn't solve the problem as a whole. But this is a good start. You found comfort in, even though this is going to be a rough journey to recovery, Kuai would be at your side. From him, you'd get support and love. And that made you smile.

[brucewaynehater101]

There needs to be an Oracle movie

Barbara Gordon and her time as Batgirl. The subtle implications of misogyny (from criminals, emergency services, social media, etc.) and her struggles of being slightly outcast from the Bats (maybe not intentionally, but it's still felt). Despite that (and how hard the role is), she admits to feeling alive and powerful as Batgirl. She loves her ability to help Gotham, the city her dad tries so hard to shape up to be better.

Then the Joker shoots Barbara. He doesn't shoot Batgirl, doesn't even know it's Batgirl that's being injured, but he shoots Barbara because she's the commissioner's daughter. Her life changing injury isn't even about her.

There's the hopelessness, the grief, the sense of loss, and then Jason dies.

The Bats, try as they might to be there for her, are drowning in their own grief. They can't be there for her even if they wanted to.

She's wasting away with the realization that she's lost everything and her father is bending under the weight of supporting her and his job as commissioner.

Slowly, an idea comes to her. Slowly, when she starts looking out at Gotham's skyline and sees the clock tower, she begins to pull herself back together.

It's not an easy process, and she does return to depressive spirals and bed rotting, but she starts to have more decent days than bad. She's puts away her first criminal as Oracle. She becomes a feared force the Bats can turn to for help.

The end of the movie will hint at her starting Birds of Prey.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

"Misery"- Once in a lifetime chance (Midsommar AU) Chapter 1

part 1 of 4 || series masterlist || next part

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: As if it isn´t enough that your relationship is drifting apart, tragedy can´t seem to leave you alone. But then again there might be a chance to get away from it for a while.

word count: 1,3k

warnings: mentions of character death and grief, mentions of mental illness, mentions of verbal fighting, afab reader

general HotD taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1

(As always, if you want to be tagged in this mini-series or any other character/general fandom taglist, send a comment, ask or DM my way.❤️)

Life has never been nice to you or easy. The only thing that ever truly went well for you growing up, was school, but as you got to University, even that began stressing you out to no end after a while. Even more so when you gotten to know and started to date Aemond Targaryen. He was a nice person at first. Your relationship was good. Your parents liked him and you would often accompany him when he would meet up with his brother, Aegon and his nephew, Jacaerys. In the beginning it was kind of a weird dynamic to witness between the three of them, but you soon got used to the banter. Once you gotten to know them a bit better, the two men were nice enough. However, juggling your studies at KLU, trying to keep up with your family and the seemingly quickly burning out relationship with Aemond all threw you for a loop. And you would be lying if it didn´t bring you back into a deep depressive hole bit by bit. You didn't really have any friends of your own, aside from him. Which made things a whole deal worse whenever you did have a fight. Which occurred more often as time went on. Mostly about the relationship with your sister. For as long as you could remember struggling with depression she had struggled with bipolar disorder. Yet while you had tried to get into therapy, which wasn´t always that simple, and taking your meds, she let all that kind of slack off. Now, even so used to her behavior, it still freaked you out majorly when she went into `one of her phases´ as Aemond had called it once. He wasn´t happy, a massive understatement, with the whole dynamic between the two of you. As if you didn´t know how unhealthy it was. You were. Without a place in therapy in sight, you had been leaning onto him more and more. It made you feel bad to no end to rely on him like this. Yet at the same time you didn´t know how to move past it. And when times were good between the two of you, they were great. So you didn´t lose hope that it could be like that all the time again soon.

Then after an especially bad night, where you try to reach your sister and she doesn't answer, you hit your deepest low yet. The whole evening you spend messaging, e-mailing and calling her in hopes she would respond to anything, while venting to your friend about how this was scaring the ever living shit out of you you and how you simply couldn´t tell Aemond about it, as she would always do this. All the while she tried to calm you down. Telling you that that´s what he is there for. Despite her assurance you don´t tell him anything. Instead you ignore the feeling, that this time something was actually wrong, heading out to meet Aemond at Aegon´s place, where all of them had assembled for the evening. Of course, this would come to bite you in the ass. All throughout the night you have to excuse yourself again and again, as to not let them see what you were feeling. When you get ready for bed later that night, in quiet and cold conversation with Aemond, the police from your family’s hometown calls you. You almost miss it and when you pick it up, you wish you hadn´t. The officer on the other end of the line addresses you with a tone that lets you know what happened before he even says it. Your parents had been found dead. Presumedly killed by your sister during an episode, committing the crime before taking her own life. They couldn´t say for sure yet, but she was living with them and nothing pointed to anyone else being the perpetrator.

The news make your throat close up with a large knot. Tears veiling your sight the second you hang up the phone. Heavy sobs shake your whole body and if you would be thinking clearly you´d probably be concerned about disturbing the neighbors with your loud wailing. But you are not and the sounds push their way out. You cry into his lap, curled up in on yourself, until there are no tears left and no sound comes out of you. Until your body is too exhausted to keep you awake.

When you wake up the next morning Aemond lays beside you with his back turned to you. You remember how he had tried to console you to no avail before going to sleep himself. With a dull pain in your head and burning eyes, you turn to your side. Burying yourself in the blanket. Forging a relative safety which you barely flee for you don´t know how long. Only when Aemond forces you to eat or shower you move from your spot. Mostly you either sleep or cry though. Especially at night, when the nightmares come. It further strains your already near broken relationship. You are aware how Aemond pulls away from you. You don´t need to listen in on his conversations with Aegon and Jace about how he wants to break up with you, but can´t because of your families death. Eventually you are able to talk yourself out of bed and into attending life again, though you are aware that it still isn´t like before. You still try, for both your and Aemond´s sake.

Which lands you were you were now. At a party with your boyfriend, Aegon, Jace and a man who Aemond had introduced to you as Cregan a week or so before. Cregan is nice. The genuine kind of nice and empathetic in a way that the others never could be. During the conversation you find out that he had invited the three to attend some festival back at his home in the north. Him mentioning the invitation stunts you a bit, as you couldn´t remember Aemond ever mentioning something like this. For the sake of not provoking another argument, especially in public, you refrain from saying anything of the sorts. Only congratulating them and giving Jace the stage as he almost giddily informs you all that the afformentioned festival only happened once every 90 years and he was so stoked to write his thesis on the customs.

He looked much like a golden retriever in those moments of joy, as Aegon and Cregan jokingly never fail to remind him and in your distracted mind you have to agree.

You hold your tongue all the way until the next day. You didn´t even plan on it coming up again, but when Aemond brings it up again you. And of course it blows up into a full argument ending with you trying to mend things as best as you could. Everything to not drive him away any further.

“I´m sorry. Truly, I´m sorry. I was just surprised is all. You shouldn´t let me hold you back from this chance. It will be great for you.” You take his hands in yours.

“Are you are sure this is all? You will be fine?” He asks suspicion lacing his tone. Eyebrows still laced together tightly.

“I- yeah… It´s only a little while right?” You mutter. Still unnerved by the disagreement.

“No, you know what? You… You should come with us. If you want. Cregan surely would not mind.” The fact that he says it like this stings. The indifferent tone and `Cregan would not mind´ instead of `I want you to come´. It makes the pit in your stomach grow tenfold.

“Y-yeah. It would be nice. It´s probably good to get out of here for a while anyway, right?” The insecurity drips from your words and is met with a coldness that chases a shiver down your back.

“Yes, probably.”

You don´t feel entirely ready for a journey to the north, but you push it down. You didn´t want to pull Aemond down with your bullshit any longer.

[lavendarr00]

My honor mode run with my durge, Abel, took a very depressing and dark turn. And I have a lot of thoughts about it. It's a longer read and gets sappy at the end haha but I'm so emotional about this I needed to write it down !! 😭

major TW for death and suicide

Abel lost against Orin (I am SO pissed at myself for losing since I usually get her within 2 rounds on tactician. I was not ready for her legendary action haha) and because of that, Bhaal will cause Abel to go mad as soon as the tadpole is gone. Abel knows this - everyone at camp does. But they don't know yet what he plans to do about it.

Abel is romanced to Shadowheart. They are adorable. Abel has this golden retriever energy about him that has been such a light for SH. They forged a strong bond right away as neither remembers their past so they became each others confidant and advocate even before romantic feelings started to bud up (which didn't take long - it was pretty much love at first sight for Abel). Abel is a resist durge and has been fighting back his urges fiercely since day 1. He has such a soft heart and struggles a lot with carrying the burden of his past atrocities. He never wants to harm an innocent again. But Bhaal will control him, corrupt him, and will turn him back into a killing machine. He cannot let that happen. He cannot see harm come to SH or any of his friends nor could he live with them seeing him at his worst like that. He knows what he needs to do as soon as a the brain falls - he needs to kill himself.

Sleepless night after sleepless night was spent thinking of any way he could evade Bhaal. He even went to Withers who unsurprisingly didn't have anything useful to say. Realizing that this is his only path, he accepts his fate and commits the little time he has left to saving the city and his friends. And commits to being himself as much as he can not letting his plans cast a shadow over the precious little time he has with everyone. Savoring every second with the family he found not even a couple months ago.

The night before the confrontation with the brain, Abel tells Shadowheart of his plans. Shock, anger, despair, then grief for a future they once hoped for that cannot be. Shadowheart pushed back at first asking Abel if there is any other way and frantically racking her mind for alternatives. But she too came to the same realization as Abel. He then tells her everything he needs to: his gratitude to her for supporting him in his fight against the urges, sticking by his side even after that one night in the shadow lands when he tried to kill her, loving him despite his scars and past, and making him the happiest he has been his whole life even if it is was only a short while. He tells her to continue living in the light. To promise him that she will live long and well. And to get that cottage outside of the city she has been pining for.

That night was spent with each other. And when morning came, they steeled themselves for the battle ahead and what follows. Ready because they still have each other. And that's all that matters now.

A year after the defeat of the brain and Shadowheart brings flowers to the memorial the city erected in honor of Abel. And only a 20 minute walk from Shadowheart's cottage which was made possible by Wyll's influence in the city. As she lays the flowers down at the foot of the memorial she smiles and remembers the first time he gave her flowers - her favorite night orchids. Back then when darkness was all she knew, Abel was the spark of life, love, and hope that she had gone without for so long. The spark she needed to dispel herself the dogmatic darkness that plagued her. Her life is her own now and it is full of light, love, and hope. She is fulfilling her promise to him and prays that his spirit may know that and be at peace.

-

Okay that's all haha. I'm no writer so thanks for suffering through that if you have read this far. I just needed to write this because I was SO close to just ending my honor mode run then and there after Abel lost because I was so disheartened. I cried haha. Taking the bad outcome of the fight and finding a beautiful yet tragic story in it is what is keeping me going. Might delete later idk.

Now let's see if I even make it to the brain! lmao

EDIT: Not only did I make it to the brain, I defeated it! I beat my first honor mode run! But victory was bitter sweet.

RIP Abel, Laezel, and Karlach 🤍

[warabidakihime]

A Glimpse Beyond Grief: Prologue

Characters: Toji Fushiguro x Reader | Office AU | Both characters are in their early 30s | toji is good daddy in this uwu Synopsis: galactically intertwined journey of two souls: one navigating the depths of loss, the other offering a beacon of healing. through witty banter and unspoken connections, they find solace in unexpected places, uncovering the resilience of the human spirit and the power of love to mend even the most shattered hearts. Content warning: profanity, (eventual) smut, highkey adult themed, can be psychologically and emotionally triggering for some so read with caution.

-

Toji's voice echoed through the house, a sense of urgency coloring each word. "Megumi! Tsumiki! Hurry up!" His eyes darted to the clock, ticking away the precious minutes before his crucial job interview.

From the upper floor, Megumi's small, hurried voice floated down. "Wait! I'm still tying my shoes!"

"Hurry up! I can't be late for my interview!" Toji called back, the weight of the day pressing on him.

"Be there in a second, Dad!" Tsumiki's reassuring response reached him, a small comfort in the chaos.

Toji sighed, standing in the foyer, anxiety gnawing at him. Today was no ordinary day; it was his final interview for a job he desperately needed. The past year had been a relentless struggle since his wife's tragic death, a wound that refused to heal. But today, he needed to be more than just a grieving widower; he needed to be a father, a provider.

Exactly a year had passed since the accident that shattered his world. His wife's life was cut short by a drunk driver, leaving Toji to navigate the overwhelming responsibilities of single parenthood. The pain lingered, an ever-present companion in his daily life.

Months of grief and depression had followed, a period where Toji lost himself in a haze of despair. He isolated himself, succumbing to the numbing embrace of alcohol and neglecting his basic needs. The memories of that time were a blur, a testament to the severity of his trauma.

Megumi, at seven years old, and Tsumiki, at eight, sought refuge with their grandparents during those dark days, visiting their father cautiously, ensuring he was in a state to be seen. It seemed as though everyone had given up on Toji, convinced he was a lost cause.

But one night, in the midst of his self-destructive routine, Toji's gaze landed on a family photo. His wife's smile and the innocent joy radiating from his children's faces pierced through his numbness. In that moment, a spark of clarity emerged, an epiphany that whispered of a responsibility he could not ignore.

Today, as he waited for his young children to join him in the rushed chaos of their morning routine, Toji carried the weight of the past year on his shoulders. The interview was not just about a job; it was a chance for redemption, a step towards reclaiming his role as a father and provider.

Toji needed to wake up from his stupor and get his life together. If not for himself, at least for Megumi and Tsumiki, who relied on him to be there for them. If their mother were still alive, she would have given him a good smack for neglecting their well-being. And so, fast forward to the present, and here he is, doing his darndest for them. Though despite his eagerness to start anew, job hunting hasn't been a very pleasant journey for Toji.

He has been going from interview to interview for five months, but luck hasn't been on his side until a week ago, when a company reached out to him, offering a possible job position. Of course, Toji immediately accepted and went through the application process almost right away, and so far, it's been going well. He passed the initial interview and panel interview, and even though the company is an hour away from his home address, they were more than willing to grant his preferred salary, and their company benefits weren't too shabby either.

It'll do for now.

Toji slows down the car as the kids’ school finally comes into view; he then turns to them for a second before focusing on the road again, “I won’t be able to pick you up later, okay? The interview I’ll be going to is fairly far from here so I might take a while considering the distance and traffic later. Grandma will come and fetch you. You can spend the night with them if you want too.”

Megumi nodded while his face was perpetually glued to his phone, “Okay.”

Tsumiki, on the other hand, flashes his dad an encouraging smile, “Best of luck, Dad!”

Toji softened at his daughter’s words of affirmation, “If I score this job, I will take you both out for dinner. You can choose whatever you want to eat.”

Upon hearing this, Megumi finally looked away from his phone and turned to his father with an expectant look on his face, “Really?”

Toji couldn’t help but snicker at his son’s reaction; he then reached out to him to gently tap his fist on his son’s chest, “A man never goes back on his words.”

After bidding his kids farewell, he set out for the neighboring city to attend his final interview. As he journeyed there, Toji couldn't help but feel a surge of nervousness. Uncharacteristically agitated, he found himself being snappy on the road, even verbally shouting at a car that changed lanes abruptly. The profanities he spewed might have left anyone who heard them scared for life, as Toji appeared scarier than he had ever been before.

However, another part of him was also angry at drivers in general, given what happened to his wife. If only they had been a little more responsible, she would still be by his side, reproaching him for losing his temper on the road.

To prevent any further thoughts of his late wife from plaguing his mind, Toji shook his head and directed all his attention and concentration towards the upcoming interview. He knew he couldn't erase memories of her forever, but for now, if he wanted to move forward and flourish, he needed to push any distracting thoughts to the back of his mind. For the sake of Megumi and Tsumiki, he was more than willing to compartmentalize the memories of their mother and focus solely on his new path ahead.

After an hour of driving, he finally arrived at his destination. Toji stood before the imposing building, his heart pounding wildly in his chest from nervousness. The rejections from his previous job applications had taken a toll on his self-esteem, despite having an impressive degree and a colorful, praiseworthy career.

Taking a deep, heavy sigh, Toji gathered his courage and pushed himself to enter the building, determined to give his best shot at acing the final interview.

"Mr. Toji Fushiguro? Ms. L/N, Y/N is ready to see you now. You may proceed to her office."

Toji acknowledged the secretary with a nod and a brisk "Got it," then rose from his seat to attend the final interview. The position at stake was Executive Assistant, a role that would place him directly under your supervision, offering a perfect opportunity to gauge compatibility.

"Good morning, Mr. Fushiguro," you greeted with a warm handshake, guiding him towards the chair near your desk. As you observed him, you detected a momentary blankness in his gaze, swiftly replaced by an intense focus as your eyes met. It was as if he had shifted gears, honing in on the upcoming interaction. His greeting, delivered in a husky tone, was accompanied by a faint smile, creating an intriguing dynamic in the room.

-

"Good morning to you too, Ms. L/N, Y/N. Nice to meet you," he responded.

You reciprocated with a polite smile. "Likewise. Please, make yourself comfortable. Let me know when you're ready, and we can begin."

Toji settled into the chair with ease, projecting an air of confidence that hinted at a dominant personality.

'Clearly the type who commands attention when entering a room,' you thought.

"Let's get started. I'm all set," Toji declared, prompting you to open his resume and delve into his credentials. As you scanned through his work history, your amazement grew evident. "It says here that you were the CEO of your own business. Can you shed some light on what happened there?"

His response was accompanied by an enigmatic expression, a blend of dread and detachment. Yet, as he began to speak, his voice resonated with confidence. "My wife passed away last year, and I wasn't in a position to sustain my business. I'd rather not delve into the details, if that's alright."

"Absolutely. We can keep it professional. My sincerest condolences," you replied, offering a genuine note of sympathy.

Toji met your gaze, a faint, crooked smile on his lips. "Thank you."

"Moving on, you have an impressive background in banking. What led you to shift to the HR sector?"

Toji leaned back, his eloquence shining through. "I wanted to explore new opportunities. Despite my extensive experience in banking, I'm no stranger to HR. I worked for a consulting firm, catering to financial clients. Later, I ran my own business. The shift seemed natural."

Your smile widened. "Your insights are invaluable, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji responded with a charming smile. "The pleasure's mine, Y/N."

'Already on a first-name basis, huh?' you mused, managing to suppress a smirk.

As the final interview with Mr. Toji Fushiguro unfolded, you posed standard questions, delving into topics such as his availability and adaptability to a hybrid work setup, considering his role as a single father. Reassured by his commitment, he affirmed his ability to be onsite twice a week. Discussions extended to compensation and company benefits, both monetary and non-monetary, and concluded with a firm handshake, officially welcoming him to the company.

"Truthfully, you were practically a shoo-in for the job. Our final interviews are more of a formality, a gauge for compatibility with the supervisor and company culture. As you've proven, you passed with flying colors. Congratulations and welcome to JJK Holdings. Looking forward to working with you, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji reciprocated the handshake with confidence, his smile widening. "Likewise. Thank you, Y/N."

With a final exchange of handshakes, you bid each other farewell. As Toji exited your office and disappeared from view, you glanced at your hand that had just shaken his. A faint blush crept across your cheeks, quickly dismissed as you refocused on the captivating city view outside your window.

"Looks like we've got a new face in the company," you joked aloud, addressing no one in particular. A chuckle escaped your lips at the lighthearted thought, keeping the atmosphere light.

'Focus, Y/N,' you reminded yourself, shaking off the momentary distraction.

Taking a deep breath, you let the welcomed intrigue of having Mr. Toji Hotshot Fushiguro on board settle in. He promised to be a valuable addition to the team, and optimism filled you as you considered the fresh perspective he would bring.

Throughout the day, as you managed various tasks and attended meetings, Toji's name kept surfacing in your thoughts. Beyond his impressive background and confidence during the interview, there was an underlying curiosity about the man behind the resume. At times, you felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he was still navigating grief and had other pressing priorities.

'Keep it professional,' you reminded yourself sternly, pushing aside personal musings. Nevertheless, a subtle anticipation lingered as you looked forward to working with Toji, eager to discover the dynamic he would introduce to the company.

-

After the successful interview, Toji headed home with a newfound sense of accomplishment that had eluded him for quite some time. Driving, he couldn't help but replay the conversation with you, his new boss. Your initial surprise at his former CEO position, the genuine condolences you offered, and the subtle interest you displayed in his career choices had all left him curious about the future interactions he might have with you.

From the moment Toji stepped into your office, he couldn't help but take notice. A commanding figure, you radiated a presence that demanded attention—confident, capable, and unyielding. It was a subtlety that impressed him, and as your eyes met, he caught a glint of curiosity that sparked something within him, a sensation he struggled to articulate.

During the interview, your insightful questions caught him off guard. Anticipating formality, he found himself letting his guard down as you delved into his past experiences. The subtle nods and genuine interest in your expressions were a rare quality, making him feel at ease and prompting him to open up in ways he hadn't in a long time.

Playful banter found its way into the conversation—an unexpected cheeky remark here and a witty response there. You weren't the typical stiff and formal interviewer, and Toji couldn't help but match your energy. The interview, meant to be serious business, transformed into something far more enjoyable. The interaction felt refreshing, like a breath of fresh air that swept away the heaviness he had carried for too long.

As the final handshake concluded and you bid each other farewell, Toji found himself lingering for a moment longer. There was a spark, a connection that transcended the professional setting. Whether it was the shared sense of humor or the way you seemed to understand him with gentle insight, he felt a thrill in the air—a glimmer of hope that had been dormant for too long.

'Well, well, Ms. Y/N, you've certainly piqued my interest,' Toji thought mischievously, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. 'Looks like this new job is going to be a whole lot more interesting than I thought.'

At home, Toji decided to channel his energy into some productive spring cleaning. It proved to be therapeutic, providing a welcome distraction to tidy up the house and clear his mind of the lingering stress from the whirlwind of emotions that accompanied the interview process. Polishing furniture, dusting shelves, and meticulously organizing the kids' rooms allowed him a sense of control he sorely needed.

Once the house felt fresh and inviting, Toji picked up Megumi and Tsumiki from their grandparents' house. The kids animatedly chatted about their day, but Toji's thoughts lingered on his new job and the memory of their late mother. Despite this, he made a conscious effort to engage in their conversation, injecting humor to elicit their laughter.

True to his promise, Toji treated them to a well-deserved pizza night at their favorite family restaurant. Settling into a cozy booth, he watched with softened eyes as his children eagerly selected their favorite toppings. Their happiness was infectious, bringing a genuine smile to his face.

Throughout dinner, playful banter flowed between Toji and the kids. He teased them, allowing them to reciprocate, creating a light-hearted atmosphere. As the pizza night concluded, they drove back home with contented hearts. Toji tucked his kids into bed, kissing their foreheads—a ritual he had embraced more religiously since his wife's passing. Though he might not express it verbally, his actions spoke volumes of his deep affection for them.

Stepping out of their room, he reflected on the new chapter awaiting him at JJK Holdings. His heart swelled with hope for a fresh start and an even brighter future, not just for himself but for Megumi and Tsumiki as well.

'Challenge accepted,' he thought with determination.

Tomorrow marked the beginning of his new journey, and he embraced it with open arms as he settled into his own bed. Thoughts buzzed with possibilities, eagerly anticipating what the future held for him and his children.

In the haze of drowsiness, his thoughts drifted to you.

"Will you haunt my dreams and slap me if I say my new boss is a feast for the eyes?" he blurted out, half-hoping the ghost of his late wife would hear him.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and moments later, sleep finally claimed him.

[destinysbounty]

We as a fandom do not talk about this scene nearly as much as we should

Like, I had already headcanoned that Nya's independent personality was a result of her upbringing, but the fact that this scene officially confirms it is just *chefs kiss*.

What I find so interesting about Kai and Nya is that their childhood trauma has very clearly effected personalities and overall characterizations. Both of them have lone wolf tendencies (albeit more so in earlier seasons), often tending to go their own way and handle their problems on their own instead of relying on the team. They both have anger issues and short tempers, struggling to process their emotions in a healthy way. And neither of them are comfortable with weakness and vulnerability, and tend to lash out when they feel cornered.

There's also the fact that, due to growing up as two kids forced to raise themselves and learn survive with limited assistance from their community, both of them are understandably afraid of feeling weak and vulnerable. What I find to be perhaps the most interesting part of all this is that despite sharing a similar fear, both of them have vastly different coping mechanisms for dealing with it.

For Kai, his fear of powerlessness manifests in a desire for more power - a desire to be the green ninja, a desire to protect his friends, a desire to be strong and heroic, and of course a difficulty with accepting the situation when he loses his powers. He has pretty seamlessly integrated his power into his persona as well, frequently referencing his abilities and praising his status as the master of fire arguably more so than any other character. He's quickly turned his power into a huge part of his identity. Every time he loses his powers, he tends to go into a bit of a depressive episode - in season 5 he developed a fear of water, and in season 11 he became so upset that he nearly quit being a ninja altogether. When he failed to save the Never Realm villagers from Boreal, he blamed himself for it by lamenting that he wasn't powerful enough to save them.

You get the idea. Point is, Kai doesn't like feeling weak, he doesn't like vulnerability, he doesn't like being the weak link or a liability holding everyone back. Personally, I would point to that insecurity as being the primary driving force for his determination to become the green ninja, but that's definitely up for debate.

And as for Nya, this fear has manifested as her being a fiercely independent perfectionist, equating mistakes and failure with weakness, and fearing failure to such an extreme extent that she either gives up anything she's not immediately good at, or completely ignores her problems and pretends everything is fine. Like in season 5 when Wu was training her to become the master of water. "I'm not weak, this bucket is weak! I'm good at everything else, why do I have to be good at filling buckets?!" Or her struggles to get along with her mother all throughout Seabound, knowing full well that she can't blame her mom for leaving but still not quite ready to have her mom in her life again. She also isn't good at asking for help either, often preferring to handle things on her own even at her own detriment, and often she has a hard time admitting when she's wrong as well.

Whenever traumatic things happen, she just steamrolls right past it, refusing to acknowledge her own grief for very long. At Zane's funeral the first thing she said was, "So...what happens after this?" In the face of Maya's repeated attempts to reconnect and talk about Nya's childhood trauma, Nya would often shrug her off or storm away or change the subject.

Maya tried to explain her reasons once - tried to explain that sacrificing yourself comes with immense collateral damage, often hurting the same people you're trying to protect, and says "That's just the way the cookie crumbles." But Nya can't bring herself to address what Maya is really getting at, instead swimming away and saying "I don't like crumbly cookies."

That's why her final words are so important to me. "Tell my mother I understand now. That's the way the cookie crumbles." Nya has finally come to terms with and accepted her mother's decision, accepted that not all solutions have perfect answers, and has finally confronted her own baggage once and for all. She understands why her mother left, she forgives her, and above all she, the team perfectionist, is making a decision that isn't perfect. A decision that will leave a lot of collateral damage, and will cause serious trauma to her loved ones. She knows that by leaving her friends behind and becoming one with the sea, she's hurting them the same way her mother's absence hurt her - but she does it anyway because it's the only way to save their lives.

And as she looks back to say goodbye to Jay one last time, she cries. She mouths the words "I love you" - something she'd never said out loud before. She lets herself be truly raw and vulnerable. Even during her death in Skybound, she was still trying to keep her up her strong and defensive facade, saying things like "I never wanted to be part of your boys' club anyway". Even on her deathbed, in that moment she can't bring herself to let down her walls all the way. But here, several seasons later, she has finally let herself be vulnerable enough to cry, to say goodbye, to say "I love you."

Nya may not be my favorite ninja, but she does have my favorite character arc. Her going from samurai to ninja was a controversial decision, but I really do think it was a good choice in the long run because it almost feels like it's symbolizing her growth - going from a lone wolf who insists on doing things by herself, to being part of a team and relying on her friends just as much as they rely on her.

Just...I love Nya so much. She needs a hug.

[mononijikayu]

family line.

Sukuna’s betrayal of the Ryomen—and by extension, the descendants of Hiromi—had left a deep, festering wound that never truly healed. The eradication of Ryomen Sukuna was not just a mission; it was a sacred vow that bound the family, a duty that had been passed down through a millennium. People had died for it, people had lived for it. Every generation felt the echo of this vow, this duty a resonant call to action that Itadori Yuuji’s existence as Sukuna’s vessel now urgently beckoned. The family line exists for that very purpose, after all.

GENRE: pre - hidden inventory arc to shibuya arc (1990s to 2010s);

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: family line by conan gray

NOTE: genmei and hiromi both having family issues is so insane. i keep wondering when i write about them, how do they survive? in any case, i think we'd have something we can drink about, if they're real!!! anyway, please enjoy this new chapter!!! :]

masterlist

u s and t h e m

GENMEI WOKE UP BEFORE THE CLAN BELLS COULD RING. A small yawn escaped Genmei's lips, tinged with the faintest trace of annoyance. As her lilac eyes narrowed against the thin slit of the window, the intrusive morning light already spilled into her chamber, disrupting what little rest she had managed to capture. Her body, always prompt in waking, continued to betray her desire for sleep—a constant irritant that had plagued her long before the nightmares of her past had begun to haunt her nights.

Even in her earlier years, sleep had been a fleeting companion. Often, the murmurs of voices in her head would parade through her thoughts relentlessly, echoes of past conversations, or the menacing whispers of the Zenin clan, reminding her of darker times. There were nights when the fear of being thrown back into the pit by one of her own—a punishment all too familiar during her time at the Zenin estate—kept her alert, her senses wired in anticipation of danger.

Sleep had never been her friend. This shared struggle with insomnia was one of the subtle threads that connected her with Satoru. They both bore the scars of their burdens, their responsibilities, and their pasts—factors that mingled and mingled well into the realm of their private sufferings. Yet, despite this kinship in sleeplessness, Genmei often wondered if she would ever experience the simple solace of a good night's rest. But as she slowly rose from her futon, skepticism clouded her thoughts; she highly doubted such peace would ever be hers.

The Mikoto family ethos, deeply ingrained in her since childhood, demanded punctuality and discipline in all aspects of life. If one was deprived of rest, then one would simply have to find time later to recover. Duty came first, always. This principle had steered her through countless difficult days, propelling her out of bed even when her body cried for just a few more moments of reprieve.

Today was no different. There was much to be done—duties that required her attention, decisions that needed her clear-headedness, and younger sorcerers who looked to her for guidance. Letting out another sigh, a soft resignation to the start of yet another long day, Genmei prepared herself mentally for the tasks ahead.

She moved through her morning rituals with practiced ease, each step a reaffirmation of her commitment to her roles, both as a leader within the Jujutsu community and as a mentor. Yet, as she tied her hair back, preparing to face the world, a part of her mind still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight might be different. Perhaps the night would be kinder, the voices quieter, and sleep would not be such a fleeting stranger. Duty does come first. A Mikoto must not abandon duty.

"Are you awake already, Genmei-sama?" A reverberating voice questioned against the wooden doors in a soft manner. Genmei wonders how Akihiko was able to get rest at all. He always wakes up too early. "Genmei-sama?"

"I'm awake." Genmei responds groggily, blankly staring at the wooden doors. "You can enter."

As the shoji door slid aside with a soft whisper, the space between servant and master diminished, bridging their respective worlds with practiced grace. Mikoto Akihiko stood in the threshold, his presence subtly commanding yet deferential. His attire, an elegant ensemble of white and red robes accented by a dark scarlet haori, spoke of his high rank within the household. His hair, meticulously groomed and gathered into a ponytail with a simple hair string, added to his dignified appearance. As his eyes met Genmei's, he offered her a respectful bow, his head dipping towards the gleaming mahogany floors that reflected the morning light filtering through the rice paper windows.

Hiromi, observing from the side, pursed her lips in a quiet contemplation of the scene unfolding before her. She noted the ease with which Akihiko carried himself, a testament to his years of service and understanding of the household's dynamics. As he straightened, meeting Genmei’s gaze with a serene confidence, Hiromi nodded slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his flawless conduct.

Akihiko then carefully slid a tray across the tatami floor towards Genmei. On the tray was a bowl of cold water, its surface gently perfumed with floating flowers, and beside it lay a washcloth made from the finest silk. The simplicity of the offering belied the thoughtfulness behind its preparation—each element chosen to provide a subtle refreshment and start the day with a sense of serenity.

With a graceful gesture, Genmei raised her hand slightly, silently bidding Akihiko to enter. He moved with quiet efficiency, stepping into the room to place the tray within easy reach of Genmei. His movements were fluid and precise, each step and action measured and full of purpose.

As he settled the tray beside her, Genmei allowed herself a small moment to appreciate the meticulous care with which Akihiko attended to his duties. It was not just in the grand gestures or significant events that his loyalty and value were manifested, but in these small, everyday attentions that he continually proved his dedication to her well-being.

"Good morning, Genmei-sama." Akihiko greeted, slowly entering with the tray in hand. "I was told to bid you awake for the day."

"Everyone's about to wake then?"

Akihiko nodded. "Yes, Genmei-sama. The morning prayers at the shrine would come first, and then breakfast."

"Hm," Genmei says as she starts to wash her hands, her face, her neck and arms with the water. Soon, she takes the wash cloth and starts drying herself. "I wouldn't have expected everyone to be so vigorous."

"How so, Genmei-sama?"

"I kept everyone up for days straight, the elders especially." Hiromi responds, putting away the wash cloth. "I would have thought the elders would finally take the time to sleep."

"Duty does not stop, Genmei-sama. I doubt the elders would want to also miss the opportunity in doing their part."

Genmei laughs as Akihiko slowly reaches for the tray. "I suppose not. They may have lost their voice trying to make their point towards their disagreements. But they're still servants of the clan one way or another."

The council session had been grueling and exceedingly long, but Genmei couldn’t help but find humor in the enduring nature of such discussions, especially given the gravity of the topic at hand.

The matter concerned Itadori Yuuji, the unfortunate boy who now served as the vessel for Ryomen Sukuna, a curse whose name was written in the darkest annals of their clan's history. Given the weight of the issue, it was no surprise that the session had dragged on for hours and hours — to no end.

In the Ryomen clan, discussions held by the elders were typically open to all members, a tradition that had been maintained since the clan's inception. This openness was meant to foster transparency and collective decision-making. However, when it came to matters involving Sukuna, the protocols shifted dramatically.

These discussions were strictly confidential, held behind closed doors, a testament to the sensitive and perilous nature of the subject. No information was allowed to leak, a precaution to prevent any manipulation or interference from external forces.

Sukuna’s betrayal of the Ryomen—and by extension, the descendants of Hiromi—had left a deep, festering wound that never truly healed. The eradication of Ryomen Sukuna was not just a mission; it was a sacred vow that bound the family, a duty that had been passed down through a millennium.

People had died for it, people had lived for it. Every generation felt the echo of this vow, this duty a resonant call to action that Itadori Yuuji’s existence as Sukuna’s vessel now urgently beckoned. The family line exists for that very purpose, after all.

During the session, the division among the clan’s elders was palpable. Half of the prominent members were staunchly against overriding the order of execution. This faction saw no alternative but to eliminate the threat Itadori represented, unwilling to risk the potential resurgence of Sukuna’s full powers.

Their refusal to support Satoru, who had shown a rare leniency towards Itadori, underscored the deep-seated fears and traditionalist views still prevalent among the clan's leadership.

Genmei, ever the strategist, had spent long exhaustive days navigating through the sea of concerns, countering objections with well-reasoned arguments and logical deductions. Her efforts were bolstered by the support of other, more progressive elders and crucially by her aunt Arisu’s authority as the clan leader. Together, they had managed to forge a compromise, albeit a tenuous one, that temporarily aligned the clan’s diverse viewpoints.

Yet, Genmei was no stranger to the undercurrents of clan politics. She was acutely aware that her opposition might be harboring resentments or plotting quietly behind her back. The complexity of clan dynamics, coupled with the stakes involved in dealing with a matter as volatile as Sukuna, meant that alliances were fragile and could shift with little warning.

As she stepped out of the council chamber, the weight of the responsibility felt heavier than ever. Despite the temporary resolution, she knew that the issue was far from settled. The discussions might have ended, but the real work of ensuring the clan’s safety and navigating the precarious situation with Itadori Yuuji was just beginning.

With a slight shake of her head, Genmei allowed herself a brief moment of levity amidst the tension. ‘If politics within the clan were as straightforward as fighting curses, perhaps we’d have less need for such long discussions’, she mused wryly. ‘We’d get all of this done sooner. Less headaches.’

"Has the letter been sent to the office of Gakuganji? About the support to suspend the execution order indefinitely?"

"From what I heard, the decision had been sent to everyone." Akihiko says, taking a small sigh. "But I would not be surprised if he and Zenin are a thorn in your side. They would contest this. Much more so, Gojo dominance."

"The clan leader would most of all scoff at the thought, mayhaps even my foolish uncle." Genmei snickers, her tone nonchalant. "I would not be surprised if I am summoned to Zenin manor today."

Akihiko frowned at her. "It would not be good upon you if you come and see Naobito-sama at all conditions, Genmei-sama."

Genmei’s gaze lingered on Akihiko, noting the unmistakable concern etched across his features. Akihiko had been a steadfast presence in her life, joining her mother’s household many years ago when she had left her maiden home to marry into the formidable Zenin clan.

His loyalty had been unwavering, his service impeccable, and over the years, he had become much more than a mere attendant; he was a confidant, a silent witness to the trials she had endured.

The Zenin clan, known for its ruthless vanity, was a place where familial bonds were often overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of strength. Within the clan's walls, your value was measured strictly by your power, and weaknesses were exploited, not shielded.

Gojo Genmei knew this all too well, having navigated the treacherous waters of Zenin politics. Despite her formidable abilities, she had often found herself appalled by the brutality her family members could exact, even on one of their own.

As a subtle chill traced her spine, Genmei unconsciously clutched her wrists, the memory of past cruelties momentarily resurfacing. Akihiko, ever observant, noticed the small, telling gesture and his frown deepened. He knew much of her pain, having been there through many of her darkest moments, yet he maintained a respectful silence on such matters.

Despite the complications, Genmei understood the necessity of maintaining connections with the Zenin, however fraught they might be. Her lineage was an integral part of her identity, one that she could not simply cast aside, even with the relative freedom her marriage to a Gojo provided. Akihiko, while concerned for her well-being amidst such a toxic environment, also understood this duty, though it never stopped him from worrying.

To speak of them would not only breach his position but could also jeopardize Genmei’s standing within both her natal and marital families. His discretion was as much a shield as it was a sign of his respect for her.

The weight of her responsibilities weighed heavily on Genmei's shoulders as she pondered her next steps. Her expression revealed a mix of determination and slight exasperation, a reflection of the myriad duties pulling her in multiple directions.

She knew all too well the delicate balancing act required between her roles as a clan leader, a sorcerer, and a wife. Each role demanded her attention, yet there were only so many hours in the day, and Genmei felt the strain acutely.

"It's the only way," she reiterated, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she let out a weary sigh. "It would not last long, I should say. I had delayed being home already." Genmei’s voice carried frustration. "I'd rather not seek more headaches in Tokyo. Besides, my husband's quite upset that he didn't get to spend some time with me. Soon enough he'll be busy. Best to settle it now."

"That should be all for now," Genmei said, cutting off any further discussion with a polite yet firm tone. She offered him a soft smile and a nod, signaling that she appreciated his concern but had already made up her mind.

Her attendant, a seasoned elder who had served her faithfully for years, listened with a somber expression.

"Genmei-sama....." he began, perhaps hoping to offer some word of caution or to suggest an alternative, but he was promptly interrupted. “Perhaps—”

The decisions were hers to make, and while she valued the counsel of her trusted servants and advisors, ultimately, the path she chose was one she had to walk herself.

"Now call for the female servants to come and bring me my clothing. I’d like to have something comfortable now," she instructed, her voice gentle yet imbued with an authority that brooked no argument. "Thank you, Akihiko."

The elder gentleman paused for a moment, his face reflecting his deep respect and understanding of his lady's wishes. With a resigned sigh, he bowed his head deeply. "As you say, Genmei-sama," he replied, his voice a mixture of deference and a touch of concern.

As he turned to carry out her orders, Genmei's mind raced ahead to the tasks that awaited her. She needed to return to her family’s estate, to manage the brewing issues within the Zenin clan, and to support her husband in whatever small ways she could from afar. Each responsibility was critical, each demanded her best effort, and Genmei was not one to shirk her duties, no matter how heavy the burden.

Left alone for a moment, she allowed herself a brief pause, a few seconds of quiet respite before she would change into her comfortable clothing and prepare for the journey ahead. In these fleeting moments of solitude, Genmei gathered her strength, fortified her resolve, and readied herself to face the myriad challenges that awaited her.

When he left the room, Genmei could only sigh and look at the window slit.

Genmei slowly stood from her position and started to look out into space.

It was then and only then that the clan bells rang with a loud vigorous echo.

The Mikoto Clan was now awake to the sound of bells in the morning light.

GENMEI THINKS THAT SHE'S TOO SENTIMENTAL THESE DAYS. As Genmei stood alone, her thoughts meandered through the corridors of her past, each memory shaded by the hues of longing. She had come to understand that with each passing year, the weight of grief did not lessen but settled deeper into her bones, a constant reminder of those she had lost along the way. Each loss carved a hollow in her heart, a space that no amount of time could ever fully heal.

She knew that death was as natural as breathing, an inevitable conclusion to the lives of those she cared for. Yet, knowing this did not ease the burden of grief. If anything, it was a stark reminder of the relentless march of time and the finite nature of existence. Over three decades of her life, Genmei had stood by too many gravesites, had murmured too many final goodbyes. The faces of those she longed for often visited her in the quiet moments, their smiles as vivid in her mind as if they were still beside her.

There were indeed times, too many to count, when Genmei yearned to meet her lost loved ones again. To hear their voices, to share just one more moment together. Yet, she recognized that such desires were beyond her control. The tapestry of fate was woven by forces greater than herself, by the gods and the immutable laws of the universe. She could no more alter these threads than she could stop the sun from setting.

And while she might wish to join those she had lost, to find solace in their ethereal presence, Genmei knew that her place was still among the living. There were people who depended on her, who needed her strength and guidance. Her duties anchored her to this world. To abandon those responsibilities for her own grief would not only be unfair but a betrayal of the trust placed in her.

Genmei accepted her grief as a companion, one that reminded her of her humanity, of the deep connections that had enriched her life, even if those connections eventually led to pain. She allowed herself to feel the sadness, to embrace it fully, for she knew that it was through experiencing this pain that she honored the memory of those she loved.

As the chill of the morning dew caressed her skin, Genmei kneeled solemnly in front of the ancestral shrine, a sacred space where time seemed to fold in upon itself, linking past and present in an eternal embrace. Each bow she performed was a gesture of deep respect, her movements deliberate and full of reverence. As she rose and entered the hall, her flowing robes caught the gentle morning breeze, trailing behind her like whispers of the past.

This hall, with its rows of colorful columns and ornate marble niches, was where Genmei felt most vulnerable—stripped of her worldly titles and roles, laid bare as merely one in a long line of ancestors. Here, under the watchful gaze of those who had come before, she felt the weight of her heritage most acutely. The lilac eyes scanned the figures that lined the hall, each ancestor's ashes resting within their marble confines, their features forever immortalized in stone.

The faces carved into the marble seemed familiar to Genmei, as if she had seen them not just in the flesh but in dreams that bridged the gap between life and death. Walking slowly along the hall, she whispered each name with a soft reverence, a ritual of remembrance. To know one's ancestry was to hold a map of one’s soul’s journey; it was the Mikoto way—a deep-seated belief that understanding where one came from provided the guidance needed to navigate life and, eventually, find one’s way in the afterlife.

Unlike the Zenin, who often eschewed such traditions in favor of strength and power, the Mikoto cherished these rites of heritage and memory. The Zenin might believe strength was the sole measure of worth, but to Genmei and the Mikoto, these moments of quiet communion with the past were a source of inner identity. They believed that the blessings and wisdom of ancestors fortified them, offering not just guidance but also a reminder of the responsibilities they carried as their living descendants.

Genmei paused before a particularly intricate carving, the face of a long-departed matriarch whose stories were legend within the family. Ryomen Hiromi stridently glared back at her in stony tenderness. She placed her hands together, bowed her head, and took a moment to praise her, to thank her, to worship her, to ask for guidance. Every Mikoto needs to. If there was no Ryomen Hiromi, none of them would exist.

As she continued her solemn procession through the hall, each step was a reaffirmation of her commitment to uphold these traditions, to honor the legacy of her ancestors, and to carry forward their teachings not just in memory but in action. In this sacred space, surrounded by the watchful eyes of her ancestors, Genmei renewed her vow to lead with integrity to her duty.

In the subdued light of the ancestral shrine, the air hung heavy with the scent of incense and the quiet whispers of the past. Genmei's steps were measured and reverent as she approached a particularly modest memorial, distinctly less ornate than the others that lined the sacred hall. This was her father's resting place, a reflection of the man he had been in life—unassuming, grounded, and wise in his simplicity.

"Father, your loving daughter comes to pay respect to you," Genmei whispered softly, her voice barely audible above the gentle flicker of the candles that cast a warm, dancing light on the stone surface. She knelt gracefully before the memorial, her movements fluid yet full of the profound respect she held for the man who had shaped so much of her life. Her bow was swift, deep. Only for her father. “I came to see you, and nii-sama.”

"How have you both been, father?" she murmured, settling back on her heels as she gazed at the inscription bearing his name. Though she spoke to the silence, the question was laden with genuine curiosity and the hope that, wherever he might be, he was at peace.

Genmei paused, allowing the silence to envelop her, half-expecting a whisper of wind or some subtle sign that would serve as her father's reply. In these moments, she felt closer to him than ever, bridging the gap between the physical and spiritual with the strength of her memories and the sincerity of her words.

The shrine around her felt alive with the echoes of her ancestors, but it was her father's teachings that resonated most profoundly in her heart. He had taught her the value of humility, the importance of staying true to one’s principles and the strength that lay in simplicity. These lessons had become the cornerstones of her own philosophy, guiding her actions and decisions throughout her life.

“I haven’t seen both of you and nii-sama in a long time, I’m sorry.” The lilac eyed woman whispered. “I hope you are both reassured that I am well. Satoru takes care of me, he takes good care of Megumi too, nii–sama. Don’t worry about him.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of her responsibilities momentarily lift as she imagined her father's hand on her shoulder, steady and reassuring. It was a moment of solace, a brief respite in which she could lay down her burdens and just be a daughter again. It had been nearly twenty years since her father had died and still, she longs for him. She longs to have a father again.

As Genmei stood before her father Naoki's statue in the shrine, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and a profound sense of loss. The statue captured more than just his likeness; it seemed to embody his essence. Even carved in cold stone, Naoki’s eyes radiated a warmth and tenderness that was rare among the Zenin clan, known for their ruthless and often cold demeanor. His smile, gentle and inviting, seemed almost out of place in the hall filled with stern, imposing figures of his ancestors.

Naoki had always been an anomaly within the Zenin family. His kindness and empathy set him apart in a lineage celebrated for its stoicism and strength. Growing up, Genmei remembered how the servants and lower-ranking members of the Zenin manor would often speak of her father with a fondness and reverence that was seldom afforded to other members of the clan. They were relieved that Naoki, unlike many of his relatives, carried his power with grace and used his influence to shield rather than to demand.

This difference in character, Genmei knew, was largely attributed to Naoki's mother, who had been known for her compassionate nature. It was often said that Naoki was more his mother’s son, which, while a badge of honor in any other context, was seen as a weakness by the more traditional and harsher members of the Zenin family. Perhaps it was this gentleness that had fueled the animosity between Naoki and his father, Naobito.

Genmei reflected on the tragic narrative that had clouded clan leader Naobito's life. His heart, once perhaps capable of warmth, had turned to stone after the death of his beloved wife during childbirth. The loss had been too great, and instead of seeking solace in his son, Naobito saw only the cause of his greatest pain. His grief had manifested in bitterness and an increasing dependence on alcohol, which only further estranged him from his son.

Naoki, for his part, carried the heavy burden of misplaced guilt throughout his life. He believed, as his father had so cruelly insinuated, that his birth had been the cause of his mother's death. Yet, despite this, Naoki never harbored resentment toward Naobito. He understood his father’s grief, even if he fell victim to its sharper edges.

Standing there, Genmei felt a deep connection to her father's enduring empathy and strength. Naoki had managed to transform his pain into compassion, reaching out to those around him with kindness rather than succumbing to bitterness. It was a legacy of love over resentment, of understanding over judgment. 

Genmei touched the cold stone of her father's statue, tracing the lines of that all-too-familiar smile. She whispered softly, "You taught me the strength of kindness, Father. In a world that prizes power, you showed me the power of heart. I hope to carry that forward, as you did, and make you proud."

“You speak so highly of a man who’s long dead.” Naobito had said, his voice carrying a dismissive edge that immediately set Genmei on edge. “How interesting, little girl.”

The air in the shrine thickened with tension as Genmei faced the Zenin clan leader, Naobito, his presence an unwanted shadow on what had been a moment of private reflection. For a moment, Genmei’s eyes turned bright purple. Naobito snickers. It was obvious. He could see that she was upset to know he was there. The aura around him, as always, was charged with the abrasive charm that had marked his leadership—effective, yet isolating. She hated it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked quickly, more sharply than she had intended. Her lilac eyes, usually a soft echo of tranquility, hardened into icy shards as she faced the intruder. The sight of him, dressed in the dull colors of autumn, his haori reminiscent of dead leaves, was distinctly unwelcome. 

“You are not welcomed here,” she stated flatly, her lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

Naobito’s response was a snicker, dismissive and irritatingly calm as he began to close the distance between them. “Am I not welcome to visit my own son’s grave? Of my kin?”

“You hate your family, I doubt you’d be welcomed here for loving them enough.” Genmei shot back, matching his nonchalance with her own icy detachment. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a clear indicator of her disdain. “I thought you would rather I go to pay my respects to you in Zenin manor myself.”

“It would be too much to deal with Naoya and his temper,” Naobito retorted, referencing another member of their troubled clan. “Too much trouble for me to handle, little girl.”

Genmei couldn't help but snicker at the mention of Naoya, her disdain for the man barely concealed. “And I would have killed him,” she said flatly, her tone half-joking yet edged with seriousness. “That you know, clan leader.”

“Are you a kinslayer?” Naobito’s question was pointed, intrigued. “You seem so true to your word, little girl. Tsk, to desire to kill your uncle.”

“I am a Zenin, after all,” Genmei replied, her voice laced with bitter irony. This response was layered, acknowledging the ruthless reputation of their clan while also critiquing its brutal legacy. 

Gojo Genmei's thoughts lingered on the clan leader as she processed their recent confrontation and the complex dynamics of their relationship. Naobito's visits, rare as they were, invariably left a bitter taste. Over the years since she had decisively stepped away from the core activities of the Zenin clan to forge her own path with the Gojo and the Mikoto, Naobito's sporadic appearances had been laden with contention and thinly veiled disapproval.

Each visit seemed to underscore a broader struggle between the old guard represented by Naobito and the progressive forces within the jujutsu society championed by Satoru and herself. His challenges weren't just personal; they symbolized the tension between tradition and innovation—a clash of ideologies where Naobito often appeared as an unyielding bastion of the past.

And yet, his behavior was unpredictable. Sometimes, he was overtly antagonistic, pushing against the changes Gojo Satoru advocated with a stubbornness that bordered on cruelty. Other times, he was merely a silent, brooding presence, an enigma that left more questions than answers. There were moments when his laughter rang out, harsh and mocking, as if he found some dark amusement in the shifts occurring within their world or perhaps in Genmei's defiance of Zenin expectations.

Despite these challenging interactions, there was a part of  Gojo Genmei that acknowledged the complex role the clan leader played in maintaining a certain level of peace—or at least a balance of power—within their clan's politics. His distance, while often a source of personal pain, ironically kept the family discord from escalating further. It was an uneasy peace, fragile and fraught with undercurrents of unresolved conflicts, but it was stability of a sort nonetheless. Genmei sighed deeply, crossing her arms as she reflected on this paradox.

Naobito's words hung in the air, thick with emotion and a complexity that Genmei found both unexpected and suspect. His expression softened slightly, an uncommon vulnerability that seemed out of place on the hardened features of the Zenin clan leader. Yet, Genmei remained wary, her experience with the clan leader teaching her to tread carefully around his often ambiguous intentions.

"I have to ask again, clan leader, what are you doing here?" Genmei whispered, her voice low and steady as she held his gaze. "If there was business, you ought not to desecrate my father's grave."

Naobito sighed deeply, his arms crossed defensively, a gesture that seemed to shield him as much as it signified his own internal conflict. "A father also longs for his son, too. I would not desecrate my son's grave by hurting his only child," he responded, his voice carrying a trace of sincerity that was rare and disarming.

Genmei's initial reaction was skepticism, her mind racing as she assessed his statement. Her features softened involuntarily, reflecting a momentary lapse in her guarded demeanor as she contemplated his words. The thought, 'How much of a liar are you?' echoed in her mind, a silent question that stemmed from years of navigating the tumultuous and often deceptive waters of clan politics.

Yet, despite her doubts, there was a part of Genmei that wanted to believe there was truth in his words—that perhaps, in this moment, Naobito was reaching out not as the stoic and manipulative clan leader, but as a grieving father longing for connection with his late son through her, the granddaughter he so rarely acknowledged in any affectionate capacity.

"I want to believe you, clan leader," Genmei finally said, her voice a blend of cautious hope and lingering suspicion. "But you must understand why that's difficult for me. Your visits are seldom without motive. Can you blame me for questioning your reasons now?"

“I can’t.” the clan leader whispered at his grand-daughter, his fingers tracing against his whiskers. “I visited my son. And now my grand-daughter.”

She snorted. “To express concerns of my husband’s actions, ones which offend your clan.”

He laughs harshly. “You speak as though you were never a Zenin, girl.”

“I have always been more than that, clan leader.”

Naobito’s laughter dwindled into a wry smile, the harshness fading as he acknowledged the iron in Genmei’s voice. It was clear that while she bore the name and blood of the Zenin, she did not confine herself within the boundaries of their legacy—a point of both pride and contention for the old man.

“You have indeed,” Naobito conceded, his tone softening. “You’ve forged your path, integrating the Gojo and Mikoto influences into your being. It’s an amalgamation that some in the Zenin find... difficult to accept.”

Genmei’s expression hardened slightly, a clear indication that she was fully aware of the traditionalists' disdain within her clan. “And yet, it is this very amalgamation that has allowed me to see beyond the narrow confines of what our clan believes strength to be."

“You ought to be proud that I continue his work.”

Naobito nodded slowly, the trace of a smile lingering as if he appreciated her resolve, even if it ran counter to his own values. “Yes, your father would be proud,” he admitted, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect that surprised Genmei. “He too believed in the evolution of our ways, even if he could not enact it himself.”

Naobito's snicker, dismissive and tinged with a hint of the patronizing attitude that often characterized the older generations of the Zenin clan, was a stark reminder of the deep-seated beliefs that still governed many within their ranks. His perspective, focused inward on the power and preservation of the clan rather than the broader implications of their actions, was reflective of a mindset that Genmei had long found constraining and, at times, dangerously shortsighted.

"Not all should be about the wider world, silly girl," he said, his voice carrying a blend of amusement and rebuke.

"It is precisely because we are part of a larger world that we must consider the broader impact of our actions," she responded calmly, her voice steady and clear. "The isolationist views of the Zenin may have served us in past conflicts, but the world is changing. New threats and opportunities demand that we adapt."

“Traditions must also be kept in a changing world, should it not?”

She paused, her gaze steady on her grandfather, challenging him to consider the bigger picture. "Not if we wish for such tradition to continue. If we remain inward-looking, focused only on our own power and survival, we risk becoming obsolete—worse, we risk becoming oppressors or tyrants blind to the real needs of those we might otherwise lead or protect."

Naobito frowned, the lines on his face deepening as he considered her words. For a moment, the dismissive facade seemed to crack, revealing a flicker of the strategic thinker he had once been, a leader who had navigated the clan through turbulent times with a firm hand.

"You think the old ways are no longer sufficient?" he asked, his tone less combative and more reflective.

"I believe there is wisdom in many of our traditions," Genmei conceded, her approach diplomatic yet firm. "But wisdom also lies in recognizing when change is necessary. Satoru’s initiatives, while challenging, are not about discarding our tradition. It is stupid to think that way, clan leader.”

His eyes, which had wandered in contemplation, now met Genmei's with a clarity that conveyed both the depth of his entrenched beliefs and his acknowledgment of her steadfastness. “I see you and I will be just like your father. Never to agree.”

“Perhaps that is a curse to you, as it must be a blessing to me.” She paused, allowing the words to resonate within the sacred space, surrounded by the memories of those who had come before. “Disagreement does not have to lead to disconnection. It is only you who sees it that way.”

Naobito considered her words. He nodded slowly, an acknowledgment of her wisdom. “You have your father’s way with words and ideals,” he conceded, his voice softer than before. “And perhaps, if you had married your uncle, there would have been such charges to change for our clan. A level headed heir is better than a foolish one. A mad dog, even.”

Genmei laughs. “Perhaps not, clan leader. I would rather not wed a man who would have deprived me of my liberties.”

“You would have killed him first before he ever did anything.”

“Perhaps.” Genmei nodded at him. “But it shouldn't ever happen now. I have married a good man.”

“I’d like to learn how good he truly is, if he wasn’t such a—”

“I’d like to remind you that I would never tolerate such words said about Satoru like that.” She glares at the old man. “He has cared for me well. More than Naoya would have ever done.”

He did not say anything.

He knew Genmei to be right.

Naoya would have killed her.

And it would be shrugged off.

Jinichi killed his own wife too.

Naoya would find a way too.

As Naobito neared the threshold of the shrine, poised to leave, he paused, turning back to Genmei with a look that signaled unfinished business. “Before I go,” he began, his voice carrying the weight of authority he was accustomed to wielding, “What of the vessel of Sukuna? The elders council is in disarray over it. Surely, you must have an opinion.”

Genmei turned slowly to face him once more, her stance firm and resolute. “The council’s disarray does not concern me as much as the consensus of those who understand the broader implications,” she responded calmly, her gaze steady. “And as for the vessel, my position is clear and supported by Mikoto. We seek a path that is not bound by past fears alone.”

Naobito’s eyes narrowed, the mention of Mikoto bringing a flicker of annoyance—or perhaps apprehension—to his features. “Your vote, or Mikoto's stance, does not align with tradition. The Zenin have always—”

“My vote,” Genmei interjected firmly, “And the vote of the Mikoto no longer requires your validation, clan leader. The council respects our perspective for a reason. Times are changing, and so must our strategies. Sukuna is a threat, yes, but how we handle this vessel, Itadori Yuuji, could redefine our future."

The old man’s jaw set tightly, a clear sign of his frustration with her words. It was difficult for someone of his generation and convictions to accept such shifts in policy, especially from a younger family member, albeit one as formidable as Genmei.

“You tread dangerous waters, silly girl,” Naobito warned, his tone darkening. “To think that handling Sukuna’s vessel with anything less than absolute lethal intent could be anything but catastrophic is naive.”

Naobito scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “And what of the danger he poses? What if Sukuna gains control?”

“Perhaps.” Genmei conceded, her voice still calm, “But the Mikoto believes in looking at bigger picture. Itadori Yuuji is not just a vessel; he is a potential asset. And moreover, he’s a child. We must be cautious, yes, but we must also be wise. We cannot afford to act in haste based on old fears.”

“That is a risk,” Genmei admitted, “But one that comes with potential gains. We monitor, we prepare, and we act swiftly if needed. But to eliminate a potential ally out of fear is to act no better than the curses we seek to eradicate. The Mikoto will not endorse such a path.”

There was a long pause as Naobito considered her words, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a long breath, as if releasing some of the weight of the argument. “Very well,” he said grudgingly. “I see that your mind's made up, and your influence on the council is not insignificant. But be cautious, silly girl. Not all are pleased with this... progressive stance.”

“I am always cautious, you know this best.” Genmei replied, her tone unwavering. “Thank you for your concern, clan leader.”

With a stiff nod, Naobito turned and left the shrine, his steps echoing slightly in the quiet morning air. Genmei watched him go, feeling the weight of the confrontation slowly lift from her shoulders. 

Gojo Genmei sighed deeply.

She wished that duty would end.

At least for today, it has to end.

She needs to get some more sleep.

IT WAS A RELIEF TO FINALLY RETURN TO TOKYO. As Genmei sat by the window of the gently rocking train, her gaze occasionally drifted out to the blur of passing landscapes, but her mind was anchored firmly in the present — burdened by the weighty discussions with Zenin Naobito and the decisions that lay ahead. The rhythmic clack of the train on the tracks seemed to echo her repetitive thoughts, cycling through the implications of each word exchanged, each potential shift in clan dynamics.

Her sighs filled the quiet compartment, mingling with the soft hum of the train. The concerns with Naobito weren't just fleeting worries; they were deep-seated issues that threatened to resurface time and again. Each recollection of their conversation deepened her resolve but also underscored the complexities of her position.

Beside her, Nobuhiko's presence was both a comfort and a reminder of simpler times. He had always been a grounding force, his steadfast nature balancing her more strategic inclinations. As they traveled together, his occasional pouts and the childlike sulkiness he displayed when discussing his duties in Kyoto brought a rare smile to her face amidst the swirling anxieties.

Yet, as Genmei observed him, she couldn't help but feel a surge of nostalgia for the days when life was less complicated, when the boundaries of their world were defined merely by the adventures they concocted in their youthful play. Back then, Nobuhiko's pouts were about who got to lead their imaginary quests, not about the weighty responsibilities of a Jujutsu Tech instructor.

It was heartening, yet poignant, to see traces of the young boy she had known in the accomplished instructor he had become. Nobuhiko had grown into his role at Jujutsu Tech with commendable dedication, shaping the minds and abilities of his students with a passion that mirrored his own commitment to growth and learning. His reluctance to leave Kyoto, even temporarily, was a testament to the bonds he had formed there, the responsibilities he felt, and the identity he had carved out for himself independent of the family legacy.

“Do I really have to stay here?”

“Todo would be depressed if Nobu–sensei leaves.” She teases him, a wide grin on her face.

“Not you too, Genmei–sama. This is….” He started turning red. His lips form a sharp line. “It would be better, if I was by your side.”

Genmei raised a brow. “But aren’t you always by my side?”

Nobuhiko's face flushed deeper, the ruby hue of his pin almost mirrored in his cheeks. His discomfort was palpable, caught between his duties and his longing for a different path—one alongside Genmei, where he felt more directly impactful and perhaps more appreciated.

His frustration momentarily silenced him, the words catching in his throat as he grappled with his emotions and the stark reality of their discussion. The simple, teasing question from Genmei wasn’t just a casual remark; it was laden with deeper meanings about loyalty, presence, and the invisible ties that connected them despite their physical separations.

“You know what I mean, Genmei-sama,” Nobuhiko finally managed, his voice a mix of earnestness and exasperation. “Yes, in spirit, perhaps, but there’s a difference in being actively involved in the same causes, in fighting the same fights side by side.”

Genmei’s expression softened, understanding the depth of his feelings. She knew too well the complexities of their lives, pulled in multiple directions by responsibilities and roles that often left little room for personal desires. Yet, she also recognized the strength of their bond, one forged not just in shared childhoods but in continued mutual respect and support as adults.

“Nobuhiko, you are vital where you are,” Genmei responded gently, her tone conveying both sympathy and firmness. “Your work at Jujutsu Tech isn’t just about teaching techniques—it’s about shaping minds, guiding the next generation. That’s no small feat, and it’s every bit as crucial as the battles we fight in Tokyo. It’s what we need, if this is to work, this change.”

She paused, her gaze steady on him, ensuring her words sank in, not just as platitudes but as sincere recognition of his contributions. “And know this,” she continued, “Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, you are always by my side in the ways that truly matter. It’s only a three hour ride away. If you feel that tedious, use a warping spell. Come and see me, hm?”

Nobuhiko listened, the initial flush of frustration gradually fading as he absorbed her words. The tight line of his lips relaxed slightly, a sign that he was reconsidering his stance from a broader perspective.

“I understand, Genmei-sama,” he admitted, though his voice still held a hint of reluctance. “And I appreciate your faith in me. It’s just... sometimes the distance seems more significant than it is.”

Genmei nodded, acknowledging his feelings. “Distance can be bridged,” she reassured him, her voice imbued with a conviction born of years navigating similar challenges. “You know that better than I.”

Genmei stepped out of the car, the soft click of the door closing behind her muffled by the ambient sounds of the bustling train station. She turned to face Ichiji, her expression a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. The journey had been long, the rhythmic hum of the train wheels accompanying her weary thoughts as she traversed the miles between Kyoto and Tokyo.

"Thank you, Ichiji," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet laden with genuine appreciation. Ichiji, her loyal attendant, nodded in response, his expression a blend of solemnity and understanding. He had been with her through countless journeys, his steadfast presence a reassuring constant in the ever-shifting landscape of her duties and responsibilities.

"It was my pleasure, Genmei-san," Ichiji replied softly, his tone respectful yet tinged with a hint of concern. He had sensed her weariness, her burdened spirit evident in the subtle lines etched upon her face. “Welcome back to Tokyo.”

Genmei offered him a faint smile, a fleeting expression of warmth amidst the weariness that weighed upon her. Despite the fatigue that tugged at her limbs, she knew that she must press on, her resolve unwavering in the face of the challenges that awaited her in Tokyo.

Turning away from Ichiji, Genmei gathered her belongings and took a moment to steady herself, drawing upon the inner reserves of strength that had carried her through countless trials before. With a deep breath, she straightened her posture, steeling herself for the tasks that lay ahead.

As she made her way through the bustling station, her footsteps echoing against the polished floors, Genmei's thoughts turned to the purpose of her journey. Tokyo awaited her, a city teeming with life and energy, yet also fraught with the weight of responsibility and expectation.

As Genmei walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, she was instantly enveloped by the dynamic atmosphere of the school. The campus buzzed with the vibrant energy of young sorcerers honing their craft, each one focused and determined. The sounds of rigorous training filled the air, a symphony of discipline and hard work. Instructors barked commands that were met with immediate responses; the thuds of bodies grappling on the mats punctuated the air, underscoring the physicality of their training. 

Yet, it was the loud boisterous laughter, the spontaneous bursts of joy amidst the stern discipline, that truly characterized the spirit of Jujutsu High. It was a reminder that despite the grave responsibilities these students would eventually shoulder, they were still young, still capable of finding lightness amid the severity of their training. Genmei couldn’t help but be nostalgic about her own days there in Jujutsu High too.

Gojo Satoru had always looked happy at Jujutsu High. This was the environment where Satoru thrived, his formidable talents— but most of all, his youth. Genmei thinks about when she first met him, quite brash and self–centered. A true little prince. But in his three years here, Genmei could only remember him as he was now to be what he was in Jujutsu High. Genmei thinks she can only be glad for it. He’d ended up being someone she was proud to be married to.

Genmei's eyes were focused on the training grounds, watching her husband in the distance. He was fully engaged, demonstrating a complex maneuver to a group of attentive first-years, his movements fluid and precise. Watching him, Genmei felt a surge of pride. He was bringing the world he had always dreamed of to life. The one that Genmei had seen him dream of for all the years they’d been together. It feels so good to know his hard work was not wasted.

The lilac eyed woman drew closer, watching the intensity of the training session. But Genmei was certain that they seemed to have dialed down a notch as Satoru caught sight of her. Genmei thinks her husband was quite a dog, with how he seemed excited even from afar. His face lit up with a mischievous grin and waved at her. Genmei laughed, waving back half–heartedly.

Satoru called out to the students, "And that's how you ensure your technique is flawless!"

As Genmei stepped closer, the dynamics among the students shifted palpably. Megumi's sigh was not one of irritation but of familiarity, a testament to the countless times he had witnessed such warm exchanges between Satoru and Genmei.

He understood too much that Gojo Satoru was a man who truly, deeply, passionately, tenderly, does so loves his wife. He’d known that all his life, living with them and all.

Yuji Itadori, the energetic boy with striking pink hair, tilted his head, his eyes wide with curiosity. Next to him, Nobara Kugisaki, poised and observant, also turned to look at Genmei. Genmei waved at them, a tender smile on her lips.

Both were new enough to not fully grasp the personal life of their enigmatic teacher, and their faces mirrored their intrigue and slight bewilderment at the obvious affection displayed by Satoru. Gojo Genmei seemed so normal. So utterly normal. And compared to their teacher, this loud, boisterous, crazy enigma of a man —it leads to confusion, most definitely, how you both seem to be married. 

As Genmei walked up, Satoru sauntered over with a playful swagger. "And here comes the only person who can outmatch me," he declared with a theatrical flourish, reaching out to pull her into an embrace. “My most beautiful, beloved, darling, extraordinary, one and only, wife!”

Genmei felt laughter echo against her belly and gently pushed him away, not missing a beat. "Behave yourself," she chided, through her eyes twinkled with amusement. Turning to the first years, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes, she extended a warm smile. "You must be the new first year. I'm Gojo Genmei, Gojo–sensei's wife."

“You’re just not my wife, darling! You’re my most beautiful, beloved—”

“You’re embarrassing yourself to your students, Satoru. Think of Megumi!”

“I don’t wanna be part of this conversation.” Megumi crosses his arms, looking down at his shoes. “Exclude me…please.”

Satoru’s lips turned into a pout, “My son turning on me like this, I never thought I’d see the day!”

“I’m not your son—”

“Now, now, calm down.”

The students' expressions shifted from amusement to shock, Nobara Kugisaki's eyes widening, "You're married to Gojo–sensei?" she blurted out, clearly trying to reconcile this new information with the enigmatic image of their teacher. “How? How are you married to Gojo–sensei?”

As the shock registered across Nobara’s face, Satoru’s trademark grin only widened, clearly enjoying the ripple of surprise his announcement had caused among his students.

“Because she loves me!” he declared, throwing his arms wide as if to emphasize the sheer inevitability of it all.

Megumi, who had been quietly observing the scene, couldn’t help but snicker at his teacher's theatrics. “That sounds like a lie,” he muttered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear, his deadpan delivery a stark contrast to Satoru’s flamboyance.

Satoru feigned a wounded look, clutching his heart dramatically. “My son, turning against me again, Genmei!” he exclaimed, looking over at Genmei with exaggerated betrayal. “How is fate ever so cruel?”

Genmei laughed, shaking her head but deciding to keep out of this particular fray. “I’m not gonna get involved,” she declared with a smile, her tone light and teasing. “You and your son need to talk this through.”

Megumi sighed, “I’m not his son.”

Yuuji, who had been watching the exchange with a growing smile, jumped into the conversation, his enthusiasm unchecked. “Wow, sensei never mentioned he was married! It’s great to meet you, Genmei–sensei!” His voice carried a mixture of excitement and a touch of awe, as if the revelation added yet another layer to the already complex puzzle that was Gojo Satoru.

Genmei grinned at Yuuji's exuberance, appreciating his straightforward and lively nature. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Yuuji–kun. But please call me Genmei.” But then Genmei turned to Nobara, who blinked at the sudden turn of the elder woman. “And you too, Nobara–chan.”

Satoru, not one to let a teaching moment slip by, even if highly embellished, wrapped an arm around Genmei’s shoulders. “You see, everyone, this is why you always keep them guessing. Keeps the mystery alive,” he said, winking ostentatiously. “Right, wifey?”

Gojo Satoru's grin broadened into a full-fledged smile, his cerulean eyes sparkling with amusement at Nobara's expressed candid astonishment. His posture relaxed as he leaned back slightly against his wife, clearly reveling in the students' reactions.

"How do I bag a woman like her?" Satoru echoed, gesturing towards Genmei with a dramatic flair. "It's simple really—I'm irresistible." His tone was teasing, laden with his usual cocky humor, designed to elicit more laughs than serious consideration. “I am quite a good gentleman. How could she not fall for me?”

Genmei shook her head, a gentle, indulgent smile playing on her lips. She decided to play along, stepping closer to Satoru with a mock-serious expression. "Actually, it took him a lot of effort. He had to prove he was more than just a pretty face and outrageous antics. Isn’t that right, dear?" she said, giving Satoru a playful nudge.

The students burst into laughter again, watching the banter between their sensei and his wife. Yuuji, still grappling with the novelty of the situation, added, "So there was a lot of persistence involved, huh? Gojo–sensei must have gone through a lot, an adventure!”

"Mmm, something like that," Satoru agreed, nodding sagely. "But let's just say it involved a lot of proving that I could be a responsible adult when needed."

The blue–green eyed Megumi sighed, “Gojo–sensei, you’re just saying anything and everything.”

Satoru’s eyes twinkled mischievously, embracing Megumi's skepticism with his typical flair for theatricality. “Ah, Megumi, you’ve uncovered my secret,” he declared with an exaggerated bow. “My entire life has been a carefully orchestrated performance designed to woo Genmei!”

Genmei laughed, stepping in with her own playful jab. “And he almost failed the audition, too.” she quipped, winking at the students who were now thoroughly enjoying this rare glimpse into their sensei’s personal life. “He was such a klutz, you know?”

Yuuji, unable to resist joining in, chimed in. His eyes were shining. “So what was the final move, Gojo-sensei? How did you clinch the role well?”

“Well, Yuuji,” Satoru said, adopting the tone of a wise sage sharing ancient secrets, “It involved a lot of strategic thinking, a grand romantic gesture involving perfectly timed sakura blossoms falling like snow, and… a cat.”

“A cat?” Nobara echoed, her eyebrows arching in disbelief. “This is too far-fetched, Gojo–sensei.”

“No no, I’m not. It was a cat,” Satoru nodded solemnly. “You see, wifey here has a soft spot for stray cats. I found the scruffiest, most endearing little stray and presented it to her, claiming it reminded me of myself.”

Genmei rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “What he’s not telling you is that the cat immediately scratched him and ran off. It was the most honest review of his character I could have hoped for.”

The students burst into laughter, picturing the usually unflappable Gojo Satoru being bested by a stray cat. It was a laughable thing. But Satoru often does this every time someone asks how they met. Megumi narrows his eyes, almost as though he was having a flashback. Genmei was certain that Satoru had traumatized Megumi enough about it all. He was the one who always gossiped with the school moms, after all.

“See, it’s all about resilience,” Satoru grinned as he continued, totally unfazed. “The key to winning someone over is not giving up, especially if you love someone. Even when attacked by small animals.”

Yuuji  shook her head, still laughing. “This feels less like romance and more like a battle strategy, Gojo-sensei.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “It seems to me that he’s just being crazy.”

“You definitely are correct.” Megumi added, which caused Genmei to snicker.

“Ah, but love is the greatest battlefield of all!” Satoru exclaimed, spreading his arms wide as if embracing the whole world. “And I won the best of the best!”

Genmei gave him a gentle shove, chuckling. “Alright, that’s enough for you. These students came here to learn about Jujutsu, not your questionable courting techniques.”

“But wifey!” Satoru’s pout got even worse. “We’re just starting to have fun!”

“No buts, Satoru.” 

Satoru’s exaggerated pout didn’t last long under Genmei’s amused but firm gaze. He knew well enough that his theatrical sulking wouldn’t sway her once she had made up her mind, yet he couldn’t resist playing up for his students. His arms remained crossed, and he huffed dramatically, managing to draw more laughter from the group.

“Oh, I forgot.”

Genmei turned her attention to Megumi, her smile warm and genuine. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small package, the familiar sight of moon cookies that she had thoughtfully brought with her. “Megumi, I remember how much you enjoyed these last time.” she said as she handed him the package. “Arisu oba–sama knew you liked them a lot too. So she gave you a lot.”

Megumi’s typically reserved demeanor softened noticeably at the gesture, and he accepted the cookies with a quiet, “Thank you, Genmei-san.”

Noticing the curious glances from Yuuji and Nobara, Genmei chuckled and handed each of them a cookie as well. “I asked the temple for quite a few of them. I thought it’d be nice to share some with all of you. Just let me know if you’d like more later, okay?”

Yuuji’s eyes lit up as he took a cookie, his usual enthusiasm bubbling over. “Wow, thanks, Genmei-san! These look amazing!” he exclaimed, eagerly taking a bite and nodding in approval.

Nobara, too, accepted the cookie with a smile, her earlier shock at Satoru’s marital status now giving way to appreciation for Genmei’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you, it’s really kind of you to think of us,” she said, tasting the cookie and giving Genmei an approving look.

The light and friendly mood was palpable as each of the students enjoyed the moon cookies, their earlier training session momentarily forgotten in favor of the sweet treat. Genmei started to tell them about moon cookies and how it’s made.

Yuuji was asking questions about the ingredients, but failing – as it was a Mikoto family secret. Nobara was fawning over the cute packaging and taking pictures. Megumi, as he always does with moon cookies, ate them as though he was savoring them. Satoru admits that watching his students and wife interact made his feigned pout slowly transform into a genuine smile. All he has now is his pride and joy.

“See, it’s not just Jujutsu techniques I’m good at sharing,” Satoru quipped back at her, finally uncrossing his arms and stepping closer to join the circle more fully. “I’m also excellent at sharing the best snacks, thanks to my better half here.”

Genmei gave a light laugh, shaking her head at Satoru’s attempt to regain some of the spotlight. “Well, we all have our strengths, dear,” she replied, giving him a playful nudge. “Mine just happens to include giving people the motivation to live.”

The students responded with a mix of laughter and nods, appreciating the familial and caring atmosphere that both Genmei and Satoru brought to what could have been just another grueling day of training. Yuuji, still not quite over the novelty of meeting Genmei, turned to Satoru with a mischievous grin.

“So, Gojo-sensei, does this mean we get snacks at every training session now? Is that part of the curriculum?” he asked, the hopeful tone in his voice eliciting more laughter from his peers. 

Satoru raised an eyebrow, then looked at Genmei as if considering the idea. But he laughs soon after. “Well, if my most amazing loving wife is willing to keep supplying, who am I to deny you all such delicious motivation?”

Genmei laughed, amused by the turn of the conversation. “I think that might make the temple suspicious if I start clearing them out of moon cookies every week. But perhaps for special occasions…”

Megumi, who had been quietly enjoying his treat, looked up at her with a tender look in his eyes. Genmei thinks that he’s the most passionate about moon cookies. “It’s a good incentive to perform well, Genmei–san.” he noted, his voice low but clearly suggestive. “It’s good for morale.”

Nobara nodded in agreement, her expression one of mock-seriousness. “Absolutely, I think performance-based rewards could really enhance our training outcomes,” she chimed in, playing along with the theme, with a grin playing on her lips. “You know we’d come out the best in Jujutsu High with this!”

The group continued chatting and joking about potential “cookie rewards” for outstanding Jujutsu sorcery maneuvers. This continued on as the sun went and set, the end of the day just bursting with the conversation that was full of laughter. It was nice to take it easy, that was for sure.

Genmei thinks her years in Jujutsu High were rigid with Gakuganji creating hell for them. But Kaiko and Namie always made it fun. Genmei was glad that they were together, these three. These three were, after all, still kids living this cruel life. It’s the least she could do.  

It wasn’t long after that when Satoru thought that the day should end on this high note for the kids. He had them start cleaning up the training materials, but Genmei is scolded him about ordering around the kids and soon enough, the strongest sorcerer of this life time, was carrying bamboo spears back into the storage huts as his wife enjoyed the remainder of the moon cookies he had on his own packet.

“Remember, you’re all welcome to come by anytime you need advice, training tips, or just a friendly chat,” Genmei called out as she and Satoru started to head back. “Just call me, okay? Megumi has my number!”

“I’m not giving it to them.”

Nobara frowned. “Yes, you will! Porcupine, get me your phone, now!”

“Don’t call me that.” Megumi responded back, mirroring her frown. 

“Thank you, Genmei-san!” Yuuji called back, waving energetically. “And thanks for the cookies!”

As they walked away, Satoru slipped his arm around Genmei’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “You really made their day, you know,” he murmured softly.

Genmei smiled up at him. “And they just made mine. I’m very glad to see them together, finally.” she replied, her voice filled with warmth. “They reminded me of youth.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Satoru's tone was playful, infused with affection. He smiles down at her too. “But I make you day too, don’t I?”

His wife laughs tenderly at his words. “Yes, yes. You always do.”

“Ah, my wifey is such a beautiful romantic!”

Genmei laughed, the sound mingling with the fading echoes of the bustling campus around them. "Only for you, my love." she responded, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I still have to learn to keep up with your dramatic flair somehow."

Satoru grinned, clearly delighted by her comeback. "Ah, but who could resist such charm? And even then, who am I to resist your charm? You keep me grounded, wifey. You always have." His voice softened, the playfulness giving way to sincerity. He squeezed her shoulder a bit more tightly, reinforcing his words with the gentle pressure of his touch.

As the doors behind them closed, shutting off the sounds of the outside world. Satoru and Genmei entered a quieter world within the confines of Satoru's dorm room, a space that often doubled as a strategic meeting point for discussions far removed from the ears of even trusted allies.

The transition from light-hearted banter to serious tension was almost palpable, as if crossing the threshold into the room also required a shift in mindset to address the challenges that lay ahead.

The walls of the room, lined with books and various artifacts from past missions, served as a reminder of the many facets of their lives as sorcerers. Satoru walked over to a map pinned across one wall, dotted with notes and markers, each representing an event or a point of interest that required their attention.

Satoru’s face furrowed with concentration. Her husband somehow liked marking where he goes to missions often. Genmei thinks that she should suggest he get a new map. It was already too full to tell, she couldn’t tell anymore where he hadn’t been just yet. But he’d never replace it. He’s too attached to it. It’s been with him for ten years after all.

Genmei crossed her arms as she observed his focus and slowly approached and stood beside him, her lilac eyes scanning it all. "The stakes are getting higher, Satoru. With the postponement of Yuuji's execution, we've bought some time, but it's only a temporary reprieve," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of their discussion. “But we’ll have to be careful. I’m not sure how long before they’ll break it.”

Satoru nodded, leaning against his desk, his demeanor becoming more contemplative. “I know,” he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We can’t let our guard down. I don’t trust them one bit. Not even those elders in Mikoto who said yes.”

Genmei purses her lips. “I know. This will also stir more tensions between us against the higher-ups and the clans. It’s already a controversial thing. They won’t sit quietly with this kind of disruption to the status quo.”

Satoru crossed his arms, his gaze drifting towards the window before returning to meet Genmei. “We need to be vigilant. Some of them might see this as an opportunity to undermine our plans or to push their own agendas more aggressively.”

Genmei nodded, her mind racing through potential scenarios and countermeasures. “We’ll need to keep a close eye on the movements of the clans, especially those who have always been less than supportive of us. And it’s not just the clans—we should be wary of any unusual activity among the higher-ups as well. The kids, we’ll have to have closer eyes on them.”

Satoru pushed off from the desk and started pacing slightly, a sign of his growing concern. He withdraws his blinds and lowers them. Her eyes meet his own. “I agree. We can’t afford any surprises. Yuuji’s case is sensitive, and any misstep could be catastrophic not just for him but for the fragile balance we’ve been trying to maintain at the school and within the wider jujutsu community.”

Genmei watched him pace, her mind equally busy with strategizing. “I’ll start by enhancing our intelligence network. I’ll have Nobuhiko and mother look into everything. I’ll see if I can get in touch with Todo. If there’s even a whisper of a plan against Yuuji or us, even the school, we need to know about it before it becomes a threat.”

Her husband stopped pacing and turned to face her, a determined look on his face. “Let’s also make sure to keep it as quiet as possible. The less, the better. I’ll talk to my mother. I’ll have her watch the higher ups.”

Genmei nodded at her husband as she stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “We’ll manage this, Satoru. We’ve faced tough challenges before. We just need to stay one step ahead, as always.”

Satoru’s expression softened slightly, and he placed his hand over hers. “Thank you, darling. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The way Satoru looks at her made her fall in love again.

She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him.

Satoru felt the scent of vanilla scent, returning the embrace.

“I love you so much.” Genmei whispers to her husband. “I do.”

He grinned at her, kissing her temple. “I love you too, darling.”

He was the only family she truly had; she thinks of it now.

Gojo Genmei thinks that Gojo Satoru was her forever home.

facts about the chapter

ryomen hiromi in her will changed the family name to mikoto, consolidating her second husband's clan with her own. she did so to cut ties with sukuna.

the mikoto clan were always the biggest voice when it comes to the matter of ryomen sukuna. they consider it their duty to see sukuna eradicated from the world.

the mikoto, unlike the rest of the clans, kept their ancestral home in their ancestral province. its still under the ryomen name and all mikoto are expected to spend some time there to train their jujutsu.

ever since her marriage to satoru, it became more apparent that genmei has had conflicting views with the wider jujutsu society. being satoru's wife also means they can't do anything about it.

genmei was the one that adopted nobuhiko in the clan in 2003. she raised him from then on, giving him his name and his position in life.

nobuhiko teaches in kyoto jujutsu high and is in charge of the third years. todo is his student - who is very happy about his answer when asked about his type.

naoki zenin refused to be buried in zenin manor, so the mikoto buried him in their shrine. the zenin had been asking for his body back, but they have always refused.

genmei buried toji with her father after he passed. she thinks its only right that toji and her father are together.

genmei does not have a good relationship with any of her family, except megumi, mai and maki.

genmei has a particular hatred for naoya more than her other uncles. she considers him the most vile.

megumi doesn't like too much sweet things, but he fell in love with the moon cookies when he first visited mikoto manor as a child. he eats it often with black coffee.

genmei is very close to all of satoru's students and considers them as her own children. but genmei is closest to megumi, since she's raised him.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for abandoning my friend?

Around the beginning of this year, I joined a Discord server that was run by one person, D. D's partner(?), P, was also in the server. It very quickly became apparent to me that P did not like me, despite my attempts to be friendly, and at one point P even left the server for reasons I suspect had something to do with me. Despite this, D and I quickly became friends, and I genuinely enjoyed talking to him and spending time with him. I assumed it was fine even if P didn't like me, because I wasn't interested in D romantically and wasn't trying to cause problems for them; I just liked hanging out with D as a friend.

Things were fine for a few months, but there ended up being a minor argument in the server that spiraled a bit out of control, with most people in the server ending up split between supporting me and my friends, or P and his friends. I advised D to close the channel to stop the argument, and apologized to him in private once it was over, asked if there was anything I could do to help, etc. I still don't think I was in the wrong in this argument, but it was really over such a minor thing that I was trying to just deescalate and move on.

For about a week or so, everything was fine, but then D suddenly kicked me from the server without warning, and when I messaged him to ask what happened, he told me that what I'd said during the argument (now a week prior) was transphobic and he didn't want to be friends with a transphobe. I asked for an explanation of what I'd said that was transphobic, but he didn't answer, and kept insisting we couldn't be friends. So, I told him that I'd back off and leave him alone for now, but that I'd still be here if he changed his mind some day.

I already suspected by that point that P had something to do with him suddenly changing his mind, and a mutual friend, K, later confirmed that they also suspected P was being toxic and controlling based on their conversations with D. D had already cut me off by this point, so there wasn't much I could do; I just told K the same thing, that I still cared about D and wanted the best for him, but I wasn't going to reach out.

Fast forward a few months. After a death in the family and a subsequent struggle with grief and depression, I wasn't doing so great anymore. It was at this point that D reappeared, messaging my Tumblr to tell me, essentially, that he was still alive but not doing well, that he was sorry for how he'd treated me before, and that we still couldn't be friends, because P didn't like me. I'd told him before that I would still be his friend if he wanted me to, but now he wanted me to listen to him talk about what had gone wrong in his life when he was just going to vanish again after. I told him that I would happily listen and support him as a friend, but that if we're not friends and he's not going to stick around, then I don't have the energy to help him and also take care of myself. So, he left again, and I haven't heard from him since.

I've been worried about him since we last talked; I know that he's depressed, and I know what it's like to deal with an abusive partner, as I've had a few of them in the past. I want to be able to help him, but I don't know if he'll let me, and I know that if we have a major falling out again like we did before, it'll be a lot harder for me to recover now. AITA for putting myself first?

What are these acronyms?

[simplemindedmockingjay]

Na, Days mum actually saying the words "I'm going to lose him either way, at least I feel comfortable knowing he's locked away in his room" is evil. Like pure evil. I don't care that I comes from a place of fear and of grief for the life Day will never get to have. She's basically saying "I was losing control of him as he gained confidence and independence to reenter society despite his blindness, at least if I lose him to depression from having all of that taken away he's still physically under my roof and under my care"... like the dehumanisation of her son is unreal... he's still a person, a gown ass adult, who should have full autonomy over his life... I'm actually really struggling to press play and watch the rest of the episode because of this...

My sister is blind and if anyone tried to treat her this way or said something like that about her, I would end up behind bars for what I'd do to them...

Like, it's important to highlight that ablism exists and that people can use their power over disabled people in a negative way... but still I'm struggling to watch it. Please, someone tell me it's safe to keep watching and that Day gets out of that fucked up environment...

[readyplayerhobi]

Because, I Love You | 08

Jungkook x Older!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst,

; Word Count: 3.4k

; Warnings: Mentions of blood, discussions of miscarriage, slight breakdown, mental health discussion, grief

; Synopsis: According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks then.

; A/N: New banner for this series as well! And this chapter deals with the aftermath of the previous chapter, which will see them discuss how they are feeling/how they coped with the miscarriage. If you’ve ever had a miscarriage, then please only read if you are comfortable with it! And for any guys who read this and have experienced this, I hope you found the support you needed as well, and remember for everyone that there is no ‘right’ way to grieve. If you enjoyed this, please let me know by sending an ask or leaving a comment, and reblog it (with warnings) for others to read!

; Masterlist

-

You’re not sure if there’s a right or a wrong way to grieve a miscarriage, especially when the pregnancy hadn’t even been planned. Were you mourning enough? Or was it too much? When was an acceptable time to stop crying? Or had you already passed that point?

In reality, you knew that there was no right or wrong answer. You’d struggled with this at first, just trying to comprehend that you weren’t pregnant anymore. That something had caused your body to decide this wasn’t the time to have a baby. The problem with something as confusing and intimate as a miscarriage was that your emotions and feelings were all over the place.

At first, you’d sobbed into Jungkook’s arms when the gynaecologist had confirmed that you were miscarrying. The first thing she’d told you upon returning, after letting you both have a moment, was that it was highly unlikely that anything you’d done had caused the miscarriage. That miscarriages were very common for women, with ten to twenty per cent of pregnancies resulting in miscarriages, which was thought to be a low number. 

You’d stopped bleeding a week ago, and another checkup had confirmed that you’d passed the pregnancy and they didn’t need to intervene. The past week had been tough, as it felt like your body was heaving a sigh of relief now that the intensive physical effects were over, which meant that you were so damn tired. You’d taken a week of sick leave, and had now taken an extra week of vacation to just cope with everything and you’d spent most of it either asleep or lying in bed.

Part of you felt lazy, but an overriding part of you didn’t care. Jungkook had been struggling to get you to eat, and you knew that you were probably sinking into depression. The hardest thing, though, was knowing this and doing nothing about it. It was like watching yourself from outside your own body, and feeling frustrated but not being able to do anything.

Despite what your gynaecologist had said, you couldn’t help but blame yourself in some way. Ask if there was something better you could have done. Should you have eaten better? Exercised more? Is it because you were overweight? Maybe you’d been too stressed at work. That was perhaps the hardest part of it all - trying to find an answer that you knew didn’t exist. No matter what you think or the obsessive way your mind runs in circles…you know that you didn’t do anything to cause this.

Things like this happen, in humans and other animals. Nothing you could have done could have stopped it. But it’s so hard to acknowledge this, especially whilst it’s all still so fresh.

The prospect of having to go back to work next week and face people who had no idea was hard, and you weren’t entirely sure how you would do it. You didn’t want them to know, but at the same time you did, if just to make conversations easier. What if there were other women in the office who’d been through what you had? Maybe they’d have some advice. But at the same time, you were afraid they’d judge you. 

Why they’d do that, you don’t know, but you’ve long ago learnt that minds don’t rationalise things well sometimes. Part of you envied Jungkook, in that he hadn’t had to go through any of the physical trauma that you had and could continue with his life without ever having to remember that pain or hurt.

And then you’d feel instantly ashamed of thinking that because you wouldn’t wish what you’d gone through on anyone. Not to mention that you know Jungkook is grieving and suffering in his way. You can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him, to have to watch all of this from the outside and know he can’t do anything to help. And on top of that, it was his baby too.

Guilt wells within you, and you realise that you probably haven’t treated him as well as you should have for the last two weeks. Sure, you had extenuating circumstances, but it doesn’t settle well with you. 

Glancing over at the clock, you note that he’s been longer than he should have to just get a glass of water. It was just after nine o’clock at night, and you’d managed to spend the day out of bed. So you hadn’t left the house, but you’d at least busied your body and your mind with cleaning the house from top to bottom. You were tired now, so damn tired, and Jungkook had gone downstairs to the kitchen to get you both some water when you’d mentioned how thirsty you were.

That had been at half-eight, and apparently, you’d been too busy wallowing in your thoughts to notice his absence. Swallowing guiltily, you push back the covers and get up to go find him. 

It’s only when you’re halfway between the staircase and the kitchen that you hear a sniffle, and you freeze in place. Without hearing anything else, your entire body goes cold and your heart sinks at the noise. There’s only one reason you’d hear that from the kitchen, and you know he’s not watching TikTok or anything because his phone is back upstairs.

Padding to the kitchen door, you peer through and look inside. He hasn’t turned the light on, so the room is in darkness but you can make out the sight of him standing by the counter next to the sink through what light comes through the window. His oversized black shirt hugs his broad shoulders, and you note that he’s bracing himself against the counter.

The noise comes again, and you watch carefully as his shoulders jerk in time with it, before his hand comes up to his face. Gripping the door frame tightly, you take in the fact that he’s crying. And he’s doing it quietly, so you won’t hear.

“Jungkook?” Whispering his name out, his shoulders stiffen in response and you feel your heart break. You didn’t want to catch him out, nor did you ever want to make him feel like he needs to hide this from you, but clearly you have. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it with you, which makes your heart hurt even more.

“Are you…are you okay?” Moving over to him, you hesitate for a moment before placing a hand against his back. He feels stiff and uncomfortable in a way you’ve never felt before, but he’s not giving off any hostile vibes to you. More like he’s embarrassed to have been caught, which makes you even more sad.

“Talk to me, please.” Slowly, you let your hands slide around his sides until you’re hugging him, your cheek pressed to his back muscle whilst your palms stroke his stomach. Not in a sexual way, but in a soothing way. You want him to know you’re here for him. He’s been your rock for the last few weeks, and you’re his rock as well. Or so you hope.

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” Jungkook says, his voice filled with faux happiness but you can hear the way it wavers slightly. Squeezing him tighter, you ponder for a moment whether to let him carry on with his act, before deciding against it. He’s clearly hurting, and it’s only now that you realise that you’ve not talked about how he’s felt about the miscarriage. The focus medically and personally had been on you, given that it had been your body going through the miscarriage.

“It’s something, I know you. Please talk to me, I’m here for you just like you were here for me. Don’t hold back, talk to me.” You beg him, holding him tighter until he lets out a deep sigh that makes you rise and fall with him. If he doesn’t want to, then you won’t push anymore, but you don’t want him to feel like he has to keep quiet.

But then he lightly grasps one of your wrists, his fingers slightly cold against your skin as holds on tightly. Not in a way to hurt you, but almost to anchor himself. Then he takes another deep breath, but you hear the way it wavers and catches.

Almost immediately, you reach out to turn him around before cupping his cheeks in your hands. Even in the dim light, you see the way his eyes glisten with unshed tears and the shiny tracks down his face where they’ve already fallen. Seeing the clear signs of distress and upset on his face felt like someone just reached into your chest and twisted your heart.

“Baby…” 

Without saying anything else, you grab the two water bottles he’d filled up and left on the side before taking his hand and tugging at it gently. There’s a tiny bit of resistance from him before he gives in and lets you pull him along as you go back upstairs. Neither of you says anything, but you sit on the bed and pull the covers over your lap before looking at him expectantly with a welcoming smile.

There’s a brief second where he just stands there and looks down at the floor before letting out a deep sigh and crawling onto the bed. And then, of his own accord, he reaches out and takes your hand before squeezing it tightly.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I’d really like it if you would. Please. You’ve been here for me these last two weeks but I’m here for you, too. Please don’t think you have to hide things from me, I don’t want that.” You beg, bringing his hand up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to it as if you can imprint your sincerity into his skin.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a moment, still as silent as ever but you get the sense that he’s on the verge, so you stay quiet as well. Let him come to you, now that you’ve made clear you’re here for him. Something like this, what he’s feeling and how he’s coping, can’t be pushed and you need him to feel comfortable with you.

Finally, he lets out another sigh but it’s far shakier and weaker than the previous one. Nose-length, wavy black hair obscures most of his eyes to you as he keeps his head bowed, but you see how he presses his lips together in a desperate attempt to keep it together. Quietly, you kiss his hand again and he finally breaks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…I don’t know what to say. Or what I’m meant to say, and I…god I feel so stupid for getting like this.” He croaks out, pulling your entwined hands to press against his forehead in a clear sign of desperation. You can see his eyes now, and he’s got them closed. Despite that, you can easily see the puffiness and redness of his skin.

“Hey, don’t feel stupid. Whatever you’re feeling isn’t stupid, and you’re not meant to say anything. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’m here for you, though, and you can talk to me about anything. Especially this. Please don’t hold it inside.” Jungkook sniffles again, his entire body jolting with the movement before he shakes his head slowly.

“It’s not, I mean - you were the one who went through this. I should be stronger for you, not falling apart like this and making you care for me. Not after what you’ve gone through.” Each word is thick with tears and you sigh quietly, wondering when you’d given him the impression that he wasn’t allowed to feel sad or upset. You’d thought your relationship was more honest than this, but you’re honest enough to acknowledge that you’ve been wallowing in your sorrow lately.

“Hey, don’t talk like that, okay? You were strong for me, and you still are. Don’t start any of that toxic masculinity bullshit, not now. It was your baby too, and even if you didn’t have to go through any of the physical pain then you’re still going through it mentally. So, talk to me. Even if you think you’re sounding selfish or dumb, I want to hear and be here for you in the same way you’ve been here for me.” And just like that, he bursts into heaving sobs that rack his whole body - two weeks' worth of hurt and pain and confusion that he’d hidden away finally coming to the fore.

Immediately, you pull him to you and wrap him up in your arms, letting your fingers run through his hair as you whisper soft words of assurance to him. It makes you want to cry, and already you have tears building at the sheer pain in his sobs. 

“I feel like such a bad person, I couldn’t do anything for you and I just had to sit and watch as you hurt and went through all this. And I couldn’t fucking do anything but just…sit there like a goddamn lemon. I’ve never felt so fucking useless because I couldn’t do anything! You were going through this horrible thing, and I was just…I was useless. You were so excited for the baby and then, suddenly, it was like…and I felt guilty! Because what if I’d done something to cause this? Maybe in my sleep, I moved weirdly and hurt you, and it was all my fault? 

“Or-or what if it was fate or whatever saying that I don’t deserve to be a dad yet? I know I’d said I was fine with it all but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking like…what if I’m not? What if I’m not ready to be a dad? What if I’ll hate it? Maybe I don’t actually want this, and then you were miscarrying and what if it was me? Did I cause it? Maybe the baby knew that I wasn’t fully invested or something and, like, I mean, it’s stupid I know but I can’t help thinking it and then I get so upset because I did want the baby and I did want to be a daddy but I was scared as well and I didn’t mean it! I didn’t, I swear I didn’t mean it!” 

His words are slurred together as he rushes to get them out, some of them catching in his throat as he sobs and you struggle to make sense of them sometimes. But you get the general gist and you want to cry with him. Jungkook had spent two weeks thinking things like this? The thought of it makes your heart break all over again and hug him tighter to you, pressing kisses to his head as he continues.

“And then, like, I mean, I just didn’t know what to do. Would people blame me? Am I even allowed to feel sad or upset because we didn’t even plan it? I know the nurse said that I would grieve too but like…it wasn’t happening to me. It was happening to you - I hadn’t done anything. It was all in your body, so why was I getting upset? But then I couldn’t make you feel good, I couldn’t take the pain away and you were already so much…I didn’t want to tell you any of this. I didn’t want to be a burden on you or make you feel like you needed to take care of me when you were going through this awful thing. I needed to be strong for you, not fall apart but it was so hard.” He pauses now and pulls away, pushing his hair out of his face before finally looking at you for the first time.

You’ve never seen him cry like this, and you feel guilty that he’d been holding all of this inside. That he’d felt he had to be strong and push all of his hurt and sadness and confusion to the side for you. But at the same time, you understand him. The attention has been on you for the last two weeks, and he’s just been on the periphery of it all. 

“Jungkook…baby, listen to me, okay? I’m sorry that I didn’t notice, and before you say anything - yes, I was going through a lot but that’s not an excuse. We’re partners, and you felt like you couldn’t rely on me. I love you, and I love you even more after these last few weeks because you’ve been the perfect partner for me. Taking such good care of me, making sure I’m eating and coping, giving me painkillers when I need them and sorting out the house. You’ve been amazing, and I’m…I’m so sorry that I didn’t see. You’re not a burden, and you never have been.” 

Cupping his face gently, you wipe away his tears before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his nose. He sniffles afterwards, looking embarrassed and shy, but you can already see a lightness to him, like getting it off his chest has made him feel better. Given how cathartic you find it to complain or rant about things, you know that you’re probably right.

“I just…I feel like I should’ve done better.” He whispers, his beautiful eyes watery with tears whilst his lip quivers.

“You did perfect, I swear. I know that you didn’t understand what I was feeling physically, but you’ve helped me so much. Please don’t think that you didn’t do enough, because you did. And don’t feel like you’re not allowed to grieve, it was your baby too. You didn’t do anything to cause this, just like I didn’t - believe me, I’ve blamed myself a million times but I know that, rationally, I didn’t do anything. These things happen, and that’s the same for you. Life isn’t punishing you or me, because I had the same thoughts you did. What if I wasn’t ready and I was just lying about it? What if I had the baby and I realised I hated being a mom? I think those are normal thoughts, and you’ve not been punished. Neither have I, it’s hard to come to terms with, but I swear it’s true.” Stroking his cheeks, you give him a reassuring smile even as more tears spill over onto his cheeks.

There’s not the same level of desperation behind them as before, and you sense that you’ve both turned a corner. Letting go of his face, you open your arms and gesture with your head towards the bed.

“Cuddle?” Jungkook nods, his expression almost a little shy and your heart aches at just how young he looks. Sure, he’s a fully grown adult and he’s only six years younger than you, but there’s an expression on his face that makes him look so lost. Given everything you’ve learnt about Jungkook, it hurts even more when you know how naturally empathetic he is so you can’t even begin to imagine how hard this has been for him.

Going through the process of miscarriage physically was something you never want to go through again, even if you can’t guarantee that, but you also can’t imagine having to stand on the sidelines and just watch it all happen. Knowing that you can’t do anything to change what’s happening, or make it feel better.

The two of you curl under the covers, and Jungkook presses his face into your chest as he curls into a ball. Sighing, you sling a leg over his hips and let your fingers play with his hair. He’s held you like this so many times for the last two weeks, and you feel a sense of satisfaction and peace that you can do the same for him.

“Grieve as much as you want, Jungkook. Don’t hold it in, okay? Don’t ever feel bad for whatever you’re feeling, and if you want to talk to me then do it. You can tell your friends if you want if you think they’ll help you if you want to talk through stuff that you’re not comfortable talking about with me. Or your therapist, whatever you choose…you’re not alone, okay? You’ve made me feel so loved and cared for, and I want you to know that I love and care for you just as much.” You kiss his hair, the only part of his head you can reach given he’s burrowed his face into you.

“Love you” He mumbles, and you more feel the words as they vibrate against your skin than hear him. Smiling, you hug him a little tighter and repeat the words back to him.